Tuesday Kuykendall

Wonder

I’m writing a tongue-in-cheek story about a physicist, Lise-Marie Storm, nearing the end of her career who is confronted by a creature and physics she knows with every fiber of her being does not, cannot, exist.  

When she gets to the place where she is forced to recognize what she’s experiencing is real, I want her reaction to be profound wonder. The exercise inspired this month’s newsletter.

Wonder:  “… 1. A person thing, or event that causes astonishment and admiration; prodigy; marvel. 2. The feeling of surprise, admiration, and awe aroused by something strange, unexpected, incredible, etc. … to be seized or filled with wonder; … to have curiosity, sometimes mingled with doubt; [to] want to know …”

From Webster’s New World College Dictionary, Fifth Edition; The Official Dictionary of The Associated Press Stylebook (off-line version).

My depiction of Lise-Marie’s emotional responses to her realizations were flat. So, I had to dig into my brain to remember my own experiences of wonder. And it was a struggle at first. The world today provides a strong daily dose of cynicism and it crushes my wonder. I started with materials science since that’s where I lived for so long.

What inspires awe in me is atoms in a material striving to arrange themselves in particular ways, a discovery that led to the discipline of materials science, and why we have cellphones, spaceships, data centers, tupperware,and all the other trappings of modern life.

Carbon, in all its diversity; how graphite can ‘self-assemble’ in atomic layers on a well-prepared surface or the strength of carbon nanotubes and the objective coolness of buckyballs; walking on non-newtonian fluids (cornstarch and water); the specialty plastics that can stop a bullet.

I remember how I felt in college when I learned how Snell’s law was derived (a guy named Snell who figured out the math for how light behaves in various mediums), and how I felt when I learned about star nurseries. The feeling I have when looking up at the clear night sky in the summer from any remote place on Earth; the Milky Way; those first images from the James Webb Space Telescope—seeing deeper into the universe than anyone has ever seen before.

I’m astonished trees can grow from a single seed and then live thousands of years; by birds who bend wire to make a hook to capture food; geodes, music; four-year-olds making music; that humans are still reading and writing stories despite millennia of time and billions of us having already done it; that War and Peace could be rendered in 1’s and 0’s; the way humans can gasp at images of Earth from the moon without having seen it with their own eyes.

It’s the “no way!” feeling when you first learn or see something real and better than anything made-up.

Then there’s the “I want to know …” side of wonder. I want to know what Mars smells like and if there’s other life in the universe. I want to know what it feels like to be a dog, or if dolphins are as smart, or smarter, than us. I want to know if it’s possible to grow food on the moon or if there is a technological civilization living deep in our oceans (coupled with a strong dose of skepticism).

There are plenty of negative awe-inspiring ways to kill wonder; like war and human cruelty. Lies kill wonder; like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. We’re told things as children that can’t be true, and we miss the genuine wonder because of cynicism, or we embrace ever more preposterous things to hang on to the feeling of magic. And as adults, lies from our politicians, pastors, and influencers, telling us things are true or not true despite seeing them with our own eyes.

Often my own cynicism drowns out wonder, and I have to stop everything and look through a telescope or read Jules Verne or John Scalzi; and this past year, write and bake bread. 

Writing emotions for my character is painful for me. I’m always worried I’m going to overdo it. I don’t personally enjoy heavy melodrama; it always feels fake to me, and I think I overcompensate (yes, it points to some deep childhood trauma that no one wants to hear about).

It’s one of the many reasons I love science fiction so much. Martha Wells (Murderbot is the BEST!) and John Scalzi and Andy Weir write deep and emotional characters without getting sappy, so it can be done.

Wonder is a beautiful emotion. And for me, it’s a safe one. I just have to figure out the hard part: the right choice and arrangement of words to convey it to you, my reader.

Hopefully today, reading the things that help me will inspire you to remember what gives you wonder. I left out having children, or that Bill loves me—they are so very sappy, but be assured, they are at the top of my list.

If you want to share what inspires Wonder for you, feel free to mention it in the comments below or send me a message. I need all the help I can get!

Thank you for sharing your time with me.

-Tuesday