I've broken form a little bit. I wonder should I be worried?
Should I tie myself to a so-called "poetry" format for my Fritz365 poetry blog?
Nah!
It started on January 8th, after I wrote a rather free form piece about some maniac testing out a highly, and questionably modified Lear jet.
After, or maybe during, writing it; I decided I should tell some kind of narrative about this guy. Why would he do such a mad thing?
I had to reason: Could a guy that was smart and talented enough to pull off such a feat, still be so delusional that he actually thinks that he has a chance at reaching actual Earth orbit, let alone the Moon?
Does it matter? Was it all just a fancy way to commit suicide for this guy from the very start?
So I gave him some motivation. A life long dream of being an astronaut, and specifically, reaching the moon himself.
I also gave him a disease. This was the motivation for him to sell all his worldly possessions and cash in any savings and retirement he had.
I gave him a timetable. He has a year, at most, left to live. And this unnamed disease has the bad form to get a little worse as it goes. So the last few months of it, are virtually useless for anything else other than sitting or laying around waiting to die.
I gave him no family. Or at least none that I mention. Did he up and leave a wife and kids behind? Taking all their money to fund this mad dream of his? I leave that up to speculation. But I suspect not. The character is too kind hearted for that. He'd never hurt anyone but himself on purpose.
I gave him a companion. Someone to talk to, and hang out with. A dog. Named Dog, of course.
So that's where the storyline has it's beginning. Not on that test flight, which actually happens chronologically towards the end of the tale. But in the desert. Somewhere within four hours of Las Vegas. Kind of a Groom Lake, Area 51-ish type place. Not specified. Good for doing things as you wish to do them.
I haven't yet posted the last three installments as I write this.
I got carried away and wrote the last one yesterday. An Epilogue that sort of wraps things up as far as the question of what was his ultimate disposition.
I'm satisfied with where it went. Although I have the urge to write more substance into the story.
As a matter of fact; looking at the fourteen installments, I have the bones of an actual story. Perhaps not a novel, certainly not THE novel. But I rather like it.
All over a crazy notion I had in my head five years ago, discussed breifly in a place we loved to call "The Room of Speculation".
The idea of going into Earth orbit with a Learjet having rocket motors tacked onto it, got me a sad strange look at that time. I can't blame them. It is a pretty daft idea.
Space actually begins (officially anyways, whatever that means) at an altitude of 50 miles. Get there, and you can persuade NASA, or the Air Force, or someone, to give you a set of Astronaut wings. Or whatever it is that they get. A little golden Mercury capsule perhaps?
I want one!
Know that even insanely bold airplanes such as the SR-71 in level flight, and various prototype aircraft performing what is known as a "Zoom climb", have not gotten over 100,000 feet (which is just under 19 miles). And all those aircraft, are specially built with high temp resistant skins, specialized motors and fuel. Plus the special life support systems for the pilot.
Plus the actual Earth escape velocity, pegged at somewhere around 25,000 miles per hour.
My best guess using Tennessee windage, would put a Learjet on either meltdown or break apart status at somewhere around Mach 2 or 3, given enough thrust. Assuming it could make it through the initial turbulence at the speed of sound, the air friction generating heat on the aluminum skin would eventually cause it to melt, fatigue, crack, etc.
You can see where the story would fall apart on technicalities if it went too far in one direction.
So is it delusion? Or fancy, high tech suicide for the character here?
I like to think it's just like all good mysteries in life.
Somewhere in the middle, where it's all hazy and grey.
Cheers, to crazy ideas, and what puts us up to them.
Should I tie myself to a so-called "poetry" format for my Fritz365 poetry blog?
Nah!
It started on January 8th, after I wrote a rather free form piece about some maniac testing out a highly, and questionably modified Lear jet.
After, or maybe during, writing it; I decided I should tell some kind of narrative about this guy. Why would he do such a mad thing?
I had to reason: Could a guy that was smart and talented enough to pull off such a feat, still be so delusional that he actually thinks that he has a chance at reaching actual Earth orbit, let alone the Moon?
Does it matter? Was it all just a fancy way to commit suicide for this guy from the very start?
So I gave him some motivation. A life long dream of being an astronaut, and specifically, reaching the moon himself.
I also gave him a disease. This was the motivation for him to sell all his worldly possessions and cash in any savings and retirement he had.
I gave him a timetable. He has a year, at most, left to live. And this unnamed disease has the bad form to get a little worse as it goes. So the last few months of it, are virtually useless for anything else other than sitting or laying around waiting to die.
I gave him no family. Or at least none that I mention. Did he up and leave a wife and kids behind? Taking all their money to fund this mad dream of his? I leave that up to speculation. But I suspect not. The character is too kind hearted for that. He'd never hurt anyone but himself on purpose.
I gave him a companion. Someone to talk to, and hang out with. A dog. Named Dog, of course.
So that's where the storyline has it's beginning. Not on that test flight, which actually happens chronologically towards the end of the tale. But in the desert. Somewhere within four hours of Las Vegas. Kind of a Groom Lake, Area 51-ish type place. Not specified. Good for doing things as you wish to do them.
I haven't yet posted the last three installments as I write this.
I got carried away and wrote the last one yesterday. An Epilogue that sort of wraps things up as far as the question of what was his ultimate disposition.
I'm satisfied with where it went. Although I have the urge to write more substance into the story.
As a matter of fact; looking at the fourteen installments, I have the bones of an actual story. Perhaps not a novel, certainly not THE novel. But I rather like it.
All over a crazy notion I had in my head five years ago, discussed breifly in a place we loved to call "The Room of Speculation".
The idea of going into Earth orbit with a Learjet having rocket motors tacked onto it, got me a sad strange look at that time. I can't blame them. It is a pretty daft idea.
Space actually begins (officially anyways, whatever that means) at an altitude of 50 miles. Get there, and you can persuade NASA, or the Air Force, or someone, to give you a set of Astronaut wings. Or whatever it is that they get. A little golden Mercury capsule perhaps?
I want one!
Know that even insanely bold airplanes such as the SR-71 in level flight, and various prototype aircraft performing what is known as a "Zoom climb", have not gotten over 100,000 feet (which is just under 19 miles). And all those aircraft, are specially built with high temp resistant skins, specialized motors and fuel. Plus the special life support systems for the pilot.
Plus the actual Earth escape velocity, pegged at somewhere around 25,000 miles per hour.
My best guess using Tennessee windage, would put a Learjet on either meltdown or break apart status at somewhere around Mach 2 or 3, given enough thrust. Assuming it could make it through the initial turbulence at the speed of sound, the air friction generating heat on the aluminum skin would eventually cause it to melt, fatigue, crack, etc.
You can see where the story would fall apart on technicalities if it went too far in one direction.
So is it delusion? Or fancy, high tech suicide for the character here?
I like to think it's just like all good mysteries in life.
Somewhere in the middle, where it's all hazy and grey.
Cheers, to crazy ideas, and what puts us up to them.
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