Donn K. Harris
Bio
WRITER, CREATIVITY CONSULTANT, NEVADA CITY, CA.
Calif Arts Council Chair, 2015-18; led Ruth Asawa/ Oakland Arts Schools, 2001-16; Director of Creativity, SF Schools 2016-19. Created nonfiction genre, Speculative Sociology; 4 published novels
Stories (5/0)
The Disruptor
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. THE 2095 ANNUAL INTERNATIONAL PHYSICS CHALLENGE for youth age 7 through 18, published on New Years’ Day, asked students to prove or refute that statement in plain language. The correct answer was assumed to be something like “there are no particles to create the sound waves to transmit sound, or any components of the mechanical energy needed to realize sound; by definition nothing exists in a vacuum, so sound is impossible.”
By Donn K. Harris2 years ago in Futurism
Boy Without A Country
It had been a long cold ride up the coast, gray and unchanging until they turned inland. Matteo Marcus drifted in and out of a restless sleep, at one point jolting awake in fear when he felt a darkness closing in: the forests of the coastal hills were overhead; the open skies above the ocean had bathed him in light, while now the tree canopy encased and trapped him. For a moment he thought he had dreamed his release and he was still at the work camp. But soon the bus was to make its way to the coast again, and he saw his new home through a break in the trees: San Vicente, a jumble of buildings nestled in small groves of dense greenery, the ocean crashing into its eroding western bluffs, and the blessed white-gray sky above. He was free, and he was to have a new start here, a half-hour from where he had grown up, but it could have been the moon to Matteo Marcus. He was seventeen years old.
By Donn K. Harris2 years ago in Fiction
Die Like A Hero Going Home
"Sing your death song and die like a hero going home." Tecumseh The day my mother died, after the early details had been handled and the adrenaline wore off, I looked out at traffic on a wide, featureless boulevard and thought: It goes on like nothing happened? You pass away and the lights are still red, green and yellow? A voice in my head was whispering: If I go down, this traffic light routine has got to stop.
By Donn K. Harris2 years ago in Fiction
