Exotic Writing, Part 1

One of the attractions of Science Fiction and Fantasy is the taste of the exotic that these genres provide. I’ve never seen in real life the rising of two great moons over the scarlet ruins of a vampire city. I’ve never seen a galleon with sails of white careening through the sky before a dark storm’s winds. I’ve never watched a star eaten by a black hole. But I’ve imagined them.

I remember as a kid how much I hated most “approved” reading because the books locked me into a world with which I was already familiar. The Grapes of Wrath was about farmers, for example. I lived on a farm. Other approved books I read were about people who worked in factories, people who lived in small, rural southern towns, people who struggled to deal with crop failures, people facing religious persecution, people dealing with the tragic deaths of loved ones. I’d think, OK, that was kind of like last Tuesday. Couldn’t I read something that I hadn’t lived through? It was such a relief to toss these “relevant” books aside and join John Carter on a desperate ride across the dead sea bottoms of Barsoom with swords gleaming beneath twin moons.

As I got older I came to appreciate realistic fiction and I enjoy it to this day. I appreciate the effort that goes into telling such tales and I find much of worth in stories of “universal” suffering and joy. But I always still crave that touch of the exotic, that little bit of something that shocks my imagination. I want to see the world as I’ve never quite seen it before, as I don’t see it when I look out my window.

Tomorrow I want to post on ways to work the exotic into one’s fiction. How do you create a meld of the exotic and the real that becomes seamless for the reader. It’ll be a work in progress, because right now I don’t know exactly what I think about this topic. I think it’ll be fun to find out.

Pay it Forward

My post today is triggered by one over on Inside our Hands; Outside our Hearts about a kind act by a stranger.

Anybody remember the "Pay it Forward" movement back a number of years ago? I don't hear much about it these days, although there is a commercial running now that illustrates it. The basic point is, when someone does a nice thing for you, you return the favor by helping yet another person down the line. Here's something about "Pay it Forward."

In the early 1980s I was a grad student at the University of Arkansas making about 500 dollars a month. I had managed, however, to save enough to attend a neuroscience conference in Dallas. (Fortunately, my major professor was driving and let me ride with him.) I stayed at the cheapest hotel I could find, well away from the convention center but at least close enough to catch the bus in every morning. I attended all the talks or parties at the convention where you could find free food, and I ate elsewhere as cheaply as possible.

One evening I was eating at Shoney’s. I had long-hair even then, and was dressed in t-shirt and jeans, one of my few pairs without holes in them. A guy came in carrying a painting he’d done. He came right up and asked if I would buy it so he could afford to eat. I felt horrible for him, but I was eating the cheapest thing they had and after paying for the meal I was going to have less than five dollars in my billfold. I certainly didn’t have the twenty he was asking for the painting. I told him, “Sorry man, but I’ve barely got enough to cover my own meal.”

He thanked me anyway, turned and walked away. I saw him try a few other tables without luck before leaving the diner. Shortly after that I asked my waitress to bring the check, to which she replied, “It’s taken care of.” I asked what she meant and she gestured toward a table where several fellows in their sixties were sitting. “The guy in the gray suit paid for it,” she said.

Stunned, I went over to their table to explain that I had enough to cover my meal. The guy who had paid for me said, “Well I heard what you said about not having much money and I’ve been there myself. Just thought I’d help.” I told him thanks and left, and over twenty years later I still remember it clearly. The guy didn’t know me. I looked scruffy and probably down on my luck. And he reached out, a perfect stranger, to give me a hand.

I wonder if that guy is still alive. I’d sure like to thank him again, and to tell him that I think of him whenever I help someone else.

Notes from the Blogworld

A couple of notes from around the blogosphere today. One of my links is to Bernita Harris who has recently had a story published in Weirdly: A Collection of Strange Stories. I picked up this collection in ebook format yesterday and immediately turned to Bernita's story, which is entitled "Stone Child." I had read and very much enjoyed snippets of Bernita's fiction on her blog and was curious how she would handle a complete piece. I'm happy to say I found it a truly fine work. I felt immediately comfortable with her characters. Although there is obviously considerable backstory with the characters, the reader gets only enough to develop a liking for them and to realize that there is more that could be revealed in future stories. I see so many pieces that bog the tale down with character details at the expense of "getting on with the story." This didn't happen here.

Two other strengths of "Stone Child" deserve mention. The setting, a northern forest wreathed in mist, is strong. I love stories set in wild natural environments. Cold in the Light is an unapologetic ode to the woods I grew up running. Bernita captures precisely the feeling one sometimes gets even in relatively tame forests of being watched, followed, haunted. Finally, it's rare to find so much fresh language in modern stories. This was the main reason I wanted to get this piece. From Bernita's blog I've seen that she has a wonderful facility with language and imagery and I hoped she could bring that talent to bear on a complete story. I wasn't disappointed, and I highly recommend "Stone Child."

Also from around the blogosphere, Steve has a great post on setting. I don't think setting gets its due in most work written about writing, but it's incredibly important to me, and not just as a writer. As a reader I adore a good setting and will, frankly, devour paragraphs that simply put me in an interesting "place." I want to post on setting myself at some point, particularly about how important it is in SF/Fantasy/Horror. Steve has some great thoughts about it and it looks like he may post some more on the topic as well. I'll certainly be following that thread.

Various Matters of Writerly Account

For those of you who have been checking the issues out from the archives, the September Illuminata is out. My piece this time is "Endings: What's At Stake." This issue also notes the 6th anniversary of the newsletter, which is a pretty amazing accomplishment actually, and a tribute to the Editor/Publisher Bret Funk. Remember those of you who read SF/Fantasy/Horror that Bret is always looking for reviews.

As for what I'm working on. I agreed to do a review of a revised Learning in Psychology Text from Sage publishers and that has been taking up most of my past few evenings. Plus I've already started making out my first tests of the semester. I rather hate giving and grading tests. Another big project is pretty much done and I will report on that at a later date.

I watched the premier of K'Ville last night. This is a cop drama set in New Orleans post Hurricane Katrina. I thought it showed quite a bit of promise. I like the actors and the setting is interesting, of course. I thought they tried to do a bit too much in the first episode. They had too many plot lines and could have benefited from cutting one or two out for later. They also, I thought, prematurely revealed the answers to a couple of mysteries that could have been continued. Still, I thought it took the city and its people seriously and took a good hard look at some of the struggles folks in this area are still experiencing. I recommend it for viewing.

Later, my friends.

Imaginary Friends

Etain mentioned imaginary friends in her comments on my last post and I started thinking about this issue, and whether it has any relationship to the development of writing interest and skills. First, though, I've always been confused by one issue related to imaginary friends. That is, how real do people's imaginary friends seem to them when they are kids? I grew up in the country with no other children around, and didn't attend school until first grade. I had quite a few imaginary friends. There was Red Spot and Barefoot, two youths from a savage tribe on Jupiter, and there was McCallister, a war weary WW II vet who carried a BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle). These were not characters that I played. They were companions to the characters I played. However, though I often conversed with them, and even argued with them, during play, I never actually "thought" they were real. They didn't go in the house with me, or sleep in the same room with me. When I was finished playing I put them back on the shelf, so to speak, and took them out again next time I played that game.

Let me ask, how many of you had imaginary friends? And if you did, how real were they to you? Were they one or were they legion? Did they talk to you when you weren't "playing?" Lest you fear to reveal such information because you think it makes you look psychotic, I suspect that all children are a little psychotic from the adult standpoint. I certainly was.

And for those of you who "still" have imaginary friends, remember that I'm a psychologist. Tell me all about it. I might be able to get you some help. ;)

Top Down Versus Bottom Up

Bernita suggested something that might explain why some authors, like myself, enjoy creating whole fantasy worlds for their characters to play in while other authors prefer to use the existing world of earth as a backdrop upon which to paint their tales. She suggested that it was possibly to do with a kind of inductive/deductive difference in the authors.

Playing off this, I think, perhaps, that some writers like to start with the unreal and work their way down to the real. They begin with an alien planet, say, and then begin to try and build reality into it by creating rivers, and cities, and deserts, and people, all of whom must have strong elements of realism if they are to work.

Other writers start with the real and work their way up to the unreal. They begin with rivers and cities and so on that already exist, then began to alter these toward the fictional, and they create characters who move within these worlds who have never existed.

I still don't know what it is in writers that make them prefer one approach to the other. Probably I never will. Although the difference is endlessly fascinating to me.

The World Building Impulse

Why does imagination take the forms it does? As a kid I wandered our farm and through the woods and fields for miles around, and while I walked I invented stories. But more than stories, I invented whole worlds and painted them with cities and deserts and rivers and strange animals and plants. The first world I invented was Thanos, and it was actually a future earth after aliens had invaded, conquered, settled and then abandoned it to the savage humans who remained. New cities had arisen, new tribes of humankind, and there were "leftovers" from the conquered years.

When I told my parents or siblings about Thanos they laughed and shook their heads. And when I told my friends they looked at me like I was weird. People said I was imaginative, but to me it just seemed natural. I wondered why everyone else didn't do it too. I also knew that plenty of other people had good imaginations and told inventive stories. My dad told some whoppers, but his stories were much more versions of the "tall tale," and always involved the world "almost" as it was.

As an adult I find that my writer friends are highly imaginative and tell wonderful stories. Candice Proctor and Laura Joh Rowland take the misty features of history and turn them into concrete realities that a reader can see, hear, and smell. They reinvent the past so that it becomes current reality. Sidney Williams takes the environments of small rural towns and common people and slides them a little to the left so that they're overlain by a world where vampires and werewolves and stranger things play. Wayne Allen Sallee writes of a real Chicago, but in ways that warp the perspective, that make you feel things you've never felt.

But Wayne has told me that he doesn't feel that comfortable when he tries to step out of the real Chicago with his writing, and I know that Candice is just not that interested in wholly imaginary worlds. (Forgive me Wayne and Candice if I've misrepresented you. Please let me know.)

Why is this? Do I love imaginary worlds because I want to escape? I don't think so. I like the real world OK. I'm not unhappy or desperate to flee an intolerable existence. I just like inventing weird stuff. I like it more apparently than Candice or Wayne or Laura, although Sid is a bit closer to me here. What accounts for these differences? I'm glad they're there. If you depended on me to write the books about historical Japan or England you wouldn't have very many. Those worlds are not where my imagination lives. But I like to read those sorts of books. I like to be transported to historical places. I'm glad that every writer's imagination doesn't take the same form. I just wonder why?

Light and Shadow

Lana is a graphic artist. She’s shown me many times the importance of light and shadow in painting. Too, we often sit on Sundays to watch the artist Bob Ross’s TV show, and I see his brush illustrate the importance of highlights that bring trees and mountainsides to life, and of shadows that create the mystery of a forest.

Descriptive writing is not much different. Light and shadow are critical to word art, as well. It is critical in a literal sense, for one. Read some favorite descriptive passages from books you love and I bet you’ll find the play of light within the play of words. “In the bed of the river there were pebbles and boulders, dry and white in the sun…” (Hemingway). “That country…where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay” (Bradbury). Any page from Peter Matthiessen’s The Snow Leopard.

But light and shadow are critical as metaphors, as well. Whether you call it good and evil or black and white, or whether you speak only of “shades of gray,” you are dealing with light and shadow, with the juxtaposition and interrelationship of things that people often think of as opposites but which are not. Light is the mother of shadow, and shadow is not the absence of light, but the muting of it.

I realized after my Monday entry that the core of that scene was about light and shadow. And it began to occur to me how important this relationship is in all my writing. I bet it’s true for you as well. And if it isn’t, I’d like to know what replaces it for you.

“Kainja looked up from the ruins, past the vultures with their bladed wings, past the darkening valley to where a chill wind swept like a broom across the snowfields of the Himalayan Range. There lay the swelling curve of the Khumbu Glacier, bright in the sun, with white Everest to the east. He would have to go up that glacier, but the trail would be easily followed. It would be marked by the smell of shed blood.” (From “Wanting the Mouth of a Lover.”)

“The moonlight settled over the December beach like snow birds coming in to roost on an arctic plain. And the midnight world was brush-stroked in white, the white of sand and shells and stones, the white of bones and ghosts. In the midst of that white was a splatter of black, or what could have been red in brighter hours. It reminded Kyle of a snowflake in negative, and he thought it was incredibly beautiful until he realized what it represented. Then he dropped the cigarette that he'd walked out on the beach to smoke, and he reached down with his thumb to unsnap the strap that held his Colt Trooper in its holster.” (From, “Splatter of Black.”)

September Updates

I was interviewed today by Ann Gilbert for Inside Northside Magazine. They’re doing a feature on “Writers of the North Shore.” This means the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. New Orleans and its suburbs are on the south shore, and the two areas are connected by the Causeway Bridge, which I blogged about yesterday. If it hadn’t of been for Lana and the wonderful folks at the Abita Springs Library, Ann probably wouldn’t have found out about me. So I thank them for keeping my name out there. I’m going to officially name Lana my publicist. I hope she doesn’t ask for a raise, although going from nothing to something might not require a huge layout of cash for me. Maybe I can pay her in dinners at Trey Yuen restaurant. She loves eating there. As do I.

Inside Northside is a very nice, slick production and Ann told me it is mailed to 40,000 homes as well as distributed to local libraries and such. That’ll be more people than have ever seen one of my short stories or novels, I would imagine. Oh well, I suppose soon the paparazzi will be following me around. Fame! It’s just so demanding.

In other news, I’ve added quite a few new links to my blog. Unified Sci Fi forums is a site where folks come to discuss SF, Fantasy and Horror. I’ve probably mentioned that I’m the horror moderator there. To my links on the “Louisiana Connection,” I’ve added “Ms. Mentor’s Column.” This is the work of Emily Toth, a professor at Louisiana State University who is also in my writing group. Ms. Mentor dispenses advice to troubled and not so troubled academics, often with an edge of acerbic wit. There are a bunch of new folks added at the bottom of my “Blogs” link. These are folks whose blogs I visit and who have been visiting here. I’ll try to put up a more writing related post tomorrow.

The Moods of Water and Life

Each working day I cross Lake Pontchartrain. Twenty-four miles one way on the Causeway Bridge. It isn't a sea but like a sea it has moods. Friday afternoon it was gray-green and seething, dimpled with rain and with white caps breaking like horses's manes in the wind. Whereever sunlight punched through the clouds to strike the water the liquid color turned to a toxic saffron that looked like old bruises.

Today the lake was a light steel-blue that flirted with the bright morning sun. Sparks of refraction ignited here and there as a faint breeze petted the surface. Sunlight and water played together, happy as any two children during summer vacation.

I'm learning a lot about the moods of water on my daily trips. And about cycles of life along the Pontchartrain basin. The pelicans are starting to glide right along the bridge railing again, as they did last year at this time. There must be some seasonal wind change that accounts for it. Suddenly the Sulphur Butterflies are out in force, not along the bridge yet but in the trees and along the roads toward my house. The love-bugs are here too. I see the early ones perched on my car, or on the railing of our deck, already mated. I know there'll be more soon, until the air is thick with love.

I'm glad I've kept notes of such things in my journal, because I can go back and see clearly the cycles of how water and the biosphere around it ebbs and rises through the seasons. This year I plan to keep better records of when things happen. I figure there's a story in there somewhere. Or perhaps just a life.

Online Writing Groups

I'm considering doing a piece on online writing groups and thought I'd toss the idea out here to see if it generates any discussion. I think there are pros and cons to online groups. Here's what I'm thinking so far:

Pros:
1. never have to leave your house.
2. online groups can be larger, thus providing more feedback.
3. a member can set their own pace for how they post and respond to posts easier.

Cons:
1. online groups tend to come and go faster than physical groups.
2. anonymity of net may lead to harsher criticism than is good for new writers
3. online groups typically don't form as strong emotional bonds.
4. online groups constantly get new members, which means a lot of redundancy in dealing with issues.

Anyone have anything to add to either pros or cons? What am I missing?

Night to Dawn #12

I got my contributor copies for Night to Dawn #12 yesterday and the magazine looks very nice. I actually was not expecting it to be so beautifully done, and at almost 90 pages it's thicker than I expected as well. My piece, which is either a micro fiction or a prose poem, depending on how you define it, is called "When the White Mist." It's...uhm, well, rather a romantic piece. If you've read any of my novels you might be surprised. No gore or bloody battles. Just love, albeit slightly on the kinky side.

If you want to check out the website it's here. Note, if you do go to the website do not click on the "check out my blog" link at the top or you will be taken to a porno site. Barbara Custer is the editor and I think her blog address has been, shall we say...compromised. The rest of the website is fine.

Tigers, Razorbacks and Saints, Oh My

I’m excited. Football season is here again. College games started this past weekend. The pro season begins officially tonight with the opening game between last year’s Super Bowl champs, the Indianapolis Colts, and our own New Orleans Saints. I like the Colts. I respect Tony Dungee and Peyton Manning. I hope we kick their ass.

I actually prefer college football to the pro game. There seems to be more sheer enthusiasm for the game among college players, many of whom will not be going on to sign NFL contracts and do endorsements. They are amateurs in the sense that they are playing for the love of the game. College games are often more exciting to me, but I certainly do watch the pros as well.

As for teams that I follow? The Arkansas Razorbacks is my number one team. I grew up in Arkansas and the Razorbacks might as well be the only team in the state. I root for the New Orleans Saints, although there have been times in the past when I was so disgusted with them that I wouldn’t even watch them. Before I moved to the New Orleans area I rooted for, in order, the Oakland Raiders, the Green Bay Packers, the Indianapolis Colts, and the Pittsburgh Steelers. I tend to root for the LSU Tigers, unless they play Arkansas.

Is football over hyped and often full of showboating athletes? Yes. Is football a rather silly pastime in an age when we have many social, political and global problems? Yes. I certainly get irritated when there’s an hour’s worth of nonsense on TV before the game even begins. I get angry when I see some athlete spouting crap as if he’s God’s gift to humanity. But when the game begins. When the teams take the field and I hear that first pop of leather as foot meets football, I’m there. I’m ready. I love the game itself. Take away the hype. Take away the posturing. Take away the unsportsmanlike taunts and the silly end zone antics and you have something worthwhile. Maybe it’s not important in the global scheme of things, but it serves a need. At least for me.

Go Razorbacks! Go Saints! Go football!

Ken

I gave Ken a ride the other day. Picked him up at the I-12 on-ramp and took him across Lake Pontchartrain into Greater New Orleans. Ken was white haired, probably in his late fifties, although he looked older from a life spent in wind and sun. He said he was hitching to Texas where some folks he knew had a ranch and would hire him on for fall work and let him stay in their bunkhouse.

Our time together was only about forty minutes but I heard some great stories. He spoke of stopping in to sleep in an abandoned house once and finding two cases of beer and a pound of pot hidden there. He chewed the fat that night, making up for a long period of lean. He told me about a time when he accidentally scared the hell out of some teenagers who tried to break into another abandoned house where he was sleeping.

He told me how strange it was to him to find all the useful stuff that people threw out along highways. His shoes and his jeans had been discovered beneath a bridge, and it made me wonder who had lost them, and why. He himself had misplaced a sweater that he'd once found, and he lamented that loss although he wasn't terribly broken up. Easy come, easy go, he seemed to be saying.

Ken reminded me of a line from the song, "Me and Bobbie McGee." "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Ken was free, and I think many of us have moments when we envy such freedom. I don't feel that way for long, though. On a bright day with a little breeze, when someone offers you a ride and maybe slips you a few bucks for a bite or a beer, then the way of the road might have its pleasures.

But what about when the sun beats on your bare head like a hammer while you stand for hours along the blacktop with your thumb out? What about when the nights turn cold and you can't find enough clothes along the highway to keep you warm, and the abandoned house you're sleeping in has no heat to combat the holes in the walls where the chill comes creeping? What about the mornings you wake with sickness in your belly and there's no one to lay a hand to your forehead and whisper a comforting word?

What about?

Altering Point of View

I finished the book I was talking about on Sunday by scanning the last sixty pages or so. And even in scanning I found something else to criticize. I mentioned how an attack by the story’s werewolf happened out of the reader’s direct experience and had to be “told” to the main character. Although this resulted in a very weak experience for the reader, I thought the reason why the author probably did it this way was because they didn’t want to break point-of-view. Although the book was written in third person limited rather than first person, everything had been shown from the POV of the main character, an ex-marine turned deputy sheriff. Since the deputy wasn’t present at the attack he had to be told about it. My thinking was mistaken.

About thirty pages later a female character is attacked by the werewolf and the scene is shown from her POV, the only time in the book where POV is shifted. As an action scene, however, it actually worked a lot better and I would have far preferred that the writer shift POV when needed to keep the dramatic action up front with the reader.

In third person limited, shifting POV is not a problem as long as it is done between scenes rather than within scenes, and as long as it is clearly indicated. I hate it if I’m in a character’s head in an individual scene and am suddenly vaulted into another character in that same scene. I don’t have a problem at all if we shift POV when a new chapter begins, or even within a chapter if the scene shift is indicated by a number or an extra space. All you need to do is start with the name of the character whose head we are going to be in, and stay there consistently within the scene.

How Not to Win Friends and Influence Readers

I'm reading a book set in the deep south during the depression and the author definetely knows the local color. I'm getting a good feel for shadows falling in the swamps, and the wild barking of dogs as predators hunt in the dark. The main character, a well read but not formally educated ex-marine who is now a cop, is also well drawn. I like him and am rooting for him. But by about two-thirds through the work I've largely lost interest in the story, and the scene I just finished this morning really left me flat.

The problem for me is the absolute action scene failure. An early chase on horseback of wild dogs in the swamp wasn't too bad because the swamps were well described. But then we had a car chase in the night along country roads. Gunshots were being exchanged. And I felt not the faintest emotion. Nor apparently did the characters. In fact, at one point I had to page back to see that they were indeed "chasing" someone. And other than some description of the headlights bouncing up and down on the bumpy road I couldn't put myself physically into the chase.

Although I'm still not quite sure how to describe exactly what was wrong with the car chase, it's the next action scene that is making me want to cut my losses and bail on the book. A man who is suspected of murdering a young woman is in the hospital and is very ill. It's been building throughout the book in the mind of the reader that this guy might be a werewolf. Apparently it's true because he attacks the doctor who is caring for him and there are metamorphic changes accompanying the attack. Here's the problem. The reader doesn't get to see the attack directly. The main character--the ex-marine--hears of the attack and rushes to the hospital. The doctor then describes the attack for him, and for the reader. The description is handled very badly. The author is torn between trying to dramatize the attack and having the doctor tell about it, and the result comes off completely false. One paragraph is telling, the next paragraph is showing, but that paragraph is written in some bizarre combination of flashback and dialogue. We can never settle down and "experience" the scene.

I don't like to abandon books when I'm over 100 pages in but I knew I was in trouble when I found myself paging along to find out how much more I had left to read, and not because I hoped it would be a lot. I'm going to start scanning today rather than really reading so maybe I can stumble my way to the end. I won't end happily, though, and I probably won't buy another book by this author. I want to tell them:

Dramatize, dramatize, dramatize. It's the only choice for critical action scenes

Some Happenings, and a Question

1. Lana's home! Yeah! She got in late Wednesday night and it's very good to have her back.

2. From what I hear, Night to Dawn #12 was released today, with a story by me in it called "When the White Mist." And for some synchronicity, that piece was originally written for Lana.

Now for the question. I was working on an advice piece today on writing and I came up with the following as a possible suggestion. I'm just not sure it's a worthwhile one, or if I've thought it through carefully enough. Any feedback would be appreciated.

-------

In real life, people get flat tires. They run out of gas. They get sick. They bump into people they know. They have a thousand other experiences. If used correctly, such everyday “surprises” can significantly increase suspense, and can produce excellent cliffhangers.

Consider, an undercover police officer is working a drug buy when he realizes that one of the men approaching him is someone he knows, someone who will recognize him. End the scene now and you’ve upped the tension. Or, our hero has been secretly tailing a terrorist who knows where a bomb is planted. They’ve traveled so far, she’s worried. She glances at her instrument panel and sees the gas gage on “E.” Drop the scene here and you’ll leave the reader wondering what the hero is going to do.

Anything that tosses an obstacle into the hero’s path can ratchet up the suspense. This works especially well if it comes as a surprise in a critical moment.

Critical Writing

I don't think writers always have to strive for conscious awareness of everything they're doing in their prose. But sometimes you need to cut under the flesh of a story to the bones. How important is word choice, sentence length, paragraph length to producing a specific effect, such as creating suspense? What makes some dialogue sound stilted, other dialogue sound natural? How does punctuation change the flow of words? To analyze such qualities I think it’s best to begin by studying the work of other writers, work that you are not so close to as your own. I’d suggest you choose writers for study who are better than you.

One possible strategy is to retype passages or stories that you are interested in studying, not as a mere exercise but as an honest attempt to understand the process the other writer followed. Don’t even allow yourself to edit the other writer’s work at first—which you’ll probably want to do—but faithfully reproduce it before going back and trying to make it your own. Retyping a story this way puts you in the writer’s shoes, with your feet on the stones of the trail that he or she followed. Just reading a story, even if you’re trying to study it, is more like driving that same trail in a Jeep. You might see the obstacles, but they won’t bruise your heel. You need those heels bruised.

Big Stakes Revisited

Michelle pointed out that what she calls "realistic domestic fiction" (RDF), but which I typically just call call literary fiction, often has smaller "pay offs" than genre fiction. She's right, and most of my commentary from yesterday relates primarily to genre fiction. Michelle also points out that even "RDF" typically has some level of pay off, and that such stories are easiest to sell.

Steve points out that pay off can be very different between short stories and novels. My yesterday's comments generally were focused on short stories. As Steve suggests, the pay off in novels comes primarily from what happens to the characters (although a satisfying plot ending is important to). In short stories, we don't live with the characters very long so the ending has to develop most of it's punch from the conditions of the tale itself. Twist endings, in particular, can work well in short stories but are much harder to pull off at novel length. In fact, they usually feel like cheats in the novel.

I heard many years ago that writing short stories and writing novels are different art forms. I've never totally agreed with that thought, but there are certainly enough differences to make it difficult at times to transition between the two. I enjoy reading and writing them both. Anyone have any thoughts on this topic?

The Big Stakes Score

A professionally-written story will not necessarily sell. The prose can be good, the characters interesting, the plot possibilities mysterious, and the ending can kill it all if it’s cliché, or goofy, or low stakes. From TV, consider the infamous Dallas fiasco when a whole “season” turned out to be Pamela Ewing’s “dream.” Consider the miniseries It where the monster turns out to be a “giant spider.” Consider the story where the protagonist realizes at the end that he's been “dead” all along, or the tale where an abusive husband seeking to cheat on his wife meets a woman at a bar who turns out to be a…wait for it…vampire.

There’s no “payoff” in these endings. The “it was all a dream” is actually an insult to those who have invested their emotions in a work. The “guy who discovers he’s dead,” or who cheats on his wife only to meet a “vampire,” is too easy. The “giant spider” is just lame. Modern readers especially want more.

I mentioned one of my unsold stories the other day, “A Curse the Dead Must Bear.” I think it hasn’t sold because the ending doesn’t pay off. A man falls down the stairs and is declared dead. He seems dead, but his consciousness continues. He is aware of everything around him but cannot escape the decaying prison of his body, and he finds that every other “dead” person in the cemetery with him is the same. He can hear them murmuring while, of course, the “living” hear nothing. He begins to hate the “living” and is comforted by only one thought, that they will soon be in the same situation.

Big deal! I thought the idea that every dead person’s consciousness would be trapped within their decaying shell was interesting, but that point is revealed midway through the story and other than that what is the reader's payoff? The protagonist cannot “do” anything about his situation. He can only hate, and the target of his hate is perfectly safe. This is “low stakes.”

The cheating guy who meets the vampire is low stakes, as well. We can see that ending (or something like it) coming a mile away. And, two, the guy is getting what he deserves. Other than a little “he had it coming” feeling the reader isn’t getting much emotional payoff. The ending doesn’t leave us particularly happy, sad, disgusted, or afraid. It leaves us flat.

Want another example? A guy plans to commit suicide because he can’t stand his life. He wants oblivion. But when he finally gets up the guts to do it he finds that his consciousness continues and he’s in Hell. End of story. And low stakes.

How do you avoid low stakes endings? One way is to consider the low stakes “ending” as the beginning instead. Cheating guy meets vampire at the “start” of the story, and gets turned. Goes home to torment the wifey, thinking about how much fun he’s going to have now that he’s a supernatural abuser. He finds that his wife is having an affair too. And her paramour is a werewolf who, shall we say, “rips abusive husband a new one.” Or maybe he finds his wife having an affair with the female vampire who turned him, and they only want him to watch. Or maybe… Well, you get the idea.

You have to ask, is the ending to your story worth the effort that the reader has put into it? Will they go "cool," will they shake their head in disgust, or will they just not care? You only want the first result.

Batching it, and writing

Well, Lana is out of town for a few days to visit relatives and friends in Canada. The house seems awfully big without her. And it sure is quiet. Not that Lana is loud, but there's no background sound of TV or music, no footsteps in the kitchen (except for that ghost and he doesn't bother me much), no sound of Lana cursing the bird-seed-eating squirrels as "rat bastards." I sure have become accustomed to her coming into my office on occassion to rub my shoulders or bring me a drink or popcorn. She's such a sweetie, but I imagine I'll get through these next few days all right. It'll be good to have her back on Wednesday.

I was rereading an unsold piece of mine called "A Curse the Dead Must Bear" the other day and I think I understand what the problem is. It's not badly written, but there's no real payoff at the end. The "revelation" isn't surprising enough; the stakes are too small. I've sold a few pieces like this before but only if the prose was poetical. This story is more hard boiled and doesn't lend itself to that type of prose. I think that we have to remember that whether we're writing novels or short stories the end has to be both surprising and it has to pay off on some large scale. My next post is going to deal with how to determine the "large scale." I haven't given it enough thought yet. But I will.

Punch it Up Too

Candice had a great post on Tuesday about "Punch it Up." This is something we've been talking about in our writing group for a while now, and I'm beginning to believe that it may be the most important piece of writing advice I've ever gotten. Check it out. I've yet to find any weaknesses with the advice, although I have found it difficult to implement at times.

Reflections for the Summer of my Prose

Last day of summer vacation for me. School begins tomorrow, and the semester will be busy with me teaching a new class, Psychopharmacology. Our enrollments are up again after Katrina so the classes will be big. But I’ve had a relaxing summer to prepare and there will be pleasure in seeing my colleagues and students again.

What an incredible summer it has been, the most productive ever where my writing is concerned, and also just one of the happiest I can remember since the days of a less-than-carefree youth. I’ve realized how truly simple my needs are, how much of a balm the uncomplicated life is to my spirit. For the past three months I’ve risen in the morning around 9:30, spent a leisurely bit of time blogging while I watch the cardinals, blue jays, doves, chickadees and woodpeckers through my office window feeding at our backyard buffet. In the afternoon I’ve written, with ample breaks for reading on the deck or taking a nap. In the evening I’ve written more, with time out to spend with Lana, or with an occasional break in the routine as we’ve gone out to eat.

There have been moments of excitement and/or tension. A trip to Cross Plains for Howard Days. A journey home to see my mom. An SF conference and a book signing. These things were enjoyable, although some did create a little anxiety. But overall it has been a placid time, a time for reflection and work that, to me, is meaningful.

Two novels published this summer, although both were written well before. A third in the works. And now the poetry chapbook. These are things I’d hoped to accomplish years ago. But the timing was not right and that is one thing that has made this summer great. For the first time in my life, my timing has been good.

As for the writing I’ve been doing? Articles for The Illuminata and other places, a revision of the Writing in Psychology text that I wrote a few years back with some colleagues, and the “very near” completion of another major nonfiction project of which I’ll talk about at some later date.

I used to get irritated when people would make a comment like: “You teachers have it made.” They’d usually elaborate by telling me how I was off every summer and had so many vacation days during the school year, like at Christmas and Thanksgiving. I’d get irritated because I've had exactly one summer off since 1986, and most “supposed” school year vacations are actually times when teachers grades tests and papers and make up examinations and plan for the next semester’s courses. But this summer, I can see people being envious of my time off. I don’t blame them. In a few weeks I’ll be envious of myself.

A pleasant aspect of the summer has also been the interplay here in the blogosphere. I’ve enjoyed having more time to explore folks’ blogs and get to know them. No doubt I’ll have to cut back a bit on that as the semester rolls in. I don’t intend to quit blogging but I imagine my posts and my commenting will inevitably slack off. Please don’t imagine that this is lack of interest in what all of you have to say. But hey, even us teachers have to work sometime.
Now, on to a great autumn.

Wanting the Mouth of a Lover

I don't often talk about projects before they are in print but the word is actually out in some quarters about this so I'll say something here. Spec House of Poetry (Link to the right)is planning to publish a Chapbook of my work under the title Wanting the Mouth of a Lover. All the poems are experimental haiku, primarily centered around the theme of vampirism. J. Bruce Fuller, who runs Spec House, is an energetic fellow with a passion for poetry. He's on the cutting edge of the burgeoning Scifaiku movement, and also publishes a magazine called The Shantytown Anomaly, which has presented some award winning and award nominated poetry in the last couple of years.

I'm very happy about the chapbook. It'll be my first. I talked to J. quite a bit at Babel Con and we sat on a poetry panel together. (Cons are great for making and renewing contacts.) I sent him two possible collections for chapbooks and he really liked the haiku grouping. He talks a bit about it at the Spec House site under "A Welcoming." Some of the poems that are to be included in the chapbook have been previously published, but most have not. I'm not sure when this will be published. It seems most likely to be late this year but it's up to J.

J's own poetry is featured in Aurore Australe, which I mentioned here a few posts back and which can be found at the Spec House site. His personally blog is here.

Illuminata In The House

The new Illuminata is up today. I’ve got a piece in it called "Writing With Attitude." There’s also another piece by Bret Funk on writing entitled "Useless Words and Weak Writing."

Yesterday and today were spent mostly working on syllabi and notes for school, which is now approaching at freight train rate. And I’m caught square in the tracks with no chance to leap to either side. Oh well, can’t complain since without my job I wouldn’t be able to eat or do pretty much any of the other things I enjoy. But damn it was a nice summer.

In the next day or so I want to post a piece called “Reflections for the Summer of my Prose,” which is a take off on Karl Edward Wagner’s title “Reflections for the Winter of my Soul.” Anyway, in that piece I’ll try to take a brief look back at what has probably been my most productive summer ever in writing. Everyone here who has read and commented on my blog is a part of that.

Thanks.

Entitled

Candice has a piece on the importance of titles on her blog, and on the difficulty of finding good ones. I enjoy a good title very much myself, and though I’m unlikely to buy a book by its cover there is no doubt that a provocative title draws me in like the moths who come at night to circle our deck light. I agree that titles are critical.

I also enjoy just making up titles, and quite often an evocative title that I’ve come up with has “triggered” the basic idea for a story that follows. At other times the story and idea seem to come together as a pair. Sort of like, if you order now you’ll also receive… But there are plenty of times when the perfect (or at least decent) title doesn’t strike me and then I have to work for it. Here are some of the things I do, although I don’t know if these will help Candice at all.

1). I love poetic sounding titles, Nightmare with Angel (Stephen Gallagher), She is the Darkness (Glen Cook), and where is the best place to find poetic titles? From reading poetry. (Apologies to Stewart Sternberg.) I read a lot of poetry, and write it. Most of my favorite titles from my own work have come from poems I’ve written, or were jotted down first as possible lines in poems. “A Cold of Snow and Ghosts” and “Wanting the Mouth of a Lover” are examples of this, both titles for vampire related stuff. I’ve sold a poem with the line in it, “The Language of Scorpions,” and I’m still waiting for the story that should go with that title. Reading poetry also, for me at least, seems to shift my brain into the mode that allows me to string words together in something approximating pretty. Maybe the process will be the same for you.

2). I’ve also found quite often that if I can’t discover a title from outside a story I can discover one within. What I mean by this is that the perfect title, or at least a good workable one, often lurks in the prose that you’ve used to actually construct a tale. My story “Splatter of Black” was originally titled “Turnabout is Fair Play,” which is both awkward and cliché. The editor wanted a title change so I went through the story line by line until I found the phrase “splatter of black.” “Thief of Eyes” came about in much the same way. You might be able to speed up the process of finding such lines in your own tales by using the computer’s search capabilities. If you’ve written a horror story, search for words like “black,” “night,” “fear,” “shadow,” “hate,” etc, and see what phrases pop out at you from your own piece. If it’s a romance, how about searching for “love,” “kiss,” “embrace,” “sunrise,” “dream,” etc. If you write romance you probably have a better idea of good words than I do. If it’s a mystery, what about “clue,” “murder,” “weapon,” “blood,” etc.

3). Some people borrow titles from the classics. Hemingway did this all the time. The Bible seems a good place to find possible titles, especially the psalms and proverbs. The King James version is actually quite poetic, which is fitting since parts of it seem to have been written by Shakespeare. (Speaking of Shakespeare, he has a great line that I want to use as a title or in a poem somewhere, sometime. It’s “We mourn in black. Why mourn we not in blood?”) But classics such as The Arabian Nights, or The Odyssey can be great sources for possible titles.

Anyway, there are my suggestions for finding titles. They work for me. Maybe they’ll work for others.

A Writer on the Run, Revisited

Two years ago I wrote a piece for The Illuminata called "A Writer on the Run," about my experiences after Katrina. In that piece I talked about how I didn't have a problem writing nonfiction after the storm but that I couldn't seem to get my heart back into writing fiction. Last night I wrote an addendum to that essay. It's below:


It’s August 2007 as I write this. It’s been almost exactly two years since Katrina. Large parts of Greater New Orleans still lie devastated and Lana and I have actually moved thirty miles north to a small community called Abita Springs, Louisiana. I still work at Xavier, which is struggling to recover, but Lana and I both needed to escape the city. We have a place in the country now, and though I certainly don’t enjoy the commute it’s good to see trees and stars again. It reminds me of where I grew up.

I’ve made a partial return to writing fiction. Some nights my heart comes all the way up to the window on the wings of whippoorwills. Sometimes it hides further back in the woods, and though I know it’s there I can’t quite catch it. But I’m putting food out for it; I’m building it a place to nest. I don’t want it tamed all the way; I just want to pet it once in a while. I want it to come and sit with me again, like it used to, so it can tell stories to my fingers as they move on the keyboard in the dim light of the room where I sit to write.

Bits and Pieces

The title is both appropriate to this post and also the title of a poetry collection that I read recently by Greg Schwartz. I had not heard much about Schwartz previously to picking his chapbook up at Babel Con, but I enjoyed it quite a bit and will seek out more of his work. The chapbook is 15 poems and combines some dramatic ones with quite a few humorously twisted pieces. "The Monster in My Closet" is one of the latter, and was probably my favorite piece in the work. The last line makes it. Another poem, "The Dead have Ears," reminded me very much of a story I wrote a couple years back but have not yet sold called "A Curse the Dead Must Bear." There is some weird similarity between the two works. The best of the dramatic pieces was "Farmhouse," which was quite eerie and which I liked very much.

If you'd be interested in picking up Bits and Pieces or other poetical works check out Spec House of Poetry. Spec House is actually run by a good friend of mine, J. Bruce Fuller. I mentioned seeing him at Babel Con in a previous post. He's got a pamphlet available at his store that includes three poems of mine, as well as poems by J and Robin Mayhall, and I think it's actually free. If you want to check it out, go to his site, scroll down to his entry on "Babel Con," and you'll see the information. His storefront is accessed near the right side top of the screen there.

Other than that, I made good progress on writing today but I'm looking this evening toward getting started on my preparations for the upcoming school year. Drat it.

Plot versus Episode

I was talking to a new friend named Don Lee yesterday over a few cold brews and we were on the subject of writing. I mentioned that I’d found my Taleran novels quite a bit easier to write than Cold in the Light, and as I started “trying” to verbalize why I think it finally came to me. The Taleran novels are “episodic” books while “Cold” is much more plot driven. The Taleran novels have a beginning and an end, and a bunch of linear scenes strung between those two points like beads on a necklace. “Cold” is more like a Mandela, or a maze. The scenes are all dependent on each other whereas in the Taleran books the scenes can stand alone more easily. In fact, I could have rather easily lengthened or shortened the Taleran novels by adding or deleting scenes with a minimal amount of rewriting, almost as if they were constructed on a modular pattern. To substantially lengthen or shorten Cold in the Light would have required major reconstructive surgery on the whole book.

This got me thinking about whether other books fall into these patterns, and I think clearly that they do. Sword & Planet books, in general, are episodic. So is most Space opera, and so are most westerns that I’ve read, particularly the works of Louis L’Amour. Thrillers are typically not, though, and I suspect that most mysteries are not. What about romance novels? The ones I’ve read, which is admittedly not many, have been pretty episodic. Most horror novels are episodic, although Peter Straub’s work shows us that not all are.

I’ve also realized that my “preferred” reading is for “episodic” works. I certainly love good plot-driven works and some of them, like Ghost Story, are among my favorite reads ever. But typically, when I reach for my to-be-read pile and grab the first book that strikes my interest it is episodic in nature. I wonder why.

Anyone else have any thoughts on this subject?

That Which Survives

I got back late last night from Babel Con in Baton Rouge, which is about an hour and a half drive for me. It’s a one day con and I had a lot of fun, though I was very tired by the end of the day. I was on two panels. The first one was me speaking on Alien Evolution. I had a very good turnout. There wasn’t a single empty chair in the room and a couple of folks were standing. I forgot to count the chairs but it was around 25 or 30. I thought it went well and several people congratulated me later on it or wanted to ask more questions about what I talked about. It was a good audience and they really got into the audience participation parts.

The second panel was myself and two other poets, but we had a bad time slot (opposite the cocktail party with the stars and the showing of the Rocky Horror Picture show) and we only had a few folks. Still we had some fun discussion among ourselves and with the few attendees. As I joked with the other panelists, though, this is what we’re up against with trying to support and grow genre poetry—a lot of apathy on the part of the mainstream SF/Fantasy/Horror community.

The other poets were J. Bruce Fuller and Robin Mayhall. J is the editor of The Shantytown Anomaly, and a fine poet in his own right. He’s a rising star in the SciFaiku movement in genre poetry. Robin has also been working in SciFaiku, and is currently a poetry editor for the online journal Breath & Shadow. (Thanks also to Dixie and Steve for coming to our panel.)

Other than panels, I hung out with a lot of folks I knew and met quite a few that I didn’t. I bought a book from M. B. Weston called A Prophecy Forgotten, which is her first book but which looks to be pretty good. She was certainly an energetic speaker. I hung out with Bret Funk, the editor of The Illuminata, the online newsletter for which I write a column. I got a signed photo from Lesley Aletter, who is a stunt woman in Hollywood. She doubled for Sigourney Weaver in the last Alien movie, and has been in many other movies besides, including The Devil’s Rejects.

Most enjoyable for me, I got a signed photo by Lee Meriwether, who played Catwoman in the original Batman TV series, and who also played many other roles in TV and film. My favorite role by her was as Losira in the Star Trek episode “That Which Survives.” This is the still picture I got and she signed it to me with “I am for you, Charles,” which if you are any kind of Star Trek Geek like me you’ll know was her basic “catchphrase” in that show.

All in all, a good time was had by all. But I’m a little relieved to be back at the Hermitage with my signings and appearances over for the moment. Today I’m decking it.

Alien Evolution

OK, here are some of my thoughts on the alien evolution concept.

Some well developed ones: The “Predator” works because of the care taken in developing the physiology and the society. Especially nice is the fact that they see heat signatures. The suggestion is that they evolved under a hotter sun than humans. It also suggests a reptilian background, since a number of reptiles have this capability.

Problems: They are SO humanoid. They also have a society based pretty clearly on some savage human societies. Head hunters and warrior societies. This does clearly suggest a predatory evolution for them, which is a nice touch.

Alien, from the Alien movies. An excellent one because time was spent developing this elaborate life cycle, which is not unlike that of quite a few insects. They have insect and reptilian characteristics. It’s interesting that the eggs are soft rather than hard, which really suggests early evolving reptiles on earth.

Problems: Although quite a few insects make internal toxins and even release these into the atmosphere, the acidic blood is a little too corrosive. Eating through the kind of metal used to make spaceships would be quite a feat. Also, the growth rate of the alien in the first movie is too extreme. Growth rates can be high for some insects, and even for fish and birds, but nutrients are needed. You only get out what you put in.

The Thing: John Carpenter’s version. I really like this alien. It’s a cool enemy. But I have to think it’s pretty unrealistic. Plenty of one celled organisms grow by absorbing other cells, and the “Thing” is supposed to be like a collection of cells. Mimicry is also very common in evolution and the Thing is an extreme extension of that. However, knowing how complex the human brain is, and how complex the cell structures are in a human, I can’t imagine an organism that could assimilate so perfectly in such a short period of time and be absolutely believable as the person it assimilated. It’s still cool, though.

Some bad aliens: The “Space Herpes” from Ice Pirates. Clearly this was meant to be a take-off on the Chest burster scene from alien but I didn’t think it worked. Or that it was even funny.

From Buck Rogers, the TV series. Hawk is descended from a bird-like species. His only connection is, apparently, that he has feathers on his head instead of hair. Minor “cosmetic” changes to a human are Not Good Enough. Quite a few Star Trek aliens fall into this category. The Borg are intriguing, though.

From books? I thought ERB having the human-type Barsoomians lay eggs instead of bear live young was pretty weak. I love these books but the Human-egg-thing is definitely not an evolutionary likelihood.

Babel Con

This is a busy week for me. After finishing the signing in Covington on Tuesday I largely took yesterday off and sat on the deck. In the evening I started to work on my panel for BabelCon this coming Saturday. I’ll be talking about Alien Evolution, although I’m hoping to give no more than about a 10 minute talk followed by a lot of discussion with and within the audience. I’ve got a number of questions to ask the audience if no one speaks up.

Since more people watch common movies than read common books, I’m going to ask for both good and bad examples of realistic aliens from TV and film. Then I hope we can get into some freewheeling discussion about why one is good or bad, based on the general concepts of evolution.

How about the group here. Anyone have any specific candidates for “poorly” designed aliens? How about “well” designed ones?

After Signing

Well, I was really happy with the signing tonight. I’m still excited. I didn’t have a lot of people, but they were all enthusiastic and friendly and I sold quite a few books. I think the talk went over pretty well and I had a lot of folks come up after to chat. I didn’t have to sign until my hand cramped but I think I felt a twinge in my thumb once. (LOL) Apparently the library folks liked my presentation because they started talking to me about coming back once the third Taleran book is published. That would be very nice.

Among the folks who came were O’Neil and Debb De Noux, both writers and both good friends. I hadn’t seen either of them in probably over a year so that was nice. Elora Fink, from my Wordsmith’s writing group, drove all the way over the 24 mile bridge through rain and rush hour traffic to get there. Elora is always so supportive of her friends, writing or otherwise. I think she’s been to all of my signings and talks and I always appreciate seeing her. I think, btw, that Elora has some passing connection with the blogger known as Sphinx Ink. Brenda Howard came with Elora and bought a copy of all the books. I’ve met Brenda a couple of times before but hadn’t seen her in quite a long time either. Melissa Bryant was the lady from the Covington library who arranged all the details and made sure the room was set up. Much thanks to her. Her husband, Stephen, also attended, and it turns out Stephen and Melissa are from Arkansas. In fact, Stephen even attended Arkansas Tech where I went to undergraduate school, although we weren’t there at the same time. Some other folks who made the drive were Sarah and her husband Daniel. Sarah works with Lana at the Abita Springs library, and I’d spoken with her before. This was my first time meeting Daniel, and we talked quite a bit about psychology, a subject I occasionally dabble in.

And, of course, Lana was there, being her usual supportive self. I had to laugh earlier in the day, though, because I think she was more nervous than I was. All in all, I hope a good time was had by everyone. I know I had a good time. Sometimes it’s good for a writer to get out in public and meet real people.

The Night the Roar Came

I was seventeen, living at home on our farm in Arkansas, when one night we heard a roar from the fields below the house. It sounded like I imagined a lion would sound, but this wasn’t Africa and I was no great safari hunter.

Whatever made that noise, it drove our cattle wild, sending them stampeding across the field, bawling as if their tails were on fire. My older brother and I grabbed our guns and took off in the truck for the source of the commotion. Both of us were afraid, and I know I felt the beginnings of terror because I had no idea what that roar could be. As far as I knew, nothing in Arkansas could roar like that. But I’d read about cattle mutilations and could easily imagine something that might make that sound. Something…not of this world.

We reached the field where the cows were and they had quieted down a bit. I had to open the gate for us to drive through, and that was terrifying in itself because I kept thinking of what might come out of the darkness. My heart was beating so hard that it fluttered my shirt. But I got the job done and lived to get back in the truck.

There was a little hill awaiting us, and as we crested it and started down the other side the lights flashed out over the field and for a moment I saw--literally--hundreds of little glowing purple balls floating in midair in the darkness in front of us, floating a few feet off the ground. Paul David, my brother, slammed on the brakes and we slid to a stop. I looked at him. He looked at me. I could feel the hairs curling on my neck, and I’ve always had a lot of hair to curl. I could hear the cows moving about, right in the midst of those purple floaters. How could that be? How could that be?

My brother was a braver man than I. He let off the brake, inched forward, and as the light from the headlights struck further into the field we saw suddenly that the floating purple orbs were eyes. But not alien eyes. It was the cows, their eyes wide open in terror as they reflected the headlights. I’d never seen them that scared before; nor have I since.

So what made the sound? We never found out. There were no tracks the next day, but we were missing a calf and we found its mother with her ears stripped to threads by the teeth or claws of...something. Before that night I often walked the farm in the darkness. After that night I seldom did again. Fear can go away, but terror lingers.

Suspense Work

I plan to center my talk at the Tuesday signing around the importance of suspense in all literature and how to develop it. One thing I plan to talk about is the difference between what I’m calling “Quick” and “Slow” suspense. Quick is what thrillers often open with: a bomb’s about to go off in a school, a plane’s engine sputters and fails, a fire breaks out in a hospital and starts to spread. Such events quickly put you into a dramatic situation. An obvious emergency has happened, is happening, and people who are helpless or unaware, or both, are in danger.

There’s nothing wrong with Quick suspense. Horror, thriller, and mystery novels certainly need it. In very short stories it may even be the only thing you have to work with. But Quick suspense cannot carry an entire novel, of any kind. You must have Slow suspense too, which is the kind that develops as we begin to care about characters. In the opening of a book, unless it’s part of a series that we’ve been reading, we have no idea who the characters are. We can only care about them in an abstract manner, which is why thriller openings often place into threat those who we generally view as “innocent.” Schoolchildren and hospital patients work well for such Quick suspense, but would you honestly care as much if you knew the bomb was going to go off in a maximum security prison where the inmates are all murderers and rapists?

Once people have started to develop an attachment to the characters, though, the possibilities of suspense are endless. Even problems that are small in the scheme of things can generate suspense when we care about characters. We don’t have to have bombs going off and fires raging out of control. We just have to have one character that we like trying to do something, achieve something, and being met with obstacles and struggle rather than easy success.

I like books that start with Quick suspense. But I’m hard pressed to make it all the way through the work unless the characters come to life and the suspense turns “Slow.”

As Signing Grows Nigh

My first signing for the Taleran Books is coming up this next Tuesday, July 31, at 6:30 PM in the Covington Branch Library. I know that most of you reading this aren't close enough to come, although I'd love to see anyone who can, but in case anyone is considering it the address is 310 W. 21st Ave, Covington, LA. The phone there is (985) 893-6280.

I will be giving a talk on writing before the signing, which will probably last about half an hour. My topic will be on writing, primarily on dreams as story prompts and on developing suspense. After that there will be time for questions before I do any signing. I'll have copies of "Swords" and "Wings," and also of my first book, Cold in the Light, and will be able to offer a slight discount on the Amazon cost to those who attend.

Please let everyone else know who might be interested and able to attend. I'm looking forward to a fun evening.

Cut the Fat and the Metaphors

Most of you reading this already know what I'm going to say below, but I was working on this for an article for beginning writers and thought I would post it here. I've been working on a piece about how to speed up the pace of one's fiction in order to ratchet up the tension and suspense. Here's one of the points I made in the article.

"Cutting out extraneous wording can significantly increase the pace of a story, and the level of tension in suspenseful scenes. Phrases like “it seemed that” or “she wondered if” are often unnecessary anywhere in a tale, and they can be the deadly enemy of suspense. Even metaphors and similes, which are great for scene setting and for creating atmosphere, will slow the pace in action sequences. Tight noun and verb sentences convey the pounding, dynamic rhythm that the reader wants when bad things are about to happen on the page."

Kinda Cool

Jonathan Maberry is a writer to watch. He's written a lot of nonfiction, both books and articles, but he made his first foray into long-form horror with a novel called Ghost Road Blues in 2006. It promptly won a Stoker award, and it was a well deserved win. I read the book last year, and blurbed it, and today I got in the mail from Amazon Jonathan's second horror novel, Dead Man's Song. I'll be starting this in the next day or two, and am looking forward to it.

Ghost Road Blues takes place in Pine Deep, a smallish Pennsylvania town that was visited by a serial killer thirty years earlier. That killer was killed in turn, but the evil that arrives just before Halloween thirty years later seems to have old roots, roots that begin to twist and twine through the town, intent on destroying it from within. “Ghost Road” was the first novel that I’d read in quite a while that actually gave me shivers. I thought it was very atmospheric, with solid action scenes, great suspense all along, and some chilling imagery. If I had to pick some influences on “Ghost Road,” I’d say that it reminded me a bit in places of works by Joe Lansdale and Robert McCammon. There is also some Ray Bradbury influence, and maybe a smidgen or two of Charles Grant. The cover of the second book mentions King but I think that’s just publicity. I didn’t really see a lot of King in “Ghost Road,” although Maberry has a similar knack for creating everyday characters that stick with you.

“Ghost Road” is actually the first book of a trilogy, although I felt that it stood well on its own. Dead Man’s Song is the sequel, and I’m not sure what the third book is to be called. I really recommend “Ghost Road,” and I’ll let you know what I think of “Dead Man” after I finish it. In the meantime, if you’d like to know more about Jonathan Maberry, his website is here.

Oh, and Dead Man’s Song even mentions me in the thank you section, and has my blurb for “Ghost Road” included among many others. How cool is that?

Recreational Anger

I’m reading a book that’s pissing me off pretty badly, but I’m still rather enjoying it. It’s called Hell Bent for Leather: Confessions of a Heavy Metal Addict, and it’s by a British fellow named Seb Hunter. Hunter is a younger fellow than I, but with many similar musical experiences. He and I were both in bands as teenagers, although he took it much more seriously and took it further than I did.

The book is decently written, although it wanders about a good bit. There is some information that I didn’t know, particularly about the British metal scene. There are a few problems, though. First, even though Hunter claims to be a “Heavy Metal Addict” he clearly doesn’t have much respect for the genre. I don’t know if it’s because he wanted to be famous and never made it, or if he’s moved on to different music as he’s aged, but the work is full of snide comments and putdowns that he perhaps considers to be funny. I don’t find them funny. He is horribly dismissive of whole bands and even subgenres, but I think part of that is “style” over “substance” problems. He dismisses the band Krokus as worthless, for example, but while Krokus had quite a silly image (in my opinion) they put out some really good rocking tunes, including “Stayed Awake All Night” and “Screaming for Vengeance.” Their style wasn’t much, but there was some substance there.

Bizarrely, to me, he also dismisses Motley Crue while it’s clear that his strongest influences were the 1980s Glam Rockers. He likes/liked Ratt, Hanoi Rocks, Faster Pussycat, Poison, apparently unaware that none of those bands would either have existed or reached any level of fame without Motley Crue paving the way. Poison, of course, is laughable as a heavy metal band. There was nothing of heavy or metal about them. Again, it’s style over substance.

I wouldn’t personally call myself a heavy metal addict, but it’s by far the main type of music I listen to. I don’t mind seeing the field addressed with humor--I rather enjoyed the movie Spinal Tap--but I don’t find it funny when someone who claims to be an insider tries to gut it from within. I could care less what someone says about metal who doesn’t really listen to it, but I have to admit that it bothers me when 1) the critic is someone who seemingly has listened enough to the music to know better, and 2) when the focus of the criticism is on style over substance.

All right. Enough of my rant for the day.

For Research Purposes

Sidney Williams has a great post today on using the internet for research to help you build your characters. It's called "The Web as Central Casting" and there's some bonus info on using photography sites. I've used internet name sites to help me with developing character names but hadn't thought of the ideas laid out in Sid's post.

Check it out.

Writer Ugly Part 2

Steve and Candice have each posted on the problems and possibilities of the ugly first draft. Clearly, how “ugly” one can go depends quite a bit on an individual writer’s personality. Candice was wondering if some of her productivity while writing longhand comes from not being able to “rework” a page as easily as if it were on the computer, which forces her to “move on.” This made me wonder if there were any way to get this effect on a computer, and I have a couple of possibilities to throw out.

First, something I’ve done myself for experimentation purposes is to turn the color of my font to white on a white background. This prevents even the possibility of reading and correcting while I’m writing. Certainly there will be some spelling errors (teh anyone?), but as long as you make sure to start with your fingers on the right keys you won’t get gibberish. Once you’ve finished a section you just do select all and turn the font black.

Second, Lana has a font that she downloaded from the web which changes English words into Viking runes. There are also fonts on my computer that change words into symbols. What if you wrote in either a runic or symbols font, then used select all to turn the words back into an English font? I tried writing this post in the symbol font and found that I actually knew when I’d misspelled a word, because my fingers would tell me. I’d just backspace to take out the word and go on. But trying to edit such a work to correct wording would be impossible. For some reason, typing the symbols didn’t always work because when I turned it back to English words there were sections that didn’t translate. I have no idea why. The runes worked fine, though.

The easiest thing for me was to write white on white. And this paragraph was written that way. I simply found myself looking more at the keyboard while I composed than looking at the computer screen, although staring off into space would probably have been just as effective.

I’m not sure either of these mechanical aids to writing ugly will be helpful to anyone here, but it seemed worth a post. At times they might be quite inconvenient, if you were doing a lot of plotting as you wrote. But they might work if you were really focused on simply getting a draft of some scene down. I also suspect they might be more helpful to newer writers rather than those who have already developed the writing habit and are used to how we “do things.”

By the way, Writer Ugly refers, of course, to the writer whose first draft is so ugly you’d rather pull your eyes out rather than read it. (With apologies to the phrase “Coyote Ugly.”)

By way of Introduction

It’s already bone hot in the dawn, the white sun bruising down through a haze of alkali dust that sifts out of the desert air. Kainja sits astride his stallion, Skaal, gazing out at the vast rock and sand plain that lies before him. Dust coats his leathers, turns his scars pale. Only his yellow eyes give a hint of color, and it is a cold color. He thinks, briefly, of a silver pool in a courtyard where children play. He thinks of laughter that tinkles. Then he shakes the thoughts away, knowing that he no longer deserves those memories, and he urges Skaal forward into the vastness, into the Thorn Desert, which no one has lived to cross before.

Writer Ugly

Let yourself write ugly. You probably wouldn’t get up from a night’s sleep and go directly out on a date. You’d fix yourself up a bit first. But you don’t blame yourself for your morning face, morning hair, morning breath. Treat your writing the same way. It doesn’t have to be perfect, or even presentable, when it first comes out of your head onto the screen. Get stuff down and then worry about making it look and sound good.

No one in the world has to see the first words you put down. You can try out anything you like, use any word that pleases you, make any argument you want to make, and no one can deny or contradict you. No one can tell you: “That sucks!” Who cares if what you put down is ugly? You can always fix it later.

New Illuminata Pub

The July Illuminata is out. There are three pieces on writing in this issue, including an expansion on a piece that first appeared in this blog on "The Physical Side of Writing." Other than that I don't have much writing related stuff to report.

I've finished a couple of good books lately. Men of Bronze by Scott Oden, whose name is on my links, is a historical novel set in Egypt nearing the end of the Egyptian empire, but it reads much like a heroic fantasy novel. Scott knows his history and works it deftly into the story, but he doesn't let detail slow down the action. The main character, Barca, is a brutal warrior with a deep sensitive streak. The villain is well constructed and provides an excellent foil for Barca.

I also enjoyed Death Reign of the Vampire King, a pulp novel of The Spider by Norvell Page. Page's work is non-stop action and moves as fast as any modern thriller. Plus he has all those cool pulp features. Don't you love that title?

Tagged!

I’ve been tagged by Donnetta and should I agree to accept my assignment I am supposed to tell you eight things about myself. I’m also supposed to post the rules here and tag eight other people. I’m going to tweak the rules a bit, something I do fairly well.

First, I’ll simply link you to Donnetta’s blog, as I did above, which lists the rules.

Second, I’m going to tag the same people Donnetta tagged, even though I don’t know all of them, and this means that if they accept Donnetta’s tag they will fulfill my tag as well.

Now, for the eight things about me.

1. I have at least 18 scars, ranging from about the size of a watch battery to one that is around twelve inches long and four across. These are from various things, but the worst ones are from two bad motorcycle wrecks.

2. I cut the tags out of my t-shirts because they bug me.

3. I once won a trophy in seed judging, back when I was in the 4-H as a kid. I still have the trophy.

4. I’m a Type A personality, which means I often multi-task, try to do everything quickly, and often feel as if I’m under time-pressure. However, Type A’s are supposed to be ambitious too and I don’t have that trait at all, unless it’s the ambition to be ignored by all powers that be so I can do my own thing.

5. I love cucumbers but they don’t love me.

6. The only sport I really care to watch is football, but I find myself watching it less as the “showboating” increases. Because I really, really hate showboating.

7. I can’t stand court shows like Judge Judy. I hold most reality TV judges in contempt and believe they need to be given a good spanking and taught some humility. They also need to be educated on the basics of treating people with dignity.

8. My favorite color is maroon.

Prepositions

I've been doing a fair amount of "grammar" study lately, partly just to refresh myself and partly for an article I'm working on. Last night I was reading up on prepositions, and I thought I'd post a bit here about them. (BTW, thanks to everyone for their comments on my "tense" post. It was a very helpful discussion.)

Prepositions are words such as “in,” “to,” “with,” “at,” “for,” “from,” “upon,” “among,” “between,” “behind,” and “about.” They indicate the relationship between a noun or pronoun and some other word in the sentence. He undressed behind the hedge is an example of this usage. “He undressed” is connected to “hedge” by “behind.”

It is a common belief, but a wrong one, that a writer should never end a sentence with a preposition. The most likely reason for the belief is that in casual speech people often add an unnecessary preposition to the end of a sentence. Where should we go to, or, Where have you been at are examples of this. The prepositions, “to” and “at” are not needed here. But, what movie are you going to is perfectly fine. The “to” is necessary and putting it at the end saves you from such obfuscating constructions as "what movie is it to which you are going."

Feeling Tense

I started a piece on tense last night, as in past, present, future tense, and quickly discovered that I really just don’t know enough about the issue to write on it. Usually we speak of a bit of writing as being in the past tense, or occasionally in the present tense, but when I try to analyze some writing I often find myself confused. Consider the following tidbit, in which I’ve indicated the verb tenses in parentheses.

“The first bombing run was (past) barely over when the second one began (past). Tom raced (past) his jeep through the streets, hoping he would (future) be able to reach his fighter plane and take off before it was (past) destroyed.”

Although this is a past tense piece, there is at least one use of the future tense. Isn’t there?

Then consider this line: “There was sleet that sent the people of Locknaar scurrying from the streets as the sun failed.” This is past tense, and if we write it in present tense we get: “There is sleet that sends the people of Lochnaar scurrying from the streets as the sun fails.” Note that “scurrying from the streets” is precisely the same in both forms. Normally, in writing in past tense you’d say, “scurried from the streets.” “Scurrying” seems to be happening now, in both sentences. Owwie, my brain hurts.

I’ve checked out grammar books but most of them seem to give only the briefest and simplest examples of tense usage, ones that always seem clear to me but do not cover the whole range of differences. Most of them seem to focus on nonfiction as well. Anyone have a suggestion for a book or article that really gets in there and explains the details? Or perhaps you are yourself a tense guru and can make the scales fall from my eyes.

I await…enlightenment.

The Pleasure of a Good Review

One of the first things I saw this morning was a message from a fellow in Ireland who really seemed to enjoy Swords of Talera. His name is W. Nelson and he posted an outstanding review of the book on Amazon.uk..

Not long ago I got an email from Randy Johnson, who I know is a regular visitor of this blog, telling me how much he enjoyed Cold in the Light. Randy now owns every book I’ve written, all three of them. That’s a pretty nice feeling. And, of course, I’ve had several very good reviews of the books already on Amazon, although the one from Nelson is the first from the United Kingdom. Some of those have come from folks who check this blog, and, of course, many folks here have given me tremendous support on their own blogs with commentary, reviews, and even an interview.

It really makes my day when someone spends a few moments of their limited time to tell me that they like my work, and even to tell others. I don't know if folks who aren't writers quite understand what a pleasure it is to hear good things about one's works. For me, it really keeps me going even when I know I'm not making a ton of money from my writing.

Today is another good day.

Horror's Top Five (Historically)

Up until the last three decades of the 20th Century, horror fiction was primarily found in short story form. There were relatively few novels that had a major influence, although those that did were big. A list of the five most influential horror novels of the early days follows. All of these are in the public domain and I’ve added links where they can be found for free online.

1. Horace Walpole: The Castle of Otranto, 1764. Generally considered to be the first Gothic novel. Still surprisingly readable. Online here

2. Clara Reeve: The Old English Baron, 1777. The world’s first horror pastiche. The influence of Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto is clear. Download it here.

3. Matthew Gregory Lewis: The Monk, 1796. Written before Lewis turned twenty and so successful that forever after the author became known as “Monk” Lewis. For the time it was considered horrendously blasphemous and sexy. I think it still reads pretty well today. Download it here

4. Mary Shelley: Frankenstein, 1818. An influence on the development of science fiction as well as horror. Check it out online here.

5. Charles Robert Maturin: Melmoth the Wanderer, 1820. An early “Deal with the Devil” novel. Find it free online here.

The Birds of Summer

I’ve mentioned our back yard bird sanctuary a few times here. Now it’s become a multigenerational gathering spot. At least three pairs of Cardinals raised their broods nearby and they’re bringing their young ones to eat at our stump buffet. You can tell the young from their lack of red feathers and their behavior. They flutter their wings and give a little plaintive cry until one of the parents stuffs a seed in their mouths.

We also have baby Blue Jays, and cutest of all, baby woodpeckers. A pair of Red-bellied woodpeckers have been frequent visitors over the past several months. I think they should be called “blushed bellies” myself because the red on their stomachs is not prominent at all. They also have red or rosy-feathered heads. The male has red all the way over the head to the beak while the female just has red about halfway across her head. The young ones have no red yet but will cling to the side of a tree or a stump while the mom or dad lands above them, gets a seed, then turns around and puts it into their offspring’s mouth.

One thing I’ve noticed is that the “babies” certainly aren’t little anymore. They’re all flying, of course, but most are as physically big or bigger than their parents. I guess this is a combination of being fed with little effort on their part, and of their parents losing weight from the hard labor of raising their families.

Oh, and this morning for the first time I saw a Box Turtle crossing our yard. You’re probably saying, “be still my heart,” or “how did you stand the excitement?” but I thought it was pretty cool. I used to love what we called “terrapins” as a kid but you don’t see them too often anymore. From reading about the Gulf Coast Box Turtle's habits I probably wouldn't have seen it if our back yard had not been flooded. It apparently loves to wade through shallow pools of water in search of insect larva. I hope it eats some of our mosquitoes.

Sow With Darkness

If you want to write good scary scenes I suggest you take the time to scare yourself, and notice the effects you get. I go for walks down the dirt roads around my place at midnight. Sometimes with the moon and sometimes not. There are trees on every side. I hear night birds. But there isn’t a single streetlight. Once in a while you’ll see a lonely house lamp through the pines, that faint fog of a light that only serves to accentuate the greater darkness all around.

Shadows follow me when the moon is up. I hear small animals crashing away through the brush, but they don’t sound so small when you’re standing alone on a rutted dirt road with the dark forest all around. I don’t know if this will work for you, but it gets my heart rate up.

Use your own actual experiences of fear. Create new experiences. Write them down without holding anything back. This is the secret to generating the emotions of fear, terror, and horror in your readers.

Sow with darkness. Reap by the light of the moon.

A New Dream Story

For whatever reasons my dreams the last few nights have been rich with storyline scenes. In the first dream I’m alone in a house. I’m standing at the edge of a dark corridor, looking toward the room at the other end. The door is closed but there’s a large window in the door and I can see that it too is dark. Somebody, I think it was my mom, had told me to turn on the light in that room before I leave the house.

I try the light switch in the corridor where I am but nothing happens. With a muffled curse I move down the hall to the other room. There’s no light switch on the outside there and I’m reluctant to go in the room. I have a feeling that there’s something wrong in there but I don’t know what.

I open the door and reach into the blackness, which is much darker than in the corridor where I stand, and feel around for the light switch. I can’t find it and must open the door wider and push my upper body into the room. I’m afraid to do this. The sense of hovering danger in the blackness grows.

I find the switch plate, quickly flick the switches on with relief. But nothing happens. The lights don’t work here either. I flick them desperately several times but still nothing. Abruptly, I feel something, a caress of breeze where there should be no breeze, as if something in the room has moved and stirred the air. I jerk my hand out of the dark and shut the door, and begin to back away down the corridor.

Something is coming toward that door from the other side. I feel it. I back away faster, but can’t take my eyes off the window in the door. Then something hits the door from the other side. The window bulges slightly. I jump, give a little scream. Behind the window I can see something, the head of a person, with long tangled hair and their face pressed to the glass. I know it is a woman though I can’t say how I know. I scream louder then, as I realize the woman’s mouth is open against the glass, that it’s working against the glass as if she sees me and wants to bite me. Or kiss me.

I wake up. I’m grateful.

Memories Part II

Yesterday I talked about keeping a journal of my childhood memories, and later memories, so that I don't forget them and so that I can mine them for details to use in my writing. I thought today I might just give a sample of a few of my entries.

120. Making little holes in persimmons and putting firecrackers through before we lit them and threw them. This would let us throw the firecrackers further, and if the persimmon was ripe it would explode goo all over where it blew up.

186. Pretending weeds were enemy warriors, and sword fighting them with the top part of a broken fishing rod. Or sometimes I used a piece of chrome that had been lost off the side of one of our cars.

207. daddy putting the big metal barrels beneath the eaves of the old house to catch rainwater, and how we would sometimes soak in one in the hot summer, and how salamanders often washed down from the roofs into them. I once hid in one and my parents were desperately trying to find me. I didn’t realize how truly upset they were. I thought it was fun and games. They never thought to look there, until I crawled out.

214. Catching a big water moccasin on my fishing rod once and what a fight it was. This was at the New Pond. Somehow I hooked him through the side underwater and at first I though I had a monster fish. Then he surfaced and I remember him writhing across the water as he fought to get away. Terry and John were with me. Since he was a poisonous one I had to kill him to get him off the hook.

The numbers above correspond to when the entry was made in the journal but are not necessarily age related. I just started writing things down as they occurred to me, and I continue that to this day. In fact, I'm going back to add some more today. I find it enjoyable.

Memories

Every time I go home to Arkansas I experience an almost overwhelming surge of memories from my childhood. And often I'll get my mom or my brother started and they'll mention other things that bring the old days back. I tried to get my mom to do this as therapy because she was a bit depressed during and after her recent hospitalization about not being as active as she was used to being. I find that happy memories restore me a bit, reenergize me. At least they are fun to recall. I thought it might work for her too, and she did smile a lot as I brought up things.

I keep a "memory journal" that I put such memories down in. I'm working today on expanding it from my recent trip. You may wonder what this has to do with writing. Well, I think it has a lot. A writer's memories and experiences provide the imagery and detail that he or she uses in constructing their stories in the here and now. I've used scenes or tidbits from my memory journal in many stories, and if you don't keep such a journal I suggest you start. I wish I would have started it when I was young so that I'd have the greater richness of detail, but in those days I was convinced I'd never forget. Don't be fooled. You'll forget too.