My Short Story “The Polywater Equation” (Die Polywasser-Gleichung) in “Tales of Science II” Anthology

July 13, 2025June 5, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

*Author Nina Munteanu holding copy of Tales of Science II (photo by Jane Raptor)*

A few weeks ago, I looked into my mail box and found my contributor’s copy of “Tales of Science II” Anthology (edited by Marianne Labisch & Kiran Ramakrishnan) with my short story Die Polywasser-Gleichung (“The Polywater Equation”) inside. Beaming, I did a little dance because the anthology was marvelous looking! And it was all in German! (My mother is German, so I could actually read it; bonus!).

This science-fiction anthology, for which I was invited to contribute, collected seventeen short stories, all based on sound science. Here’s how the book jacket blurb (translated from German) describes the anthology:

It’s all just fiction. Someone made it up; it has nothing to do with reality, right? Well, in this anthology, there’s at least a grain of truth in all the stories, because scientific sponsors collaborated with authors. Here, they looked into the future based on current research What does such an experiment look like? See for yourself what the authors and scientific sponsors have come up with: about finding a way to communicate with out descendants, finding the ideal partner, conveying human emotions to an AI, strange water phenomena [that’s my story], unexpected research findings, lonely bots, and much more. The occasion for this experiment is the 20^th anniversary of the microsystems technology cluster microTEC Südwest e. V.

(cover image and illustrations by Mario Franke and Uli Benkick)

In our initial correspondence, editor Marianne Labisch mentioned that they were “looking for short stories by scientists based on their research but ‘spun on’ to create a science fiction story;” she knew I was a limnologist and was hoping I would contribute something about water. I was glad to oblige her, having some ideas whirling in my head already. That is how “The Polywater Equation” (Die Polywasser-Gleichung) was born.

I’d been thinking of writing something that drew on my earlier research on patterns of colonization by periphyton (attached algae, mostly diatoms) in streams using concepts of fluid mechanics. Elements that worked themselves into the story and the main character, herself a limnologist, reflected some aspects of my own conflicts as a scientist interpreting algal and water data (you have to read the story to figure that out).

The *Diatom Forest, (illustration by Nina Munteanu used in Dutch journal H2O)*

My Work with Periphyton

As I mentioned, the short story drew on my scientific work, which you can read about in the scientific journal Hydrobiologia. I was studying the community structure of periphyton (attached algae) that settled on surfaces in freshwater streams. My study involved placing glass slides in various locations in my control and experimental streams and in various orientations (parallel or facing the current), exposing them to colonizing algae. What I didn’t expect to see was that the community colonized the slides in a non-random way. What resulted was a scientific paper entitled “the effect of current on the distribution of diatoms settling on submerged glass slides.”

A. Distribution of diatoms on a submerged glass slide parallel to the current; treated diatom frustules are white on a dark background. B. diagram of water movement around a submerged glass slide showing laminar flow on the inner face and turbulent flow on the edges (micrograph photo and illustration by Nina Munteanu)

For more details of my work with periphyton, you can go to my article called Championing Change. How all this connects to the concept of polywater is something you need to read in the story itself.

The Phenomenon of Polywater

The phenomenon started well before the 1960s, with a 19^th century theory by Lord Kelvin (for a detailed account see The Rise and Fall of Polywater in Distillations Magazine). Kelvin had found that individual water droplets evaporated faster than water in a bowl. He also noticed that water in a glass tube evaporated even more slowly. This suggested to Kelvin that the curvature of the water’s surface affected how quickly it evaporated.

*Soviet chemist Boris Deryagin peers through a microscope in his lab*

In the 1960s, Nikolai Fedyakin picked up on Lord Kelvin’s work at the Kostroma Technological Institute and through careful experimentation, concluded that the liquid at the bottom of the glass tube was denser than ordinary water and published his findings. Boris Deryagin, director of the Institute of Physical Chemistry in Moscow, was intrigued and his team confirmed that the substance at the bottom of the glass tube was denser and thicker than ordinary water and had additional anomalous properties. This phase of water had a thick, gel-like consistency; it also had a higher stability, like a polymer, over bulk water. It demonstrated a lower freezing point, a higher boiling point, and much higher density and viscosity than ordinary water. It expanded more than ordinary water when heated and bent light differently. Deryagin became convinced that this “modified water” was the most thermodynamically stable form of water and that any water that came into contact with it would become modified as well. In 1966, Deryagin shared his work in a paper entitled “Effects of Lyophile Surfaces on the Properties of Boundary Liquid Films.” British scientist Brian Pethica confirmed Deryagin’s findings with his own experiments—calling the odd liquid “anomalous water”—and published in Nature. In 1969, Ellis Lippincott and colleagues published their work using spectroscopic evidence of this anomalous water, showing that it was arranged in a honeycomb-shaped network, making a polymer of water—and dubbed it “polywater.” Scientists proposed that instead of the weak Van der Waals forces that normally draw water molecules together, the molecules of ‘polywater’ were locked in place by stronger bonds, catalyzed somehow by the nature of the surface they were adjacent to.

This sparked both excitement and fear in the scientific community, press and the public. Industrialists soon came up with ways to exploit this strange state of water such as an industrial lubricant or a way to desalinate seawater. Scientists further argued for the natural existence of ‘polywater’ in small quantities by suggesting that this form of water was responsible for the ability of winter wheat seeds to survive in frozen ground and how animals can lower their body temperature below zero degrees Celsius without freezing.

When one scientist discounted the phenomenon and blamed it on contamination by the experimenters’ own sweat, the significance of the results was abandoned in the Kuddelmuddel of scientific embarrassment. By 1973 ‘polywater’ was considered a joke and an example of ‘pathological science.’ This, despite earlier work by Henniker and Szent-Györgyi, which showed that water organized itself close to surfaces such as cell membranes. Forty years later Gerald Pollack at the University of Washington identified a fourth phase of water, an interfacial water zone that was more stable, more viscous and more ordered, and, according to biochemist Martin Chaplin of South Bank University, also hydrophobic, stiffer, more slippery and thermally more stable. How was this not polywater?

The Polywater Equation

In my story, which takes place in Berlin, 2045, retired limnologist Professor Engel grapples with a new catastrophic water phenomenon that looks suspiciously like the original 1960s polywater incident:

The first known case of polywater occurred on June 19, 2044 in Newark, United States. Housewife Doris Buchanan charged into the local Water Department office on Broad Street with a complaint that her faucet had clogged up with some kind of pollutant. She claimed that the faucet just coughed up a blob of gel that dangled like clear snot out of the spout and refused to drop. Where was her water? she demanded. She’d paid her bill. But when she showed them her small gel sample, there was only plain liquid water in her sample jar. They sent her home and logged the incident as a prank. But then over fifty turbines of the combined Niagara power plants in New York and Ontario ground to a halt as everything went to gel; a third of the state and province went dark. That was soon followed by a near disaster at the Pickering Nuclear Generating Station in Ajax, Ontario when the cooling water inside a reactor vessel gummed up, and the fuel rods—immersed in gel instead of cooling water—came dangerously close to overheating, with potentially catastrophic results. Luckily, the gel state didn’t last and all went back to normal again.

If you read German, you can pick up a copy of the anthology in Dussmann das KulturKaufhaus or Thalia, both located in Berlin but also available through their online outlets. You’ll have to wait to read the English version; like polywater, it’s not out yet.

References:

Chaplin, Martin. 2015. “Interfacial water and water-gas interfaces.” Online: “Water Structure and Science”: http://www1.lsbu.ac.uk/water/interfacial_water.html

Chaplin, Martin. 2015. “Anomalous properties of water.” Online: “Water Structure and Science: http://www1.lsbu.ac.uk/water/water_anomalies.html

Henniker, J.C. 1949. “The depth of the surface zone of a liquid”. Rev. Mod. Phys. 21(2): 322–341.

Kelderman, Keene, et. al. 2022. “The Clean Water Act at 50: Promises Half Kept at the Half-Century Mark.” Environmental Integrity Project (EIP). March 17. 75pp.

Munteanu, N. & E. J. Maly, 1981. The effect of current on the distribution of diatoms settling on submerged glass slides. Hydrobiologia 78: 273–282.

Munteanu, Nina. 2016. “Water Is…The Meaning of Water.” Pixl Press, Delta, BC. 584 pp.

Pollack, Gerald. 2013. “The Fourth Phase of Water: Beyond Solid, Liquid and Vapor.” Ebner & Sons Publishers, Seattle WA. 357 pp.

Ramirez, Ainissa. 2020. “The Rise and Fall of Polywater.” Distillations Magazine, February 25, 2020.

Szent-Györgyi, A. 1960. “Introduction to a Supramolecular Biology.” Academic Press, New York. 135 pp.

Roemer, Stephen C., Kyle D. Hoagland, and James R. Rosowski. 1984. “Development of a freshwater periphyton community as influenced by diatom mucilages.” Can. J. Bot. 62: 1799-1813.

Schwenk, Theodor. 1996. “Sensitive Chaos.” Rudolf Steiner Press, London. 232 pp.

Szent-Györgyi, A. 1960. “Introduction to a Supramolecular Biology.” Academic Press, New York. 135 pp.

Wilkens, Andreas, Michael Jacobi, Wolfram Schwenk. 2005. “Understanding Water”. Floris Books, Edinburgh. 107 pp.

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto. Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

Cats and Dogs in Space

June 29, 2025May 5, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / 1 Comment

Recently I was delighted to get in the mail a copy of this fetchy slim book of poetry Cats and Dogs in Space (Hiraeth Books, 2025) with cool cover. In this delightful poetry book, speculative writer Lisa Timpf showcases her talented imagination and insight on our feline and dog companions.

The slim 70-page book is parsed into four sections inspired by headlines, legends & folklore, the great hereafter, and imaginings of the future. Each section showcases an aspect of these furry characters with great aplomb.

In her poems inspired by headlines, the headlines often speak volumes; like a mini-poem within a poem, they capture the fractal truths we only sense. “The Truth Is Out” inspired from the headline: “Cats classified as ‘invasive alien species’ by Polish institute,” the headline—whether real or imagined—says it all. The poem then proceeds to dissect this possibility with acumen and, of course, humour: Many questions remain, including when did their ships arrive…the next move is up to them. We can only wait to see what our feline overlords have in mind for us.

In Nursery Rhymes for Changing Times, Timpf applies a pithy dry humour to several folklore characters:

Cupboards empty again—
Mother Hubbord’s dog
orders biscuits online

exterminator’s visit just completed—
visiting cat pursues
the Queen’s computer mouse

video of fiddling cat
draws millions of likes—
dish and spoon regret departure

In The Unknown, Timpf muses over the seasons following the passing of a beloved dog. The poem is heartfelt and beautifully metaphoric, pulling at my heartstrings with thoughts of the hereafter and our own journey into the unknown: …a skein of northbound geese, loose=strung, spans across the sky proclaiming, as they go, that we all must trace our path one day into the unknown after.

The ‘Cats and Dogs of the Future’ section is brim with fetchy titles such as The Sand Dogs of Mars and Steampunk Paradise. In A Cat’s Confession, we get wonderful insight into a cat’s psyche, as a cat from the future lists a litany of its transgressions that somehow end not with humility, guilt and apology but with logical recrimination.

Applying an edgy, sometimes warped, sense of humour—required when dealing with cats—and a tender sensibility of animal/human psychology, Timpf’s Cats and Dogs in Space explores the universe of these two species, vividly capturing their unique idiosyncrasies and influence on us from joyful to frustrated, from humorous to sentimental. This volume of poems is so much more than an exploration of cats and dogs in space; it embraces the very spaces they occupy, from the depth of our souls to the many liminal folds of existence.

On Writing: The Blank Page

June 8, 2025April 8, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

*AI concept art by genaiTechvifySoftware.com*

I teach scholarly writing at the University of Toronto through several writing centres; I’m helping students with their assignments in engineering, the health sciences and humanities. All are generating scholarly papers on various topics with various purposes; anything from a critical assessment, literature review, position paper, or reflection essay to a lessons learned document, research proposal, or thesis chapter. Everyone is using some kind of AI when generating, writing and editing their works. And there are plenty of AI tools to choose from. Some of the most common AI tools used by my students include: Grammarly for grammar; Perplexity as a research tool, text summarizer and conversational AI search engine; Paperpal for editing, Google Scholar as a search engine, ChatGPT to summarize works, brainstorm ideas, provide quiz questions, or even generate human-like text in a first draft.

All these assignments are purpose-built and students must successfully address their assignment requirements to succeed. In some ways, the idea, topic and handling of the topic are assigned; the student need only carefully and clearly address it.

But, when creating something new, like a piece of fiction or even a non-fiction article, professional writers are essentially walking into a new world, not restricted by “assignment guidelines or requirements”; they truly must face the blank page.

*The blank pages of a notebook (photo by Nina Munteanu)*

There’s no precedence for creating a piece of fiction. Yes, certainly inspiration is involved, but the work of something unique must start with a blank page. Professional writers often dread facing the blank page. It even has a name: blank page syndrome, or writer’s block, the feeling of being overwhelmed or even paralyzed by the prospect of starting. Alex Elkjær Vasegaard tells us that “it may come from the fear of not being good enough, of not knowing enough, or of the vastness of the potential ahead.”

I recently read a post on LinkedIn by writing colleague Erik Buchanan, which resonated with me. I asked his permission to quote it here and he gladly gave it:

Just got a recommended post from a marketing person claiming that using AI allows you to get past the hardest part of writing: “the blank page.”

I blocked them, and I’m putting what I was going to reply to them here instead, because they are not a person who will be open to this rant:

If you cannot get past the blank page, you are not a writer.

If you use AI to get past the blank page, you’re still not a writer, and now you’re a thief.

You’re using other writers’ words, fed into an information aggregator and splatted out like a drunk’s meal vomited onto the sidewalk. And you’re scooping it up and claiming it’s fresh food.

You want to write? Write something.

Speaking as one who has written 18 novels (more than half ghostwritten for money), 150 articles, short stories, instruction manuals, sales copy, website copy, commercial scripts, short films and now a feature film (currently being re-written) it’s not that hard.

Using AI means you’re too lazy to learn the craft.

Don’t do it.

A blank page is more than a simple page that is empty. It offers something new, without precedence to write, draw or create. Whether it’s a physical sheet of paper in a notebook or a white space in a digital document, the blank page represents a fresh beginning and wonderful potential for unique creation.

Erik’s point is so Germaine to the creative writing process. The blank page is an open door to possibility; it is a writer’s first step in creating something uniquely their own. Plot, character, setting and language—such as technique, style, words and phrases—certainly make a novel wonderful to read; but it is the unique idea, the spark, the premise and theme that carry that novel into greatness and keep it memorable.

Coming up with first words on a blank page (photo by Nina Munteanu)

Poet Alberto Blanco challenges our notion of the blank page being blank: From the tree it was made from, the rain and sun that allowed the tree to grow, and the people that created it, it soon becomes clear that a blank page contains the whole cosmos.

In “The Blank Page: A Meditation on the Creative Process and Life’s Journey” Alex ElkjærVasegaard describes the blank page as “an expanse of white, unsullied by ink or pixels. It’s the void that calls for creation. It’s the challenge that every artist, writer, and thinker faces. But isn’t that just a beautiful metaphor for life itself?”

Erik, I too would have blocked that marketer. I doubt they are a writer…

“Who then … tells a finer tale than any of us? Silence does. And where does one read a deeper tale than upon the most perfectly printed page of the most precious book? Upon the blank page. When a royal and gallant pen, in the moment of its highest inspiration, has written down its tale with the rarest ink of all — where, then, may one read a still deeper, sweeter, merrier and more cruel tale than that? Upon the blank page.”—Karen Blixen, Last Tales

*Maple beech forest in early spring, ON (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)*

Nina Munteanu is a Canadian ecologist / limnologist and novelist. She is co-editor of Europa SF and currently teaches writing courses at George Brown College and the University of Toronto.

Visit www.ninamunteanu.ca for the latest on her books. Nina’s bilingual “La natura dell’acqua / The Way of Water” was published by Mincione Edizioni in Rome. Her non-fiction book “Water Is…” by Pixl Press (Vancouver) was selected by Margaret Atwood in the New York Times ‘Year in Reading’ and was chosen as the 2017 Summer Read by Water Canada. Her novel “A Diary in the Age of Water” was released by Inanna Publications (Toronto) in June 2020.

The AI Wave: To AI or not to AI … That is the Question…

May 11, 2025March 10, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / 2 Comments

I recently ran across a list posted on social media of the 20 most popular AI tools for productivity in writing. I only knew two of them. This heightened my anxiety about what I know and am prepared for in the use of genAI, particularly in academic settings, where I teach writing at university. And it got me thinking why I was so anxious…

I shared the list with my colleagues at the university writing centre and one instructor who was actively following AI tools admitted that they knew only a few of the listed tools as well. They further shared that they were feeling increasingly apprehensive about genAI’s impact on higher education. “It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed,” they ended.

(Photo: Nina writing her novel at a cafe)

This was my exact sentiment: a kind of apprehensive excitement. An understanding that all communicators stand at the precipice of a major paradigm shift in tool use. The ramifications this will have on all aspects of effective and efficient communication will span from redefining plagiarism to reinventing creativity. As with all powerful tools—aside from the obvious threat of misuse—there is always something lost with the gain and I wonder what we are losing with all this. I have some ideas, and they do bother me from time to time.

*Applications of Generative AI (image by Neebel Technologies)*

I do think it important for me as a communicator and writing instructor to understand the trade offs and to work with them.

When the world adopted the portable calculator, rote knowledge of basic math suffered. I know; I tested it during a lab exam when I was teaching college biology many years back. I forbid the use of calculators in the test and many students, who had lost the ability to do long division or multiplication by hand, lost marks. For some reason, I’m still not sure of, it was important for me to insist on students doing math longhand (a basic skill fast becoming obsolete like cursive writing) and punish those who had lost the art. Perhaps I was drawing on Isaac Asimov’s possibly prescient 1957 short story satire The Feeling of Power, which explored the limitations of a future world that lost its basic skills to machines. The corollary, I suppose, is that more complex and conceptual math gained some ground through this handy and efficient tool. Machines have their advantages, certainly. And generative AI is just one sophisticated aspect of machine use.

Consequences to Creative Writing

In my world of professional fiction authors, there is a palpable fear of being replaced by AI as story creators: a version of the ultimate science fiction horror plot of being taken over by the machine world (I’ve even exploited that in my SF thrillers Angel of Chaos and Darwin’s Paradox).

Given our unique powers of imagination, I don’t think that will happen (very soon, if ever successfully). Though, as we dummy-down and simplify complex stories for fast-paced multiplex audiences addicted to fast-paced bite-sized and easy to digest entertainment, AI-generated narratives could get by. How is all this affecting the publishing industry now? I recently learned that one of the top five online science fiction magazines, Metastellar, accepts AI-assisted stories with the proviso that “they better be good.” And Metastellar provides some convincing reasons. This has become a hot topic among my fellow professional writers at SF Canada. One colleague informed me that a “new publisher Spines plans to disrupt industry by publishing 8000 AI books in 2025 alone.” On checking the news release, I discovered that Spines is, in fact, a tech firm trying to make its mark on publishing, primarily through the use of AI. The company offers the use of AI to proofread, produce, publish, and distribute books. They are, in fact, a vanity publishing platform (essentially a service for self-publishing), charging up to $5000 a book and often taking just three weeks to go from manuscript to a published title. The quality of what they will produce is unclear—and questionable.

All to serve as metaphor for what I and my colleagues at university are striving to achieve with students in their academic writing: excellence in communication, particularly in conveying complex scenarios that require creative solutions where clear, concise, and convincing writing is requisite.

I still find myself reluctant to use AI in my writing and communication, though I’ve at times slid into using AI for research and initial summaries to save time. I do this rarely because I absolutely enjoy doing research. I enjoy challenging my brain to summarize key points and write a good line. I enjoy the thrill of unanticipated discoveries, which always happen on these forays. I also recognize that many people do not share my enthusiasm for these brain exercises.

(Photo: Nina writing in another cafe)

I think that AI alone will not replace human mind for unique creativity. I didn’t say “can not.” It could; but it won’t. This is because even as genAI becomes infused in many aspects of life pursuit, there will remain those like that rare mathematician capable of doing math by hand in The Feeling of Power, valued not just because they are rare, but because in that rarity, they fulfill a critical role. When the machines stalled in their ability to move society forward in The Feeling of Power and all seemed lost, this archaic mathematician presented new innovation with basic math. I’m not suggesting that the technology will all break down, plunging the world into darkness (though this remains a possibility and is still a great plot for science fiction); but I submit that diversity rules over monopoly when it comes to survival.

This may seem a rather dark projection of the future, but consider that over the millennia, after five mass extinctions and with the sixth mass extinction underway, diversity has always saved the world. Within that necessary diversity, it is the nurtured rarities, the outliers, the misfits and nonconformists that survived the destruction of the previous world. Each time, diversity made that possible. As though engrained in Nature’s world building.

*Mass Extinctions (image by National Geographic)*

Ecologists call it ecological succession, others use the term “creative-destruction” to describe the recursive pattern of living and non-living things of the planet. Both describe how the oligarchs of an established climax ecosystem fail due to change or disturbance and are replaced by a previous rare misfit or immigrant better suited to the new environment.

*Primary and secondary succession in two different ecosystems*

I think AI is part of our succession. Our use of AI in all its forms will represent a diversity of reaction and action that represent our own diversity and potential to survive in a changing world. All to say: relax and embrace the outliers.

*Writing in nature (photo by Nina Munteanu)*

As William Gibson so famously said in 1993: The Future is already here; it’s just not evenly distributed. And maybe that’s a good thing…

So…

…To AI, or not to AI, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of terrible writing,
Or to take arms against a sea of scribbles
And by opposing end them. To think—to write,
No more; and by writing to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That tech is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To think, to write;
To write, perchance to create—ay, there’s the rub:
For in that creation of unique thoughts what others may come,
When we have shuffled off this genAI…

Double Book Launch at Free Times Café, Toronto

May 8, 2025April 26, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

*Free Times Cafe venue at night (photo by Ashish Pillai)*

Appropriately, on the eve of Earthday, Exile Editions and Stelliform Press launched two eco-fiction books at one of Toronto’s oldest and established cultural/dining venues, Free Times Café, by Kensington Market. Both books were works of eco-fiction and climate fiction that focused on issues of environmental treatment and destruction. Both works focused on hope.

Top left: Free Times Cafe venue at night (photo by Nick Wons). Top right: Michael Callaghan of Exile Editions, Lynn Hutchinson Lee, Selena Middleton of Stelliform Press, Nina Munteanu. Bottom: Lynne Sargent reads from Portal.

Exile launched their anthology Through the Portal: Tales of a Hopeful Dystopia, edited by Lynn Hutchinson Lee and Nina Munteanu. It was their twentieth in a series; this one focused on hope in a climate-changing world that is progressively becoming more dystopic. Short stories and poems were read by authors.

*Top left: Ursula Pflug reads from Portal. Top right: Michael Callaghan introduces the anthology. Bottom: Lynn Hutchinson Lee reads from her novel* Origins of Desire in Orchid Fens.

Stelliform launched Origins of Desire in Orchid Fens a novel written by Lynn Hutchinson Lee, who read several excerpts of her novel.

Both works have received much praise.

Thompson Creek Marsh in a November Mist–Art by Lorina Stephens

March 23, 2025February 12, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

The Photograph:

*A November mist settles on Thompson Creek marsh, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)*

In January of this year, I posted a shot I’d taken in early winter of a marsh I often visit. That morning was cool and a thick mist lurked in the marsh like a shadow, giving it a mysterious timeless quality. A quiet stillness had settled like dew on everything, muting both colour and sound into a hush of anticipation. The stillness made me feel as though I’d entered a John Atkinson Grimshaw painting. A moody darkness pervaded the bare braided trees and the marsh oozed the scent of humus and wet vegetation. I inhaled it all deeply.

The image I posted caught the attention of colleague writer and publisher Lorina Stephens, who is also a superlative artist and painter. Inspired, she responded to my image with a painting.

The Painting:

*Lorina Stephen’s ekphrastic painting entitled “Fog on West Grey Pond”*

“I very much wanted to create that feeling of dreamscape that often happens in still waters, of there being something out there in the mist, of that sense of wonder and mystery. So, for this painting, it meant employing a gentle hand, allowing pigment to flow and pool, waiting until water had evaporated slightly, and then using a small, natural sponge to dab out areas to allow the white of the paper to shine through, then as the paper dried in an hour or so, or in some cases the next day, brushing in details little by little, from soft washes to hard lines, in order to create depth and definition.

It always amazes me when depth of field happens on the two dimensions of paper, that in this flat, thin sheet of paper I can take my viewer out and away into the distance, through a portal to another place, and in this case perhaps create that sense of the dampness and chill of a foggy day.”

Biography of Lorina Stephens

Lorina Stephens has been painting since the age of 14 when she studied under well-known, award-winning Ontario landscape artist, Dorothy Milne-Eplett. In those days it was oils and mostly copy-painting, although there were originals. Most of those paintings ended up in a collection under patreon, Oscar LaBerge, who was a construction worker in Newmarket, Ontario.

In the 1980s, Lorina rediscovered watercolours during an intensive 12 week Georgian College course, during which time the Tottenham Art Association was formed, and juried shows ensued, as well as solo exhibitions in galleries in Central Ontario.

Then the recession of the 1990s happened, and art became a way to stretch the family budget by way of hawking wares at the Orangeville Farmers Market, what Lorina came to call “painting pretty pictures for tourists”. These days Lorina paints simply as a way of expressing her love of the land, the ineffable communication that exists in the vast expanse of Canadian geography.

Lorina inherited from her mother a lifetime supply of watercolour paper. Among all those papers is a block of 7″ x 10″ Arches 140 lb hot pressed paper. That began a journey of studies.

Hot pressed paper has its own set of demands, having a very smooth finish and thus doesn’t absorb water the way of cold pressed, and the weight also means it tends to buckle and warp easily in larger sizes. Lorina addresses that by using a tempered glass painting desk, and creating a suction seal with water between the glass and paper, rather than the frustration of stretching paper onto a surface with masking tape. Using hot pressed paper also allows for some pretty interesting results by way of sponging and wiping out areas, and accepting precise detail work when the paper is dry. Her palette of colours is mostly transparent, with the addition of some pretty aggressively staining bullies added in.

*Thompson Creek marsh on a foggy November morning, ON (photo by Nina Munteanu)*

Call for Writers’ Group in Prince George, BC

March 20, 2025March 7, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / 1 Comment

Lynda Williams, author of science fiction series The Okal Rel Saga and publisher of Reality Skimming Press has just pulled together a writers group in Prince George, B.C., for writers to connect with other writers and share feedback on fiction and nonfiction.

Meetings will start March 20 and continue every other Thursday following from 7-9 pm at the Live Well Prince George Society.

All levels of experience are welcome. There is a $2 donation per drop in or $10 annual membership.

Review of “A Diary in the Age of Water”: Women, Water, Numinosity, and the Transformation of the World

March 16, 2025March 6, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

“It is a novel to learn from, and it is a novel to take forward into life as inspirational guide. Each of us is called upon to examine, not only our relationship with water, but with all Earth gifts.”
Jane Buchan, author & educator

Vermont author Jane Buchan recently wrote a review of my 2020 eco-fiction novel A Diary in the Age of Water. Here is an excerpt:

As climate, social, and political crises escalate, one source of guidance becomes essential to our continued optimism and activism: a Numinous Story… A Diary in the Age of Water by Nina Munteanu, is, for many of us alive in these terrifying times, a numinous story. It meanders through our consciousness with the enlightening science of fresh-water lakes and rivers and streams, sometimes heavy with sediment and toxicity, sometimes fast flowing and cleansing, sometimes terrifying with truths smacking us down with the force of a tidal bore. Its characters are story tellers and story receivers, and despite their diverse natures, all the stories they tell reveal the many threats to our source of life on Earth – our water.

Nina Munteanu’s novel structure is perfect for the weaving of human scientific and mystical relationships with water. It’s initial and final sections create a frame for the inner story of bitterness, despair, self-serving behaviours, and corporate rapaciousness described by a professional scientist, a limnologist named Lynna. In the outer story we meet Kyo and Nam, Kyo’s mentor, as well as Ho, a librarian and keeper of a remnant of rare books. These characters exist on the other side of a mysterious cataclysm, the causes of which are the novel’s key themes.

Kyo, a small, four-armed blue being whose story begins and ends the novel, introduces us to the characters who form the larger diary section framed by the opening Library section and final Seed Ship section. Kyo makes glancing references to Una, mother of Lynna, and Lynna, mother of Hilde. Only Lynna is fully realized through her own perceptions and thoughts, these expressed in diary entries beginning in the spring of 2045 and ending in the late fall of 2066. Her diary, taking up 250 pages of this 303-page novel, provides the chronological spine connecting our past and present to a possible future that is not the one most humans want to think about, let alone welcome.

A Diary in the Age of Water is best sipped and savoured rather than gulped. Gulping will lead to choking for most non-scientist readers, and this book deserves to be experienced as it is written, in slow, undulating, revelatory waves… Like all complex stories, A Diary in the Age of Water requires patience, something our video-oriented age does not foster. The richest stories ask that we learn to hold many apparently divergent story threads at once. One of my fears as I read the diary was that the darkness of greed and short-sighted thinking and feeling would win out over that wondrous mystical relationship with the world that Una carried. While Una does her best to pass the experience of the sacred on to Lynna, Una’s spiritual influence is eclipsed by Lynna’s oppressive dependence on scientific knowledge to the exclusion of all else.

Through these characters, Nina Munteanu offers a warning for our times. Science is vitally important to our understanding of natural systems but science best serves us when it is balanced with an experience of the responsiveness of the natural world, a responsiveness that evokes our reverence and respect. Every culture honours the spiritual nature of the greater-than-human world, encoding its reverence in mythology, folktales, and wisdom traditions. – all keepers of numinous stories that transform our relationships with one another and the world. When we live honouring the sacred nature of all life, we become partners and co-creators. When we do not, we are highly dangerous parasites…

Lynna is called to hold the science of water firmly in her mind as her heart slowly opens to water’s responsiveness, water’s intelligence, water’s generosity, water’s love. It is a huge transformation for her, because science has been her safe place, her refuge. But knowing how something works is only the first part of the journey for those of us alive on this watery planet; we must all experience the why – the joy of unbreakable interconnections that make our lives meaningful… It is not Una’s daughter, Lynna, who carries this numinosity forward. It is Hilde, Una’s granddaughter, whose name means, significantly, Warrior Woman. How Kyo fits in to this lineage is one of the novel’s most unique speculations, one best discovered by reading the entire novel.

This novel is rich with information about water’s evolutionary journeys; it also describes the horrors of human greed that directly impact our relationships with water. It is not an easy book, but it is an important one, especially for people ready to engage, to advocate, to stand against the corporate insanity currently destroying Earth’s delicate balances. It is a novel to learn from, and it is a novel to take forward into life as inspirational guide. Each of us is called upon to examine, not only our relationship with water, but with all Earth gifts.

Go to Jane’s site Winterblooms to read the full review, worth reading in its entirety for its rich and poetic narrative.

Jane Buchan is a writer currently living in Vermont and originally from southwest Ontario. Her books include Under the Moon, Kinder Sadist and her latest, The Buttes. She is also an emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT) coach, Master Trainer and educator.

*Jackson Creek flowing through ice formations (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)*

Authors Read from “Through the Portal: Tales from a Hopeful Dystopia”

March 9, 2025February 5, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

I recently participated in author readings from the eco-fiction anthology “Through the Portal: Tales from a Hopeful Dystopia.” Co-editor Lynn Hutchinson Lee and I opened the session with some introductory remarks, followed by readings by four of the anthology writers: Annaliese Schultz, Jade Wallace, Isabella Mori, and Matt Freeman.

*Co-editors Lynn Hutchinson Lee and Nina Munteanu introduce the anthology at the reading*; *authors and moderator pictured above*

The readings generated a lot of discussion about the nature and role of eco-fiction and stories in general on how we view the world and how that, in turn, influences the choices we make in life. Below, I include a short story excerpt and audience reaction for each author who read.

Annaliese Schultz read from her story Water & Oil. “Bursting from months, maybe years, of inertia born of dismay (engendered by the unending disasters of the world), Zip is instantly galvanized and greater than himself and gone.” One audience member shared that her story “sounded horrifyingly too possible.”

Jade Wallace read from her story Pluck. “It was only after I started working at the florist a few months ago that I began to think of plants as things that move. I learned that algae may swim towards the light; sundew can catch insects in their stalks; the leaves of touch-me-nots will slouch when they feel rain.” A member of the audience shared that “with what we now know about the way trees/plants communicate with each other, it was a neat story of crossing over to try to tell humans something.”

*Jade Wallace reads from her story “Pluck”*

Isabella Mori read from her story Shift. “Red Nelly, that’s what they called my grandmother; always looked a little dishevelled. So did her living room. Four book shelves were squeezed into the small room, sagging with dark tomes, oversized coffee-table books, Greenpeace brochures, and video cassettes that even her questionable looking TV couldn’t play anymore.” Someone in the audience mentioned that the author had woven a very human story. “Stories are sometimes better teachers than all other forms available to us. I felt moments of warmness and reflection.” Another audience member added, “The wisdom of animals and plants—there’s hope for the planet. I’m ordering this book from my local independent as soon as I close his meeting!”

Matt Freeman read from his story Birdseed: “Near the end I began to devote the bulk of my time to what I believed to be a gregarious individual of the species Corvus brachyrhynchos—the American Crow. By then a chemical scythe had begun to carve up the clouds hanging over the lands of ‘Vancouver’ in a psychedelic frenzy, and the shocked blue skyline often bled in shades of lime.” One audience member shared, “I loved he way ‘birdish’ words kept appearing: perch, cage. This may be Matt’s first published story, but I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Another audience member shared, “I loved the connection with the wisdom and personification of your crow.”

*Nina Munteanu commenting on one of the readings*

The readings generated a lot of discussion about the nature and role of eco-fiction and stories in general on how we view the world and how that, in turn, influences the choices we make in life.

Audience members shared that they found the readings inspiring. One member shared, “I find stories and poems have a more transcendent or at least deeper connection when read aloud. I wasn’t sure what to expect. So glad to be a part of this reading. The book sounds amazing.” Another member shared, “Keep hope alive!”

For more about how this anthology came about go to my previous post on Through the Portal.

Hopeful dystopias are so much more than an apparent oxymoron: they are in some fundamental way the spearhead of the future – and ironically often a celebration of human spirit by shining a light through the darkness of disaster. In Through the Portal: Tales from a Hopeful Dystopia, award-winning authors of speculative fiction Lynn Hutchinson Lee and Nina Munteanu present a collection that explores strange new terrains and startling social constructs, quiet morphing landscapes, dark and terrifying warnings, lush newly-told folk and fairy tales.–Exile Editions

“A stunning collection of short stories and poetry that address our most existential concerns.”
Dragonfly.eco

“Will ingenuity, love, and respect for the earth help us work through whatever changes might lie ahead? Through the Portal offers hope that these qualities, if not enough in and of themselves, will help us find our way.”
The Seaboard Review

*Farmer’s field at sunset, winter in Ontario (photo and rendition by Nina Munteanu)*

Confessions of a Teenage Eco-Warrior

February 23, 2025February 23, 2025 / thealiennextdoor / Leave a comment

When I was little, I wanted to be a storyteller, a cartoonist specifically. I was reading graphic novels before I could read. That didn’t stop me from understanding what was going on. Being a virtual learner and an artist, I understood context: expressions, body language…

Nina, age three, pretending to read (photo by Martha Munteanu)

I wrote and drew wild adventure thriller detective stories and stories about exploring other planets. While my first love was telling stories, I was called by the needs of the environment. This percolated through me as I grew up and wouldn’t let go. When I could read and write, I still read graphic novels; I wrote and illustrated short stories about the environment, dystopian tales that focussed on how we were destroying our planet.

At school, I loitered in the hallways, pasting subversive posters on the walls. They were a call to action: Restrain … Reuse … Repurpose … Recycle … Remain true to the environment. I wrote in the school paper. I quoted global statistics, mentioned global warming (yes, people knew about it back in the ‘60s and ‘70s), and submitted cheesy emotional drawings of pollution and toxic waste.

I was a teenage eco-warrior.

By the time I was ready to go to university (I’d been accepted early into the fine arts program at Concordia University in Montreal), I switched my major on registration day. Like a horse bolting from a fire, I charged out of the arts and into the sciences. I’d heard environment’s call for help and had notions of becoming an environmental lawyer. I kept a few arts courses as electives but focused on a biology degree in the environmental sciences. I understood that the tools I needed to wield as an eco-warrior in law were rooted in science.

*A twenty-some old Nina exploring the forest*

I learned something about ecology, botany, animal, plant, and cell physiology, genetics and biochemistry, and limnology (the study of water systems). The sciences fascinated me and I became entranced in the study of how the natural world worked. I was particularly attracted by lichens, plant-like organisms called cryptogams that grow like miniature forests on substrates—trees, fence posts, rock, cement. My attraction was partly because these often overlooked organisms were actually more of a symbiotic community or mini-ecosystem: an intriguing community of fungi, algae, cyanobacteria, bacteria and yeast growing together. I felt that on some level, lichen had much to teach us on lifestyle and approach to living on this planet. They’d been around for millennia, a lot longer than we’ve been.

Having long abandoned law (I convinced myself that I wasn’t cut out for it; maybe I was but that’s another universe), I decided to pursue lichen ecology for my masters degree. But fate had another path in mind for me. The botany professor who I wished to study under was retiring and no one was taking her place. She referred me to the limnology professor and he got me interested in another microscopic community: periphyton (the algae and associated organisms that colonize plants, rock and cement in water).

I published some papers, moved out west and eventually got married and raised a beautiful son. My limnological expertise led me to a position at the local university and as a scientist with several environmental consulting firms, where I consulted with clients, did field research, wrote reports, and published and presented papers at conferences.

Nina and son Kevin explore nature (photo by Herb Klassen)

I’d come somewhat full circle to be an eco-warrior, pursuing environmental problems (and corporate mischief) through biology rather than law. I designed and conducted environmental impact assessments and recommended mitigation, restoration, and remediation procedures to various clients from lakefront communities and city planners to mining companies dealing with leaky tailings ponds and pulp mills discharging effluent into the ocean.

*Various reports, scientific papers and articles I’ve written or been interviewed for*

It worked for me. I consulted for twenty-some years. It was for the most part both satisfying and encouraging. I felt as though I was making a difference: mostly through educating my clients. But that became less and less the case as the consulting firms I worked for, and the corporations they worked for, seemed to have less and less integrity. They also seemed to care less about the environment and more about profit.

So, just as I’d done on the day of registration at university, I bolted like a horse in a fire and quit my job as a consultant. I never returned to consulting.

*Nina photographing pollution of a small creek entering a drinking water source (photo by Matthew Barker, Peterborough Examiner)*

*My article in the **Niverville Citizen** on understanding watersheds*

My sights went back to storytelling, journalism, and reporting/interviews. Mostly eco-fiction. Creating narratives that would hopefully move people, nudge them to act for the environment. Change their worldview somewhat into eco-friendly territory. Make them care. I’m still an eco-warrior, but my pen and my storytelling is my tool.

The word is a powerful tool. And the stories that carry them are vehicles of change.

Nina Munteanu Writing Coach

Creativity