Cancer: The Devil You Know

The water she has to drink
prior to the CT scan.

It's been a while since an update, and that's because we've been overwhelmed with the new chemo cycles and the crippling downturn of the entertainment industry this year. I'm used to not being busy due to high school football, but it's been worse than that, and for months instead of weeks. We are both dealing with life, the best way we know how. My way, for example, includes bourbon.

At the last visit to the oncology center, Cathy was chatting with one of the nurses she's gotten to know better and we found out that there's a cool, fun nickname for the melted Flavor-Ice looking stuff that she gets at the beginning of each new cycle.

They call it "red devil."

I wish I was being funny.

Some Thoughts on a Half-Century

Taken one week before my fiftieth birthday. Not much
has changed since then. 

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is not the year I imagined having.

I mean, who starts their year, literally the first day of the year, in recovery from surgery? And who gets dangerously sick because the recovery time is freakishly, abnormally long, and winds up spending nearly a week in the hospital? Who does that?

Well, I do. At least, when I’m not looking after Cathy and her second round of chemotherapy, which is an even more treacherous and unpredictable ride than the first round, which we only barely began to recover from when it was revealed to us that nope, she needs to go back on again.

Nuts. Nuts to all of it. Including (but not limited to) my much-decreased but still tumescent scrotum. Turning fifty has royally suuuuuuucked. Not for the usual reasons, though. But it’s been a shit-show, pretty much, all year.

Let me ‘splain. No, there is no time; I sum up.

Bullet Journaling is Saving My Ass

This could also be my Trapper
notebook from 1984 to 1988. 

One of the ways that I’ve been dealing with the last few months is with measured distraction. I started drawing again, after a decade or more of inactivity, and that's been very pleasant.Of course, I’ve also been blogging like a helicopter mom in an unfamiliar school district. I even started a second blog for discussing my lifelong relationship with tabletop gaming, if you haven't seen me mention it yet.

But I started doing something else that I have been reading about for a while called Bullet Journaling, ostensibly to help me keep track of all the appointments and scheduling we needed to do. However, I found out that there’s a lot more I can do with bullet journaling, and quite frankly, it has saved my ass.

Work in Progress 2: Replacement Gorilla

Author's note: This is part of my novel-in-progress, Replacement Gorilla. Currently about halfway through, at sitting at 25K words. I'm really having a ball with this story. Finally. It took a while to find the voice. And the plot. And all of it. There's such a thing as being too close to the subject matter.

The Plainclothes cop was called detective Cliff Pittman. And he gave me shit for my stage name. The photographer was called Detective John Sullivan. Cliff and Sully. They set me down in a dark room, metal table, wooden chair, and one light bulb. It smelled of piss and blood. I wasn’t handcuffed, which was small comfort. I’d heard from some of the rowdier day players all about the quality and thoroughness of the L.A. police department’s beatings. They were legendary in their attention to detail. I’ve never been more thankful for three beers in my life.

Pittman did most of the talking, while Sully stood behind him, just out of the range of the light bulb. A pale Irish shadow with his arms folded in front of him, offering the occasional observation. It was a well-rehearsed routine, and they sold it, brother.

“Starsky, we talked to the front office about you,” Pittman said. “You do day-player work, stunt work, and now you’re playing the gorilla.”

“We covered this already,” I said.

“Humor us,” said Sullivan.

“That’s some pretty specific work you’re doing. Playing the monkey, I mean.” Pittman said. “There can’t be too much call for that, even at shithole studios like Intrepid.”

“Well, somebody’s got to play the cop in this picture,” I said, pronouncing it just like McAuley did.

I’ll give Pittman credit for one thing: he didn’t telegraph his punch. It shot straight out from his waist and caught me on the bridge of my nose. If he didn’t break it, it sure as hell wasn’t from a lack of effort on his part. I could smell the blood and taste it and I shot up out of my chair to return the favor. Sullivan was in front of me before I could adjust my trajectory and I ran into him at full force. He just grabbed me by the arms and pushed me back in the chair.

“I don’t think you wanna do that, Starsky,” he said, pinning me in place until I stopped struggling.

“Call me Clay. We’re all friends, here.”

Sullivan turned to his partner. “He’s got brass balls, I’ll say that for him.”

“I ain’t impressed,” Pittman said. “And the longer he dances with me, the more pissed off I’m gonna get.”

Sullivan backed up against the wall, refolding his arms. “Yeah, Clay, maybe you’d better just answer the questions, huh?”
     “I’m waiting for you two to ask me one,” I said, wiping my nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was bloody as hell. I went for my handkerchief before I remembered I gave it to Louise.

Sullivan tossed me a cheap replacement. Pittman let me clean up for a minute and then said, “Okay, tough guy, where were you on June the third?”

I really had to think about it for a minute. I counted backwards to remember. “Wednesday night. I went to Rudy’s with the guys.”

“The guys,” said Pittman. “Like who, for instance?”

“Joe Wilcox, and some of the other guys from Jungle Jones. We started shooting on Monday, and we were blowing off steam.”

“How long were you there?” Pittman asked.

I puffed out my cheeks. “Well, let’s see...”

“Come on, Starsky, quit stalling,” Pittman barked.
     “Didja close the place down?” prompted Sullivan.

“Yeah, we all left there after two in the morning. Steve kicked us out.”

“See, Cliff?” said Sullivan. “They all got the same story.”

“Yeah, Wilcox told us the same thing,” Pittman groused.

“Is that a bad thing?” I said. “Ernie was respected. He was one of us. We were all sick about what happened.”

“Not so broken up that you didn’t touch his widow to buy the suit, eh?” Sullivan said.

I nodded. “Yeah, I wanted to break into doing what Ernie did. But I think stabbing a guy to get the job is a little much, even for Hollywood.”

“How’d you know he was stabbed?” said Pittman.

“Remember, Cliff? Clay was the guy lurking up the rafters,” Sullivan said.

“Oh, right.” Pittman snapped his fingers. “Hey, Sully, you remember how he came down the ladder when we caught him? He just slid down on his own steam.”

“Neat trick,” said Sullivan.

“Takes strength,” said Pittman.

“It sure does,” said Sullivan.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Only this,” said Pittman, leaning in. “You could’ve given your pals the slip and drove back to the studio, and decided to take Ernie out on your own, then drove back and slipped in while everyone was in their cups, and no one would be any wiser.”

“That’s nuts,” I said.

“Not really,” said Sullivan. “You got motive. You got means. And this would be opportunity.”

I looked at both of them, incredulous. They were deadly serious. Pittman’s punch had knocked most of the beer out of me, but their demeanor scared the rest of it right out of me.  I swallowed and tried to be as sincere as I could.

“You guys still hang murderers here?” I asked.

“Yep, for now,” said Pittman.

“Maybe the gas chamber, if the politicos have their way,” said Sullivan.

“Okay,” I said. “I want to tell you guys a couple of things. I get paid twenty-five bucks a day for stunt work. If I’m wearing the suit, I get paid double that. Fifty bucks a day. That costume weighs sixty-five pounds when it’s dry, and about eighty pounds when I’m sweating. I can’t be in it for more than a few minutes, or I can pass out, or worse.”

“What do you want from us?” growled Pittman. “No one’s making you do it.”

“Let me finish,” I said. “If you want to make any money as a gorilla man, you gotta hustle. Two or three jobs a week, if you’re lucky. You need your own suit. There’s only a few guys and they all have their own suit. I’m buying Ernie’s on an installment plan. And now, I’ve also paying the head of wardrobe a fiver on every job to keep the suit in working order.” I took a breath. “I thought this would be a fun way to make some extra bucks, but now I’m thinking twice about the whole goddamn thing. Now I ask you guys: does that sound like I’ve got a motive to kill the King of the Gorilla Men?”

Sullivan cleared his throat. Pittman turned away and they exchanged a few looks that I couldn’t read. When Pittman turned back to me, he was smirking. “Okay, Starsky, you may not know who did it, but I ain’t convinced that you don’t know something about who did. Alla you Hollywood types are very close.”

“Is that a crack?” I asked. “Coming from the guy making goo-goo eyes at his partner just now? When are you two gonna tie the knot?”

Pittman’s smile broke. He stepped aside, muttering, “And we were getting along so well, too.” Sullivan was right behind him.

Sullivan hit a lot harder that Pittman. A lot.

Work In Progress: Replacement Gorilla

This is literally just a sliver from Chapter One. I'm in the middle of Chapter Seven now. If you like this, and want to see more, just let me know in the usual manner. Hope you dig this little peek. -Mark

 

Joe walked off, leaving me and his curiosity to stare at the stage and wonder what they were doing over there. When Joe didn’t immediately return, I looked around until I found the scaffolding that led up to the rafters. I shouldered my duffel and nonchalantly walked over to the metal rungs, then scaled them quickly and disappeared from under the bright lights.

Up above, on the narrow boards that ran parallel to the banks of lights, I felt a lot more comfortable. I was doing something physical. That always made more sense to me. All of the ropes, pulleys, and flats could be operated from the small platform anchored to the wall underneath the scaffolding. Two catwalks ran across the stage, out of the view of the cameras, and allowed various creatures to fly and other special effects to be performed. On the opposite side of the stage, several thick ropes had been decorated with wire, leaves, and paint to resemble jungle vines. These were anchored overhead to a second set of beams, and counterbalanced with sandbags. Stuntmen could swing onto the soundstage and land precisely on their mark. Down below, it was easy to see the rows of fake plants and trees held in place with two-by-fours, terracotta pots, and piles of sand.      

 I shifted my duffel bag to my back and carefully walked onto the closest catwalk, using the railing for support, until I had an unobstructed view of the crime scene below. I leaned down cautiously to get an unobstructed look.

Ernie Fleischman was flat on his back. Mouth open, staring up at me, a panicked look in his eyes, which were still ringed with black greasepaint. It took me a minute to see the cause of his death: a knife, one of the props, from the look of it, was buried to the hilt under his ribcage. His body was surrounded by a chalk outline, and other things were circled in chalk that I couldn’t quite make out.

The cop that had been arguing with McAuley now appeared and said to the photographer, “How do you figure it?”

The photographer wore a similar brown suit and jacket as the cop. He put his camera down and said, “Okay, here’s what I think.” He walked stage right about six feet and pointed to the open trap door in the middle of the stage. “The killer waited until he heard the deceased coming, then jumped out...” here he pointed, to the raised platform below the trap door, “from here, and stabbed him. You can see from the angle that the handle is pointing down, the blade turning up into the ribcage.” The cop stood up and pointed stage left. “Then he ran off that way, down the stairs. There’s a service entrance that leads out back.”

“Any ideas as to who could have done it?” asked the plainclothes cop.

“Well, whoever he was, he was strong as an ox.”

“Athletic, too. He’d have to spring up from the platform, there, and drive it home in one motion.”

“Jesus Christ, it’s hot.” said the plainclothes cop. He took his hat off and mopped his brow, rolled his head back, and his eyes met mine. “Hey! Get down from there!”

I stood up hurriedly, walked to the opposite end of the catwalk, and slid down the ladder in one fluid motion. I was met by the two cops.

“Who are you?” the plainclothes cop asked.

“Clayton Stark,” I said.

“Phony name,” said the photographer. “These guys don’t have real names. What’s your real name, buddy?”

“Creighton Starsky,” I said.

“Let me see some ID,” Plainclothes snapped.

I handed over my driver’s license as the Photographer asked, “Did you know the deceased?”

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, no...I mean...”

“Jesus Christ, make up your mind,” said Plainclothes. “Did you know him or not?”

“I met him once, at a party. I knew who he was, but I didn’t...” I stopped when I realized what I was about to say.

Plainclothes smiled. “Well, who said you did, Starsky?”

“No one,” I said.

Photographer was suddenly all smiles, too. “What were you doing up there, Starsky?”

“Nothing. Just looking around.”

“You working on this picture?” Plainclothes asked.

I nodded.

“What are you doing?” Photographer asked.

“I’m playing the gorilla,” I said.

The cops smile now looked like a shark’s mouth. “Did you know that the deceased, Mr. Fleischman, was playing the gorilla in this movie?” Plainclothes said.

“Before he died,” said Photographer.

“Yeah, but now that he’s dead, Clayton here’s got a job,” said Plainclothes.

“Ain’t that swell?” said Photographer.

“It’s convenient,” said Plainclothes.

“Like a coincidence,” said Photographer.

Joe suddenly appeared at my side. “Hey, Clay, what’s going on?”

“Your friend here was up in the rafters, gawking at us,” said Plainclothes, “After I specifically asked you circus types to stay back and let us work the crime scene.”

“We were just asking the snoop here a few questions,” said Photographer, “And we’ll probably be asking him some more.”

“Real soon,” said Plainclothes.

Joe drew himself up. He was legitimately tall, not just Hollywood tall. It had the desired effect. “Don’t get tough with me, buddy. I get hit for a living. You got any questions, you go through the front office like the rest of the fans. Come on, Clay.” He pulled me away from the two cops.

“Hey Starsky, you got an alibi for last night?” Plainclothes yelled.

“Let him go,” said Photographer. “He’s a simpleton.”

After we had walked half the length of the studio floor, Joe hissed, “What the hell were you doing up there?”

I just shrugged. I wanted to tell Joe that I wanted to see Ernie’s dead body, just to know that he was truly gone, but I knew how it would sound, so I kept my mouth shut.

My Writing Life: The January Numbers

Empty Hearts. Coming Soon. I'm going to publish my
backlist as ebooks this year. This will include both
Sam Bowen books and all three Con-Dorks novels.

So, I made this little goal or pledge to myself on Elvis' birthday: write a half million words this year. Write every day of the year. And publish/finish/clear out some long-standing and oft-stalled projects that are on my desk. This means, in practical terms, publishing six books' worth of backlist for small press trade and ebook formats, and writing/completing three book-length manuscripts, in addition to a handful of short stories, radio scripts, comic book scripts, and even, it would seem, a role-playing game.

Ambitious? Yeah, maybe. But what good is a goal if you don't have to stretch to meet it? I'm really going to try and hit the word count goal, if nothing else. Any projects that don't happen automatically roll over to year. It's time to get my writing career back on track. It's not like I haven't been this productive before. I'm tired of having things be almost done. This is my year to sprint for the finish line.

So, here's my January output. This was the month that I got my shit together, so to speak, and roadmapped out what projects I would do, and when, for the entire year. My calendar looks like a rainbow. But the system seems to work, despite my needing some time to get back in the saddle. So, how did I do? Here's the stats:

Projects completed: 2--I turned in a story collection and finished and edited another

Bonus Projects (meaning, things not on the calendar): 2--I edited a book manuscript for my mother and workshopped a story for someone else


Words typed: 32, 989

Target number: 42, 466

Shortfall: 9,477

Mind you, these don't go away. If I want to hit my mark, I've got to add these numbers to the Feb count. The good news is, I'm writing novel. Plenty of chances to catch up.

I figured I'd come in under the wire this month. Like I said, I'm getting my sea legs under me. It was bound to happen. February is a short month. I am pretty confident that I will catch up and maybe even get ahead.

In my experience, writing begets writing. I've already got new projects that I'm slotting into the open spaces in the calendar. I figure by the time I'm in October and November, I'll have enough new stuff set up to refill the calendar for 2015. At least, I hope so.

It feels good to be working like this again. It's been a while.

Working Through WONDERBOOK, part 4

Author's Note: These are transcripts of my handwritten notes that I took while reading through this project, my self-appointed writer's workshop. As such, the post below may not make a lot of sense to the casual reader who doesn't have a copy of Wonderbook: The Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction by Jeff Vandermeer. So, if you click on that link, you can go get yourself a copy.  Or, don't. It's up to you. But I'm going to be transcribing my handwritten notes for myself (and others who have the book) and I won't be using a lot of context to back it up. 

Chapter 3: Beginnings and Endings

Confession: this is a graphics-heavy chapter. Not sure how many notes I’m going to make. We’ll see at the end.

A Charged Image—an image that has some psychological or symbolic resonance; it has a life beyond its presence as part of the setting or part of the character’s possessions.

That’s an interesting term. I’ve not heard it before. But I can think of a number of examples in my stories, so, okay.

“That’s why you must not mistake the progress of your inspiration for the actual progress of the story.” Good advice, well stated.

Beginnings are critical.

More organic metaphors, but I'm okay with this, I suppose.

The Lure of the Hook

The idea of an exciting hook is an old chestnut—but I love chestnuts. Nothing draws interest like a punch in the nose. I think this works best, though, with characters readers have a familiarity with already.

Obviously it’s different for novels than for short stories.

Elements of a Good Beginning

 A main character presented from a consistent POV.

A conflict or problem.

A hint or suggestion of a secondary conflict or problem that may form a subplot or an additional complication.

A sense of action or motion, even if the opening scene is static.

A general or specific idea of the setting.

A consistent tone and mood to the language.

*The economy and sophistication with which you provide these elements, and the style in which you present them may depend on whether you are writing a short story or a novel.*

An opening sentence can and should do more than one thing.

Questions to ask yourself

Is the main character or at least one character introduced in the very first line? If not, why, and what is emphasized in the first line in place of character?

Is the man character fully integrated with other elements: can we begin to see the character’s opinions about his or her environment andabout other characters?

Have you chosen the right viewpoint character?

Have you chosen the right approach to point of view, whether first person, third person, or (blech) second person?

Is the starting location or general setting appropriate for the story?

Is the problem or dilemma facing the main character clear to the reader to the degree required for this particular story?

Is the tone of the opening consistence and does it carry through the rest of the story?

Does the style fit the characters, setting and purpose of the story?

Does the emotional content of the words you have used to create the correct context and the correct pact with the reader to the type of story?

Does the opening support the ending?

Lots of questions that I freely admit I don’t consciously ask. I tend to brainstorm until I see a clear beginning in my head, and then go with that. Definitely something I need to work on. Admittedly, a lot of the above is stuff I do intuitively. Perhaps to my detriment.

Additional questions to consider for Genre Stories

Do we know WHERE we are?

Do we know WHEN we are?

If where and when are implied, is that enough information? Is the implication providing the right kind of information?

If you have stated where and when, have you been too obvious in your approach?

Do we know if the protagonist is human or not?

If no, do we have any clues as to how differently this protagonist  understands and processes the world from a human protag?

In conveying context, have you provided too much content up front?

Do we have a general idea from the word choice and other contextual clues as to whether we are reading SF, fantasy or something else?

Does your word choice help convey the differences between your setting and Earth Prime in a seamless fashion?

Have you included too many made-up or unusual words to try to convey your unique setting?

That’s a LOT of questions to ask. I think that many of these are intuitive.

Myster Odd presents Memorable First Lines.

Some good examples here. My favorite of the lot is:

“Don’t look now,” John said to his wife, “but there are a couple of old girls two tables away who are trying to hypnotize me.”

 –Daphme de Maurier, “Don’t Look Now.”

For me, I consider the first like to be “the hook” that pulls the reader to the second sentence.

A good opening line might offer the reader:

A sense of mystery or atmosphere

An interesting initial situation

Immediate tension and excitement

An intriguing statement

An unusual or interesting description

A point of view

When Not to Commit

Good examples using Kim Stanley Robinson’s 2312.

Jeff is spot on that an established writer can get away with, or is afforded more latitude, when it comes to development a story.

This leads me right to American Gods.

I wanted this to be good. It just wasn't.

The Beginning of American Gods, by Neil Gaiman

I’m not doubting the veracity of anything Neil says in this essay. But this was absolutely useless and in my opinion, the first clunker of any of the included material in the book. I think the way he described events that led up to the book being written offer no useful help in the writing of a novel, unless one is Neil Gaiman, and the novel being written was American Gods. I should explain, I think.

I like Neil Gaiman. I like his work. I’ve met him several times, and on at least two occasions, we had a lovely conversation. In person, and whenever he speaks in public, he’s the very definition of charming. I mean, he’s charismatically charming. It’s like his superpower. And everyone who meets him fails their saving throw versus magic. He’s that guy. I’ve been a fan of his ever since Sandman. I went back and actually owned, for a time, Ghastly Beyond Belief. I have an original first edition of Good Omens. I’m a fan, understand me?

But I think American Gods is his most overrated book. It’s easily the worst thing he ever wrote, and that’s a shame, because it should have been the best thing he ever wrote. Since we’re talking about beginnings, let me say that the beginning is fine. It’s great. It’s got mysteries and clues and foreshadowing and all of the stuff being talking about in this chapter of Wonderbook as necessary and good and important.

But then the short stories start showing up, apropos of nothing, in the book. Shadow (a terrible, terrible name for a character) is running around with Odin, meeting and talking to all of the old gods (and meeting the new gods who are trying to take over), and they all keep telling him, “there’s a war coming, you’d better pick a side.” Then every three or four chapters, some brilliant little short story drops in to interrupt the flow of the narrative—my favorite one being about the Djinn who is driving the taxi—which is, in fact, its bottle. Genius. The KIND of thing Gaiman is known for.

Then we go back to Shadow (did I mention how much I hate that name? It’s like when geek girls tell everyone to call them “cat” because they’re just like a cat, don’tcha get it?) and Odin, driving across America, meeting people who are old, forgotten gods...and then, to paraphrase the Police song, Synchronicity II...Many miles away, something pushes a car out on the ice, where it sinks to the bottom of a dark Minnesotan Lake...

Okay, three narratives going on, right? What’s happening with the car on the ice, this massive build-up to American Raganarok, and these little gems of short stories that seem to have fuck-all to do with the other two stories. Surely this’ll all come together, right?

Well, no, not exactly. The short stories dry up about half-way through. The big war that’s supposed to happen, that he says throughout the whole novel is going to happen, finally arrives and guess what? It doesn’t happen. Shadow (god, that name!) gives this chastising speech to all of them that starts out with the inane observation that “America is lousy soil for gods.” Excuse me? It is? Really? Is that how come you and Odin have spent the last three hundred pages of the book driving all around and visiting them? In what way exactly is that lousy? I don’t understand. But apparently, all of the other gods do, because they leave without fighting! Yep. Powerful words, from a guy named Shadow.

So, that leaves the Lakeside story. And finally, the two narratives collide, and it’s pretty cool. Granted, it’s not epic Gotterdammerung-level good, but at least finally the two plotlines have converged and provide us with an ending.

And then Gaiman went and wrote another ending.

And then he went and wrote another ending.

The book is a mess. And reading the essay, and kind of reading between the lines, I can see why this was so. I don’t think Neil had a big high concept in mind when he started writing on the book. I think he had a contract to fill. And considering that the publisher took his working title and ran with it, I question if American Gods was the best name for the book. It’s a great name, don’t get me wrong. And the ideas that he came up with—Media, Internet, and so forth—are very cool and interesting as creative counterpoints to his Endless.

But that’s what the WHOLE book should have been about. And it wasn’t, not really. Or, optionally, he could have filled an entire book with short stories about “the American Gods” like the cab-driving Djinn. That would have been great. What we got instead was a mishmash of stuff, half-finished, with some brilliant ideas and the desperate need for an editor who wasn’t afraid to ruffle the fur on the 800-lb gorilla to make that a readable book—or two.

I know that I’m in the minority on this. I know that everyone loved American Gods from the word go. I think he’s written much better books, both before and since, and I’ll continue to read him. He will continue to be charming, to me and everyone else, but I’m not so enamored of him that I’ll forgive a book that, if someone who was not Neil Gaiman had turned in, would have undergone a severe editorial round or two of corrections and a partial rewrite, provided it even made it past the assistant editor.

So, while I value what Gaiman wrote about the beginning, and searching for it, I think it’s a terrible mistake to do all of that searching while under a contractual deadline.

Bad Beginnings

Whoops. Guilty as Charged. I know I’ve done this before. But actually, pointing this out gives me a great idea for a better beginning to the book I’m starting now. Most excellent.

This may be my favorite chapter yet in Wonderbook.

Novel approaches: Finch

This is a lengthy and heavily illustrated section where Jeff deconstructs his own book, Finch, and discussing in great detail what approaches he considered and rejected as beginnings, and also why.

This is very useful stuff. This new book I’m working on has been a thorn in my side for years. I’ve started it twice, and it’s defeated me twice. It’s looking like I’m going to start working it over whilst still reading Wonderbook. It will be interesting to see how these notes and all of this reading reshape my process. I’m actually open to it. I need a new angle on this book.

Middles

Looking at the graphic for The Middles—and it’s pretty damn accurate, at that—reminds me of exactly why I like to use outlines for novels. It simplifies the path and created order out of swirling chaos for me. Having a path to follow through that mess makes it easier for me to hop off it and go exploring if I need to.

The Beginning of Endings

I would say that 90% of the time, I know my ending before I start writing. Only in a couple of instances have I done otherwise. And both times, I’m glad I did. I needed the rest of the story to tell me what the ending would be.

I think there’s weight in the elements of the story that suggest an ending naturally, on its own.

Myster Odd presents Final Lines:

Hmm. Nothing in these examples really speaks to me. Except for the Jerome Bixby story, of course. Of course, one of the best final lines ever, from Matheson’s I Am Legend, kinda gives the whole story away if you know it in advance. It’s tough to write about those lines, isn’t it? It’s cheating the reader.

The End of Endings

I like the idea of cutting your last paragraph off to see if you really need it.

Writing Challenge

 Given my eagerness to get on with it, I wrote three first lines based on an illustration provided within the book. I tried to conceptualize three different openings with tone, varying levels of distance, and immediacy. Also, I tried to impart some information about the world, especially in the first one. 

1. When the first Kraken attack happened, I was only ten years old.

2. Ensign Hicks stared, uncomprehending, as the tree-trunk sized tentacle arced up out of the sea as if it grew unchecked from some ancient garden below the water.

3. “Sir, you’d better have a look at this.” The first mate handed the binoculars to the captain and held his breath.

Going back to them after reading the chapter, the only thing I would do differently is I would keep brainstorming openings until I got something that was genius. I tend to give up early on things like this in order to get to the good stuff. Not all the time, but sometimes. Interesting exercise. Reading about Jeff working through the opening for Finch was the best part of this chapter. 

Working Through WONDERBOOK, Part 3

Author's Note: These are transcripts of my notes that I took while going through this project. As such, the post below may not make a lot of sense to the casual reader who doesn't have a copy of Wonderbook: The Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction by Jeff Vandermeer. So, if you click on that link, you can go get yourself a copy.  Or, don't. It's up to you. But I'm going to be transcribing my handwritten notes for myself (and others who have the book) and I won't be using a lot of context to back it up. 

CHAPTER 2: The Ecosystem of Story

“Stories are animals” is slightly more fanciful than I’m used to thinking about my work. But okay, I’ll roll with it for now.

The Elements

These are the things that make up a story.

Characterization: punting to Chapter 5

Point of View: I really like first person

Setting: Punting to Chapter 6

Events/Situations: --the plot—Punting to Chapter 4

Dialogue: “snippets of speech.” I think that dialogue can also establish character. Maybe we’ll get to that later.

Description: "Details that set the scene and can be used to create tone."

Exposition—“relates needed information by telling it directly to the reader.” Hmm. Not sure I’ve ever used that in that particular way.

Style: The way the story is told.

A Closer Look at Some of the Elements

 Point of View—who tells your story and how close you get to their perspective depends in part on point of view.

First Person: “I” is the narrator.

Second Person: “You” is the narrator. The reader is in the brain of the narrator experiencing life as that person does.

I don’t like 2^nd person for exactly the reason why Nick Mamatas cites. It’s very awkward for me to write in, as well.

Third Person: I prefer third person omniscient. But some of my best work was done in first person. It’s a toss up.

Point of View: “Subjective Versus Objective” on “Roving” by Nick Mamatas.

Oh, boy. Nick. Let’s see what he has to say.

Side note: look into his novel “Bullettime” It sounds very cool.

Okay, that was a really good, concise essay on Point of View. It didn’t enlighten overmuch, but there’s a lot of good fiddly bits in there to think about.

Dialogue: can perform many functions: Ah, good, here we go.
            Convey a mood

            Reveal character traits or motivation

            Provide information

            Move the plot forward/increase the pace

There’s more here, but yes, to me, I think dialogue is terribly important. “Dialogue is meant to emulate real speech, not reproduce it.” I completely agree.

“Pushing information that you think the reader needs into dialogue may be a ‘tell’ that you are having trouble with your story.”

There are a couple of Turkey City terms that cover this very thing. Of course, Michael Crichton wrote all of his exposition in dialogue, so, there’s that.

Really good notes on regional dialect. I’m all over the place when it comes to that. But I’ve used the suggested method that Jeff outlines before in third person and it worked out well.

Tagging—in general, I agree. I try to follow Elmore Leonard’s rule about not tagging at all, but I think there are a couple of exceptions—like early in a story, before everyone is established—when one or two tags is okay. Even then, they have to be within reason. I don’t know who first wrote “...he ejaculated” at the end of a sentence and didn’t expect everyone on the planet to giggle like 12 year olds, but they’ve done every writer since a grand disservice and ruined tagging forever.

Quotation Marks: THANK YOU JEFF, for insisting that they be used. I can’t think of anything more irritating than not using quotes. It’s one of the many things I hate about Cormac McCarthy. And he’s a Texas writer, too. Do you know how that pains me? But it does, because even Texas writers are obligated to use all forms of punctuation when telling a story. There are no exceptions.

Description—Wow, there’s lots here. Some relevant highlights:

*Specific and significant detail is the key to good description. –Yes! I need to get back to word-sketching. I used to do it all the time, and I miss it.

*Describe people, settings and things in the right progression. –I never thought about it consciously, but I do this all the time.

*When describing people’s actions, do not divorce body from mind.—Hmmm.. I’m guilty of this occasionally. I don’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with “he looked.” I’m more disinclined to use “gaze wandered around the room” because it belongs in the same tool box with “it was a dark and stormy night.”

* Study Poetry for interesting approaches to desctription—Yes! The only creative writing class I took in college had a huge poetry component included and it really helped me. I think this should be higher up on the list. And I emphatically disagree that the compression necessary for poetry can’t improve prose writing. Poetic economy is one of my most valued tools for a number of reasons. It’s not about the reduction of words; rather, it’s about choosing the perfect one word instead of using three pretty good ones.

Style: I try not to waste time thinking about my style. It is what it is.

* Each story must be told in the style best suited for it.

*Inasmuch as a story has depth (or depth perception) it achieves this quality

*Some writers’ styles cannot multitask, or cannot lithely pivot.

*Artists and writers are somewhat similar with regard to style

I was having real problems with this discussion until I hit the “Approaches to Style” graphic by Jeremy Zerfoss. Good save. Good examples. But I still don’t think too much about style. I write for comfort and also intention.

SIDE NOTE: There is so much info crammed into this chapter, it’s kind of stacked up on itself. This has broken the flow of the chapter a couple of times, now. Granted, it’s all good, but I’m hopping around instead of reading from point to point.

Thoughts on Exposition by Kim Stanley Robinson

Another great collection of thoughts and advice—some of it at odds with what Jeff thinks. Kudoes to him for including dissenting opinions in the discussion.

The Greater and Lesser Mysteries

 Voice: This one is easy. My voice is conversational. I tend to “write like I talk,” whatever the hell that means. I don’t really think I do, but that’s the most frequent comment/compliment I get about my work, so there you go.

Tone: “Tone is created not just by word choice, but also through the rhythms and lengths to the sentences, the images evoked, and the descriptions.”

After I read that, I got an epiphany for a story I’ve been struggling with. I wrote it down hurriedly and now I can follow up on it. That alone was worth the whole chapter.

Structure: “How things happen as much as what happens.” Okay.

Theme:  This is another thing I try not think about, even wif I have a theme in mind for a particular story.

Form: I’m not grokking this at all right now.

“What is probably meant in this latter case is simply that all of the tenants of the story have worked so perfectly in tandem, and matched so perfectly the vision in the writer’s head, that the effect on the reader seems miraculous and cathartic.”

Um, wow. That’s a hell of a trick to pull off. There’s no way in hell I can plan for this. It never even crossed my mind before.

INSERT: Typing these notes up the next morning, I realized that I DO know what this is all about. These are the stories like “Gift of the Magi” and “Shottle Bop” and “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.” The perfectly constructed Jenga towers that look like magic tricks when you read them and in fact, they kinda sorta are.

I think of this as when the alchemy comes together just so.

The Complete Relationship Between Story Elements

 I get that the elements are interdependent, but thinking of them as a living system feels—what? I don’t know. Wrong for me, I guess. I like gears and cogs and alchemy better, myself. But I understand the point being made. It’s all got to work, and just so, in order to function. See above about alchemy.

I won't say that Jeremy Zerfoss is saving the project outright,
but I cannot imagine trying to attempt a project of this
scope without his help. These two page graphs and
charts are really helpful. I hope Jeff sent him a pie
for all of his hard work. No, scratch that. Two pies.

The Roles of Types of Imagination

 --Creative and Technical imagination

Nice idea. Hadn’t really thought about the difference between the two, but yeah, when I’m writing, I put on one hat, and when I’m editing and proofing, I put on a different hat.

I LOVE the Life Cycle of a Story. The Living Organism point Makes TOTAL sense in regard to this graphic.

A Message About Messages by Ursula K. Le Guin

 Brilliant essay. But then again, it’s LeGuin, one of the smartest writers, ever. “As a fiction writer, I don’t speak message. I speak story.”

Awesome. Amen to that. 

A NOTE ABOUT THE WRITING ASSIGNMENT: 

It's a very good assignment, but I didn't do it. I started researching, pulling books off of the shelves with the common denominator of "The Moon," and I started looking for paragraphs or sentences that described it. Then I looked up, and I'd lost three hours. On the other hand, I was able to rearrange some Robert E. Howard books, I read all of Stephen King's "Cycle of the Werewolf," got a great idea for a novella, and got about forty pages into Bradley Denton's excellent book, "Lunatics" and was reminded once again how good all of these authors are. And Berni Wrightson is no slouch in the art department, either. There were four more books I didn't even crack, because I knew what would happen. So, I'm begging off of this assignment because (A) my library is too big, and (B) I don't have the willpower and focus to NOT re-read all of the books with lunar descriptions in them. Note that changing the object of description wouldn't help. It would only create a new stack.

Working Through WONDERBOOK, Part 2

Author's Note: Reading over this post, I realize that it may not make a lot of sense to the casual reader who doesn't have a copy of Wonderbook: The Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction by Jeff Vandermeer. So, if you click on that link, you can go get yourself a copy.  Or, don't. It's up to you. But I'm going to be transcribing my handwritten notes for myself (and others who have the book) and I won't be using a lot of context to back it up.

CHAPTER 1: Inspiration and the Creative Life

 This first chapter starts with a good opening sentence:

 “The most miraculous aspect of creativity is the ability to conjure up images, characters, and narrative out of seemingly nothing: to be inspired and for that inspiration to lead to words on a page.”

I knew that, of course, but it’s nice to be reminded. Over time, one starts to take it for granted.

The Importance of Imaginative Play

 I try to do this as often as I can. Kids are great fun for this. There is no doubt that I will be the guy who is always filling kid’s head with stories of roller skating ducks, treasure in the back yard, and the famous former careers of their parents. This was done for me at an early age and I never forgot it.

Sometimes, I can look at a pattern in a floor and still remember what it was like when the spaces between the dark squares suddenly turned into lava.

Rikki Ducornet’s handwritten essay, “The Muse,” is interesting. I’m not sure I agree with all of it. She does make a good point when she says, “the beautiful paradox of art is that what is a private journey is released into the world where it enters into the fabric of other lives.”

I would add the word “private” before lives, because we all bring our own headspace to a text and our reaction to publically released art is always a private one.

Jeff goes on to talk about some writers devaluing their own imaginations and I find that a little strange and alien. But then again, he’s run a lot more writer’s workshops than me, so maybe that really is a thing. I think even the writer who eschews “imagination” for “plot points” and a hard-coded outline of events is still utilizing his creativity, but maybe he or she is simply accessing it differently.

Imaginative Outputs

 If this was a Dungeons and Dragons character, these would be your “stats.” I said that, not Jeff:

Curiosity—I’m still pretty good at this. I tend to react with delight when I learn new things, or find little biographies of folks who were unique in their time, and I’m always throwing that stuff into the Bingo hopper that is my brain and trying to figure out how to use X or Y in a story.

Receptivity—I need to work on this. I tend to close off emotions because I’m, well, a man. Living in Texas. Borne prior to 1970. In America.

It’s not that I don’t “feel” things. I do. I feel them quite intensely. My first defense or reaction is to close off before something gets in and reduces me to tears. I used to not be this way. Over time, it’s become more of a thing. Maybe that’s what Jeff is talking about I need to not be afraid to access that pool.

Passion—not a problem for me. I have it. I’ve had it before, a lot more intensely than I do now. That’s why I’m taking this “workshop.”

Immediacy—you mean, I get to turn off my phone and connect with the people around me? DONE! Okay! Any chance I get to unplug, I usually take it. I’ve been working on this for a while now.

The Scar

 I really like this concept. An old wound that still irritates. This would apply to so many creative people for a variety of reasons. I have two scars. I’ll share one.

My father was largely absent from my life for my first ten years. He didn’t get interested in me until my parents got divorced.

In addition to creating a need for approval from older men my whole life, I sought attention through being entertaining. My father’s side of the family was a handful of tall-tale-telling, affable alcoholics who loved to crack each other up. Consequently, I learned the value of a well-told story, the funnier the better, at an early age.

That’s a big motivator for me, to this day.

More art by Jeremy Zerfoss. That guy
is a beast. A painting beast.

Inputs for Inspiration

 1. Write What Interests You: yes I like this better than “write what you know” too. I do a lot more research and reading for things that interest me. For stuff I know, not so much. Less chances to discover new thing.

2. Write What’s Personal: I find that, unless I’m willfully trying otherwise, I can’t not do that. I go back into my head a lot and find things that resonate from my life, my experiences, etc.

3. Write What’s Uncomfortable: I’m trying to think of a couple of instances where I did this. Maybe one or two stories qualify. I know I have some ideas for stories, as yet undeveloped, that I haven’t written because of how uncomfortable the subject matter is.

4. Write What’s Random: I can’t sustain this for very long. It’s useful to me for a warm-up exercise, but it rarely leads anywhere.

5. Write From External Prompts: I’m doing it right now!

What Is/What If by Karen Lord

This essay really resonated with me. I like knowing that there are still blank spots on the map. I’m very comfortable with mystery, both in practicum and also in my process.

The Strangeness of Imagination

I don’t really have anything to add, here. Jeff’s anecdotes are a lot like mine. Who knows what is going to trigger the imagination? It’s random and mysterious. I’m always content to let it happen. Cathy calls it my “little vacation” when she finds me staring off into space, working something out.

Writer’s Block

Good advice and also practical. There are some fascinating examples, here. Now I want to read Joe Gould’s Secret. It’s probably terrible. Or, worse, horrible, like when you watch the VHS tape in “The Ring” and then five days later, you die. Or in this case, can’t ever write again. Hmm. Now I don’t want to read the book.

Writing Challenge

There's an interesting picture in the book, about which we are asked to write a story. Here's mine.

The Hubris Fish spread his leathern wings, a dazzling display of presenting behavior. Despite my stoic demeanor, I was somewhat impressed.

            “You see,” the fish continued, “I’m not the kind of Whimsical with nothing to offer, save my appearance. I possess a variety of useful—nay, essential!—skills that would greatly enhance your burgeoning enterprise.”

            “Whimsicals” was the somewhat disingenuous catch-all term for the multitude of strange and curiously amalgamated life forms that cam came swimming, flopping, and flying out of the gateway that opened over Dover five years ago. The Forteans were the first to use that term during the Tenniel Hearings and the public liked it enough to fold it into their daily patois. The phantasmagoria of unusual creatures that fell under that aegis didn’t seem to mind being grouped together thusly, even as the term was beginning to take on a slight pejorative tinge.

            The Hubris Fish’s coral-colored spots seemed to intensify against his pale orange fish flesh as he explained to me in great detail is penchant for storytelling, engaging in mesmerizing conversation and relating witty anecdotes. This was all true, provided you were fascinated with the life and times of a Hubris Fish.

            “I’m really keen to talk about our side of the gate,” he said. “After all, no one really understands what or where it is we cam from. But I can explain it to your readers as such...”

            “I’m sorry,” I said, cutting him off. “But the gateway is old news. Five years hence, I’m afraid. I’m more interested in capturing the stories of our day—today—what’s happening out there, right now. The East Dover Examiner stands as a mirror to the times we live in.” I paused, seeing that the Hubris Fish’s color had now dimmed considerably. “Surely you understand.”

            The Hubris Fish folded his wings. “Of course,” he said, hopping on his tail towards the door, his expression unreadable. “Best of luck filling he position. I’ll collect my hat and see myself out.”

            He shut the door behind him. “Whimsicals,” I muttered, wondering who or what the next interview would bring.

            “Whimsicals,” Lord Barleycorn, the bright red parrot who lived on my shoulder, repeated in his croaky parrot voice.

            “Yes. Rather.” I gave Lord Barleycorn a biscuit from the dish on my desk. He ate it quickly, messily, forcing me to stand up and brush the crumbs from my jacket. “Next!” I bellowed, sitting back down.

            “This’ll be good,” croaked Lord Barleycorn.

            “Quiet, you,” I said.

Working Through WONDERBOOK part 1

If you're thinking of buying this book,
be sure to lift with your knees.

This year is the year I reclaim my fiction career. In addition to committing to writing 500 thousand words in a year’s time, I’m making a conscious effort to broaden and expand my scope. Since I no longer live in an area of Texas that allows me access to regular workshops, writer’s groups, and a literary “scene,” I’m going to create my own. This is my first step in that direction.

Wonderbook, the Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction, is written by Jeff Vandermeer and profusely illustrated by Jeremy Zerfoss. In addition to these guys, there’s a slew of guest writers and artists featured in the book.

My plan is to go through the book at a reasonable pace. I want to read each chapter and then blog my responses or show my work, if I’m asked to do something along those lines. I am hoping that by the end of the project, I’ll have some new tools in my utility belt, and I’m hoping to learn some things, or maybe have a different perspective on writing that I didn’t have before.

You may be asking, “Why this? Why ‘Wonderbook?’” I won’t say that I’m creatively stagnant, per se, but it’s been a while since I’ve workshopped anything, or had a peer review group to keep me honest. I believe in trying to creatively better yourself, especially when it comes to something that requires input and exercise, like writing. I don’t usually like books that tell you how to write, because it messes up my own process, but Jeff’s book is something different in that there’s not a How To component. Instead, it’s more about theory and approaches.  

I’m hoping, then, to have a sort of ongoing conversation with Jeff’s process, because he and I approach writing from very different places. Maybe after it’s all over, I’ll find what Jeff uses won’t, in fact, work for me. That’s okay. Learning about that process may lead me to other insights that neither he, through his book, nor I, through the ongoing conversation, could have possibly predicted. Okay, let’s get this party started.

General Impressions and Introduction

I’m actually proofreading two books right now, and I’m nearing the end, but I really want to jump on this, so I read the introduction and did a cursory inspection of the book itself.

First of all, this is a dense, heavy tome of a book. It’s a doorstop, it really is. That’s good value for a couple of reasons. The full-color interior pages are printed on a nice heavy glossy stock that will stand up to abuse and spine-cracking. And you’re going to want to crack the spine to see all of the amazing artwork contained therein. It’s a gorgeous book, and it’s very inviting.

The introduction is little more than an explanation about what is to come, and an explanation about the picture codes that will be used in the book. Jeff recommends reading the book straight through (done!) and offers up a little advice about what to expect. The artwork that you’re going to want to spend the most time with is the two page arterial map of the History of Science Fiction. It’s stunning. And if this is what the rest of the book holds, it’s going to be a fun ride.

The pictograms that denote extra information, sidebars, and dissenting opinions are named things like “Mister Odd” and the “Distraction Dragon” and are full of whimsy, a Vandermeer specialty. Despite the light tone, one gets the impression that he is very serious about his subject.

This is a good start, and really makes me want to power through to Chapter One. Perhaps this weekend!