Some Fiction (Part I)

This is a work in progress. Basically, in a fit of ambition, I started writing a novel a couple years ago. I wanted to create an intriguing world with believable characters through the lens of science fiction, but I never finished the project. Unfortunately, this seems to be the fate that most of my writing endeavors meet. I thought I would post a portion of what I wrote for public scrutiny (or, given the likelihood that anyone will read this, I am posting for my own scrutiny). There are several plot holes and inaccuracies that I haven't addressed, and I may edit these in the future, but probably not. In particular, I would like to change the names of the Martian colonies, and research more accurate Asian names. But here is a smattering of what I wrote for your perusal and enjoyment:
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There was always that hole. It seems like as long as I can remember, I’ve had this feeling that something is missing from my life. It’s not from lack of purpose. Farming is a good profession and my parents need me to take over once they are unable to manage the facilities. My sister couldn’t do it, she isn’t meant for the farm. My sister has been marked for the medical profession ever since she was very young. My parents are depending on me. I will admit though, that I envy my sister for being so clearly gifted for a specific profession. Everyone goes into farming, if the tests don’t demonstrate that they possess a particular aptitude for another occupation.
I suppose I should explain why I am writing this. The school psychiatrist recommended that I write down my thoughts to “sublimate my discontent.” The tests have indicated that I have an 89% chance of developing a pathologically rebellious personality. I remember my advisor pulling me out of class one morning and taking me to his office. The conversation went something like this:
“Sheridan Callahan, as you may well be aware, your tests have a indicated that you possess tendencies to show an abnormal lack of respect for authority. This is not a recipe for success. You are on the verge of adulthood, and as such will soon begin your career as a farmer. Now, we have two recommendations for you. We can either prescribe medication that will inhibit these tendencies, or we can advise you to undergo non-pharmaceutical therapy by the school psychiatric staff. I would personally advise you to take advantage of the second option, as it is a freedom not offered to underprivileged students due to its expense.”
So I “took advantage,” because it would “not be prudent to do otherwise,” according to my father. The school psychiatrist recommended that I participate in the traditional practice of writing a “diary.” According to him, from at least the 20th century A.D.T. until paper became a restricted product, it was a common practice among teenage girls, used as a way of diverting their discontent with their dependence on their parents. When he suggested that I try this, I told him that I didn’t know what to write about.
“Your thoughts,” he said.
“Why would I want to write those down?” I asked.
“It will help you gain a sense of balance, and hopefully as a result prevent you from engaging in any rash activity. Try to articulate your fears, desires, angers, any emotion you feel, try to write it down, and determine the source. Sometimes it helps to pretend someone is going to read it.”
“You said that it was something that girls did.”
“Sheridan, it doesn’t matter. Writing a diary can be just as beneficial to males as to females. Surely you wouldn’t be suggesting that you would like dredge up the most hypocritical aspects of 20th century Terran cultural practices? I suppose you would wouldn’t mind the return of those reality television shows that they watched back then? Perhaps you would like us to bring back the celebrity fund-raiser as well?”
You can’t say much to that. It would be hard to live down being accused of perpetuating the worst practices of ancient Earth. In any case, I really don’t know what people are worried about. I don’t see myself as rebellious, and I certainly don’t have a desire to shirk my responsibilities to my parents. Sometimes the tests are wrong. According to my Dad, if people hadn’t ignored the tests, than this entire world would probably never have been populated. But they never seem to talk about that in school. It’s always the same old story... “In 2403 A.D.T. the first Martian colonies were established. The settlers were a brave mix of people from all walks of life, who cared deeply about the fate of the planet Earth...” But that wasn’t the whole story at all. That’s what my Dad told me, anyways. I think that’s enough writing for today, though.
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Brennus wiped the sweat from his brow. It was important that everything be in good shape, or else most of the crops would be ruined. He looked into the microscope and with bated breath, checked the plate. The cells were growing well. He would only have to change the medium, and tomorrow he would be able to put them into the seeder. He turned off the microscope, and touched the icon on the wallscreen to move the cells back into the incubator. He set the program to change the media, and then walked out of the lab, smiling broadly.
“I’ve gotta say, Dad, you’ve got a talented farmer for a son!” he shouted jovially as he passed through the kitchen, where his father was cooking some steak and chicken in a teriyaki sauce.
“You’d better watch that cocky attitude,” he shot back, grinning “don’t forget that I helped bring you into this world.”

-Tyler Landrith
image from http://www.fao.org/docrep/003/w3732e/w3732e04.jpg

Part II is in the next post