'Orbital' has left me breathless and musing about weightlessness

The summer is half over, but the winner for my top read has already been determined.  Orbital: A Novel, by Samantha Harvey, has enraptured me.  It is a story about one day in the lives of a crew of six astronauts in low Earth orbit.  We orbit with them, experience sixteen sunrises and sunsets, perform weightless tasks, but mostly, follow their inner monologues, which I would describe as meditations on nature and space.

The novel is a love letter to Earth and a prayer that we will learn to inhabit it with grace.  Harvey describes the daytime view of Earth as "... the humanless simplicity of land and sea.  The way the planet seems to breathe, an animal unto itself.  It's the planet's indifferent turning in indifferent space and the perfection of the sphere which transcends all language."

Summer is a wonderful time to read this book.  One thing I've always enjoyed about physics is how it opens up amazing conversations during late evening strolls, when the stars come out.  At such times, with the Sun blocked out, we see the vastness beyond our atmosphere, and feel so very small.  This sense of awe overcomes us.  Orbital gives us this same feeling, but from a privileged vantage point some 400 km above our planet.

Many students have asked me if I would like to travel to space, and I tell them there's no point thinking about it because my wife wouldn't let me.  The truth is that while I would love to see Earth with my own eyes from low Earth orbit, I do not think my body would enjoy the experience of weightlessness.  Most amusement park rides are no-go zones for me now, which totally sucks, because they were a delight before I turned thirty.

It is not possible to experience weightlessness for a significant amount of time in our day-to-day lives, because along with Earth's gravitational force, we are always subjected to some other contact force (like the push of a chair onto our butt, say).  An orbit is a perpetual state of falling; astronauts are falling along with the capsule they inhabit.   The reason satellites don't fall down to Earth's surface is because they have a sufficient lateral speed (many km/s).  A circular orbit maintains its constant speed because there is no atmosphere to slow it down, so round and round it goes.

Okay, quick tangent... Here's a fun little question that just came to me: Standing on the surface of the Moon, with its negligible atmosphere, how hard would I need to throw a rock for it to complete a full orbit and hit me in the back of my head?  A quick application of Newton's second law leads to the result: v = sqrt(GM/R), where M and R are the Moon's mass and radius, respectively (G is the universal gravitational constant).  Plugging values in, we get a speed of 1,680 m/s (over 6,000 km/h).  I can't throw that fast, and in any case, would prefer not to get hit in the back of my head by a rock moving that fast.

Let's get back to the feeling of weightlessness.  When you jump off of a diving board, you feel weightless from the moment your feet leave the board up until your body enters the water; a few brief seconds of weightlessness.  I cannot fathom enduring that 'organs floating in the ether of my rib-cage' feeling for days, weeks, and even months, without a break, as astronauts do.

There really is no way to simulate weightlessness on Earth.  Even skydiving does not replicate the sensation, because we quickly reach terminal velocity, where the upward drag force matches the downward weight force.  Yes, we are falling, but we feel our weight.  As far as your innards are concerned, it's like lying flat on your bed, only it is the air giving the steady upward push.

A compromise between the brevity of diving into a pool and, say, a 90-minute complete circling of Earth in a spacecraft, is a zero-g airplane, which cuts off its engine for about 22 seconds, during which its thrill-seeking passengers float around the cabin.  It then repeats the parabolic maneuver many more times until someone pukes.

I guess I will have to be satisfied with musing about space.  For this earthbound physics teacher, reading Orbital will have to suffice.

Wishing you a summer of blue skies and starry nights.

Totally Stoked for Totality!

For readers far away from the path of totality for the upcoming solar eclipse, my apologies, but as a Montrealer, I will be getting one minute in the full shade of the sun on Monday, April 8.  It is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I am excited to the point of losing sleep.  It inspired me to write this extended piece in the Montreal Gazette: Totally Stoked About Totality.

Totality will occur at 3:27 p.m. for Montrealers.  But as we are on the northern edge, it will be shorter than those along the middle of the path by a couple of minutes.  Still, one moment would be sufficient to sear the event in my memory.

I was inspired to write the piece by a colleague of mine and my feeling that the average person is not as psyched as they ought to be.  The one message I want to convey to anyone that has an easy opportunity to enter totality is this: DO IT!  The worst case scenario is that this few minute commitment does not rock your world, but in all likelihood, it will be unforgettable, and more so if you experience it with loved ones.

*** Remember to protect your eyes.  Wear eclipse viewing glasses whenever looking directly at the sun, with one exception: the brief minute of totality.  You must remove them during the big moment or you'll miss it.

My Fall Mechanics Class - thanks for the escape!

Oftentimes, as the end of year draws near, I take a moment to reflect on its high points.  For me, there were several, most notably, the publication of my first book (Getting Physics: Nature's Laws as a Guide to Life, link on the right side of the page, makes a great Christmas gift, wink wink).  But, this year has been a rough one for me, particularly the past couple of months, for many reasons I will not elaborate on, but if I must list a theme, let's go with 'targeted attacks on minority communities'.

Of course, I am not alone.  In these difficult moments, we need to try extra hard to be in the moment, and escape the weight of this general malaise.  The classroom is a setting that can offer such an escape.  Many students feel that the classroom is a place they would like to escape from, but consider this...

Many years ago, a student of mine was in crisis.  I could see on their face that something was not right, and we had a chat.  They said something that stuck with me: "The classroom is an escape, a brief respite from my troubles."  I totally get that, particularly with physics, because physics does not care about the day we are having or whether there is peace in the Middle East.  The laws of nature exist outside and above all of our troubles.

In a recent bout with COVID, I was watching too much Netflix, as one does (mostly movies I have already seen cause that's how I roll).  I rewatched Jurassic World.  There are two brothers who enter a theme park with dinosaurs.  One's glee boils over, while the other stares at his phone.  How can one not be completely in awe?  That is how I feel when students get bored in physics class... Not that they all do, but of course, some do.  Maybe most do some of the time?  How can I know for sure?

At the front of the class, I get immersed in physics, and I get to spend time with a fun bunch of young adults.  I get to escape things that exist outside the classroom.  I want all of my students to experience the same feeling.  I have spent my whole career figuring out how to do that while also maximizing their academic growth - and I still have much to learn.

Normally, I say goodbye to my students at the end of the year and inherit new groups in the Winter semester, and try again.  But for my Mechanics class, there was a last-minute reshuffling, and no one could take this group of honours students of mine for their next course (Waves, Optics, and Modern Physics).  In the shuffle, the course fell to me.  

I now have this opportunity (has only happened twice before in my career) to teach the same body of students another course.  I hope they will be happy to hear this news.  My take on it, in general, is that it should be avoided.  Students should see a discipline from many angles.  Also, too much familiarity can be a problem.  For example, students might think it is okay to break lab equipment cause "He's a nice guy, and he knows us," etc.  Anyway, as I said, they are a fun bunch of young adults and I look forward to trying again.  A second chance to get to know the Universe and escape our Earthly troubles in the process.

In the Light of Other Suns

The Eighth Interstellar Symposium, entitled "In the Light of Other Suns" is underway this week at my alma mater, McGill University, in Montreal, Quebec.  Hosted by the Interstellar Research Group and Professor Andrew Higgins, the space conference includes studies of various challenges associated with interstellar flight... and there are many!

Last night, I was fortunate enough to be in a sold out auditorium for a panel discussion amongst experts with varying backgrounds.  The six hundred in attendance sat attentively as a wide range of questions were addressed, from "How much might the transit depicted in Avatar 2 cost?" to "Is it ethical to have a child on a planet that is not Earth, virtually guaranteeing that they will never set foot on their species' origin planet?"  The answer to the former is on the order of petadollars (billions of billions of dollars), and the answer to the second is "We don't know."

The experts have no illusions that people will be travelling to Alpha Centauri in the coming decades.  They anticipate microsatellites being propelled at relativistic speeds (>0.1c) to take pictures of exoplanets in that timeframe.  Starships with people might be a hundred years away.  So, why are distinguished professors studying them today?

The economic answer is that long term projects overcome incremental hurdles that enable spinoff technologies in the present.  But there are so many more reasons, like the plain fact that we are an aspirational species.  NASA technologist Les Johnson, irked by the question of economic returns associated with interstellar flight, posited that humans wanting to know things is reason enough (a comment that elicited enthusiastic applause).

Current engineering studies examine photonic propulsion and the highly reflective surfaces required to reach dizzying speeds.  Others look at the stability of a tiny satellite's trajectory while being bombarded with photons or collisions with space dust when moving at some fraction of c.

I was expecting to hear more about Breakthrough Starshot, the aforementioned mission to snap photos of exoplanets and send them back to Earth.  It seems that the interstellar community is becoming less focused on this one particular mission, instead looking at energy propulsion in a broader sense.  The possibility of a one month transit to Mars was discussed; the spaceship would use a 1g acceleration for the first half of the trip (lasers pushing it from Earth) followed by a 1g deceleration during the second half (lasers pushing it from Mars).  So ya, it would require laser arrays deployed on the Martian surface, but don't worry, studies have looked into the feasibility of that too.

Is it a space symposium for dreamers?  Absolutely.  But power to them (the photonic kind).  A technical engineering conference that can fill a large auditorium is doing something right.      

My first TV appearance!

I'm excited to announce that I will be interviewed by Mutsumi Takahashi on CTV's Montreal noon newscast this coming Tuesday, March 28.  We will discuss my book, Getting Physics, and how I use it to help make physics relatable for students.

I have done radio interviews before, but TV is a new thing for me.  Looking forward to it!

A Thought About Teaching

If we are born a seed, then when I meet students in college, they are plants with deep roots.  On my best day, I can be a star that shines light on the garden before me, inspiring a direction in which to sprout.  If that is not a good reason to get dressed in the morning and go to work, then I don't know what is.

My first book launch

Next Thursday, March 3, 5:00 pm, I will be having my first book launch event at Vanier College (in the STEM Centre, D-301) for Getting Physics: Nature's Laws as a Guide to Life.  I would love to see science enthusiasts there, particularly current and former students of mine. 

I am thinking about how the event should run.  I have been to book signings before and they always include some readings from the newly published book.  My hope is that some of my current and former students could share some of the reading duties with me.  After all, this book was written with them in mind.  The schedule I envision is:

5:00 - 5:30 pm: hors d'ouevres and schmooze

5:30 - 6:00 pm: speeches and short readings from book

6:00 - 6:30 pm: book purchase and signing

My college issued a press release yesterday, so I am also hoping to make the rounds with local Montreal media.

It will be my pleasure to share this moment with readers of this blog who happen to live in my city.  There will be no book tour, so I am contemplating ways to reach a wider audience.  For now, I am starting with my stomping grounds, and seeing where it goes from there.

"Getting Physics" NOW AVAILABLE!

 After years of work, my first book, Getting Physics: Nature's Laws as a Guide to Life, is finally available.  I will almost certainly never devote more time to any single project than I did this one.  It is a labour of love, and I am so happy to share it with readers all around the world.

The link to purchase it through Amazon is here: GETTING PHYSICS.

I am not sure what else to write in this post.  This blog is the place where I learned how to write about physics.  Some of the contents of this book include paragraphs I wrote in 2010, the year The Engineer's Pulse was launched.  I am feeling incredibly nostalgic right about now.  The only thing that makes sense to me is to simply copy/paste the acknowledgement section of Getting Physics here:

Acknowledgements

Momentum for the manuscript began when eleven Vanier College students volunteered to read through a chapter or two and provide detailed comments.  I want to thank Bastienne D.C., Peter D., Kamil C., Maria-Sara F., Quassandra D., Daniel M., Carolynn B., Will E., Alin B., Aashiha B., and Myriam L., because their feedback improved the book immensely. 

There are two more experienced authors that helped point me in the right direction early on as I navigated the journey that is ‘publishing a book’.  Thank you, Alex Rosenblatt and Brahm Canzer.

I must also thank Kristie Stuckey, whose keen eye and countless iterations led to the lovely figures contained herein.

Pearl Levine provided a round of editing that was much appreciated (she also bakes amazing brownies).  Stef Caron used a fine comb and did a final, skillful pass through.

I have more colleagues at Vanier College to thank for their feedback and moral support along the way than I can fit here.  I want to give a shout out to the Vanier College Physics Department, whose combined wisdom helped refine the lens through which I see physics.  I also wish to thank Nicholas Park, Jean-François Brière, and Sameer Bhatnagar for reviewing portions of the book.  Similarly, I have been encouraged to write about physics by many friends, like Jon, Corey, Lorne, Peter, Tom, Rob, Jer, Christian, and Jeff to name a few.

I have had the honor of teaching more than 1,500 students.  My interactions with them helped shape me as an educator.  Their curiosity and resilience through adversity inspired me to keep pushing forward in my career.

I would have little connection to academic content, nor any practical skills without the teacher interactions I had as a student.  My fundamentals in math were solidified in college thanks to Denis Sevee and Frank Lovasco. Professor Andrew Higgins served as a model for how to communicate physics with gusto.  Gerard Carrier and Alpha Ross showed me the ropes in the space industry, upping my technical engineering game.  Finally, my mentor, Professor Arun Misra, taught me most of what I know about physics and engineering.  He introduced me to orbital mechanics, space elevators, space conferences, and how to write technical papers; most importantly, he personified how to approach one’s career and human interactions with integrity.  He has been my Mr. Miyagi.

Before any of this could happen, Mom, Dad, Jamie, you gave me a foundation upon which to build a life.  I was brought up in this nurturing family, even though my mother is not exactly sure where her science author son emerged from.

Val.  We were kids and then we grew into ourselves side by side.  You are my anchor in this life.  At this point, I suppose you get physics whether you like it or not.

Published in Scientific American!

This morning marks a big moment in my career.  I have long wished to be a popularizer of science, and there are few better venues for this than Scientific American.  I had originally submitted a very technical article about space elevators to them, but they asked for something more 'fun', so I rewrote it.  I am so pleased with the result: Space Elevators are Less Sci-Fi than you Think.  I feel quite elated on this November morning.

The Journey that is 'Publishing a Book'

Have you ever tried to publish a book?  If yes, I wonder if your experience tested your might the way mine has.  I have nearly crossed the finish line, but what a long and arduous road it has been (the publishing part, not the writing part).  If you are thinking about publishing a book, perhaps the following bits of wisdom gleaned throughout my soul-crushing journey will be of some benefit to you.

There are two main avenues to publication: to work with a publishing house or to go about it independently.  In the case of my forthcoming book, Getting Physics, I experienced both.  That, in and of itself, is an indicator that things did not go smoothly...

My first mistake: Writing the book before choosing the avenue for publication

If you intend to publish with a publishing house, it is far more efficient to make a book proposal, which includes a synopsis, proposed table of contents, marketing ideas, and perhaps two chapters, before completing a manuscript.  It turns out that even if you decide to publish independently, a book proposal is an excellent idea.  If you will be your own boss, you ought to provide yourself with a roadmap that considers the big picture.

Having written the book first, I backtracked and prepared a book proposal, and this process led me to modify my manuscript.  Armed with my book proposal, I now wished to find a publisher that was interested in my book.

I did some research, and found that the best way to get a good publisher is to get a literary agent.  They work on your behalf, meeting with established publishers, many of whom only consider works that arrive via such an agent.  It turns out that enticing a literary agent is about as hard as enticing a good publisher.

My second mistake: Having pride

I diligently prepared a list of literary agents that fit my work (non-fiction, popular science), got their contact info, and noted the package they wished to receive (usually a book proposal or a query, which is a much shorter synopsis of the project).  I sent in five tailored packages and waited for a response.  And waited.  I checked my email and junk mail more often than I care to admit.  Nothing.

I moved on from getting representation and began reaching out directly to publishers.  Again, I researched publishing houses with non-fiction pop-sci experience.  This time, I had a list of fifteen.  I sent out packages in groups of three.  I sometimes did get a reply, but it was never the green light I wanted.  There were some helpful back and forth exchanges, including brief explanations of why my book was not the right fit.  The main issue was that it was too lay to be a textbook, but too technical to be a lay book.  Well, that is exactly what I was going for: a book that would be challenging but accessible for a physics novice, and a light, enjoyable read for seasoned physicists.  I wrote it because that type of book did not exist, and it was the kind of thing my students needed; but the fact that it did not exist made publishers hesitant to sign a contract with a first-time science author not named Bill Nye.

With my pride swallowed and humble pie consumed, I remained committed to the project, and to working with a publishing house.  This set me up for my biggest mistake.

My third mistake: Signing on with an unestablished publisher

A colleague told me about her friend who had recently published with a new publishing house who shall go nameless.  I sent them a package and received a contract offer shortly thereafter.  I examined the contract and sent it to an author friend, who saw no major red flags.  I contacted one of the publisher's authors who spoke highly of his experience (his book was in sociology, not a natural science, but still, this gave me confidence to move forward).  I signed the contract, and celebrated my victory.

I completed a bunch of paperwork and tailored my manuscript to the publisher's standards within a month.  I recorded a promo video per their request.  Then, I waited months with little contact.  Eventually, they admitted that they could not find a content editor for science!  In the meantime, they decided to copy-edit (format) the book, and worry about finding a content editor afterwards.  The formatting process went on for months.  The final look of the book was not bad, but getting there required so much input from me (they clearly did not know what they were doing).  Months later, they still did not have a content editor for me, and I decided to part ways with them.  Both the publisher and I wasted nearly 18 months that felt like 36 in this process that almost caused me to give up on the book entirely.

The only good thing to come out of all of this is that the publisher's ineptitude forced me to learn a lot about publishing books.  This positioned me well to take on my latest (and, knock on wood, final) avenue for publication: KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing), which is run by Amazon.  The support at KDL via both online tools and actual humans you can call and who call you back within minutes or hours, was incredible (feedback with publishers happens on timescales of weeks and months).  Within weeks, the paperback was completed, and as I write, a proof hardcopy is on its way to my home by way of, well, Amazon.

I am not saying that all small publishers are bad, or that established ones only deal with established authors.  Everyone's publication journey is unique, and not all are fiascos like the one I have detailed here.  Still, I hope that some of this information will benefit another budding author on their road to publication.

My book has been a labor of love along a dirt road littered with shards of broken glass.  I hope that many will enjoy it once it becomes available.