From the Editor

Well, my friends, it has been ages since your faithful editor has been able to motivate his master to write something new. "Ruff grrrowl bark!?" I asked him. (That is, "How can I promote the site if there isn't anything new to post!?")

I must admit it was a bit much to ask him to be creative when he was working full time to design microchips (Any relation to the potato chip? I love those.), while finishing a 150+ page dissertation (You will thank me for NOT posting that.) and trying to pass his Ph.D. Defense. Then there was that little distraction of having to look for work for 11 months and then getting used to a new job for the past few months. And that doesn't even get into his family (and pet!) responsibilities. His plate was a little full, and so I guess I can cut him some slack. His days are very unlike mine, which are mainly spent napping, begging for treats, and avoiding Kaden. (Did I mention that Kaden's in his TERRIBLE threes? My tail's never been the same.)

Nevertheless, my master has consented to pick up the pen once again. Here is his opening salvo on--wait for it--electricity and magnetism. (I know. I know. But he has been a bit swamped in the stuff.) In case you didn't know, there is a class called Electromagnetics that all electrical engineers have to take and that most remember only in their darkest of dreams. (If you have ever seen a horror film with Freddy Krueger or Jason Voorhees, you have a good idea of what the class is like.) Anyway, Herr Doctor tells me that anyone who has taken electrical engineering or physics could relate to this. Well, I'm sure most of us can say, "Been there. Done that," eh?

Whew! That was hard work. Time for a nap.

--Fezziwig

Magnetoelectrics and Statodynamics

I recently read a great bedtime story called Classical Electrodynamics by the very famous author J. D. Jackson. (I'm sure you can find copies at your local library.) It was a book full of adventure (and math). As you can imagine, this was a very thought-provoking book and is one of the reasons I have not been able to sleep well over the past week. An active mind, after all, never rests, and this book did get me thinking...

Though the title only explicitly mentions electricity and dynamism, the book actually covered electricity and magnetism in both their dynamic and static states. (It also covered relativity but that for another time.) What indeed, I thought, accounts for this lack of full disclosure in the title?

As I pondered this omission, I considered how magnetism--even when mentioned--always plays second fiddle to electricity. Consider the title electromagnetics. Why is it not rather magnetoelectrics. In fact, it is never magnetoelectrics, which seems a tad unfair. To add insult to injury, the title Classical Electrodynamics doesn't even mention magnetics! Oh the inhumanity. I mean, anyone who has been around these two for even one semester would know that electricity and magnetism go together like bread and butter, guns and ammo, government and inefficiency. And yet, from the title the reader can only assume that the book discusses dynamic magnetics as well as dynamic electrics.

Which brings us to the other inequity. Why is there mention of dynamics and no mention of statics in the title? Statics takes up a full three chapters and yet you would never know it by the title. No, it is completely shunted into the shadow cast by the ever impressive dynamics.

Well, I need hardly say that this inequity bothered me. I thought, what can be done to rectify this wrong? What steps can be taken? What laws can be passed? What politicians can be lobbied?

Perhaps justice could be served once and for all if statics and magnetics combined forces in protest against their under-representation. They could join together right there on capitol hill and demand justice!

But would it be enough to overcome the establishment that is so clearly biased toward electricity and dynamism? Alas no, for statics prefers things to stay the same and would never push for change no matter how advantageous the outcome. Dynamics, on the other hand, is radical by nature and much more likely to protest and induce change. Furthermore, magnetics would only show up for an instant and then zip right back home. Such is its circuitous nature. Only electricity has the audacity and tenacity to show up some place new and stay there until its mission is accomplished.

And so, my friends, perhaps that is what really happened. Electricity and dynamism banded together to gain superior representation, and the other two stayed home. Then again, perhaps the Illuminati had something to do with it. Then again, maybe a book entitled Magnetostatics wouldn't sell as well as one entitled Electrodynamics. Ah yes, herein lies the answer. Capitalism, the arch-nemesis of statism (as so brilliantly laid out in Liberty and Tyranny), strikes again! Capitalism is what induces such a title.

The Story Behind The Expectation

The earliest copyright date for this story is 1990. Mike tells me (during very short breaks from thesis writing) that he first wrote The Expectation while attending Biola University in Southern California. The evenings in that land of perpetual summer brought gentle breezes, which stirred the tree outside his dormitory window and beckoned Mike to pause from his studies. It is these breezes that inspired this story.
--Fezziwig

The Expectation

Linda gazed out of her window and into the distance. “Where is he?” she wondered. The leaves on the maple tree just outside her second story window showed their fall colors, and “he” was late.

She looked again but to no avail. Linda sighed. One could wait an eternity.

She opened the window and leaned on the sill. A cool breeze stirred the leaves and touched her face. “Mmm,” she said, breathing deeply.

The wind stilled then started again. Soon winds blew one way then the other without pausing, the way wind does in autumn. The sky darkened while the winds strengthened, buffeting Linda time and again. Over distant mountains a full moon shined brightly. Clouds moved in scattered clumps as they journeyed from horizon to horizon. The night winds chilled Linda, sending a shutter down her spine.

Suddenly, as if awakened by the chill, Linda turned, ran out of her room and down the stairs. Not stopping for shoes or a jacket, she ran out the door and onto the cold pavement. Dancing with joy, she whispered to the wind, “He’s here. He’s here. Fall has finally come.”

Copyright 1990, 2006 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in the third volume of http://www.ece.gatech.edu/ecesis/ in 2006.

Fezzi Note

I'm putting out this next poem to remind my master why he should not get any more degrees after he finally finishes his Ph.D. this year!

Lament of Miners

Chains, chains,
Bondage and chains.
The harder we work,
The tighter the reins.

The master will call,
And we follow all
Down to the pit,
Labor and grit.

Cram and cramp,
Tap and tamp,
Light and lamp,
Dank and damp.

Long for the day.
Dark is our way.
Withering away,
The mining foray.

In bonds we roam
In this our home.
Till our last doom
In the earth's womb.

Copyright 1993 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in A Break in the Clouds in 1993 by the The National Library of Poetry.

The Dragon's Riddle: Last Words

Final Part of The Dragon's Riddle

Moraye set his head back on the rock floor and breathed deeply.

“Well done,” said the dragon gravely. “You fought well for one who has taken a more detached role in the past, playing his men instead.”

Moraye turned his eyes to the dragon. “Detached? A king is not always the warrior, you know. He must also command.”

“True, not always!” spoke the dragon. “With you, not ever. You are a pitiful king and not worthy of the title. Where were you whenever peril faced your kingdom? Do you even know the names of your fallen warriors? They’re nothing to you!” roared the dragon. Fire leapt from his eyes, startling the weary king.

The king sat up. “It is true,” he said. “Many lives have I wasted while avoiding my kingly duties. According to the ancients, a king is to be first into battle and last from a retreat, among other things. The serpent looked thoughtfully at him, as if sizing him up. Nodding to himself, he said, “Your life is yours. One can only hope you learned something.”

“What of my men?” asked Moraye, but it was too late. The cavern walls faded into the bark of tall trees, and the roar of the waterfall became the gentle rustling of leaves in a breeze. Moraye stood up and walked through the forest. The faces of noble knights and warriors sent by his hand to their death appeared before him one at a time. The dying cries of each knight as his face faded chilled his spine.

This is too much for me to bear, he thought, turning his mind to more pleasant things. Now, he was returning to the royal city from a battle. It was arranged in splendor to welcome home the victorious. But, instead of victory cheers, the anguished faces of young widows stared at him in a palled silence. Widows of knights who failed to return, their accusing tear-stained eyes faced him in concert, tormenting him.

Suddenly, shouting and the clash of metal broke through the trees, striking Moraye. Shaken from his revelry, his eyes widened and his heart raced. His grip tightened on the sword the dragon had apparently let him keep.

Running to the sound of the battle, he cleared the forest edge and rushed into a meadow. A bowshot away, a battle raged. Five of his eight lost men fought against ten giant soldiers, who were attempting to flank them. Nearby two of his men lay dead on the battlefield. Another, whom he recognized as Stoln, used his elbows to drag his wounded body from the battle.

One of the enemies broke from the fray and ran to kill the battle-scarred Stoln. Struck to the heart, Moraye shouted and ran.

The enemy hesitated, looking at the newcomer. Moraye immediately fell upon him, clashing hard against the enemy. Driving him back toward the battle, Moraye fought beside his knights until the enemy lay fallen around them.

“Well done, men,” said Sir Reckel, their captain, taking care to clean his sword before sheathing it. “The cowards ambushed us and took us off guard, but you kept your wits and fought valiantly.”

Looking at the two dead warriors, he said, “If only the others had fared as well.”

“Indeed, it is a great loss,” Rafe said, “but who is the new one that joined the battle?” Rafe asked.

Looking around, their eyes settled on Moraye, clutching Stoln’s dead body.

“I tried to save him,” he sobbed to himself with great anguish. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

Moraye's anger welled up inside him. Why? he asked himself. Why did this happen? Why did you let this happen, Leviathan? I passed your wretched test, you foul dragon. Was it too much to grant me my men?

“Leviathan!” he roared, still clutching Stoln’s body.

“Leviathan! I ask you for the lives of my warriors.”

Suddenly weary with sorrow, he quietly said, “Take my life if you wish, but spare my men.”

“Granted,” boomed a voice from behind him. Moraye turned and saw the dark-haired Stoln standing tall with the other seven at the forest’s edge.


Copyright 2002, 1996 by M. D. McKinley. All rights reserved.

First published in the third volume of http://www.ece.gatech.edu/ecesis/ in 2006.