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Afterimage

Page 39

by Roderick Geiger


  “Seems to be holding at 28 degrees,” Ravinder announced, and coats started coming off.

  Petard, scanning the nearest stretch of beach a kilometer away, said suddenly: “Something’s moving.” He grabbed binoculars. “The whole beach is crawling! Sea turtles! Hundreds…of them!”

  Most of the observers had stepped onto the bridge deck, scanning the shore. Closest to the water, the Cook’s grass, normally growing in sparse tussocks 50 centimeters tall, had thickened into a continuous mat two meters thick. Further up, the Burnet and Plumosa were in full bloom, sweeping brushstrokes of lavender and white.

  Now the station itself came into view, its main structure, the commons building, overgrown with Storecrop and Starwort, the bungalows barely visible beneath this new tangle of vegetation.

  “My greenhouse!” Emilie shouted, dropping her binoculars. “Do you see? My trees have broken through the roof!”

  “I can almost see it growing,” Professor Rawls said. “What is going on here?”

  “Life is going on here,” Ishue said.

  About the Author

  Roderick Geiger is a journalist by training and trade, having worked for many years on a small-city daily and as a teacher of broadcast journalism.

  Journalists believe in communicative writing, not writing open to interpretation. The newswriter’s prime directive is to tell the story plainly and parsimoniously, with no room for doubt of meaning. It is not okay to let the reader “get whatever she wants or feels” out of the story. There is only the intended meaning, the communication, without which civilization will crumble into the dust whence it came.

  Journalists are concise but thorough, precise yet accurate, tending to avoid adjectives and superlatives which bias the intent. There is no colorful, flowery way to write a good newspaper story. So no surprise that some journalists pine over the lack of artistic expression afforded writers of “journalese.”

  Geiger had lots of time to think about these things while commuting from southern California to southern Oregon for work. He made this 650-mile trip some 50 times, often in the middle of the night, cruise-control set for 80. Not wanting to waste these many hours on mindless driving, Geiger spent the time productively, writing this novel (or rather thinking about it, then stopping briefly to jot notes, because writing while driving is, or should be, against the law).

  So it is no mistake that the first "Afterimage" character you meet is a small-city journalist.

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