I Know How the World Ends.

I know, because I’ve seen it.  Millions of times in my mind.  All angles.  Some I came up with, some I read.  And yet I still think about it, about destroying the world.  About the Apocalypse or Armageddon, about Gehenna.  The End Times are upon us, what with global warming and economic instability.  How could I not?

As a writer, I love this stuff.  Its brain candy and the books available on the subject are plentiful.  So why do I write it?

I have  difficulty creating my own worlds.  By my own world, I mean someplace completely unique and without being totally derivative.  I much prefer working closer to home, with fractured versions of the world we know.  The infinite possibilities of tweaking the details.

Back in November I wrote a draft of a Dystopian tale set 300 years from now.  Lately my mind has returned to the world of Epsilon and Loft, only set much closer to the present.  My writer’s mind turns as I try and discern just exactly how the world got so fucked up.  The events 300 years in the past directly correlate to the events of the novel, and not knowing them made it difficult for me to write a compelling draft.

What happens if the government needs corporate financing?  Or finally gives into the interests of lobbyists?  What if in an attempt to break out of the new Depression, the United States winds up selling itself to the highest bidder?  What would life be like under a corporate state?  Instead of police we have armed mercenaries.  Civil rights are suspended.  The Heartland of the country is turned into a massive, labyrinthine prison for dissidents and ‘traitors.’

How does the world end for you?