Modern American History Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1500 words

Modern American History - Essay Example Thus, the advent of nuclear weapons has created profound difficulties to the very spirit of liberal democracy; and the tension between nuclear weapons secrecy and the values of liberal democracy is not new now. During the Cold War, the U.S. intelligence community had maintained maddening level of secrecy, especially on matters of defense and to question it was to run the risk of being accused of lack of patriotism, which became the defense mechanism of the McCarthy era. Is it any different now Can we anymore defend our human rights without appearing to be being "for" the terrorists The answer lies somewhere else. Since Machiavelli, secrecy has been seen as a way of the Republic, which must exercise bureaucratic power by governing through such means that must not be concealed. Such intrigue is the first step towards attaining a stronghold into affairs that is free of public scrutiny and thus becomes rigid, canonical and powerful. The present state has become a panopticon who must gaze into the public and private affairs of its people with distinct "mistrust" and hence raise an air of constant alarm. Woodrow Wilson's Woodrow anti-secrecy assertion during the 1912-election campaign held the view that "Government ought to be all outside and no inside," he said, and "there ought to be no place where anything can be done that everybody does not know aboutcorruption thrives in secret places, and we believe it a fair presumption that secrecy means impropriety."1 However, what actually tilted the balance beam towards governmental secrecy were the Atomic Energy Act of 1 946 and the National Security Act of 1947 just during the Cold War era, which established this determined requirement for secrecy beyond the public's eye and beyond their acquiescence. Political theorist Robert Dahl observes this phenomenon of a sudden urge for nuclear secrecy and comments that such requirements are "a tragic paradox" since "these decisions have largely escaped the control of democratic process."2 Secrecy and its norms have largely become effectively dogmatic after September 11. The whole world has really changed forever but not for good. The government terms this as moral obligation to protect secret and balance it constantly against the public's right to access in a culture of openness. Thus is the question is not secrecy oppressive On the contrary, even in the face of such turbulence one can draw the example of the European Convention of Human Rights. The Rights of people, as per ECHR (European Convention of Human Rights) are put above the rights of states out of a realization, borne out of harsh reality, that states acted in self-interest to the detriment of humanity throughout history. From time immemorial, the concept of States always shares a sense of being threatened (especially superpowers like us Americans): a cause and effect relation of dominating and trying to offer resistance. It is generally believed that though there are peaceful and controlled environments exi sting within states, the international arena is anarchical and prone to uncontrollable violence. What these motifs do is put the focus of national security on the protection of one's territorial boundaries and sovereignty. Power comes to be measured through military capability, where everybody starts sharing a sense of being marginalized. The world begins to have an absurd dynamism and begins to operate on a zero-sum game in which, according to

Investigation of Unknown Carbohydrate

Investigation of Unknown Carbohydrate INTRODUCTION From the name itself, Carbohydrates are hydrates of carbons that are polar in nature. The building blocks of carbohydrates are monosaccharides which are simple sugars due to their low molecular weight. Carbohydrates are the product of photosynthesis from the condensation of carbon dioxide that requires light and chlorophyll. Carbohydrates have a vital role in the nutrition of organisms since it is the major source of energy. ATP is energy released by plants and it is the needed by the body to function accordingly. Carbohydrates have different structures thus it gives distinct reactions to various reagents depending on its chemical composition. It can be grouped into monosaccharides, disaccharides and polysaccharides. Monosaccharides could be classified as polyhrdoxy aldoses or ketoses. These are the simplest carbohydrates that cannot be broken down into smaller aggregates. These are aldehydes that contain two or more hydroxyl groups. Disaccharides are two simple sugars that are linked together by a glycosidic bond- an ether bond formed from the merging of two hydroxyl groups between monosaccharides. Polysaccharides, on the other hand, are made up of multiple sugar units attached to a group of disaccharides. They are formed by a glycosidic linkage. MATERIALS AND METHODS For the identification of the unknown carbohydrates samples, 1.00 ml of two unknown samples were transferred in a test tube and 1.00 ml of Molisch reagents was added as well as 1.00 ml of concentrated . For each of the tests- Iodine test, Benedicts test, Barfoeds test, Seliwanoffs test and 2,4-DNP test, fresh samples were needed for each. Table 1 shows the needed amount of reagent for each test for a qualitative analysis. The identity of the two unknown samples was then distinguished based on the reaction of the given set of carbohydrates. For the hydrolysis of starch, 50.00 ml of 5% starch solution was placed in a 100 ml beaker. About 5.00 ml of concentrated sulfuric acid was added. Covering the beaker with aluminum foil, it was then heated until boiled in a water bath. About 1.00 ml of the sample was placed in two separate test tubes with the addition of 1.00 ml of iodine reagent to one and 1.00 ml of Benedicts reagent to the other. The sample was heated continuously. With an interval of 5 minutes, 1.00 ml of the sample was transferred into two separate tees tubes once again and with the addition of the iodine and Benedicts reagent until a blue-black precipitate is formed with the iodine reagent and a brick red color with the Benedicts reagent. RESULTS AND DISCUSSION Table 2 shows the desired color change of the carbohydrates upon the addition of certain reagents. Molischs test is a general test for carbohydrates that determines the presence of carbonyl groups, which gives off a deep purple colored substance. The Iodine test gives off a blue-black colored complex as a positive reaction towards iodine. Benedicts test determines the identity of the reducing sugars which results to an orange-rust color. Barfoeds test has the same purpose as Benedicts test for determining the reducing sugars, but this Barfoeds test gives off a positive test for reducing monossaccharides only. Seliwanoffs test determines the presence of aldoses and ketoses, only the ketoses give off a positive reaction resulting to a brick red color. The 2,4-dinitrophenylhydrazine or the 2.4-DNP test determines the reaction of monosaccharides that gives off yellow- black crystals of osazones that intensifies the color of the substance. Molischs test is a general test for carbohydrates. Concentrated sulfuric acid was added producing a deep purple colored substance. The carbohydrate undergoes dehydration wherein water was released upon the addition of sulfuric acid. Pentoses and hexoses react with the sulfuric acid resulting to the positive color change. For the Iodine test, the only sugar that reacted was starch. Starch is a polysaccharide- a mixture of amylose and amylopectin. An amylose forms a helical structure in water. Iodine could easily penetrate through the helical structure, since monosaccharides and disaccharides arent too small they do not react with iodine. Upon the penetration of the iodine to the core of the helix, it produces a blue-black colored substance. When heated, the blue color disappears because the helical ring of the amylose is disrupted. Iodine is does not have the capacity to bind itself back to helix. The blue color returns when the starch is cooled. The iodine can now bind back to the helix. Benedicts test identifies the reducing sugars, the monosaccharides and the disaccharides. This reagent is a weak oxidizing reagent. Cuprous oxide was converted from cuprous hydroxide. The former determines the presence of the reducing sugar. Seliwanoffs test differentiates ketoses from aldoses. The ketose yields a brick red color upon the addition of heat. Ketose undergoes dehydration when diluted in HCl and heated. Barfoeds test identifies the reducing sugars as well, but this test is specific only for monosaccharides. Carbohydrates exposed to the Barfoed reagent, a mixture of copper acetate and glacial acetic acid, undergoes reduction. The reducing monosaccharide reduces the cupric ions to cuprous ions in acidic medium (4). The cuprous ions formed in turn, reduce the colorless phosphomolybdic acid to blue phosphomolybdous acid (4). The positive color change for monosaccharides was exhibited by a deep blue color, while the disaccharide exhibited a light blue color. The 2,4- DNP test is a general test for carbohydrates. This determines the presence of aldehydes and ketones. The aldoses and ketoses are quite similar. The reducing sugars produce a positive test. The identity of starch could be easily distinguished through the iodine test. When the starch is hydrolyzed it can have a positive result in the Benedicts test. The acetal linkages in starch are hydrolyzed in hot aqueous acid (6). Benedicts test is a useful test in detecting the sugar concentration in the urine of a patient diagnosed with diabetes mellitus. The color of the precipitate gives an approximate percentage of sugar excreted in the urine (4). The color determines the percentage of sugar present in the urine. If the precipitate is blue, sugar is absent, green if there are 0-0.5% sugar, yellow if 1% sugar, orange if 1.5% sugar, and red if 2% sugar or more.

Examining Pascals Argument for God Essay -- Religion Pascal

There have been many responses to Pascal’s proposition. British humorist Terry Pratchett cleverly summed it up in one of his books with a story of a philosopher who said, â€Å"Possibly the gods exist, and possibly they do not. So why not believe in them in any case? If it's all true you'll go to a lovely place when you die, and if it isn't then you've lost nothing, right? (Pratchett 51)† To the average person, it seems as though there are two choices of religion; to believe in God or not to believe in God. Pascal’s theory is that it is better to believe in God, even without reason, because in so believing, you lose nothing, whereas if you do not believe, you stand to lose significantly. On the surface, this wager seems to make an adequate amount of sense, but upon further examination, the argument begins to break down. Pascal states, â€Å"According to reason, you can defend neither of the propositions. (Pascal 444)† He does not think that reason is sufficient to prove God’s existence, nor is there solid evidence one way or the other. â€Å"There is an infinite chaos which separates us, (Pascal 444)† Pascal says, meaning that if there is a God, humans cannot comprehend Him or His actions. This is to say, even if God exists, humans could not possibly know enough about Him to prove His existence by proof or reason. This, Pascal says, is why the wager is necessary; we cannot know if He exists, we must decide to either believe or disbelieve based on logic. Pascal says that the choice is between several sets of human qualities or characteristics: the true vs. the good, reason vs. will, knowledge vs. happiness, and error vs. misery. He theorizes that the believer who turns out to be correct in his belief will have true good, agreement with rea... ... of belief that have been created around the deity by humans. Even if there is a God and belief in Him is founded, there is no way to know if He will or will not bestow rewards upon His followers. Pascal’s theory would make sense if it were based on anything other than religion. Theology depends more on personal motivations than a desire for some unknown reward that may or may not exist. Pascal seems to be merely covering his own ass with this wager, telling himself that he is believing in anticipation of his eventual reward. This is not a satisfactory justification for believing in a God for which one has no evidence. Works Cited Pascal, Blaise. â€Å"The Wager.† Philosophy of Religion: Selected Readings. William L. Rowe and William J. Wainwright, ed. Harcourt Brace, Orlando, FL. 1973. Pratchett, Terry. Hogfather. Harper Prism, London, England. 1996. Examining Pascal's Argument for God Essay -- Religion Pascal There have been many responses to Pascal’s proposition. British humorist Terry Pratchett cleverly summed it up in one of his books with a story of a philosopher who said, â€Å"Possibly the gods exist, and possibly they do not. So why not believe in them in any case? If it's all true you'll go to a lovely place when you die, and if it isn't then you've lost nothing, right? (Pratchett 51)† To the average person, it seems as though there are two choices of religion; to believe in God or not to believe in God. Pascal’s theory is that it is better to believe in God, even without reason, because in so believing, you lose nothing, whereas if you do not believe, you stand to lose significantly. On the surface, this wager seems to make an adequate amount of sense, but upon further examination, the argument begins to break down. Pascal states, â€Å"According to reason, you can defend neither of the propositions. (Pascal 444)† He does not think that reason is sufficient to prove God’s existence, nor is there solid evidence one way or the other. â€Å"There is an infinite chaos which separates us, (Pascal 444)† Pascal says, meaning that if there is a God, humans cannot comprehend Him or His actions. This is to say, even if God exists, humans could not possibly know enough about Him to prove His existence by proof or reason. This, Pascal says, is why the wager is necessary; we cannot know if He exists, we must decide to either believe or disbelieve based on logic. Pascal says that the choice is between several sets of human qualities or characteristics: the true vs. the good, reason vs. will, knowledge vs. happiness, and error vs. misery. He theorizes that the believer who turns out to be correct in his belief will have true good, agreement with rea... ... of belief that have been created around the deity by humans. Even if there is a God and belief in Him is founded, there is no way to know if He will or will not bestow rewards upon His followers. Pascal’s theory would make sense if it were based on anything other than religion. Theology depends more on personal motivations than a desire for some unknown reward that may or may not exist. Pascal seems to be merely covering his own ass with this wager, telling himself that he is believing in anticipation of his eventual reward. This is not a satisfactory justification for believing in a God for which one has no evidence. Works Cited Pascal, Blaise. â€Å"The Wager.† Philosophy of Religion: Selected Readings. William L. Rowe and William J. Wainwright, ed. Harcourt Brace, Orlando, FL. 1973. Pratchett, Terry. Hogfather. Harper Prism, London, England. 1996.

Jazz Concert Report Essay

The UF Jazz Band Concert was an energetic, exciting and very entertaining. The University Auditorium provided a great atmosphere and vibe for the concert. From the start of the concert, it was very obvious how passionate all of the musicians and the director were about their performances. The band consists of five saxophone players, four trumpet players, five trombone players, and a rhythm section with guitar, piano, drums, and bass players. On saxophone were John Milado, Dustin Ferguson, Ben Greer, Monica Bello and Gregory Snider. On the trumpets were Sean Bokinsky, Mark Kindy, Anthony Bobo and Bobby Polidan. Playing the trombones were Kevin Hicks, Nick Arnheim, Brandon Allen, Adren Hance, Corbin Robeck and Mark Doerffel. In the rhythm section, Harrison Barron played guitar. Lincoln Antonio, Mitchell Morlock and Jason Bontrager played piano. Benny Cannon, Ethan Harman and Jonathon Foster played drums. Keegan Musser and Nate Garland played bass. The show wasn’t just the jazz band performing, the University of Florida Jazz Choir also performed two songs during the jazz band break. Jean Hickman directed the choir, which consisted of eight singers. The jazz concert started off with Lincoln Antonio playing a piano solo. It was a great way to get the audience in the mood for a jazz music. The piano solo was beautifully soothing and played so well. Lincoln Antonio did not play the piano for the entire duration of the concert, as he switched in and out with two other piano players, Mitchell Morlock and Jason Bontrager. The first song that the jazz band performed together was â€Å"Needing You†. Scott Wilson, the director, composed this song himself. The song tells about his journey to his wife and what they have been through together. He explained that he worked back and forth in another country, so their relationship wasn’t the easiest path to follow. The song itself was a beautiful piece that had soft parts, as well as fast paced parts. This song featured Kevin Hicks on the trombone. The second song performed by the jazz band was â€Å"Slow Heat† by Neil Slater. In this song, Ben Greer had an amazing saxophone solo. The song really lives up to its name, as it starts out very somber and slow. This song was very intimate and was probably one of my favorites performed throughout the concert. I liked how the song begins, and then the saxophone takes over and leads throughout the song. â€Å"Just Friends† by Rob McConnell was performed next. This song was an upbeat song with lots of trumpet playing in the middle of the song. The piano and drums carried the song throughout. â€Å"Softly as in a Morning Sunrise† by Sigmund Romberg was a very enjoyable song was a nice song to follow up â€Å"Just Friends†. It was a smooth jazz song. â€Å"Without a Song† by Youmans was an upbeat, somber song. It incorporated a nice even tone among all of the instruments. The soft humming of the saxophone sounded very nice with this piece. The beat of the piano carried the song and made it a very cheerful song. The UF Jazz Choir performed â€Å"The Look of Love† by Zegree and â€Å"It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got That Swing† by Edenroth. â€Å"It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got That Swing† had a lot of scatting in it and was really fast paced. The jazz choir did a great job of using each other to compile a nice tone throughout both songs. The first song was performed completely a cappella and the second song was accompanied by a little piano in the background. After the choir performed, the jazz band played â€Å"Magic Flea† by Sammy Nestico and â€Å"Sing Sing Sing† by Louis Prima. Magic Flea† started out at a really fast pace with all of the instruments being played at once. The show ended with â€Å"Sing Sing Sing†, which is a great jazz classic. This grabbed the audience and really pulled them in for the end of the show. The jazz band members were all so incredibly into their music and instruments as th ey played. The passion they exuberated was phenomenal. As a college jazz band, they seemed at a much higher level than what most would think. Overall, it was an excellent experience and I was so happy to be apart of it.

Foundation and Empire Acknowledgments

The date was August 1, 1941. World War II had been raging for two years. France had fallen, the Battle of Britain had been fought, and the Soviet Union had just been invaded by Nazi Germany. The bombing of Pearl Harbor was four months in the future. But on that day, with Europe in flames, and the evil shadow of Adolf Hitler apparently falling over all the world, what was chiefly on my mind was a meeting toward which I was hastening. I was 21 years old, a graduate student in chemistry at Columbia University, and I had been writing science fiction professionally for three years. In that time, I had sold five stories to John Campbell, editor of Astounding, and the fifth story, â€Å"Nightfall,† was about to appear in the September 1941 issue of the magazine. I had an appointment to see Mr. Campbell to tell him the plot of a new story I was planning to write, and the catch was that I had no plot in mind, not the trace of one. I therefore tried a device I sometimes use. I opened a book at random and set up free association, beginning with whatever I first saw. The book I had with me was a collection of the Gilbert and Sullivan plays. I happened to open it to the picture of the Fairy Queen of lolanthe throwing herself at the feet of Private Willis. I thought of soldiers, of military empires, of the Roman Empire – of a Galactic Empire – aha! Why shouldn't I write of the fall of the Galactic Empire and of the return of feudalism, written from the viewpoint of someone in the secure days of the Second Galactic Empire? After all, I had read Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire not once, but twice. I was bubbling over by the time I got to Campbell's, and my enthusiasm must have been catching for Campbell blazed up as I had never seen him do. In the course of an hour we built up the notion of a vast series of connected stories that were to deal in intricate detail with the thousand-year period between the First and Second Galactic Empires. This was to be illuminated by the science of psychohistory, which Campbell and I thrashed out between us. On August 11, 1941, therefore, I began the story of that interregnum and called it â€Å"Foundation.† In it, I described how the psychohistorian, Hari Seldon, established a pair of Foundations at opposite ends of the Universe under such circumstances as to make sure that the forces of history would bring about the second Empire after one thousand years instead of the thirty thousand that would be required otherwise. The story was submitted on September 8 and, to make sure that Campbell really meant what he said about a series, I ended â€Å"Foundation† on a cliff-hanger. Thus, it seemed to me, he would be forced to buy a second story. However, when I started the second story (on October 24), I found that I had outsmarted myself. I quickly wrote myself into an impasse, and the Foundation series would have died an ignominious death had I not had a conversation with Fred Pohl on November 2 (on the Brooklyn Bridge, as it happened). I don't remember what Fred actually said, but, whatever it was, it pulled me out of the hole. â€Å"Foundation† appeared in the May 1942 issue of Astounding and the succeeding story, â€Å"Bridle and Saddle,† in the June 1942 issue. After that there was only the routine trouble of writing the stories. Through the remainder of the decade, John Campbell kept my nose to the grindstone and made sure he got additional Foundation stories. â€Å"The Big and the Little† was in the August 1944 Astounding, â€Å"The Wedge† in the October 1944 issue, and â€Å"Dead Hand† in the April 1945 issue. (These stories were written while I was working at the Navy Yard in Philadelphia.) On January 26, 1945, I began â€Å"The Mule,† my personal favorite among the Foundation stories, and the longest yet, for it was 50,000 words. It was printed as a two-part serial (the very first serial I was ever responsible for) in the November and December 1945 issues. By the time the second part appeared I was in the army. After I got out of the army, I wrote â€Å"Now You See It-† which appeared in the January 1948 issue. By this time, though, I had grown tired of the Foundation stories so I tried to end them by setting up, and solving, the mystery of the location of the Second Foundation. Campbell would have none of that, however. He forced me to change the ending, and made me promise I would do one more Foundation story. Well, Campbell was the kind of editor who could not be denied, so I wrote one more Foundation story, vowing to myself that it would be the last. I called it â€Å"-And Now You Don't,† and it appeared as a three-part serial in the November 1949, December 1949, and January 1950 issues of Astounding. By then, I was on the biochemistry faculty of Boston University School of Medicine, my first book had just been published, and I was determined to move on to new things. I had spent eight years on the Foundation, written nine stories with a total of about 220,000 words. My total earnings for the series came to $3,641 and that seemed enough. The Foundation was over and done with, as far as I was concerned. In 1950, however, hardcover science fiction was just coming into existence. I had no objection to earning a little more money by having the Foundation series reprinted in book form. I offered the series to Doubleday (which had already published a science-fiction novel by me, and which had contracted for another) and to Little-Brown, but both rejected it. In that year, though, a small publishing firm, Gnome Press, was beginning to be active, and it was prepared to do the Foundation series as three books. The publisher of Gnome felt, however, that the series began too abruptly. He persuaded me to write a small Foundation story, one that would serve as an introductory section to the first book (so that the first part of the Foundation series was the last written). In 1951, the Gnome Press edition of Foundation was published, containing the introduction and the first four stories of the series. In 1952, Foundation and Empire appeared, with the fifth and sixth stories; and in 1953, Second Foundation appeared, with the seventh and eighth stories. The three books together came to be called The Foundation Trilogy. The mere fact of the existence of the Trilogy pleased me, but Gnome Press did not have the financial clout or the publishing knowhow to get the books distributed properly, so that few copies were sold and fewer still paid me royalties. (Nowadays, copies of first editions of those Gnome Press books sell at $50 a copy and up-but I still get no royalties from them.) Ace Books did put out paperback editions of Foundation and of Foundation and Empire, but they changed the titles, and used cut versions. Any money that was involved was paid to Gnome Press and I didn't see much of that. In the first decade of the existence of The Foundation Trilogy it may have earned something like $1500 total. And yet there was some foreign interest. In early 1961, Timothy Seldes, who was then my editor at Doubleday, told me that Doubleday had received a request for the Portuguese rights for the Foundation series and, since they weren't Doubleday books, he was passing them on to me. I sighed and said, â€Å"The heck with it, Tim. I don't get royalties on those books.† Seldes was horrified, and instantly set about getting the books away from Gnome Press so that Doubleday could publish them instead. He paid no attention to my loudly expressed fears that Doubleday â€Å"would lose its shirt on them.† In August 1961 an agreement was reached and the Foundation books became Doubleday property. What's more, Avon Books, which had published a paperback version of Second Foundation, set about obtaining the rights to all three from Doubleday, and put out nice editions. From that moment on, the Foundation books took off and began to earn increasing royalties. They have sold well and steadily, both in hardcover and softcover, for two decades so far. Increasingly, the letters I received from the readers spoke of them in high praise. They received more attention than all my other books put together. Doubleday also published an omnibus volume, The Foundation Trilogy, for its Science Fiction Book Club. That omnibus volume has been continuously featured by the Book Club for over twenty years. Matters reached a climax in 1966. The fans organizing the World Science Fiction Convention for that year (to be held in Cleveland) decided to award a Hugo for the best all-time series, where the series, to qualify, had to consist of at least three connected novels. It was the first time such a category had been set up, nor has it been repeated since. The Foundation series was nominated, and I felt that was going to have to be glory enough for me, since I was sure that Tolkien's â€Å"Lord of the Rings† would win. It didn't. The Foundation series won, and the Hugo I received for it has been sitting on my bookcase in the livingroom ever since. In among all this litany of success, both in money and in fame, there was one annoying side-effect. Readers couldn't help but notice that the books of the Foundation series covered only three hundred-plus years of the thousand-year hiatus between Empires. That meant the Foundation series â€Å"wasn't finished.† I got innumerable letters from readers who asked me to finish it, from others who demanded I finish it, and still others who threatened dire vengeance if I didn't finish it. Worse yet, various editors at Doubleday over the years have pointed out that it might be wise to finish it. It was flattering, of course, but irritating as well. Years had passed, then decades. Back in the 1940s, I had been in a Foundation-writing mood. Now I wasn't. Starting in the late 1950s, I had been in a more and more nonfiction-writing mood. That didn't mean I was writing no fiction at all. In the 1960s and 1970s, in fact, I wrote two science-fiction novels and a mystery novel, to say nothing of well over a hundred short stories – but about eighty percent of what I wrote was nonfiction. One of the most indefatigable nags in the matter of finishing the Foundation series was my good friend, the great science-fiction writer, Lester del Rey. He was constantly telling me I ought to finish the series and was just as constantly suggesting plot devices. He even told Larry Ashmead, then my editor at Doubleday, that if I refused to write more Foundation stories, he, Lester, would be willing to take on the task. When Ashmead mentioned this to me in 1973, I began another Foundation novel out of sheer desperation. I called it â€Å"Lightning Rod† and managed to write fourteen pages before other tasks called me away. The fourteen pages were put away and additional years passed. In January 1977, Cathleen Jordan, then my editor at Doubleday, suggested I do â€Å"an important book – a Foundation novel, perhaps.† I said, â€Å"I'd rather do an autobiography,† and I did – 640,000 words of it. In January 1981, Doubleday apparently lost its temper. At least, Hugh O'Neill, then my editor there, said, â€Å"Betty Prashker wants to see you,† and marched me into her office. She was then one of the senior editors, and a sweet and gentle person. She wasted no time. â€Å"Isaac,† she said, â€Å"you are going to write a novel for us and you are going to sign a contract to that effect.† â€Å"Betty,† I said, â€Å"I am already working on a big science book for Doubleday and I have to revise the Biographical Encyclopedia for Doubleday and -â€Å" â€Å"It can all wait,† she said. â€Å"You are going to sign a contract to do a novel. What's more, we're going to give you a $50,000 advance.† That was a stunner. I don't like large advances. They put me under too great an obligation. My average advance is something like $3,000. Why not? It's all out of royalties. I said, â€Å"That's way too much money, Betty.† â€Å"No, it isn't,† she said. â€Å"Doubleday will lose its shirt,† I said. â€Å"You keep telling us that all the time. It won't.† I said, desperately, â€Å"All right. Have the contract read that I don't get any money until I notify you in writing that I have begun the novel.† â€Å"Are you crazy?† she said. â€Å"You'll never start if that clause is in the contract. You get $25,000 on signing the contract, and $25,000 on delivering a completed manuscript.† â€Å"But suppose the novel is no good.† â€Å"Now you're being silly,† she said, and she ended the conversation. That night, Pat LoBrutto, the science-fiction editor at Doubleday called to express his pleasure. â€Å"And remember,† he said, â€Å"that when we say ‘novel' we mean ‘science-fiction novel,' not anything else. And when we say ‘science-fiction novel,' we mean ‘Foundation novel' and not anything else.† On February 5, 1981, I signed the contract, and within the week, the Doubleday accounting system cranked out the check for $25,000. I moaned that I was not my own master anymore and Hugh O'Neill said, cheerfully, â€Å"That's right, and from now on, we're going to call every other week and say, ‘Where's the manuscript?'† (But they didn't. They left me strictly alone, and never even asked for a progress report.) Nearly four months passed while I took care of a vast number of things I had to do, but about the end of May, I picked up my own copy of The Foundation Trilogy and began reading. I had to. For one thing, I hadn't read the Trilogy in thirty years and while I remembered the general plot, I did not remember the details. Besides, before beginning a new Foundation novel I had to immerse myself in the style and atmosphere of the series. I read it with mounting uneasiness. I kept waiting for something to happen, and nothing ever did. All three volumes, all the nearly quarter of a million words, consisted of thoughts and of conversations. No action. No physical suspense. What was all the fuss about, then? Why did everyone want more of that stuff? – To be sure, I couldn't help but notice that I was turning the pages eagerly, and that I was upset when I finished the book, and that I wanted more, but I was the author, for goodness' sake. You couldn't go by me. I was on the edge of deciding it was all a terrible mistake and of insisting on giving back the money, when (quite by accident, I swear) I came across some sentences by science-fiction writer and critic, James Gunn, who, in connection with the Foundation series, said, â€Å"Action and romance have little to do with the success of the Trilogy – virtually all the action takes place offstage, and the romance is almost invisible – but the stories provide a detective-story fascination with the permutations and reversals of ideas.† Oh, well, if what was needed were â€Å"permutations and reversals of ideas,† then that I could supply. Panic receded, and on June 10, 1981, I dug out the fourteen pages I had written more than eight years before and reread them. They sounded good to me. I didn't remember where I had been headed back then, but I had worked out what seemed to me to be a good ending now, and, starting page 15 on that day, I proceeded to work toward the new ending. I found, to my infinite relief, that I had no trouble getting back into a â€Å"Foundation-mood,† and, fresh from my rereading, I had Foundation history at my finger-tips. There were differences, to be sure: 1) The original stories were written for a science-fiction magazine and were from 7,000 to 50,000 words long, and no more. Consequently, each book in the trilogy had at least two stories and lacked unity. I intended to make the new book a single story. 2) I had a particularly good chance for development since Hugh said, â€Å"Let the book find its own length, Isaac. We don't mind a long book.† So I planned on 140,000 words, which was nearly three times the length of â€Å"The Mule,† and this gave me plenty of elbow-room, and I could add all sorts of little touches. 3) The Foundation series had been written at a time when our knowledge of astronomy was primitive compared with what it is today. I could take advantage of that and at least mention black holes, for instance. I could also take advantage of electronic computers, which had not been invented until I was half through with the series. The novel progressed steadily, and on January 17, 1982, I began final copy. I brought the manuscript to Hugh O'Neill in batches, and the poor fellow went half-crazy since he insisted on reading it in this broken fashion. On March 25, 1982, I brought in the last bit, and the very next day got the second half of the advance. I had kept â€Å"Lightning Rod† as my working title all the way through, but Hugh finally said, â€Å"Is there any way of putting ‘Foundation' into the title, Isaac?† I suggested Foundations at Bay, therefore, and that may be the title that will actually be used 1. You will have noticed that I have said nothing about the plot of the new Foundation novel. Well, naturally. I would rather you buy and read the book. And yet there is one thing I have to confess to you. I generally manage to tie up all the loose ends into one neat little bow-knot at the end of my stories, no matter how complicated the plot might be. In this case, however, I noticed that when I was all done, one glaring little item remained unresolved. I am hoping no one else notices it because it clearly points the way to the continuation of the series. It is even possible that I inadvertently gave this away for at the end of the novel, I wrote: â€Å"The End (for now).† I very much fear that if the novel proves successful, Doubleday will be at my throat again, as Campbell used to be in the old days. And yet what can I do but hope that the novel is very successful indeed. What a quandary!