Archive for the ‘Writing Advice’ Category

Charlie Finlay Gives Away Books (with a catch)

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Charlie Finlay is a great writer who taught me a ton about writ­ing back when I didn’t really deserve it.   He has a new fan­tasy book series launch­ing, set dur­ing the Revolutionary War, and the first book is called Patriot Witch.   I have really been look­ing for­ward to this.  Historical fan­tasy set in this time period is rare as far as I know, and cou­pling the period with a writer like Finlay is going to be a treat.

CCfinlay: You Say You Want A Revolution?

But what I really wanted to point out to you today was this inter­est­ing strat­egy he’s using to build buzz for the book.  He’s giv­ing out free early copies for the book, so long as you go and post a review on one of the mer­chant sites.  Then he’ll send you an advance copy of the next book, so long as you do the same. I sus­pect he is going to chain peo­ple all the way through the series this way.

I think it’s a clever way to get some men­tions out there. If I were him, I would have asked for blog posts as well, for read­ers with blogs, but maybe Amazon​.com reviews will have more of an impact on sales.  I’m not sure.

Charlie, like most newer nov­el­ists, has not much of a mar­ket­ing bud­get behind his book.  These days, mar­ket­ing falls on the shoul­ders of the writer more and more.  I col­lect strate­gies like these to offer to my clients as part of my web design series.  I’ll be watch­ing this one to see where it goes.

I wish I had time to take him up on the offer, but things are get­ting really hec­tic around here between look­ing for a job, free­lance, and Escape Pod.  And I’m also writ­ing again a bit.  Not enough time in the day, damn it.

On Handling Criticism.

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Copyblogger recently posted an arti­cle on how to han­dle crit­i­cism. This is a sub­ject that, as a cre­ative per­son, I have spent a lot of time think­ing about and strug­gling with, so I thought I’d talk about their points tonight and exam­ine them from my own point of view.

1. Enjoy it.

Criticism isn’t always bad in my expe­ri­ence (although it def­i­nitely tends to have neg­a­tive con­no­ta­tions).  It’s mostly good for you, but some­times it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  Basically, crit­i­cism is broc­coli.  I’ve never been one to enjoy broc­coli, and crit­i­cism is some­thing that you don’t nat­u­rally join.  Those with frag­ile self-​​esteem have a ten­dency to take any kind of crit­i­cism neg­a­tively.  The key is gen­er­ally to try and keep it imper­sonal. The crit­i­cism is not about you, it’s about the work, and remem­ber, you are not your work (that com­ment is directed at me as much as it is my gen­eral audi­ence, let me tell you…).

So yeah, I can agree with this point, if you can man­age it.  Remind your­self that crit­i­cism is an impor­tant com­po­nent of get­ting bet­ter, when it’s con­struc­tive.    And if’ it’s ter­ri­ble crit­i­cism, try and laugh about how bad it is.  I actu­ally find that the more hyper­bolic neg­a­tive crit­i­cism is, the fun­nier it is for me, and the eas­ier it is to enjoy it.

On the Escape Pod blog, we have one com­menter who never, ever says any­thing pos­i­tive.  Sometimes this com­menter is on-​​target, but the way this com­menter says every­thing is clas­sic Troll Class One.  I was irri­tated with it at first, but over time, I’ve come to find this com­menter pretty funny.  Their act never changes though.

2. Nobody’s right.

Yeah, every­thing is sub­jec­tive, blah blah blah.  This is per­haps true when we’re talk­ing about sub­jec­tive mat­ters, but when it comes to facts, that’s baloney.  Someone is right and some­one is wrong.  Generally, it is you that is wrong, and it is Nick Mamatas that is right.    In fact, that should be the main corol­lary to this point.  “Nobody’s right, except Nick Mamatas.”  You can dis­agree with this, but I don’t rec­om­mend that you actu­ally argue the point.  You will lose.

3. Some peo­ple just won’t get it.

Copyblogger makes the point that some peo­ple are “just idiots.”  This is true, but I would con­sider this an obser­va­tion of last resort.  If the crit­i­cism com­pletely misses the point, there are two pos­si­bil­i­ties (or more, but two basic ones).  One is that the per­son mak­ing the crit­i­cism has a read­ing com­pre­hen­sion below the level you wrote (is
“an idiot” is a bit strong).  The other pos­si­bil­ity is that you didn’t do a very good job of con­vey­ing it. Me, I always take crit­i­cism seri­ously and eval­u­ate it for pos­si­ble value.  Unless it’s full of gram­mar and spelling mis­takes.  Those are pretty easy to ignore, because, yeah, some peo­ple are idiots.  They make them­selves very easy to spot most of the time.  Except for stealth idiots, like Chance from Being There.  More on them some other time.

4. Look for a new idea.

I really like this point.  Examine crit­i­cism for an idea you’ve never had before.  I’ve failed to do this almost every time my work has received crit­i­cism when it comes to writ­ing.    I often get stuck in a think­ing rut and my ruts get so deep that it’s hard to see over the sides of them.  This is because I can be a real self-​​centered prick from time to time (hope­fully not very often these days).  As much as any­thing else, this point serves as a reminder to offer at least a mod­icum of respect to the ideas of oth­ers.  Just because you didn’t have the idea doesn’t mean it has no value.  (Again.  Talking to me here.)

5. Let it go.

This is the hard­est aspect of Copyblogger’s advice for me.   Some peo­ple let crit­i­cism roll off them like water off a duck’s back.  Criticism often sticks to me like a very well-​​aimed spit­ball.   I have a very dif­fi­cult time shak­ing it off even if I don’t believe it. This prob­lem prob­a­bly resides in a shaky self-​​esteem more than any­thing else.  I am eager at times to believe the neg­a­tive thigns said about my work and myself.    That’s a per­sonal prob­lem, but it is eas­ier said than done for some of us to just let it go.  I know enough to let my inabil­ity to let it go remain a per­sonal issue.  What you should rarely do, in my opin­ion, is respond to crit­i­cism that you can’t let go.    Down that path lies mad­ness and a dam­aged reputation.

People with unshak­able self-​​esteem and belief in them­selves are eas­ily the most suc­cess­ful peo­ple in cre­ative endeav­ors from my expe­ri­ence.   They don’t get knocked down by crit­i­cism and they def­i­nitely know how to let it go.  If I had to pick one per­son­al­ity trait that I would like to develop to make me a bet­ter cre­ative per­son, it would be a true and deep belief in myself.  I’m work­ing on it, but I know that it’s not always there, and so I have a ways to go.

I had some jus­ti­fi­ably harsh and unhappy crit­i­cism on some of my work wait­ing for me when I woke up this morn­ing.    I was let­ting it really get to me at first, until I stum­bled upon this post over at Copyblogger, and it reminded me of the lessons I have learned in the past.  I took what I could from it, dis­agreed with some of it (but under­stood the per­spec­tive of it), but ulti­mately decided that the best thing to do was to let it go and move on and try not to make the same mis­takes in the future in future work.

Obsessing over your mis­takes and your crit­i­cism doesn’t help.  That’s the most impor­tant les­son for me and arti­cles like this serve to help drive that les­son home again and again.

Jason Stoddard is Wrong about Science Fiction

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Jason has a nice post up about the demands placed on sci­ence fic­tion writ­ers who write believ­able near-​​future SF today.  You should read it.  I think he’s wrong, but you should read it.*

I think focus­ing on the sci­ence aspects of sci­ence fic­tion is miss­ing the point.  Science fic­tion is fic­tion first, and only tan­gen­tially about sci­ence.  Some of my favorite SF tales arguably have zero sci­ence in them.  I’d even go so far as to say sci­ence fic­tion is just a genre of fic­tion with a set of tropes that some­times involve sci­ence, or the future, but doesn’t always, and doesn’t have to.  But let’s focus on the idea of near-​​future SF.  It’s a small sub­set of what’s writ­ten, but it is a subset.

Jason says:

To write fully believ­able, near future sci­ence fic­tion today, you almost need to be vora­cious anti­so­cial poly­math, deeply con­ver­sant in half a dozen tech­ni­cal fields, as well as famil­iar with ongo­ing social, eco­nomic, and envi­ron­men­tal change.

First of all, to have any kind off suc­cess­ful writ­ing career, you need to be some­what anti­so­cial because you rarely make enough money to do it full time, which means you use leisure time to do it, and often a lot of leisure time, which means you won’t be see­ing your friends much.  It’s a soli­tary pur­suit for the most part.  But that’s not what I wanted to say about that quote.  This is:

I take excep­tion to is the notion that you need to be deeply con­ver­sant in any­thing.  I think you just need to do research to the point where what you have to say doesn’t break the sus­pen­sion of dis­be­lief and I think that’s a long ways from being a poly­math.   You don’t need to be an expert on any­thing but people.

One of the appeals to a cer­tain kind of writer of SF is that they get to do research.  These writ­ers some­times have a ten­dency to inflict their research upon the reader whether it mat­ters or not.  As I get older, I care a lot less about the believ­abil­ity of the sci­ence in my sto­ries than I do about the actual story and the char­ac­ters.  I was recently read­ing a nice space opera by a friend of mine, and as I was dig­ging through info-​​term-​​dense para­graph after para­graph talk­ing about tech­nolo­gies under­ly­ing star­ship mechan­ics and such, I thought–I have been con­di­tioned to find this accept­able in a story, I kind of enjoy it because I am a big nerd, but I don’t think it makes the story any bet­ter.  Senswunda’s one thing–I dig that.  But I only care about the details so long as they relate to the core of the story, and a lot of times in this kind of SF, they don’t.  The Analog mafia might like that sort of thing, but I don’t.  I don’t need equa­tions in my fic­tion, and I rarely find that they improve it.

I also don’t like my SF to be pred­ica­tive.  I don’t like it to be real­is­tic, nec­es­sar­ily.  Neither does most of the world.  Your sci­ence fic­tion does not need to be well-​​researched, and you do not need to be an expert on quan­tum mechan­ics to write sci­ence fic­tion.  In fact, I would argue that the more con­ver­sant you are in these details, and the more you force into your novel or story, the smaller your audi­ence is.  Star Wars doesn’t trou­ble itself with the mechan­ics of FTL.  It’s pretty damned suc­cess­ful with audiences.

Jason con­cludes with a very nice zinger:

Otherwise, your fic­tion will soon read like that Golden Age lit, filled with space­ships manned by human cal­cu­la­tors and spin­ning reels of tape.

That’s the uni­ver­sal fail­ing of ALL near-​​future SF, no mat­ter how well researched it is.  They couldn’t get it right when tech­nol­ogy wasn’t accel­er­at­ing as fast in the 50s, and near-​​future SF writ­ers are prob­a­bly not get­ting it right now either with things clip­ping along faster.  So why bother?  Getting it “right” is not the point.  It shouldn’t be about any­thing the now through the lens of tools that SF has devel­oped.  You can say things about the future that you can’t say about the present. Projecting those com­ments onto the future gives you a lit­tle dis­tance to say those things.  That’s the pri­mary rea­son we set stuff in the future.  It might as well all be alter­nate his­tory, or alter­nate uni­verse sto­ries. The inclu­sion of alt his­tory in the SF greater genre just proves my point here.  You can’t write a What-​​If story with­out extrap­o­lat­ing from the present (or past).  It’s an exam­i­na­tion of what the truth really is through the fic­tion of what wasn’t or what could be (a depar­ture from the truth).

If you’re intim­i­dated by the accel­er­at­ing advance of the future, don’t let that stop you from writ­ing SF.  You don’t have to write it that way.  Personally, I take great enjoy­ment in throw­ing real­ity out the win­dow when I write my SF.    SF has only ever been about believ­abil­ity to a small sub­set of read­ers.  Believability in the con­text of tech, any­way.  It, like all lit­er­a­ture, does revolve around the believ­abil­ity of human action and emo­tion, how­ever.  Keep that in mind and you’ll write great fic­tion, and very few peo­ple will care about that other stuff. Nobody looks at the tech in 1984 and com­plains about it.

By now you should real­ize that I don’t really think Jason is wrong.  I just wrote that head­line to get your atten­tion so you could watch me hash out for myself what I think is impor­tant about sci­ence fic­tion.  Jason and every­one else who wants to can go about try­ing to mas­ter every field they want to include in their fic­tion, and try to make the near-​​future believ­able with mul­ti­ple points of advance­ment. I applaud it.  A not-​​small num­ber of peo­ple will read it and enjoy it, maybe includ­ing myself from time to time. They’ll almost cer­tainly get some­thing wrong and some  will bitch and moan about it too.  I just don’t find these kinds of sto­ries very mem­o­rable.  You might get lucky and nail some pre­dic­tion on the head and then become a foot­note in his­tory for hav­ing some fore­sight (see Arthur C. Clarke and the prediction/​invention of satel­lites. We know he did it, but I couldn’t tell you in what story).  But you don’t need it to write good stories.

My opin­ion and approach? Forget all of that.  The core of a story is time­less, and none of that really mat­ters.  Understand peo­ple before you under­stand quan­tum mechan­ics or net­work infra­struc­ture.  That’ll take you much fur­ther in fic­tion than any other knowl­edge set.  Senswunda exists inde­pen­dently of pre­dic­tion, and that is what mat­ters to me.  If that makes me more of a fan­tasy writer than a SF writer, then so be it.

So no, Jason Stoddard is not really wrong.  He’s just wrong for me.  You can make up your own mind about what you think.

Why I hate Elves, Dwarves, Dragons, and…

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(This is a very tongue-​​in-​​cheek entry.)

It’s no secret to reg­u­lar read­ers that I loathe so-​​called generic fan­tasy. And it is generic, in a very supermarket-​​product sense. Generic fan­tasy is a pale imi­ta­tion of some­one else’s orig­i­nal prod­uct. It is the yel­low box that says CEREAL on the bot­tom shelf.

Most generic fan­tasy is whole­sale intel­lec­tual thiev­ery from J.R.R. Tolkien. Yes, he him­self built his world based on mythol­ogy, and I am aware that one of his goals was to cre­ate a mythol­ogy for England. But that does not earn lazy authors any points with me if they write using his basic world-​​building ele­ments. I don’t care if your elves are doing some­thing non­tra­di­tional, like build­ing and rac­ing high per­for­mance race cars. I don’t care if they are detec­tives, paired up with a gruff but lov­able dwarf who chomps cig­ars and quips about unsolved cases. You’re still rely­ing mostly on the hard work that Tolkien did for your char­ac­ter­i­za­tion and world building.

Stop being so lazy and make up your own worlds! China Mieville, you get an A from me. Even if I didn’t like Un Lun Dun very much (under­stand­able, being a children’s book).

The same goes for you bloody adults that read this stuff. It’s for­giv­able in the habits of a D&D play­ing teenager, but you should know bet­ter. You’re delib­er­ately impov­er­ish­ing your brain by read­ing this stuff. Put down the Robert Jordan and back away slowly. The Sword of Shanara has been read plenty enough times. Terry Brooks, you have your money. Let’s lock all the copies in a big vault and for­get about it for a few centuries.

It’s got­ten to the point where I can’t even see Tolkien’s work clearly. I am sure he did some­thing impres­sive and new, once upon a time, but I can­not view his work with­out look­ing through the lens cre­ated by the garbage that has fol­lowed it. I might have been a fan if I hadn’t been exposed to every­thing that came after­wards. I do enjoy the Hobbit, I guess, but it’s by no means my favorite fan­tasy novel.

I guess what I am try­ing to say is, if you write and sell a book that involves a reluc­tant, small-​​sized hero being tasked to steal some­thing for the Bigger Folk and fac­ing Mighty Danger, receiv­ing help along the way from the lithe, tall, and earthy peo­ple with pointed ears and high chin bones, it gives me the right to punch you in the gonads. You have been warned.

Now I’m off to write up that dwarf-​​and-​​elf-​​they-​​solve-​​crime! story.

Jetse de Vries on What Should be Left Unsaid in Fiction

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Jetse de Vries on What Should be Left Unsaid in Fiction

Jetse of Interzone has made a post talk­ing about the bal­ance of answered vs. unan­swered ques­tions in fiction.

This is an attempt to pin­point one of the things that makes a story res­onate: that is, one of those qual­i­ties that makes a story stay with the reader long after she/​he has fin­ished read­ing it. I’m aim­ing at what should be left unsaid in a story.

Different read­ers are going to want dif­fer­ent things out of a story. One thing I used to get burned on in crits was that every­one wanted more, but the “more” that they wanted, background-​​wise, was dif­fer­ent. I think as a writer, I end up try­ing to focus on only what is imme­di­ately impor­tant to the story, and then let­ting the reader fill in the rest. On my Kansas Jayhawk vs. The Midwest Monster Squad story pub­lished in Interzone, one of the fun things some of my reader friends did was come up with the daikaiju mon­ster mas­cots for other states. That’s the kind of reader par­tic­i­pa­tion I whole-​​heartedly endorse.