text:
A NITROGEN OXIDE SENSOR or SENSOR is typically a high-temperature device built to detect nitrogen oxides in combustion environments such as an automobile, truck tailpipe or smokestack.

Overview

The term represents several forms of nitrogen oxides such as NO (nitric oxide), NO₂ (nitrogen dioxide) and N₂O (nitrous oxide, also known as laughing gas). In a gasoline engine, NO is the most common form of at around 93%, while NO₂ is around 5% and the rest is N₂O. There are other forms of such as N₂O₄ (the dimer of NO₂), which only exists at lower temperatures, and N₂O₅, for example. However, owing to much higher combustion temperatures due to high cylinder compression and turbo or supercharging, diesel engines produce much higher engine-out emissions than spark-ignition gasoline engines. The recent availability of Selective catalytic reduction (SCR) allows the properly equipped diesel engine to emit similar values of at the tailpipe compared to a typical gasoline engine with a 3-way catalyst. In addition, the diesel oxidation catalyst significantly increases the fraction of NO₂ in “” by oxidizing over 50% of NO using the excess oxygen in the diesel exhaust gases.

The drive to develop a sensor comes from environmental factors. gases can cause various problems such as smog and acid rain. Many governments around the world have passed laws to limit their emissions (along with other combustion gases such as SOx (oxides of sulfur), CO (carbon monoxide) and CO₂ (carbon dioxide) and hydrocarbons). Companies have realized that one way of minimizing emissions is to first detect them and then employ some sort of feedback loop in the combustion process, minimizing production by, for example, combustion optimization or regeneration of traps. Therefore in many applications with exhaust gas treatment systems one NOx sensor is used before the exhaust gas treatment system (upstream) and one sensor is used after the exhaust gas treatment system (downstream). The upstream sensor is used for the before mentioned feedback loop. The downstream sensor is used mainly to proof that legislations and the related emissions limits are met.

Challenges

Harsh environment

Due to the high temperature of the combustion environment, only certain types of material can operate _in situ_. The majority of sensors developed have been made out of ceramic type metal oxides, with the most common being yttria-stabilized zirconia (YSZ), which is currently used in the decades-old oxygen sensor. The YSZ is compacted into a dense ceramic and conducts oxygen ions (O2−) at the high temperatures of a tailpipe such at 400 °C and above. To get a signal from the sensor a pair of high-temperature electrodes such as noble metals (platinum, gold, or palladium) or other metal oxides are placed onto the surface and an electrical signal such as the change in voltage or current is measured as a function of concentration.

High sensitivity and durability required

The levels of NO are around 100–2000 ppm (parts per million) and NO₂ 20–200 ppm in a range of 1–10% O₂. The sensor has to be very sensitive to pick up these levels.

The main challenges in the sensor development are selectivity, sensitivity, stability, reproducibility, response time, limit of detection, and cost. In addition due to the harsh environment of combustion the high gas flow rate can cool the sensor which alters the signal or it can delaminate the electrodes over time and soot particles can degrade the materials.

title: Nitrogen oxide sensor

question: What main impact has the recent availability of selective catalytic reduction (SCR) made?

answer: It has reduced the carbon emission of diesel engine cars.


split: train

text:
His birthday was tomorrow and no matter how deep he dug, he couldn't seem to find a single emotion to help him figure how he felt about this. Nothing. A trait that had followed him for as long as he could remember. A trait pointed out to him by others as a weakness. He felt nothing for this either. He always found that he was gifted with his lack of emotion. He found it to be more of a strength. No sissy cry-baby nonsense ever held him back from his day-to-day. Nope. Whatever. Fuck 'em all. What did they know anyway? He wondered when the last time he had any kind of emotional outburst even was. Nothing. Tomorrow was the dawning of a new year though. "What's the fuckin difference?" he quietly thought to himself through a wrinkled brow upon his seemingly focused stare as he gazed out over the courtyard from the edge of his third floor balcony, stale flavored smoke slowly trickling up his face from the corners of his mouth, fingers unconsciously fiddling the semi-hard erection through the hole in the pocket of his old jeans. The same pair of jeans he had kept over the years as a reminder of his own inner strength. A reminder of the bad habits of yesteryear that he had kicked all by himself long ago. No lame ass meetings for this guy. Fuck no. Meetings are for emotional homos anyway. He sure did miss that lifestyle though. Boy, did he miss it. The excitement of that high always had a way of helping him get in touch with those evasive emotions of his. Those same emotions that people yelled at him for not having now. That same high that people looked down on him for having then. What's worse? Having people look down on you for doing what you want to do, or having them yell at you for doing what you think they want of you incorrectly? It didn't matter. He didn't want to go back to that sick and sordid past of his, but this snail's pace present didn't seem anymore intriguing.
Not even in the face of death itself could he bring himself to feel a twisted look of sadness or even muster up a single tear. Fuck it. "Aah, what's the fuckin' use anyway?" he muttered out loud to himself as he loosened the knot and removed the 50-foot safety-orange extension cord from his neck. Not today. Not in front of all these neighbors. It was bad enough that he had been secretly fondling his penis just a few yards above a bunch of kids playing in the courtyard. He didn't need to interrupt their games with offing himself. Not today. He may not feel emotions, but he still knows the difference between right & wrong. Not gonna traumatize any kids today. No, sir. Not today. Might as well go inside, ruin another Hot Pocket, draw the shades, and finish off this semi alone in the dark. Best to whack this groundhog while it's seein' its shadow anyhow. Could be 6 more weeks before another bloom. Best to appreciate little things when opportunity erects itself. Doesn't happen like it used to. Besides, what else is an almost 30 year-old emotionless dildo salesman gonna do on the day before his birthday? Suicide's for emotional homos anyway.

title: An Apathetic Abeyance (feedback welcome)

question: Who is the main character?

answer: He seems to be a thirty-year-old man who has internalized ideas about what and whom he should be, as a man.

question: Why is tomorrow special/relevant to the main character?

answer: It's his birthday.

question: What is the date?

answer: It seems to be around Groundhog's day, so some time in February.

question: What does he mean by "meetings?"

answer: He could mean an AA meeting, or perhaps a NA meeting.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The main character is smoking on a balcony, ruminating on his past in light of the fact that tomorrow is his birthday, and wondering if another year even matters.


text:
Run. Stop. Run. Take a deep breath. Run some more. This is basically my night. I really shouldn't have taken up Gary's offer to hang out. I mean, I love Gary, he's really awesome. However, his friends, they're huge douche bags. They're always wanting to start some shit. Whether it be a fight with some random guy, or getting arrested for shoplifting, they're always in something. They just had to drag me into it. I swear to God, if I make it out of this night, I am beating their white asses into the ground.

I guess I should really start at the beginning, I do that a lot, get ahead of myself I mean. Gary lives two streets away from me, so I sort of grown up with the kid. We're 14 now. He started hanging out with the jackasses: Josh, Barry, and Mitchel, when he was about 13. At first. they seemed alright. Then they started to "live on the edge" as they like to say it. Anyways, Gary asked me to hang out with him tonight, since I was home alone, and I had nothing better to do, so I joined him. While I was expecting to just watch some movies and talk, his friends wanted to go start some shit, again.

I get there and they are already discussing how they wanna "live" today. Barry suggesting to go steal some stuff, while Josh wants to go get pick up some chicks.(All three of these assholes are swagfags by the way.) However, Mitchel actually had a legit idea; graffiti. An interesting idea from such a jackass, comes once in a blue moon. It seemed actually like a fun idea. I've always wanted to do something like that. I just want my opinion to be out in the world, to be honest. After everyone agreed and we got the things together, we set out to have an adventure.

Two hours later and we'll in alleys pasting pictures of war and words. Of course, Josh had to go and start being an idiot. He was throwing colors on to the wall and drawing penises and other dirty drawings. I tried to ignore it, until he dumped paint on top of my head. I was drenched in neon blue paint and holy shit, was I mad. I grabbed a pale of pink and threw it all over his shirt. In a matter of seconds, everyone started throwing paint on each other and started to laugh way to loudly.Porch lights went on and people came out. People started to yell, "We're calling the police!" But it took a few seconds to register what they were saying. Before we knew it, the police cars were being heard and we took off like lightning. "Shit, shit!" Was all I kept on saying as we sprinted in the opposite directions of the cars.

Corner after corner we turned hoping to lost the police. My heart started to beat faster and faster as we heard the sirens get closer closer. Gary soon yelled out, "SHIT." As we saw police cars coming towards you. We cut through lawn after lawn hoping to find a safe haven. All of us started to lose speed and Mitchell soon began to work, as he panted. More and more police cars began to swarm around us. Not knowing what else to do, I simply started to sprint in some random direction. The police had to deal with the other boys, since they had a record and I didn't. Street after street I passed, until I finally reached my home. I flew open the door and shut it with a loud bang. I found a mirror and looking myself over, I was covered in neon blue paint that dried over my head, my jeans have been ripped and I had small cuts from running through bushes. I couldn't help but chuckle at my appearance. This sure was one hell of a night, that I don't want to relive.

title: Here's a second story. Reviews? Be honest, bro.

question: What does the story say about how the narrator spends the evening?

answer: The narrator, his friend Gary, and Gary's problematic friends decide to drow graffiti. One of Garry's friends starts throwing paint, and the other join him so, in a matter of seconds, everyone started throwing paint at each other and started to laugh loudly. The police come, and they run in the opposite directions of the cars. The narrator manages to reach his home.

question: What does the story say about the narrator's relationship with Gary?

answer: The narrator loves Gary but cannot stand his problematic friends. Gary lives two streets away from the narrator. They grew up together.

question: What does the story say about the narrator's and Gary's school?


text:
I knew the location of every gun in my father’s house. I knew the rifle, concealed innocently in a long, red case with a thick black strap that might belong to a guitar or a golf caddy, was lodged in the left-hand corner of the closet in our spare bedroom. I knew the handgun, the infamous Walther PPK, was stored in a locked box in the closet of my parents’ bedroom, placed innocuously beside shoeboxes and old electronics cases.
I spent most of my childhood in my own mind, grandmother strewn across our sofas, hand upon her head, sighing theatrically as if she had just been in a freak car accident that landed her perfectly across the couches in front of the “As the World Turns”. Her house was located directly next to mine and she would often walk back and forth between them to the point where she beat a trail through both of our lawns, leaving me to eat 84 spoonfuls of sugar and bolt around the house, opening each drawer, closet, and box hoping to find *something*.
I could not be blessed enough in that I never found my parents’ 1973 pornos or anything remotely close to that, but I did find many a pair of ridiculously over-sized glasses and a single pair of the most amusing wine-cork-looking clog/platform shoe-embodiment-of-the-70’s that I have ever seen.
My father never talked much about his guns other than to show me what they looked like. I must have been 14 or 15, right about the time my depression hit full force. Perhaps he caught on to this, as we always seemed to have a silent understanding of each other, and perhaps this is why he declined when I asked if he would show me how to shoot a gun, you know, for self-defense.
I tried to have this conversation again at 18, leaving for college with the scars now mostly faded across my arms, wrists, hips, legs, and shoulders. I was turned down again, though my mother backed me up this time, saying I SHOULD know how to use a gun should an intruder take flight and suddenly burst his way through my 4th floor window.
Five more years have passed since then and I have self-destructed in a number of ways, but I am drawn back to the same allure, the same pining curiosity I felt when I saw the deep red rifle bag as a child. Pills crushed and insufflated into my right nostril, more swallowed, and more chewed, I type out a suicide note on my iPhone 5 and can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of what I am actually doing. The horrible, childish font trying so hard to convey the racing thoughts and the complexities of my mind, framed by the obnoxious lined yellow paper pad template, as if anybody uses those in real life anymore. I revised it a few times, cried until I dry heaved and passed out.
This morning, I woke up crying. I scoured the house that isn’t mine, hoping to find my uncle’s guns – if I was lucky, I could finally hold the same Walther that my father has. I opened drawers to auntie’s panties, assorted junk (though I did score a sweet watch and $100), and more church pamphlets than Fred Phelps has on hand, but I finally see a black locked box in the corner of the closet.
I skid on my knees and rip the dusty box out of its home and tug it into my bedroom, where I gingerly place it on my desk and look for any markings that might tell me what’s inside, and how to crack it open. I see the word “Gerlach” on the bottom right corner. Sounds sort of German, hopefully it’ll be a finely crafted handgun. Maybe there will be bullets inside already? I am genuinely giddy with delight, but after 5 minutes of excited google searching, I realize that I have in front of me an apparently *very* fine set of Polish cutlery

title: Misfiring of neuronal triggers

question: What 1970s artifacts are found?

answer: Platform clog shoes.

question: Why doesn't the narrator know how to shoot a gun?

answer: Because the narrator's father refused to teach the narrator, presumably aware of the narrator's (self-)destructive tendencies.

question: Summarize the final scene.

answer: The narrator takes a dusty box into their bedroom, imagining dangerous contents, only to be disappointed by evidence that it contains a cutlery set.

question: What happened first, chronologically - the narrator developed depression or discovered the platform shoes?

answer: It isn't clear precisely when the narrator discovered the shoes, but it is mentioned in conjunction with the narrator's childhood, which is before the adolescent onset of depression.

question: To what does the title refer?

answer: 'Misfiring of neuronal triggers' most likely refers to the narrator's struggles with mental health.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator searches the family home for access to guns, which the narrator has been denied for safety reasons. Excitement builds at the discovery of a dusty box, but it is revealed to contain a set of cutlery.


text:
Richard Hale lifted a fresh cigarette to his mouth.  His feet on his desk, his papers scattered about, he inhaled the fresh nicotine and exhaled heavily.  There was a knock.  With a sigh, Richard unseated himself and sauntered over to the frosted glass door.

“It’s Mickey,” came the voice from the other side.

Richard closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sucking in as much as he could before opening the door.

“We’ve got a new case,” Mickey explained.

“That so?”

Mickey nodded.  “Morphine.”

Richard stared out the window to the streets of L.A., a trail of smoke rolling off his lips. “Again?” he asked, slightly frustrated.

“Again,” Mickey confirmed.  “Say, Richard, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t smoke in the office.  And I’d rather you didn’t at all, it’s really not a good habit.”

Richard turned to look at his partner of seven years.  His movements slow and methodical, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth once more, eyeing Mickey and blowing a stream of smoke up into the air.  After one last puff, he smothered the flame and disposed of the cigarette.

“Thank you,” said Mickey.  Richard seated himself once more, leaning back and resting his size nine leather shoes on the cluttered desk.  Mickey cleared his throat.  “I have a few leads,” he stated.  Richard gave an inquisitive look.  “About the case,” he continued, “I believe I know who the supplier is.”

Richard stood.  “Lead the way.”

Mickey stepped outside and into his Chevrolet Styleline, Richard following at a steady pace.  The car slowly accelerated, as Mickey was careful about his things, particularly his car.  They sat in silence, other than a single attempt by Mickey to initiate conversation.  Eventually, they arrived at a bar downtown.  Mickey led the way inside.

The bar was filled with cigar smoke, and Richard took this as an invitation to light up one of his own.  Mickey dared not say a word, and ignored his partner’s actions as he sauntered over to a table occupied by three men.  He sat down, leaving Richard to stand, as there were only four seats.

Richard swore he had seen the man in the middle before.  The pale, round face and striking blue eyes screamed of familiarity, but Richard failed to determine from where.  Mickey initiated conversation.

“How’ve you been, Ballard?”

The man across from Mickey gestured towards Richard.  “Who’s this,” he asked in strong a Bostonian accent.

“This,” replied Mickey, “is my partner Richard.” Richard’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t like him.”

Mickey turned to Richard, a pleading look in his eyes.  “Could you wait out in the car?  I’ll be ten minutes or less.”  Richard looked at the two man and left the room without acknowledging either man.  Minutes later, Mickey emerged.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized.  “Tom is… uncomfortable around strangers.”

“What I’m more concerned about is why you don’t fall under that category.”

They drove in silence until arriving back at the office.  “Don’t wait for me,” Richard instructed. “I’m in no mood to go home to my wife.”

“That’s not a good attitude to have.”

“Don’t lecture me, Michael.”

Once inside, Richard sat down at his desk and closed his eyes.  He enjoyed being in the office, it being the calmest place he knew, but was only able to grasp a moment of respite before being interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.  With a sigh, he answered it.  A woman’s voice on the other end went into details about a case.

“Hold on,” said Richard, “I need a pen.”

Richard set the phone down and opened a drawer.  He fiddled with papers, but found nothing, so he reached over to Mickey’s filing cabinet.

It was the first time Richard had ever looked into Mickey’s filing cabinet, which was always kept locked.  Fortunately for Richard, the key had been left sitting directly on top of it.  Opening the top drawer, Richard peered inside.

“Son of a bitch,” Richard muttered to himself under his breath, as inside, bound together with a rubber band, labeled “T.B.,” was nothing but a three inch high pile of cash.  He leafed through it… all twenties.  Richard closed the drawer and went back to the phone.

“I’m going to have to call you back.”

Before the woman could protest, Richard hung up the phone and dialed his partner’s number.

----------

The night was quiet as the clock struck ten.  Far from downtown Los Angeles, Richard Hale stood, waiting.  A car passed, then another.  Neither was the one he was waiting to see.  Thunder rumbled in the distance, yet not a drop of rain had fallen.  He slid his hands into his coat pockets, feeling the items within.  The smooth paper in the left, the cold metal in the right.

Richard heard another car and looked up. A maroon Styleline rolled to a stop in front of him.  Out stepped a man.

“What’s so urgent?”

Richard drew his left hand from his pocket, revealing the stack of bills.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

Richard watched as the man’s face twisted.  He motioned for Richard to approach him.  Richard obliged, and watched as the trunk of the car opened.  He glanced inside, then back at the man before him.

“You know,” the man said.  “I can get you in on this.”

Richard glared.  “I thought… I thought you were better than this.”

The man’s face twisted into a wicked grin, a grin far different from the one Richard had known for so long.  “Every man has his price,” he said, grinning at the ground as rain began to fall.  He looked up.  “What’s yours?”

Richard pulled his right hand out of his coat, the object within in his grasp.  The man’s smile disappeared, his eyes widened.

“No… Richard, please, no.”

Richard shook his head in disgust.  “You were a good partner.”

The streetlights cast a shadow on the streets of LA.  As the rain poured, a figure in a trench coat walked off into the distance, alone.

Richard Hale lifted a fresh cigarette to his mouth.

title: An attempt at something dark [1,018 words] - Feedback greatly appreciated

question: What does the article say about what the protagonist does for a living?

answer: The protagonist is implied to be a police detective. He works in an office with a desk and papers scattered about. His partner Mickey informs him they have a new case. Morphine. And he knows who the supplier is. They go to a shady club where Mickey meets a criminal-type guy named Tom Ballard who doesn't want to interact with Richard because he's unknown to him. Richard is uneasy about how Mickey doesn't fit that description. Later, Richard finds an envelop labeled "T.B" probably for "Tom Ballard" filled with thousands of dollars in twenties. When Richard confronts Mickey, Mickey tries convincing him to join him on Ballard's payroll. It's then implied that Richard shoots Mickey and walks away.


text:
As my eyes open, blinded by the light coming from the window, I drag myself from the cozy warmth of my bed and stagger to the bathroom. When I get to the bathroom I splash some water on my face and look at myself in the mirror. I look like I have been dragged through hell and back. As I’m looking in the mirror, I notice a shadow from behind the shower curtain.
“Jason? Is that you?”

No reply.

I approach the curtain and throw it aside. Standing in the shower is my roommate, his eyes bloodshot and swollen and teeth blackened from years of smoking and poor hygiene. Then I smelt and saw something terrible. His body had begun to rot away from his bones. My eyes widened as I realized what had happened. He had been infected.

It was at that moment that I knew I was in trouble.

I flee from the bathroom in a terrified frenzy, slamming the door behind me, and run to my room where I frantically get dressed and grab the survival kit I keep in the wardrobe. Hearing the noises coming from the bathroom, I leave the house and walk out onto the empty street. With nothing but my backpack filled with food and ammunition, my trusty sawn-off shotgun and my ever faithful baseball bat, I start walking away from my house, hearing it burn behind me.

After hours of walking, I finally get to the Pine Hills shopping Centre, as I enter the centre, I can feel the eyes of hundreds of people staring at me. My heart begins to pound and I can feel my adrenalin rising as I see that everyone is rotting away before my eyes. I panic and pull out my shotgun and begin to let loose. With each shot fired, I see mangled bodies drop to the floor, but each dead body that falls is replaced by multiple living ones. As the infected start surrounding me, I decide that it is time that I got out of here, so without thinking I run down the corridor, only to find that the infected are coming at me from both directions.  I draw my baseball bat from my back pack and make a mad dash for the exit, bodies crumpling in my wake. I finally make it outside, but I don’t stop running, I can’t stop, I have to get away from here.

After what feels like hours, I have to stop running and rest. Taking the last sip from my water bottle, I notice that it’s starting to get dark and that I need to sleep. After walking for about an hour, I find a house that looks deserted and decide to seek refuge in its walls. Warily I enter the house and walk to the nearest room, to my surprise there is a king sized bed with clean covers and a small fridge next to it. Looking in the fridge I find an unlabeled bottle of liquid, I open it and am instantly hit with a wave of sensory delights.  I smile to myself and take a swig of the bottles contents, its warmth travelling through my body and making my fingertips tingle. After emptying the bottle down my throat, I fall asleep.

Woken by the blinding light, I think I am home in my own bed, only to find that three large men in white uniforms are shining torches in my eyes. Ignoring my efforts to escape, they drag me almost effortlessly to their van and throw me into the back, my head hitting the steel seat inside and knocking me unconscious.

Once again by bright lights, I find myself strapped to a cold steel table in a white room. I can just hear the men in white talking from outside the door.
“According to his driver’s license, this guy’s name is Mitchell Cameron, He’s a Iraq veteran from Pine Hills, that little town a few miles away..” said the first man in white.
“I thought he looked familiar!” exclaimed the second man, “he was in the news a few months ago, apparently he had some sort of mental breakdown and set fire to his girlfriend’s dog.”
Hearing this sends me into a panic. I can feel the straps loosening as I struggle against them. After hours of struggling, I am free. I leave the white room, only to find myself in a white corridor, feeling extremely disoriented, I stumble down the corridor just to find myself at a dead end. I turn and see the three men in white at the other end of the corridor, one holding a large syringe and the others holding stun guns. I run at them. They yell “Sir you are having a mental breakdown! Please stop so we can help you!” but I know better, I can tell they are lying. As I get closer I see their rotting bodies and prepare myself for a fight. Unarmed, I am defenseless and outnumbered. The men pin me to the ground with ease and inject me with the purple liquid in the syringe. The room starts to spin and go black.
After what feels like years of sleep, I finally wake up, Strapped to the table once again. I can hear voices from the corridor. “Mitchell Cameron was found in a young couple’s house last night and has been charged with the murders of 83 men, women and children in yesterday’s Pine Mall Massacre.  He is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress and will remain here in the Northwood mental asylum until further notice.”
Not believing the lies of the infected scum, I free myself from my restraints, but instead of attempting to run down the corridor again, I have no other option but to find a different means of escape. I tip the table on its side and tie one of the restraints onto its leg. I then slip the loop around my neck and take my final breath.

title: Perspectives (998 words)

question: Explain the motivations a kidnapper might have had for taking the narrator.

answer: It is unclear how and why the kidnappers found the narrator. Perhaps he has wanted, or there was a warrant out for his arrest due to a previous breakdown. He allegedly had set fire to his ex's dog, so she likely phoned the police. She might have clued them into his current whereabouts, but he could have also had no recollection of his crime, and maybe he hadn't been on the lam. It is likely that after the massacre he allegedly committed, there were advertisements calling for tips to lead to his capture, but the course of action the narrator took between his actions and when he is found are not detailed.

question: Why might the narrator, Mitchell, not recall anything about the heinous crime he is thought to have committed?

answer: The "kidnappers" state that he has had a mental breakdown. They also say that he was stationed in Iraq, so presumably he's not only a military veteran, but one who saw combat. He might have been exposed to a lot of traumatic events-maybe he even took part in them-and cannot bear to remember. Dissociation is common for survivors, and that could mean he has no concrete recollection of who he is or what he's done.

question: Why do you think that the man so quickly opted to try to kill himself?


text:
Deliver, scan 06:05. Deliver, scan 08:17. Deliver, scan 09:10. Deliver, scan 09:54. Deliver, scan 13:12. Deliver, scan 18:34.

18:52

Six newborns today to six sets of parents; a clean day, no twins would need to be separated. The last child, a boy, was delivered at 18:34 today, just making the final cut of the day before the clock struck 19:00. These six infants will wake up tomorrow out of the hospital and in new homes to their new parents. Some will be reunited with their biological parents; others will end up in completely new homes. That decision will fall on the lottery now. Once the baby is delivered, it is out of our hands, it is out of the parents’ hands; fate guides all.

It has worked this way since the machines were introduced in 2025. The baby is delivered and immediately taken from the parents into an isolation room. The newborn is scanned, receives two options, and is put to be fed, cleaned, and laid down with all the other newborns of that day until the lottery begins.

The newborn will always receive two options. There is ‘option A’ the good news, the option we all hope will become the truth. And of course, there is ‘option B’ the bad news, the ultimate worst. At first they were called ‘positive’ and ‘negative’, but too many parents were leaving their children in the care of the hospital, placing too heavy a connotation on the ‘negative’ aspect. We have found that providing parents ‘options’ allows them the illusion of choice.

In the last thirty-nine years not a single child has procured himself an adulthood that has not proved one of the options true. The machines are foolproof in the sense that one of two will be fulfilled. However, with every machine comes a unique disparity.

Our machine predicts ‘option A’ correctly 82% of the time. Not as good as other area hospitals with 90% success rates, but better than the others that can only guarantee a 64% chance. It is those lucky ones that hit ‘option A’ who run the world as we know it today. If an infant is unfortunate enough to hit their ‘option B’, well… we’re lucky enough to be operating at 82%

“Doctor” the nurse called from the hallway as she walked towards the shut office door, “It is after 19:00, the parents need to be informed and the lottery must begin.”

Getting up out of this chair and walking those fifty feet to where the parents await could feel as if you were walking for days. This walk that feels like days is one that takes place every day in hospitals around the world. We are always walking, always.

19:09

“Parents, thank you for your patience. You are all well aware of how we are going to be managing this system.” The speech is always the same, learned as a code, an oath, by every Doctor whom this task is given to.

“A lottery has already taken place, and you know whether you are number one, number six, or any number in between. You know that we cannot inform you how the lottery system works, or which child is your offspring.” The words fall off my tongue flawlessly as my mind drifts to what is on the dinner menu tonight.

“We can only inform you of what their options entail, and it is up to you make your decision. Remember, this hospital runs at an 82% success rate, so please keep that in mind. You have the choice of selecting a child, or passing, and we will not leave this room until all the parents have taken their choice. If a child is left in the care of the hospital by the end, the parents will have a chance to claim this child along with the one they have already chosen.”

“Let us begin.”

21:20

The lottery always takes longer than it should. Two future professional athletes, a future diplomat, a police chief, and a successful entrepreneur were all given new homes.

 ‘option B’ scenarios tend to blur together as the days go by. Murders, war criminals, even those who will suffer from psychosis. We encourage the families not to hang their heads on these 18%, yet most days we end up with a child who will not have a home, and parents who will have to wait another year to try.

Today was no different. Five adopted children, and one that will remain in the care of the hospital.

‘option A’ Olympian. ‘option B’ child molester, 18%.

This newborn, the one who was delivered at 08:17 is now in the care of the hospital, and his options will not pan out. Those who are left in the care of the hospital are trained to become a Doctor.

There is no glamour in this job as there is no pain. The ultimate neutral, the middle ground between ‘option A’ and ‘option B.’ Going through life knowing you were left there by all potential parents, the unwanted. Growing up knowing your ‘option B’ was so bad it turned everyone away.

Pain.

One bright side to this life of a neutral comes on your 25th birthday when you finish your training, and are introduced to the system, how the lottery works, and why the machines were brought in. The Doctors are the only ones who know, the only ones who will ever know.

In twenty-five years the baby delivered at 08:17 this morning will know. He will know how the system works, and he will learn what his options were to get a feel of what potential parents choose not to select. He will have to live from age twenty-five on knowing what his life could have been, and what it became instead.

We are given no names, only the title of ‘Doctor’ and enough knowledge to keep the system moving.

My title is Doctor. I know how the system works. I was born with two options, as was everyone else who was born on this planet since 2025, in a hospital that guaranteed an 86% ‘option A’ success rate. All eight parents that day passed on me, and I was left in the care of the hospital. My fates were unique in the sense that they were identical.

Had I not been left at the hospital, today I would be the leader of the world.

My title is Doctor.

title: I've Never Really Tried Creative Writing, but an Idea Struck me Today, and I went with It (1,072 words)

question: Identify a contextual error in the story.

answer: The use of the word option in the narrative implies a choice by either the infant or the parents, though it means neither. The option refers to one of two potential futures for the child, and this is not an outcome that any party can predict. As such, the use of the word option makes the concept difficult to understand. This is made worse by the phrasing of "The newborn will always receive two options" and "providing parents ‘options’ allows them the illusion of choice" creates a significantly different context than what the narrative is trying to say. It is not until much later in the story that this is made clear.


text:
my life seems to be in a perpetual state of crumbling decay. I sometimes wander to safe, untouched parts of my life. But those places don’t stay pristine for long as slowly, but surely, the same decay that existed in my previous experiences begins to destroy anything that shines in my life. It seems as though everything in my life has a dull, lackluster coating. Even the sun once warming rays seem to just push me away, as if trying to keep me from infecting anyone elses lives with my disease. But I don’t want to die.

I wish I could say I wasn’t always this way. I wish I could point to the time, the event, that brought me to this lonely state... but sadly no matter how far back I look, my life seems to be haunted by this slow decay. My only rest came from escapes to other worlds through various medias. Movies were the first. I could get lost in the action on the screen, the issues the actors had became my issues. But the illusion would always end quickly and abruptly. And soon after the same state of depression would settle in, only to remind me that my life and world will never be like the one I just experienced. About the same time as I was getting into movies, I picked up reading and video games. This also helped to transport me to new and exciting worlds that haven’t been corrupted by my presence. Books in a series became a drug. I would read one book after another, faster and faster, trying to experience so much of this new world that it might hopefully drown the one I currently exist in. Waiting for the next one to be released was hell. I would try to read ones I had already finished, much like a heroine addict using an old needle trying to get any remaining drops into his system. But then it happened. I finished the final chapter of the final book in the series I cared most about. The world was over. Sure I could daydream about what the character were doing, but it would be in a world that I create, and doomed to be destroyed by my infection.

The author had unknowingly and unintentionally sent me to hell. I tried to reconcile by watching new movies, but with each credit roll of every film I watched I sank further into despair. For each film watched was another world lost or doomed to be devoured by my crushing darkness. But there was hope. I still don’t want to die. Video games seemed to sustain my thirst for the longest but weren’t quite as strong as movies and books as the persons populating the world had trouble with believability. But a renaissance of sorts happened in the video game world, where suddenly characters acted like people. One series in particular caught my attention. It’s world was filled with people you cared about. And they followed you through all three games of the series and game you reasons to care about said individuals. It was amazing. And then it ended... In a blaze of glory for the betterment of everyone, I gave all to save all. Sure, it was just my video game avatar that died. But it took what feels like the rest of my soul with it. The end of that series took away good friends. Friends that I could always talk to. A best friend that followed me through thick and thin. A significant other that always wanted me safe. And all of it was wiped away. It took away such a huge part of me that I refused to believe that it actually happened. That there was some, secret ending that revealed another game was coming out.

But it never came. My hero died, *but I didn’t want to die.* That series was the nail on the coffin. Now every medium I used to escape was tainted. I’ve gone from movie, to book, to video game, trying to capture what I know I once felt. But the corrosion always seems to arrive the moment I land on some other world. It’s maddening. I’ve been contemplating of other actions that can numb my mind to what's around me, but I know these methods will only bring me back to the same place I started, or someplace worse. But I still don’t want to die. At least I don’t think so. I have noticed that I made a rather frightening purchase a while ago. I bought a pistol. Impulse. I had no intention of buying it, but for some reason I was drawn to it. Something about how the metal’s hint of shine. A shine that reminded me of a place I had been before. A part of my life that was once filled with such hope. It felt natural in my hands. Not too heavy, but definitely sturdy enough for heavy use.

I bought it and a case of ammo. Like all new things I buy, I tend to open them up in the car on the way home. It’s a sense of excitement that everyone feel when they purchase a new toy of sorts. by the time I arrived home, I had already loaded a full magazine and had placed one round in the other. I left the gun in my car, bringing only one magazine with me into my home. Fast forward a few days. I was having trouble sleeping one night, so I decided to go for a drive. I drove for a few hours out to the middle of nowhere. I had a blanket in the back for emergency purposes, but decided to pull it out, lay on the ground, and watch the stars. And there it was. The cold black metal slightly reflecting the interior car lights. I grabbed the handgun, the reason I told myself that an animal might attack me and I don’t want to die. So I layed there on the blanket, back on the ground, eyes to the sky. And gun still in hand.

I layed there in silence and without a thought for about an hour when I first noticed it. *I don’t want to die*. It was a phrase that I had said all my life. It was just something I would repeat in my head without any real reason for being said. But for the first time, I noticed it wasn’t just a simple statement; It was a reply. I spoke it again, this time outloud. *“I don’t want to die.”*  I could feel my hand tighten around the grip of gun. *“I Don’t Want to Die.”*  I sat up with the gun in my lap, shining with the light of the moon and stars. *“I DON'T WANT TO DIE.”*  The gun sat there. Tempting me with it’s shine, a shine I wanted so dearly in my life. Multiple thoughts were racing through my head at this point. Phrases “Do it! You deserve this rest! End your suffering!” coursed through my mind. Were these thoughts always there? Were they caused by my corrosive curse? Or were they the very thoughts that caused the pain I was in? ***“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”*** The barrel felt cold, lifeless. And in one fell motion, I threw the gun away from myself. *“I don’t want to die... I don’t want to die...”* Sweating, I repeated the phrase over and over. *“I don’t want to die... I don’t want to die...”*

I drove home with the radio off that morning, gun in the passenger seat. When I got home, I pulled the bullet out of the magazine, placed the gun and magazines in the safe, and lost the key. I don’t know why I didn't just leave the gun. The bullet... well... I've made it safe. Pulled the primer and drained the powder through drilled holes on the side. Engraved my name in the copper, pulled a string through the new holes and made a necklace out of it. I could have died that night. This necklace helps me remember that I was stronger than that. This bullet was meant to end my life, but now I hope it gives me strength to keep it. It’s got a certain shine...  *“and I don’t want to die...”*

title: Shine

question: What is the central message of the story?

answer: It's possible to beat depression and cling to life.

question: What methods does the protagonist use against their depression?

answer: Movies, books, and videogames offer ways of escape.

question: Explain how the protagonist finally manages to get free of depression.

answer: They come close to committing suicide without thinking much about it and realize that something they repeated many times in their life, "I don't want to die", is real.

question: How does the protagonist symbolize their victory against depression?

answer: They hollow out a bullet with their name on them, turning it into a necklace as a reminder of dodging that bullet.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The protagonist suffers through depression their whole life. Movies, books, and videogames offer escape but eventually fail. They buy a gun on impulse and carry it with them on a night drive. Lying on a blanket in the night, gun in hand, they realize that they don't want to die. They turn the bullet in the chamber into a necklace, hollowing it out and engraving their name on it, to symbolize their dodging of that bullet.


text:
[“Wonder Why My Parents Didn't Give Me Salk Shots?”, the cartoon for which Little received the Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Cartooning] THOMAS “TOM” LITTLE (September 27, 1898 – June 20, 1972)[1] was an American editorial cartoonist. Working for _The Nashville Tennessean_, he won the Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Cartooning in 1957.

Biography

Little was born in Snatch (now called Peytonsville) in an extremely rural part of Williamson County, Tennessee.[2][3] His father died when he was two, and his family lived with his grandfather, who taught Little to draw before he could even write. His first job was picking potatoes for 50 cents a day, but the next year he entered the news business at age nine by folding issues of the _Williamson County News_.[4]

Little studied at the Watkins Institute (1912–15) and the Montgomery Bell Academy (1917–18).[5] He joined the _Tennessean_ in 1916 and became a police reporter there in 1919.[6] His tenure at the paper was interrupted by service in the US Army (at 5'2", he was rejected by the US Marines for being underweight) and a year (1923–24) as a reporter and cartoonist at the syndicate of the _New York Herald Tribune_.[7]

Prompted by his mother's illness, he returned to the _Tennessean_.[8] He became city editor in 1931, but following a dispute with the publisher he left that post in 1937.[9][10] He began drawing editorial cartoons for the _Tennessean_ in 1934 and drew exclusively after abandoning editing and reporting in 1937. He had been tutored by fellow Pulitzer winner Carey Orr before Orr left for the _Chicago Tribune_ in 1917, but a stronger influence was the work of another winner, Dan Fitzpatrick of the _St. Louis Post-Dispatch_. His drawing style resembled Fitzpatrick's and the work of both men was noted for biting content.[11] For his part, Fitzpatrick disliked the resemblance and considered Little an “imitator”.[12] Little became one of the most influential and republished cartoonists in the US.[13] His Pulitzer-winner cartoon featured a young boy with crutches and leg braces watching other boys play football, and is captioned “Wonder why my parents didn't give me Salk shots?”[14][15]

In addition to the Pulitzer, Little won a National Headliner Award in 1948, a Christopher Award in 1953, and a Freedoms Foundation Medal in 1955 and 1956.[16][17]

Beginning in 1934, Little collaborated with Tom Sims (writer of _Popeye_) on a single panel comic strip for King Features called _Sunflower Street_, depicting the lives of rural African-Americans. Though well-intentioned, the strip was cancelled in 1949 for fear that the strip would be viewed as condescending and draw racially based complaints.[18]

Little married Helen Dahnke of Union City, TN (1900-1938) in 1927;[19] she was an editor for _The Nashville Tennessean_.

Little retired in 1970.[20]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19] “Tennessee, State Marriage Index, 1780-2002,” index, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/pal:/MM9.1.1/VNXV-MBP : accessed 01 Sep 2014), Tom Little and Helen Dahnke, 19 Oct 1927; citing “Tennessee State Marriages, 1780-2002,” Ancestry.com; p. 26, Obion, Tennessee, United States, State Library and Archives, Nashville.

[20]

title: Tom Little (cartoonist)

question: Summarize the beginning of Little's life.

answer: The beginning of Little's life started out rough as his father died when he was two, and his first job was picking potatoes for 50 cents a day. Little also grew up in an extremely rural part of Tennessee. Little's next job a year later was folding issues at the Williamson County News.

question: What point in this story showed some tension for Little?

answer: Towards the end of the text, when Little is stated to have collaborated with Tom Sims, is there some tension to be seen. Little collaborated with Tom Sims on a single panel comic strip which depicted the lives of rural African-Americans. This strip was well-intentioned, but was canceled due to the fear that the strip would be viewed as condescending.

question: Summarize Little's job experiences.

answer: Little's first job was picking potatoes for 50 cents a day, which he then moved on to folding issues at the Williamson County News. Little then joined the Tennessean in 1916 as a police reporter. During this role, he went for service at the US Army, but a year later became a reporter and cartoonist at the syndicate of the New York Herald Tribune. Due to a family emergency, Little went back to working at the Tennessean as a city editor, but left that post due to a dispute. Finally, Little abandoned editing and reporting and start to draw editorial cartoons for the Tennessean, which lead to many awards for his career.

question: What role could Little play during his retirement?


text:
The PICO DO ITAMBÉ STATE PARK () is a state park in the state of Minas Gerais, Brazil. It protects one of the higher peaks in the state.

Location

The Pico do Itambé State Park is divided between the municipalities of Santo Antônio do Itambé, Serro and Serra Azul de Minas in Minas Gerais. It has an area of . It is from Belo Horizonte. The word “Itambé” is of indigenous origin and means “sharp stone”. The park protects the Serra do Espinhaço, a mountain range. The highest peak is the Pico do Itambé, a major landmark of the state. It contains various springs and headwaters of the Jequitinhonha and Doce rivers.

History

The Pico do Itambé State Park was created by decree 39.398 of 21 January 1998. It is administered by the Instituto Estadual de Florestas of Minas Gerais. The park became part of the Espinhaço Mosaic of conservation units, created in 2010.

Environment

The park has a typical tropical climate with a dry season from June to August and a rainy season from November to March. The highest parts of the Serra do Espinhaço have mild temperatures year round, with an annual average of about . The vegetation includes high rocky fields and cerrado, with luxuriant rainforest in the valley floors.

The park is in the transition between the Atlantic Forest and cerrado biomes. It includes rupestrian vegetation, grasslands, cerrado and seasonal forest. Flora include _Anadenanthera colubrina_, _Copaifera langsdorffii_, _Dalbergia nigra_, _Handroanthus albus_, _Eremanthus erythropappus_, _Trattinnickia burseraefolia_, _Calophyllum brasiliense_, _Byrsonima crassifolia_, _Vellozia squamata_ and various species endemic to the region. A new bromeliad was discovered in the rocky cliffs of the Fumaça waterfall in 2007, named _Orthophytum itambense_.

There is a varied fauna, including southern tamandua (_Tamandua tetradactyla_), maned wolf (_Chrysocyon brachyurus_), ocelot (_Leopardus pardalis_), cougar (_Puma concolor_) and Coimbra Filho's titi (_Callicebus coimbrai_). In 2011 a new species of amphibian was found, named _Crossodactylodes itambe_.

Visiting

The park is part of the Diamonds and Royal Road tourist circuit. It is open from 8am to 5pm. The best time to visit is in the dry season from April to October. Between November and March the trails may be closed on rainy days.

The Waterfalls trail leads to four waterfalls, the furthest of which is the Rio Vermelho, from the main road. The Água Santa waterfall has two drops, of . The Fumaça waterfall has a drop. The Neném waterfall has a drop of . The Rio Vermelho waterfall is high. The Tropeiros trail is part of a historical route used by merchants travelling between Santo Antônio do Itambé e Capivari. It is long, but easy walking. Guides are recommended but not required. The Mountains and Valleys trail leads to the Pico do Itambé, and is more physically demanding. Authorization is required to take the Tropeiros trail or visit the Pico do Itambé.

Notes

Sources

-   -   -   -   -

Category:State parks of Brazil Category:Protected areas established in 1998 Category:1998 establishments in Brazil Category:Protected areas of Minas Gerais

title: Pico do Itambé State Park

question: Where is the park?

answer: Minas Gerais, Brazil.

question: When was the park created?

answer: It was created by a 1998 decree and in 2010 became part of the Espinhaço Mosaic of conservation units.

question: Describe the climate.

answer: The climate is tropical, with consistently mild temperatures, a dry summer season and a rainy winter season, and terrain that includes grasslands and forest.

question: Summarize everything relating to the park's name.

answer: The name of the park is Pico do Itambé State Park. 'Itambé' is an indigenous word meaning 'sharp stone'; it is so named because the park protects the mountain range Serra do Espinhaço.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The Pico do Itambé State Park is a tropical park that protects a mountain range in the Brazilian state Minas Gerais. It was created by decree in 1998.


text:
COHORS PRIMA RAETORUM (“1st Cohort of Raeti”) was a Roman auxiliary infantry regiment. It is named after the Raeti, a designation probably given to some Alpine tribes, which were part of the eponymous province Raetia et Vindelicum, later called simply Raetia. It comprised much of modern Switzerland, western Austria and Germany south of the river Danube. The Raeti originally spoke a non Indo-European language that seems related to Etruscan. However, by the time their territory was annexed by Rome under founder-emperor Augustus (16 BC), they had become largely Celtic-speaking through contact with neighbouring peoples such as the Vindelici. Finally, during the centuries of Roman rule, they became Latin speakers: their distinctive provincial _patois_ survives today in the form of the Rhaeto-Romance languages.

According to Holder, a total of 12 _Raetorum_ _cohortes_ appear to have been raised, 10 of them not later than the rule of Claudius (41-54) and 2 shortly after 70 AD.[1] But there is dispute about how many regiments survived into the 2nd century. This is due to confusion about how many regiments shared the name _I Raetorum_ because the name is attested in three provinces in roughly the same periods. It has been suggested there were as many as 3 such regiments in the 2nd century in Cappadocia, Raetia and Germania Inferior. Holder appears to follow this.[2] Spaul suggests it was a single unit, _I Raetorum equitata c.R._, being moved about frequently.[3] Here the 3-unit theory is followed. The c.R. title only appears in Germania Inferior so the unit there is denoted cohors I Raetorum equitata c.R. The unit in Cappadocia was also _equitata_, and so is denoted cohors I Raetorum equitata.[4] The unit in Raetia, the subject of this article, is denoted simply _cohors I Raetorum_ as there is no evidence it was _equitata_.

The regiment was probably raised by founder-emperor Augustus (r. 30BC-14AD) after 15 BC. It was certainly in existence by the time of Claudius (r. 41-54).[5] It first appears in the datable epigraphic record in 107, in its original home province, Raetia. It was still there in 166, the time of its last datable inscription. It is attested by an undatable tile stamp in the Roman fort at Schierenhof in Schwäbisch Gmünd (Gamundia Romana), which may have been one of its bases.[6] [7]

[1] Holder (1980) 111

[2] Holder (2003) 132-44

[3] Spaul (2000) 276-8

[4] Arrian _Acies contra Alanos_ I

[5]

[6] http://www.deutsche-limeskommission.de/index.php?id=76&L=1%2F%20%C3%83%C2%A2%C3%82%E2%82%AC%C3%82%C2%A6%2Ftools%2Fsend_reminders.php%3FnoSet%3D0

[7] Spaul (2000) 276

title: Cohors I Raetorum

question: What languages did the Raeti speak?

answer: Initially the Raeti spoke an Etruscan, non Indo-European language. Then they spoke a Celtic language through contact with their neighbors like the Vindelici. After they were conquered by the Romans they began to speak Latin. Some of their language survives today in the Rhaeto-Romance languages.

question: How many Raetorum Cohorts were made?

answer: There are a number of estimates, ranging from three to twelve. Holder claims that there were twelve, ten of them not later than the rule of Claudius. However there is dispute as to how many regiments survived into the 2nd century.

question: When was the Cohors I Raetorum raised?

answer: The regiment was first raised by emperor Augustus after 15 BC. It is established that it was in existence by the time of Claudius. It first appears as a datable epigraphic reference in 107, and still existed in 166.

question: Where was Raeti?

answer: It was in much of modern Switzerland, western Austria and Germany south of the Danube. It was named after the Raeti, a designation given to some alpine tribes. These tribes were part of the province Raetia et Vindelicum (referring to another, Celtic, tribe) but later it was just called Raeti.


text:
The slavemaster sat in his carriage, whipping his slave. The slave had ropes tied around his neck and arms, and he pulled the chariot with him.  His master would sit in the carriage and smoke and drink and gobble up food and would whip the slave with his whip if he ever slowed down. The slave would constantly be carrying the slavemaster around, sweating and heaving for hours every day before the master finally decided to sleep. He would fall asleep on the floor outside the carriage, and the next morning his master would whip him awake and tell him to keep pulling him around.

The slave would have to eat rocks and pebbles and drink his own sweat to survive, while the slavemaster gobbled down turkeys and drank liquor and whipped the slave, telling it to go faster.

One day, while the master was sleeping, the slave got sick of it, and tightened the ropes around his neck and crushed his head onto a rock, killing himself so he wouldn't have to live such an agonizing life anymore.

The master awoke the next day to find his slave dead, and he cried. He sat in his carriage and cried, because his slave was gone. The slave had killed himself because he couldn't deal with his own problems, so he had to cause the master such pain. Now the master would have to walk wherever he wanted, which he wasn't used to at all. It really hurt him.

How could the slave be so selfish? Why couldn't the slave just suck it up or keep living because maybe some day it might have stopped, whatever it was? But instead he chose to selfishly kill himself and leave behind a mess, causing the master trouble. Suicide. Such a selfish thing.

title: Inspired by a recent askreddit thread

question: How well is the slavemaster doing economically?

answer:
Initially, it would seem as if the slavemaster is doing particularly well in terms of finances. He eats well and drinks plenty and can afford to be driven around by his slave.

However, a closer look at the narrative shows that the slavemaster does not seem to be be doing much business at all. There is absolutely no mention of other slaves aside from the one who killed himself. It is possible that other slaves have also killed themselves prior or there are no other slaves.

In this case, it is understandable to presume that the slavemaster is not doing well financially as he does not seem to have merchandise nor does the slavemaster seem able to maintain the upkeep needed.

question: Identify a unique physical trait of the slavemaster.

answer: The slavemaster is able to eat and drink without suffering any ill effects while riding a moving chariot. Eating and drinking in a moving vehicle with little to no suspension is not recommended.


text:
[Goodreads Choice Awards 2020]

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[Erin]
Feb 06, 2020 Erin rated it did not like it

 Okay, that's it. I'm done. I'm sorry, I tried, but I just can't do this anymore.
My biggest problem with trying to read this is that the science-literate part of my brain is not something that I can just turn on and off at will. If this had been a fantasy story, that would be one thing, because in fantasy magic is kind of a given. But this was written and presented as _science fiction_, and it's painfully clear that T. A. Barron stands comfortably alongside Madeline L'Engle in the "YA Authors Who

Okay, that's it. I'm done. I'm sorry, I tried, but I just can't do this anymore.
My biggest problem with trying to read this is that the science-literate part of my brain is not something that I can just turn on and off at will. If this had been a fantasy story, that would be one thing, because in fantasy magic is kind of a given. But this was written and presented as _science fiction_, and it's painfully clear that T. A. Barron stands comfortably alongside Madeline L'Engle in the "YA Authors Who Think Science Is Neat But Can't Be Bothered to Learn How It Actually _Works_" Club.

  "Ever since I was a student at Oxford, I have suspected that deep in the core of every star there is a special substance—a substance that holds the key to explaining how stars really function."

  "Isn't that the stuff you've written so much about? The stuff you call PLC?"

  "PCL," corrected Grandfather. "It stands for _Pure Condensed Light_."

Sure, that's all fine and dandy, except for the part where we already _know_ how stars work. The gravitational collapse of a gas cloud packs a lot of molecules together into a very small space while also heating them up, and if this ball of gas is massive enough, the extreme pressures and temperatures will bring those molecules to a point where they're colliding often enough and moving fast enough where quantum tunneling kicks in and, through several different processes, lighter atoms begin to combine into heavier atoms, converting a tiny percentage of their mass into energy in the process. This energy then makes its way to the surface in the form that we perceive as sunlight. Sure, it's not sexy or glamorous, but there's nothing mystical about it.

  "So you've finally proved that PCL exists?" asked Kate.

  "Even better," answered Grandfather, and his eyebrows lifted like rising white clouds. "I have identified all of its ingredients. I now possess the recipe for PCL."

How does this even _work?_ You want to know what the "ingredients" for light are? _Photons_. That's it. Just a whole bunch of photons of greater or lesser energy (i.e. shorter or longer wavelengths, respectively). Not only would no self-respecting astrophysicist talk this way, but if you need a "recipe" to make it, then _it's not light_.

  "I still don't get it. How does making some substance that's found in stars allow you to travel faster than light?"

  "Well," answered the inventor as he studied the humming box closely, "during my years of work on PCL I've learned enough about it to predict that it has some rather unusual properties. For example, it ought to melt anything frozen that touches it. But very recently—purely by accident—I discovered that it also has another property. An absolutely astonishing property."

  Kate could feel his swelling enthusiasm and it stirred her own. "What property is that?"

  Grandfather straightened his tall frame and looked squarely at her. "PCL has the ability to liberate the part of us most similar to pure light."

  "You mean our souls?" asked Kate in wonderment.

I don't know _what_ the author was thinking here, but it makes absolutely _no sense_. A form of _light_ that can not only dissolve matter and melt frozen stuff on contact (for that matter, which definition of "frozen" are we using here? The freezing point of water? Nitrogen? _Lead?_), but literally separate the soul from the body? The only thing you've succeeded in separating here is my suspension of disbelief.

  As he twisted more dials, the brightly colored gases of a great nebula surrounding the star came into view. They spiraled around it like a brilliant veil of incandescent clouds, finally fading into the deep darkness of space.

  [...]

  Pressing a button, he brought the swirling clouds into sharper focus, revealing several planets which orbited through the glowing gases of the star's system. One of them gleamed with a pearly white color. In the center of the spiraling veil, the great red star Trethoniel sat like an imperious queen upon her throne, unaging and untouchable.

  [...]

  Grandfather spun another dial, and the seething, scorching surface of the star completely filled the screen. Towers of superheated gases danced thousands of miles out into space.

Seriously, _how is he doing this???_ If you want to directly look at a planetary system around another star, even the biggest, most expensive, most stable telescopes will get you, at _most_, a picture of a dot, and _maybe_, if you're really, _really_ lucky, _and_ go to the trouble of precisely blocking out the light of the central star, a few much dimmer dots in orbit around the brighter dot—and even if you do all of that, you're still going to have to stare at it for anywhere from minutes to hours. That's why most of the current methods for detecting exoplanets are indirect: carefully measuring the brightness of a star over time to try to catch the miniscule dimming as a planet passes in front of it, carefully measuring the wavelength of the hydrogen absorption lines over time to try to catch the miniscule change in velocity from the gravitational tugging of a planet, or carefully measuring the star's position over time as the planet's pull tugs it oh-so-slightly away from where we predict it to be. There is NO WAY, and I mean no POSSIBLE way, with any technology that's even _conceivable_ in the near future, to obtain a detailed image of an extrasolar system complete with planets, much less be able to see actual stellar flares in real time.

And that's not even getting into the scale failure! If you want to get a good look at a star, then exactly _none_ of the orbits are going to be in your frame. And even for the smallest, coolest stars, if you want to look at the system as a whole, then you're going to have to zoom out so far that you're barely going to be able to _see_ the planets, much less tell what color they are. So, if you ever see a picture that looks like this? It's an artist's conception, and a scientifically inaccurate one at that.

  "Do you see the dark blotch in the lower hemisphere?"

  "It looks like a huge sunspot."

  "If only it were! That is a PCL void deep within the core of the Sun. And according to the figures, it's spreading like a deadly cancer. At this rate, the Sun has no more than a thousand years left to live."

Say _what_ now? The Sun is eventually going to die, but that will happen when its core runs out of hydrogen to fuse. Maybe there are scientifically feasible ways to end the life of a star prematurely... but this hippy-dippy mumbo-jumbo is certainly not one of them.

  Morpheus slowly blinked his great green eyes.

You... do know that butterflies don't have eyelids?

  He had said that every star eventually reaches a point where the age-old balance between its own gravity, which pulls inward, and its radiant energy, which pulls outward, will fall apart. If it's a normal star, like the Sun, it will suddenly shudder and compress down to the size of a moon. But if it's unusually massive, it could expand and expand like a luminous red balloon until—at last—it will burst and collapse so fast and so far that it will _disappear completely_, leaving nothing behind but a black hole.

And this is the part where I'm not going to buy the argument that "but-but-but it's _fantasy!_ Just go with it!" The author is referencing actual science here, so I'm going to hold him to actual scientific standards. He doesn't even manage to get the _known_ science right! The Sun is not just going to collapse into a white dwarf at the end of its life—only the lowest-mass stars do that. A middle-weight like our Sun will expand into a red giant _first_, and _then_ collapse into a white dwarf. The very highest mass stars will tear themselves apart in a brilliant explosion known as a supernova, violently shredding their outer layers while what's left of the core collapses into a black hole. There's oversimplifying for the sake of a lay audience, and then there's just being sloppy because you think you can get away with it because you don't expect your audience to know any better.

  ...a new formation, shimmering in the stellar breeze, caught Kate's attention. It resembled a kind of curtain, a curtain made of thousands of lavender-tinted icicles. She heard them tinkling gently as the winds passed through them, and the soothing sound helped her mood to pass as well.

Ah yes, my old nemesis, sound in space. We meet again.

  "This creature must be made of some kind of anti-light!" cried Morpheus.

Okay, I've heard of anti_matter_. But what in the name of Einstein is anti-_light?_ No, seriously, on an actual scientific basis, I want to know!

Not to mention, on a more general level, the characterization of the Royal Society as a bunch of closed-minded fools because they wouldn't accept Grandfather's off-the-wall research without definitive proof left a really bad taste in my mouth. They weren't out to get him because they couldn't handle new ideas, they were doing their _jobs_. The accepted scientific consensus can and does change, but extraordinary claims require extraordinary _proof_, and if you're insisting that the scientific community just take you at your word without being ready to _provide_ that proof, that doesn't make you a misunderstood genius, it makes you a quack.

So, now that I've given an impromptu astronomy lesson that absolutely no one asked for, I'll add that the extreme scientific inaccuracies might have been tolerable if this book had actually been telling a good _story_, but it's not. As a matter of fact, it just seems incredibly derivative. Remember how I mentioned Madeline L'Engle earlier? Well, that wasn't a coincidence. As it turns out, here we have a story about a girl who, to save her world from a vague shadowy threat, is whisked to another planetary system via a handwaved scientific principle that's only vaguely explained, where she's attacked by a vague dark _thing_ that's only ever explained as being the essence of Evil and which very nearly freezes her to death and forces her breathing and heartbeat to move to its rhythm, only to crash land on an alien planet where she's healed by the kind locals. This ringing any bells? If so, that's because beat for beat, it's almost the exact same plot as _A Wrinkle in Time_ . Not to mention that the mystical talking animal who carries and protects her through the void of space is oddly reminiscent of _A Swiftly Tilting Planet_ .

Not to mention, reading about a space battle with something called The Darkness just made me think of this:

[]
Thus why I found it completely impossible to take the menacing villain seriously.

I quit reading right around the time we got to the alien civilizations. These characters are supposed to be _aliens_, and while they _look_ completely different, they still talk and act exactly like humans. Even the way they helped Kate makes no sense: if these crystal things have spent their entire lives on a planet where frozen and snowy is the normal temperature and all of the local life is perfectly adapted to thrive in the freezing cold, then how on Earth did they know that Kate's life was in danger because she was too cold and needed to be warmed up? It _makes no sense_.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have an aneurysm brought on by bad science.

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[Kaila]
Jan 17, 2013 Kaila rated it did not like it

 Saccharine and boring and convoluted. Do not read unless you are a 12 year old girl, and even then, with discretion.

[Danae]
Jun 15, 2017 Danae rated it it was ok

 1.5*
I agree with the review on the cover (though I hate it when books have reviews on the front cover) that this story is reminiscent of C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy. However, that trilogy might be my least favorite of Lewis' and I like this book even less. It was boring and Kate was annoying. Don't be rude to people who risk their lives to help you!

Barron created some alien species, but there was some confusion as to how much they knew of our planet. If I recall correctly, Ariella has not heard of

1.5*
I agree with the review on the cover (though I hate it when books have reviews on the front cover) that this story is reminiscent of C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy. However, that trilogy might be my least favorite of Lewis' and I like this book even less. It was boring and Kate was annoying. Don't be rude to people who risk their lives to help you!

Barron created some alien species, but there was some confusion as to how much they knew of our planet. If I recall correctly, Ariella has not heard of Earth, but she says at one point "On your planet, you might call it...", which wouldn't make sense if she doesn't know anything about Earth. There was also an explanation of rings as being bracelets for fingers, but how could Kate expect her alien friend to know what a bracelet is if she doesn't know what a ring is?

The characters can also, at times, read each other's minds and I wasn't sure when exactly that was possible and for whom, so that got confusing.

(view spoiler)[One of my pet peeves in media lately is when death doesn't mean anything within a story because the supposed dead character comes back. That occurs more than 3 times in this book, so I also don't believe for a second that the grandfather is really dead in the end. Then again, all of the other "deaths" were also poorly written, in my opinion. Like, the characters were out of sight for two seconds and immediately presumed dead. Whereas, the grandfather was actually seen dead. So maybe that's legit. But I still don't trust it. And I won't continue the series to find out what happened. Anyway, I want to clarify that I don't ALWAYS hate it when there are false deaths, but when it's overused, it's really annoying. I'm lookin' at you, Marvel. (hide spoiler)]

I'll end on a positive note by saying that I really like some of the names in this book, like Ariella and Trethoniel.

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[Denise Quezada]
Oct 02, 2016 Denise Quezada rated it really liked it

 this book was nice if you like fantasy which I do it made me feel amazed. I learned that you can do anything if you put your mind to it. and I would recommend this book to someone who likes fantasy because this book is made for people who like fantasy.

[Chay]
Feb 24, 2020 Chay marked it as dnf

 DNF page 94 of 272.
Really disappointed with _Heartlight_. Picked this up after discovering my childhood favorite _The Ancient One_ is book two in the Adventures of Kate series, with _Heartlight_ being the first in the trilogy. Honestly, I have no idea wtf I just read.

[Lena]
Jan 23, 2015 Lena rated it it was ok

 This book is pretty stupid, but the second book in this series was my favorite book in the 6th grade, and I just realized it was a trilogy. Luckily, it's not a series that requires you to read any of the other books; so, my 6th grade self did not suffer from not reading this book. Unfortunately, my adult self did.

[Valerie]
 I read this book for the ATY 2019 Challenge Week 33: a book you have had for a year and not read.
All science-fiction has things that are hard to swallow, I think. That is fine. The same is true of fantasy, but this book had too many things that I had a tough time choking down. In a way, it is a pseudo-religious book with a belief in a Pattern. But there is also a talking star! I did read it to the end because it had a cliffhanger ending going on, but I did not like the ending. It did not really

I read this book for the ATY 2019 Challenge Week 33: a book you have had for a year and not read.
All science-fiction has things that are hard to swallow, I think. That is fine. The same is true of fantasy, but this book had too many things that I had a tough time choking down. In a way, it is a pseudo-religious book with a belief in a Pattern. But there is also a talking star! I did read it to the end because it had a cliffhanger ending going on, but I did not like the ending. It did not really make sense. Perhaps it is just not the kind of book I like to read. Sorry.

...more

[Charlotte]
Mar 24, 2018 Charlotte rated it did not like it

 ridiculous world building (interstellar travel on giant months powered by the energy of the human soul?) and clumsy dialogue and characterization and on top of that a religious message; seemed like a bad rip off of Wrinkle in Time and not worth reading. (plus the main character traveled with her grandfather, Dr. Prancer, and the ridiculous name put me off).

[Tai]
 The plot was everywhere. The characters were dull. Thee writing was bland. The same thing happened repeatedly. The author needs a thesaurus. The phrase 'It took all she had' was used twice in the same paragraph. Also 'help' was on every other page

[Tristan]
 The book was good. Clearly for a young audience and with at time too heavy a splash of pseudoscience, but a fine enough adventure story. Character arcs are nonexistent and the main character is not entirely sympathetic for the reader. Basically, a fun, quick read with little depth.

[Sianna LaDuke]
_This review has been hidden because it contains spoilers. To view it, click here._ The ending was pretty annoying. The classic it was all a dream thing really put me in a sour mood.

[Krista]
Apr 28, 2019 Krista rated it did not like it

 I tried reminding myself I was reading a middle grade book. I thought it would help me enjoy the story more. It didn’t.

[Denise]

[Michael Montgomery]
 I read this book in fifth grade because it sounded interesting and it was written by a great author I was following at the time, T.A. Barron. I remember how I was engulfed in it and read it in five days (considerably a short time for me back then) and how I stayed up turning page after page. I think I enjoyed it so much because it was my first step into a genre I had never read before: science fiction. The ideas of space, physics, aliens, and a bit of humanity have to be included in a science-fi I read this book in fifth grade because it sounded interesting and it was written by a great author I was following at the time, T.A. Barron. I remember how I was engulfed in it and read it in five days (considerably a short time for me back then) and how I stayed up turning page after page. I think I enjoyed it so much because it was my first step into a genre I had never read before: science fiction. The ideas of space, physics, aliens, and a bit of humanity have to be included in a science-fiction book to make it interesting. Heartlight had all those things and more. I believe this book served as a doorway for me into the rich and elaborate world of sci-fi, which I have been completely engulfing lately! However, I'm making Heartlight sound too perfect. It does have a flaw. The conclusion to this story didn't draw every loose string together in a very neat fashion. Instead, it left the reader pondering about why the sudden concluding events left them hanging from a cliff. I remember thinking to myself, I bet it'll make more sense when I read the next book in the trilogy. Well guess what? T.A. Barron's second book, while being fantastic on its own, had nothing to do with Heartlight. All in all, I think Barron did a fantastic job for his writing debut! Heartlight is a great science fiction novel for young readers that sends deep messages out to the reader! ...more

[Zooheather]
Apr 29, 2013 Zooheather rated it really liked it

 I read most of Barron's early books when I was in Elementary School and Junior High (I still remember trying to memorize the ballad in his book The Merlin Effect, and how excited I was when I read that there were actually going to be two more Lost Years of Merlin books!). Lately I've been on a kick of rereading some of the books I read as a kid.
I loved the story all over again! Why not believe in fantastical things? And I appreciate that Barron embraces death in his books as well. This time arou

I read most of Barron's early books when I was in Elementary School and Junior High (I still remember trying to memorize the ballad in his book The Merlin Effect, and how excited I was when I read that there were actually going to be two more Lost Years of Merlin books!). Lately I've been on a kick of rereading some of the books I read as a kid.
I loved the story all over again! Why not believe in fantastical things? And I appreciate that Barron embraces death in his books as well. This time around Kate felt far more annoying, which was a great reminder that kids sometimes don't know how to process and take things in... as a kid I didn't think anything of her struggles, they made complete sense! So that was an interesting experience!

I'd recommend the text to anyone, and particularly young girls in upper elementary or Junior High.

...more

[Elizabeth Cisewski]
 I would actually give this book a 3.75 for a few reasons. I thought that the plot for this book could have been interesting, but the way it was written, I think that it could have been better. It was a touching story but got quite boring in many parts of the book. I was reading that book and thinking about what I thought of it, and what I would rate it. I was thinking that I would give it a three, then came the ending. The ending definitely made it a better book, not the ending to the plot but t I would actually give this book a 3.75 for a few reasons. I thought that the plot for this book could have been interesting, but the way it was written, I think that it could have been better. It was a touching story but got quite boring in many parts of the book. I was reading that book and thinking about what I thought of it, and what I would rate it. I was thinking that I would give it a three, then came the ending. The ending definitely made it a better book, not the ending to the plot but the last chapter to the story. The ending was the worst ending in the history of endings, but that is what made the book, for me, go our with a bang. ...more

[Kat Brownell]
Jan 09, 2015 Kat Brownell rated it did not like it

 I am distressed by how bad this book was. The Ancient One was one of my favorite books as a kid and I read it over and over, so how can this book be so terrible? It probably deserves 2 stars, but I took away another star because it kept shoving religion down my throat. Which I find particularly jarring in a book about interstellar travel where none of the characters have ever heard of religion nor god. Also, the plot was exactly like that of A Wrinkle In Time (another of my favorites growing up) I am distressed by how bad this book was. The Ancient One was one of my favorite books as a kid and I read it over and over, so how can this book be so terrible? It probably deserves 2 stars, but I took away another star because it kept shoving religion down my throat. Which I find particularly jarring in a book about interstellar travel where none of the characters have ever heard of religion nor god. Also, the plot was exactly like that of A Wrinkle In Time (another of my favorites growing up). Just terrible. ...more

[Alison]
May 03, 2007 Alison rated it it was ok

 I came back to this after having read it in elementary school, excited because it was the prequel to the Ancient One, which my fourth grade teacher read aloud to my class. However, on coming back to it, I have to say Kate is mostly just annoying, and these books are less magical than I remembered and a *lot* wackier. Like, Charles Williams wacky. Suffice to say I did not bother to finish my re-read.

[Freya Lustie-Kniser]
 I was disappointed by this book because I like other T.A. Barron books - although there's some imagery and great lines "a person's life should be like a prism: inhaling light...exhaling rainbows," the book as a whole fell flat for me. Definitely geared towards a younger reader who might appreciate it more. To me it just seemed like the point of the book was made early on and the rest of the book just supported the point over and over and over again to the point where I was a bit bored.

[April Brown]
 What ages would I recommend it too? – Twelve and up.
Length? – Two day’s read.

Characters? – Four primary characters.

Setting? – Fantasy, alternate dimensions.

Written approximately? – 1990.

Does the story leave questions in the readers mind? – Yes. Confusion. Was the story a dream, or not? It would be fine if it is.

Any issues the author (or a more recent publisher) should cover? Clarify confusion.

[Ames]
Aug 06, 2008 Ames rated it liked it

 I have to say I liked The Ancient One a lot more than Heartlight, but it's good to be able to start at the beginning of Kate's adventures and understand what happened to her grandfather. I like the way T.A. Barron has no qualms about dealing with death in his books, and he approaches it in a very logical and beautiful way. Still makes me cry though.

[Annie]
Sep 12, 2010 Annie rated it really liked it

 Although the book's theme of the role of death is a somber one, the writing is not. That's partly because of the attendant theme of love conquering all. The book has elements of physics, metaphysics, adventure, science fiction and fantasy, broadening its appeal to many audiences. Even the author recognizes similarities in plot to Madeleine L'Engle's Wrinkle in Time.

[Indi]
Sep 23, 2010 Indi rated it did not like it

 This book may have been written in the style of CS Lewis, however it lacked his excitement and passion. This novel was a bore, a couldn't finish it because of the old-style language that is totally different to today's, which made the book seem implausible and saccharine. When the storline got bizarre i gave it up. Sorry, try it if you want... but beware...serious snore value.

[Amy Yam]
Feb 07, 2013 Amy Yam rated it did not like it

 Oh, the delights of poorly-written science fiction! It's as delectable as a "rotten tomato" B movie. This one actually made me laugh out loud repeatedly, which some well-crafted books never achieve, so kudos to Barron. I am frightened by the thought, however, that there is more than one Adventure of Kate, as I cannot imagine who would dare pick up the next one...

[Adam Bruns]
Jun 06, 2013 Adam Bruns rated it really liked it

 I wasn't sure about reading a book from an author I never heard of before, but decided to take a chance. Strangely it was shelved under Child Fiction at my public library, but I think people of all ages will like "Heartlight." If anyone has ever read C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy (Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra), "Heartlight" follows that science fantasy tradition.

[Weixin]
Jan 21, 2009 Weixin rated it really liked it

 Some of my most favorite quotes are taken from this beautifully written story about a girl who has to learn to trust in herself and in what she really believes to find herself. It's a story about friendship, love, trust, and in a abstract way: the freedom to think and feel.

[Susan]
Feb 10, 2009 Susan rated it it was ok

 Fantasy about a young girl who's grandfather discovers that the sun is dieing, and takes a trip to another star to find how to save the sun. I found it slow and pretty aimless. Maybe just not in the mood?

[Judy]
Jan 31, 2015 Judy rated it it was ok

 This is my least favorite of Barron's books.
I read this once quite a few years ago. On picking it up a second time, I realize why I don't remember it very well. (I'm not going to finish reading it this time.)

[Cinco]
Jul 24, 2007 Cinco rated it did not like it
Recommends it for: no one!

 I'm still mad at Madeleine L'Engle for providing a blurb, prompting me to read the book. Absolutely terrible, don't-know-how-it-ever-got-published crap.

[Gracie]
May 30, 2008 Gracie rated it really liked it

 This is a really unique look on science. I found it very interesting. I enjoyed myself, and can still picture the imagery the author used. :D

T.A. Barron grew up in Colorado ranch country and traveled widely as a Rhodes Scholar. He is the winner of the de Grummond Medallion for “lifetime contribution to the field of children’s and young adult literature” and many other awards. T. A. Barron is the author of more than 30 highly acclaimed books, many of which are international bestsellers. They include The Lost Years of Merlin (now being d T.A. Barron grew up in Colorado ranch country and traveled widely as a Rhodes Scholar. He is the winner of the de Grummond Medallion for “lifetime contribution to the field of children’s and young adult literature” and many other awards. T. A. Barron is the author of more than 30 highly acclaimed books, many of which are international bestsellers. They include The Lost Years of Merlin (now being developed into a feature film), The Great Tree of Avalon (a New York Times bestselling series), The Ancient One (the tale of a brave girl and a magical tree), and The Hero’s Trail (nonfiction stories of courageous kids).
Though he’d dreamed as a young man of becoming a writer, he couldn’t find anyone to publish his first novel. He joined a successful business, eventually became president, then decided to try again. So in 1990, he surprised his business partners by moving back to Colorado to become a writer and conservationist.

In 2000, he founded a national award to honor outstanding young people who help their communities or the environment: the Gloria Barron Prize for Young Heroes, which honors 25 highly diverse, public-spirited kids each year. He recently produced a documentary film, Dream Big, profiling seven winners of the Barron Prize. When not writing or speaking, T. A. Barron serves on many boards including Princeton University, where he helped to create the Princeton Environmental Institute, and The Wilderness Society, which recently honored him with its highest award for conservation work. His favorite pastime is hiking, camping, or skiing in Colorado with his family.

...more

Other books in the series

[]

Karen M. McManus, the bestselling author of One of Us Is Lying, Two Can Keep a Secret, and One of Us Is Next, doesn’t shy away from secrets and...

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question: Who is grandfather?

answer: An apparent amateur astronomer, grandfather of the protagonist.

question: What are people's general concerns about the excerpt?

answer: It's pseudoscience they can't get past.

question: Do people like the story besides the pseudoscience?

answer: No

question: What genre is the excerpt from?

answer: Science fiction and fantasy

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: An excerpt from "Heartlight" a story about a young woman and her grandfather who shows her impossible things through a telescope. Apparently later in the book aliens come as antagonists. The general consensus is that readers didn't like this book. Many comments deride the pseudoscientific leaps made in the story and claim the plot isn't well written.


text:
WILLIAM ALPHONSUS “WEE WILLIE” CRILLEY (29 August 1901 – 16 September 1955) was a Scottish-American football forward who holds the record for the greatest number of goals scored by an Alloa Athletic player in a single season of the Scottish Football League. He had an itinerant career, spending most of it in the United States with a few seasons, or parts of seasons in Scotland.

Career

During his youth, Crilley played for Pale Ale, a local Glasgow amateur team. In 1920, he began the season with Cambuslang Rangers. During the season, he moved to Alloa Athletic of the Scottish Football League Second Division. In his first season with Alloa, he scored the game winners in Alloa's first and second round victories in the Scottish Cup. He also scored in the third round replay with Rangers F.C., a 4–1 loss for Alloa. Despite the loss in the Scottish Cup, Alloa won the 1921 Penman Trophy and Stirlingshire Cup. The next year, Crilley carried Alloa to the Second Division championship as he scored a record forty-nine goals, an amazing feat for a five-foot three center forward. Alloa transferred Crilley to Celtic at the end of the season, but he played only three first team games, scoring a single goal. Celtic sent him back to Alloa at the end of the season, but injuries hindered his playing time.[1]

He then left Scotland to sign with New York Field Club in the American Soccer League which had not yet finished its season. He played five games, scoring five goals. Crilley began the 1923–1924 season in New York, played two league games, one National Challenge Cup game before being transferred to the New York Giants. He played two games, scoring one goal, then returned to Scotland to rejoin Alloa.[2] According to the Alloa history, he was “transferred down south for £1,250” but it does not identify Crilley's new team. However, at some point he returned to the United States where he played eleven games of the 1924–1925 season with Indiana Flooring.

Crilley returned to the Giants for the 1925–1926 season, seeing his greatest number of games during any stint with a US team, twenty-eight. By this time, he was no longer a center forward and had become better known as a top winger and an excellent play maker. Crilley resumed his nomadic career during the 1926–1927 season, bouncing between three teams during the course of the season. He began with the Giants, played nine games for J&P Coats and finished with two games at Philadelphia Field Club. He then played for the New York Nationals in 1927–1928.[3] In the 1928–1929 season, he was with Brooklyn Hispano, New York Hungaria and the IRT Rangers of the Eastern Professional Soccer League.[4][5]

He apparently returned to Scotland intending to play for Alloa Athletic, but was deported from Scotland because he had become a US citizen.[6] Therefore, he was back into the ASL in the fall of 1930 with the Newark Americans and the New York Soccer Club. While he played only one league game with New York SC, he saw another five cup games in which he scored seven goals. He continued his itinerant ways in 1931, playing for both the Fall River F.C. and the Brooklyn Wanderers before joining the New York American in the fall of 1931. Crilley replicated his early career goal scoring heroics for these last two teams, scoring 14 goals in 7 games for Brooklyn and 9 goals in 10 games for the Americans.[7] In 1932, he attempted to rejoin Alloa Athletic, but was rebuffed.[8] In 1935, he played for Brooklyn Hispano in the second American Soccer League.

He returned to the United States and joined the US Army on 18 November 1942, serving in the Air Corps with Fifteenth Air Force during World War II.[9]

[1] Alloa Athletic History

[2]

[3]

[4] The Year in American Soccer – 1929

[5] April 22, 1929 The Globe

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

title: Willie Crilley

question: What makes William Alphonsus Crilley distinctive?

answer: He is a Scottish-American football forward who holds the record for the greatest number of goals scored by an Alloa Athletic player in a single season of the Scottish Football League.

question: Describe Crilley's early career.

answer: He played for Pale Ale, a local Glasgow amateur team. In 1920 he began the season with the Cambuslang Rangers. Then he moved to the Alloa Athletic Club, where he would spend much of the rest of his Scottish career.

question: Where did Crilley go after playing in Scotland?

answer: He went to America and played with the New York Field Club, and then ultimately transferred to the New York Giants. He played with them for several years. He returned to Scotland, but was deported because he had become a U.S. citizen. He lived in the U.S. for the rest of his days and joined the army.