Monday, March 17, 2014

Some Unapologetic Hugo Ballot Campaigning

Yeah, I know what you're going to say: the Hugos are Broken, awards don't mean anything, it's not about winning something, my vote doesn't matter because of X,Y and Z, and insert-your-personal-complaint-here. I'm not going to debate any of what you just said.

But if the system can be gamed, then let's game it.


I'm not telling anyone what to do. But there are a lot of blanks on the Hugo Awards nomination ballot, and every year, I see stuff that I've never heard of, or seen, or experienced. Just once, I'd like to be in on that campaigning little clique. Note: I've not included every category below. If you attended last year, you may already have some thoughts on the matter. You may have already filled out your nomination ballot. The good news is this: you can revisit that ballot and add things. Yep. You really can. Go here: http://www.loncon3.org/nominations.php and do it. Here's the official website to the Hugos, as well: http://www.thehugoawards.org/ If you were in attendance at Lone Star Con 3 last year, you can nominate! See the Hugos website for other ways to participate.

Anyone who knows me and my interests will have no difficulty translating why I listed what I did. This is an attempt to load at least a couple of heroic fantasy works/things I care about/people who are no longer with us/my own shit onto a ballot that, despite the grand list of reasons why you shouldn't, (and despite the industry's ongoing struggle to catch up to the latter half of the twentieth century re: parity, gender issues, and POC problems) is still a going concern. I picked a few things that are of a heroic fantasy/sword and sorcery nature to highlight. Feel free to add more when you go vote. If you need a refresher, there's linkage below.

Best Short Story
TITLE                                                 AUTHOR                   PUBLISHER
"Timeout"                                            Neal Barrett, Jr.           Ray Guns OverTexas/FACT
                                                                                                           
"Defenders of Beeman County"         Aaron Allston               Ray Guns OverTexas/FACT

"Take a Left at the Cretaceous"          Mark Finn                     Ray Guns OverTexas/FACT

The good thing about the ballot is, you can put multiple things on it. So, that's nice!

Best Related Work

TITLE                                                 AUTHOR                   PUBLISHER
Blood  & Thunder:The Life               Mark Finn                   The Robert E. Howard Foundation Press
and Art of Robert E. Howard                                                                   

The first edition of Blood & Thunder garnered a World Fantasy nomination (not a win), and it would be nice if the second edition would at least capture a nomination. I have no doubt that few enough people have read the biography that are part of the Floating Temporary Permanent WorldCon Convention Staff and Attendees and would vote for it on the official ballot, but a nomination alone would allow the book to justifiably stay in print as a scholarly work. 
                                                                                 
Best Graphic Story
TITLE                                                 AUTHOR                               PUBLISHER
King Conan: Hour of the Dragon       Tim Truman                             Dark Horse Comics

Best Dramatic Presentation (Short Form)
TITLE                         CREATOR/WRITER/DIRECTOR               STUDIO/SERIES
“The Red Wedding”       Erin Gibson, Bradly Schulz            HBO/Game of Thrones

Best Editor (Short Form)
EDITOR
Rick Klaw                   RaygunsOver Texas

Rick has been doing this for a while, and doing right by the authors and artists he's worked with. He deserves a nomination.

Best Editor (Long Form)
EDITOR
Lou Anders                 PYR

Best Professional Artist
ARTIST
Tom Gianni                             RobertE. Howard Foundation Books

Best Fancast
TITLE                                     PERSONNEL
The Cromcast                          Josh Adkins, Luke Dodd, Jon Larson

Saturday, March 15, 2014

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.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

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.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

My Writing Life: February’s Epic Fail


Last month I mentioned my goal of a 500,000 word output in a single year. I think a report card like this every month will keep me honest and accountable. February was a short month, and I was starting a new project. How did I do? Let’s go to the stats:

Projects completed: 0

Projects I was trying to complete: 1

Words typed: 24,963

Target number: 38,356

Shortfall: 13,393

So, basically, February sucked. I’m not making excuses, or anything like that, because I did write something every day. It may have been just a paragraph, but I kept writing every day, despite a couple of catastrophic setbacks in my personal life that all but took me out of the game for about ten days. I’m better now, but the damage is done.

LegendaryGorilla Man Charles Gemora.
I’ve modified my March schedule to allow me time to finish off this project I started in February. It’s called Replacement Gorilla, and it’s a mystery novel I’ve been carrying around in me for ten or more years, now. It’s been made worse by two previous attempts to start it, both ending in failures. The first time out, I had the tone all wrong, and the second time around, I had the voice all wrong.

The good news is this: third time is a charm. I’ve got the tone and the voice just right, and I’m well past my last attempt. Plot is plotted, story is storied, and now all I really need to do is get it out of my head. It’s been tough at times, but my energy high and I’m ready to have this out in the world so people can see it.

I might, if anyone is interested, put some samples up for folks to read. Just a taste, really. A sliver. Throw me a comment or a PM if you want a sneak peek or two.

ConDFW: A Report of Sorts
Part of what got me back on track again was my now-annual pilgrimage to ConDFW. I like this convention, a lot. It’s a great way to shake off winter and gear up for the spring and summer shows. They do good programming and I know a lot of the Dallas SF scene, both fans and pros. But there was something about this year that was a little different, and very cool.

I’m getting a reputation for being a good moderator on panels. It’s not that hard to do, really; you need the confidence and command of the topic to be able to pose interesting questions, and the force of personality to dictate what shape the conversation will take. Acting ability helps, as well as public speaking. Oh, and you have to resist the urge to take over the panel and plug your own stuff, ad nauseum. Okay, come to think of it, maybe there’s more to panel discussions that a lot of people think.

Regardless, I’m good on panels. This year, I had some big crowds, and I also sold several copies of my new book, Empty Hearts, to people I did not know. This was very gratifying. It tells me I’m either: reaching an audience at these shows, or I’m finally putting some stuff out that people want to read. Or maybe both.

I do have a small sect of folks who attend all of my readings. If they are at the show, they are at my reading. Nice people, all. I give good readings. But this was the first time that my reading partner and fellow author, Patricia Burroughs, yielded some of her reading time to hear me read more stuff. She also bought a copy of Empty Hearts, prior to the reading. It was extremely flattering.

This ConDFW was about connections, more than any other. I ended up talking to fellow authors and establishing (and in a couple of cases, re-establishing) connections. To put it another way, I’m finally starting to feel like I belong there. It’s taken some time, and I’m not always the best about putting myself out there, but going to ConDFW and FenCon and making the effort to participate was one of the best decisions I ever made.

The 100th Post
I’d hoped for something more monumental than a state of the union address. Oh, well. What can you do? I’ll get back to posting more Writing About Wonderbook soon. I’m halfway through the book right now. The short answer is this: it's great. If you are on the fence about it, get off the fence and go get a copy.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

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. 

Monday, January 27, 2014

Roll to Hit: D&D turns Forty!



 Dungeons & Dragons is celebrating its 40th year of existence. Wow.

To commemorate the occasion, I had hoped to do an influence chart similar to the one I created for Raidersof the Lost Ark, but there is no time. And besides, it’s less interesting than just posting the list from Appendix N in the back of the Dungeon Master’s Guide.

Wait, let me back up.

Okay, we’ll start at the beginning.

My step-father introduced me to Dungeons and Dragons when I was eleven or twelve years old. It was this boxed game, containing two books—an all-in-one rulebook, and the adventure book—The Keep on the Borderlands. The box didn’t even come with dice. I had to make chits. It was pretty crazy.

The first D&D product I owned.
We tried to play it, but kept getting lost in the rules. Nonetheless, I was fascinated and I read the play example over and over again. There was something here—I was sure of it—but I couldn’t quite crack the code.

Then I found out my step-brother was playing Advanced Dungeons and Dragons while away on Boy Scout trips. “Advanced Dungeons & Dragons? You mean, it’s more complicated than the single book I couldn’t quite wrap my head around?” And yet, peer pressure is a great motivator, and so, little by little, I started buying the now-legendary hardcover books. I started with the Player’s Handbook, and Joel helped me navigate rolling up a character. He ran me through my first game, and the light bulb went off, you could say.

While my step-brother branched out into the more esoteric books, like the Fiend Folio and the Dieties and Demigods Cyclopedia (and yes, he did get the first edition with the Cthulhu and Melnibone’ myths in it), I settled on the basics: the Dungeon Master’s Guide and the original Monster Manual. By this time, I knew I wanted to run the game, to be the Dungeon Master. I had dice, and a few modules, and I was all raring to go. Now, all I needed was some players...

Chalk it up to playing D&D in a small town. Joel and I knew everyone who played. It wasn’t a big pool to draw from. But that’s not the point. I found out a few things about myself: I was good at running a game; I had a knack for telling stories and making stuff up on the fly; and all of these seemingly useless talents were going to end up shaping my destiny.

I read, re-read, and basically committed to memory much of the original material in the Dungeon Master’s Guide. This included the now-legendary Appendix N: Inspirational and Educational Reading.

Why “legendary?” Because that appendix was probably single-handedly responsible for the current crop of fantasy and sword and sorcery fans, ages 30-50. Think I’m exaggerating? Wait until you see the list. It’s been reprinted a lot, all over the Interwebs, but here’s the meat of the list for you to check out:

Anderson, Poul: THREE HEARTS AND THREE LIONS; THE HIGH CRUSADE; THE BROKEN
 SWORD
Bellairs, John: THE FACE IN THE FROST
Brackett, Leigh
Brown, Frederic
Burroughs, Edgar Rice: "Pellucidar" series; Mars series; Venus series
Carter, Lin: "World's End" series
de Camp, L. Sprague: LEST DARKNESS FALL; THE FALLIBLE FIEND; et al
de Camp & Pratt: "Harold Shea" series; THE CARNELIAN CUBE
Derleth, August
Dunsany, Lord
Farmer, P. J.: "The World of the Tiers" series; et al
Fox, Gardner: "Kothar" series; "Kyrik" series; et al
Howard, R. E.: "Conan" series
Lanier, Sterling: HIERO'S JOURNEY
Leiber, Fritz: "Fafhrd & Gray Mouser" series; et al
Lovecraft, H. P.
Merritt, A.: CREEP, SHADOW, CREEP; MOON POOL; DWELLERS IN THE MIRAGE; et al
Moorcock, Michael: STORMBRINGER; STEALER OF SOULS; "Hawkmoon" series (esp. the
 first three books)
Norton, Andre
Offutt, Andrew J.: editor of SWORDS AGAINST DARKNESS III
Pratt, Fletcher: BLUE STAR; et al
Saberhagen, Fred: CHANGELING EARTH; et al
St. Clair, Margaret: THE SHADOW PEOPLE; SIGN OF THE LABRYS
Tolkien, J. R. R.: THE HOBBIT; "Ring trilogy"
Vance, Jack: THE EYES OF THE OVERWORLD; THE DYING EARTH; et al
Weinbaum, Stanley
Wellman, Manley Wade
Williamson, Jack
Zelazny, Roger: JACK OF SHADOWS; "Amber" series; et al

Basically, a Who’s Who in Classic Fantasy and Sword and Sorcery. Also sword and planet, horror, and science fiction, as well. Looking back over the list, this is ground zero for anyone wanting to get back to the roots—or check out where it all came from.

I know there’s some modern authors who love to say that they were not, in fact, influenced by these old, dead white guys (and sometimes women). They love to kick over the idols and be the punk rock rebels and say, “I never read any of that stuff, and so it didn’t factor into my work.”

Bullshit.

Dungeons and Dragons was a real game-changer, literally and figuratively. It gave the disenfranchised geeks of the world something to do, a reason to clump up on Friday nights, and yeah, it probably saved more than a few geeks, nerds and dweebs from social torture, loneliness, and much worse.  

When I moved from Abilene to Waco in the 8th grade (is there anything worse?) I was able to make friends—one of my best friends, in fact—through Dungeons & Dragons. That gave me something to do, an audience to perform for, and a reason to be creative and social and not completely disappear up my own tortured asshole. But I digress.

Dungeons & Dragons spawned a cartoon series, toys, games, and nearly propped up every B.Dalton’s and Waldonbooks in every mall across the country with the amount of original (and somewhat less so) lines of fiction paperbacks, all based on the imaginary worlds that we were all tromping through every Friday and Saturday night. It was like belonging to much bigger, cooler club that was still kinda secret. I mean, the cool kids knew what D&D was—they just didn’t get it. Or didn’t want to get it. Either way, it was ours and we embraced it. And my generation grew up to be the creators and the tastemakers and the people who are now producing popular culture.

So, to the new elite hipsterati and your denial of the Canon—through the transitive property of pop culture influences, if you played Dungeons & Dragons and claim that you never read Jack Vance, well, guess what? Your fighter character did it for you. Or your rogue that scaled the ruined tower on the outskirts of the borderland. That stuff is ALL in Dungeons & Dragons and the fingerprints show up everywhere. If you watched any sword and sorcery movie from the 1980s, you have the Canon to thank for that—specifically, if not obliquely, Robert E. Howard. If you read any of the spin-off novels, or any of the fantasy series that blanketed those bookshelves, it’s all because of the canon. And it all fed back into Dungeons & Dragons like the mythical serpent eating its own tail.

Appendix N became a checklist for me, and I started reading and exploring as fast as my allowance could keep up. That appendix made it okay to branch out, and even though many of those books were on my family’s bookshelf, I didn’t get interested in reading them until Dungeons & Dragons said they were going to help me run a better campaign. Funny how that works, huh?  

That was how I interacted with my interests back in the days of Commodore 64. I read, and read voraciously. Dragon Magazine was my lifeline. We were all scrambling to find new things to work into our games. By now, it was just accepted that I was the dungeon master. I ran games, all the time. And by now, I was running more than just Dungeons an Dragons.

Call of Cthulhu, 3rd edition boxed set.
I miss when RPGs came in boxes.
When Joel started reading H.P. Lovecraft, I did too, in order to keep up. But that turned into me buying the Call of Cthulhu game, which is still a favorite to this very day. And when I noticed the ads for a super hero game in Dragon magazine called Villains and Vigilantes, I simply HAD to have that. Super hero role-playing? Forget about it. I was hooked. Other role-playing games followed. Some stuck, and some didn’t, but we always returned to the old reliable D&D. It was our Go-To for killing a boring afternoon.

You may infer, correctly, from the box art above that the earliest of Dungeons & Dragons artwork bears little resemblance to the amazing artwork they now routinely employ. In fact, some of that early artwork was amateur at best. But there were some diamonds in the rough over in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. One of the most recognizable early artists from the 1980s was a very young Bill Willingham. His stuff leapt off of the page—it didn’t look like the scritchy noodlings of some of the other artists. You could spot his work a mile away. It had a decided comic book feel to it. Yeah, I know, it’s funny NOW, but you see, I started following his career though Role-Playing Games. He was involved in Villains and Vigilantes, too, along with game designer and artist Jeff Dee (another guy whose D&D artwork just leapt off of the page). I was fans of these guys before they were Bill Willingham and Jeff Dee.  

When I realized that the Destroyers in the
Elementals comic were the same ones
from this V&V module, I felt like I'd
stumbled into a much bigger universe.
So, when Elementals first came out in the mid-80s as part of the Indie explosion in comics, I had the first issues—BECAUSE it was Bill’s comic, see? I won’t say this lead directly to our meeting, and subsequent friendship, now in its second decade, but I know this: I wouldn’t have first known about him had it not been for Dungeons & Dragons. I’m also not supposed to bring up Bill’s early artwork, as a friend, because he’s improved so very much over the years. While I agree with that, and try not to embarrass him about it, I find that his early game art has a lot of nostalgic charm, and I am not the only one who thinks so.

Now that you know—I have to tell you this very cool story. I was invited to playtest the re-vamp of Villains & Vigilantes some years ago back when Jeff and co-creator Jack Herman (another Very Fine Fellow) were working on it. Bill decided he would run the game. So I played V&V with the three game designers and writers who meant so very much to me at a teen-ager, and it was one of the coolest Nerd-Things I’ve ever done.  When I told my old friend from high school (who played V&V with me obsessively) about that day, his head exploded.

Because of Dungons & Dragons (and the role-playing games that came after it), I met, and befriended, a LOT of people I otherwise wouldn’t have. Some of my oldest friendships, folks I’ve known for twenty or thirty years, were people I used to game with. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have been able to overcome some latent shyness had it not been for gaming. If you were ever in a Call of Cthulhu, a Justice, Inc., a Villains and Vigilantes, a Champions, a GURPS, a Top Secret, a Gamma World, or a Dungeons & Dragons game with me (or any of the other one-offs and experiments tried over the years), well, I just want to say, thanks for playing.  

I stopped actively role-playing in the early 1990s. It came down to the point of either writing stories down and trying to get them published, or playing games every Saturday night and not ever publishing anything. I chose door number one, and I don’t regret it. But I still miss gaming.

I’ve played in some games over intervening years. Every time, I spend weeks talking myself out of starting up a game again. It’s like a siren that calls to me. No, make that a harpy. A 3 hit dice Harpy, armor class 5, that attacks for 1d8 damage—sorry, old habits die hard.

This Christmas, I made a present of Dungeons & Dragons to my niece, a very active and bookish 12 year old geek, and on Christmas Day, I ran a game for her and my brother and his wife. And you know what? I got hooked all over again. Sure, the game has changed, but the imagination, the suspense of rolling dice, the storytelling, the on-the-fly plans of brilliance, the comedic moments of improvised dialogue...that doesn’t change, not at all.

These days, most of the stigma of tabletop gaming is gone, thanks largely to the number of Generation X that is still playing, and now including their kids. It’s become a family activity. Something we never thought we’d all see, back during the 1980s, when it was thought that Dungeons & Dragons was devil-worship and a gateway to black magic. We laughed about it then, but it was pretty serious. But the Conservative Christians were right about one thing—the game was a gateway. It was a gateway to a multitude of fantastic worlds, authors, concepts, and friendships—the exact opposite of what they accused it of being. Forty years later, that gateway is still open—wide open—for the next generation. In my own very small way, as a consumer and a player, I am partially responsible for that, as are the rest of you who played and loved it and then passed it on to others.  That’s definitely magic, in my book. 

Here’s the full text for Appendix N for any of you who’d like to read Gary Gygax’s remarks. I can’t think of a better way to honor the anniversary than to give him the last word. Thanks, Gary, and Dave, and all of the rest of you who worked on this game over the years. Your contribution to the world has made it a better, more magical place.