At the last AKRWA business meeting, I shared some tips from a recent Writers Digest article by Áine Greaney to “Reboot Your Writing Routine.” She suggested that writers create an artist statement, and we decided to write our own and present them at our January meeting.
My statement came fairly easily: I want to inspire women and young people as I entertain them with tales of old Alaska. That sums up what I write and why I write it. I hope to become published and share my stories with everyone. In the meantime, I’ll keep working on my craft and help readers where I can. Here’s one event we can support together: World Book Night.
I first came across this event in the 49 Writers blog. Here’s a blurb from their site: We need 50,000 book-loving volunteers to fan out across America on April 23, 2012! Just take 20 free copies of a book to a location in your community, and you just might change someone's life.
The goal is to give books to new readers, to encourage reading, to share your passion for a great book. The entire publishing, bookstore, library, author, printing, and paper community is behind this effort with donated services and time. And with a million free World Book Night paperbacks!
To learn more, and maybe become a giver yourself, go to http://www.us.worldbooknight.org/
This passes on the joy of reading, One of the best parts of teaching high school English was giving someone a book and watching them enjoy it. Sometimes I had a student say, “This is pretty cool, did they write any more?” and I knew they were hooked. How great it must feel to be the writer that hooked a kid on reading. I hope to do that some day.
Do you have an artist statement this year? Or a reading memory you’d like to share? Please feel free to comment.
--Lynn Lovegreen
Friday, January 20, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Censorship, Rating Systems, and Book Banning
About a year ago in an on-line critique group, I encountered a woman who wouldn't allow any R-rated material submitted for critique, PG-13 only. She refused to explain what she meant by R-rated or PG-13, and she wouldn't accept that the film-rating system doesn't apply to books.
Struggling to make sense of her restrictions, I researched film-rating systems of various countries. In the US, the Motion Picture Association of America rates movies. PG-13 can have no sex scenes what-so-ever, although torture and other forms of violence are acceptable. This rating was added specifically for movies such as Terminator and Indiana Jones, which are violent but geared toward a teenage and pre-teen audience. Some R-rate moves actually have little sex or violence. The King's Speech for example is rated R. It seems R actually means intended for adults regardless of the content. If this is so then for literary equivalents G means children, PG means middle grade, PG-13 means YA, R means general adult fiction, and NC-17 means erotica.
I suppose the major difference between film and fiction is that if a child manages to read the novel Clockwork Orange he or she is a genius, but it takes no particular skill for the child to view the story as a movie. I consider Clockwork Orange to be one of the greatest masterpieces of science-fiction language building. For the first three pages or so the prose has so many new words that story doesn’t make sense but, after that, the language comes off as seductive and beautiful. I'll admit I've never seen the film. I don’t want to encounter that kind of violence without the veil of words.
Another difference is that a reader can stop at any time, while a movie goer in a theater is in sense held captive for the duration of the film.
So the gal in the on-line critique group wanted to apply film standards to novels, ignoring the distinct difference between film and written fiction. I dropped out of the group and immediately wrote an erotic science-fiction novella. Don't tell me that I can't write about sex. I don't much go for violence, but sex is interesting. We humans sure have a bizarre way of producing more little humans.
I'm sending that novella, Sappho's Agency off to a publisher this very weekend. Despite erotic content it's the most political story I've ever written. I was raised Roman Catholic and have long struggled with the Church's teaching on sexuality. My bookshelf contains a well thumbed copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, written by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI. I've read with interest the parts relating to the role of women. I'm interested in the Church's position on homosexuality, birth control, and marriage, and in particular the reasoning for these positions.
The Catholic Church holds that the primary purpose of sex is reproduction. Following from this premise, the Church concludes that homosexuality is wrong and that condoms should be used under no circumstances whatsoever. According to the Church, a person who engages in a homosexual act or uses a condom is selfish, hedonistic, and unnatural. I find this logic stunningly bizarre and therefore fascinating. If this logic were used consistently, the Church would be rallying against men who've had vasectomies, women who have hysterectomies, and against men who marry women who are infertile. Following this logic, only those who are physically capable of producing children should be allowed to marry and engage in intimacy. The rest of us must remain chaste and celibate.
In the writing of Sappho's Agency, my thoughts and frustration found an outlet. The story shows homosexuality and condoms being used with the intent of producing a child, and it shows other legitimate functions of sex such as nurturing of love between a couple, relief of pain, and sacramental expression of religious belief. I'd best explain that last one. The Catholic Church teaches that marriage between a man and a woman should mirror the relationship between God and the Church. Therefore, marriage should be limited to heterosexual couples and, within a marriage, the woman should be subservient to the man, thus maintaining a resemblance to the proper relationship between Church and God. Logically this is complete nonsense, but it makes sense religiously. When we love our spouses, we take part in something much larger, and so feel a sense of wholeness.
Following up on my interest in religion, politics, and erotic fiction, I researched the Index, more properly called the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, a list of written works prohibited by the Catholic Church. Among the notable included works is Justine by the Marquis de Sade. I'll admit I haven't read the novel, as it's likely to have a greater amount of sadism than I enjoy. The Marquis de Sade wrote the book on sadism and Justine is that book. My low tolerance for violence rears its ugly head again. However, I believe Justine is on the Index, not for violence or sex, but because of political content. If it were just a dirty or gory story, Justine would have been forgotten, but it criticizes the Catholic Church and, for this, it was banned and the author thrown into prison. Never mind that the man engaged in pedophilia, rape, torture, and abduction. These were not viewed as his crimes. He was banned and imprisoned for his philosophy, not for his violent acts against his fellow humans. Les Miserable was once on the Index as well, most likely for containing less than flattering views of priests. That's the best I can figure out anyway.
With trepidation I send my novella off to a publisher. At times, I fear I've gone too far, at other times I worry that my writing isn't erotic enough. Truth be told, I'm more interested in politics, society, and economics than I am in sex. In this my writing is very definitely science fiction in the tradition of Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein, The Left Hand of Darkness by Le Guin, or one of my favorites Ethan of Athos by Bujold.
Eve Marlinspike
writer of erotic science fiction
Struggling to make sense of her restrictions, I researched film-rating systems of various countries. In the US, the Motion Picture Association of America rates movies. PG-13 can have no sex scenes what-so-ever, although torture and other forms of violence are acceptable. This rating was added specifically for movies such as Terminator and Indiana Jones, which are violent but geared toward a teenage and pre-teen audience. Some R-rate moves actually have little sex or violence. The King's Speech for example is rated R. It seems R actually means intended for adults regardless of the content. If this is so then for literary equivalents G means children, PG means middle grade, PG-13 means YA, R means general adult fiction, and NC-17 means erotica.
I suppose the major difference between film and fiction is that if a child manages to read the novel Clockwork Orange he or she is a genius, but it takes no particular skill for the child to view the story as a movie. I consider Clockwork Orange to be one of the greatest masterpieces of science-fiction language building. For the first three pages or so the prose has so many new words that story doesn’t make sense but, after that, the language comes off as seductive and beautiful. I'll admit I've never seen the film. I don’t want to encounter that kind of violence without the veil of words.
Another difference is that a reader can stop at any time, while a movie goer in a theater is in sense held captive for the duration of the film.
So the gal in the on-line critique group wanted to apply film standards to novels, ignoring the distinct difference between film and written fiction. I dropped out of the group and immediately wrote an erotic science-fiction novella. Don't tell me that I can't write about sex. I don't much go for violence, but sex is interesting. We humans sure have a bizarre way of producing more little humans.
I'm sending that novella, Sappho's Agency off to a publisher this very weekend. Despite erotic content it's the most political story I've ever written. I was raised Roman Catholic and have long struggled with the Church's teaching on sexuality. My bookshelf contains a well thumbed copy of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, written by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI. I've read with interest the parts relating to the role of women. I'm interested in the Church's position on homosexuality, birth control, and marriage, and in particular the reasoning for these positions.
The Catholic Church holds that the primary purpose of sex is reproduction. Following from this premise, the Church concludes that homosexuality is wrong and that condoms should be used under no circumstances whatsoever. According to the Church, a person who engages in a homosexual act or uses a condom is selfish, hedonistic, and unnatural. I find this logic stunningly bizarre and therefore fascinating. If this logic were used consistently, the Church would be rallying against men who've had vasectomies, women who have hysterectomies, and against men who marry women who are infertile. Following this logic, only those who are physically capable of producing children should be allowed to marry and engage in intimacy. The rest of us must remain chaste and celibate.
In the writing of Sappho's Agency, my thoughts and frustration found an outlet. The story shows homosexuality and condoms being used with the intent of producing a child, and it shows other legitimate functions of sex such as nurturing of love between a couple, relief of pain, and sacramental expression of religious belief. I'd best explain that last one. The Catholic Church teaches that marriage between a man and a woman should mirror the relationship between God and the Church. Therefore, marriage should be limited to heterosexual couples and, within a marriage, the woman should be subservient to the man, thus maintaining a resemblance to the proper relationship between Church and God. Logically this is complete nonsense, but it makes sense religiously. When we love our spouses, we take part in something much larger, and so feel a sense of wholeness.
Following up on my interest in religion, politics, and erotic fiction, I researched the Index, more properly called the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, a list of written works prohibited by the Catholic Church. Among the notable included works is Justine by the Marquis de Sade. I'll admit I haven't read the novel, as it's likely to have a greater amount of sadism than I enjoy. The Marquis de Sade wrote the book on sadism and Justine is that book. My low tolerance for violence rears its ugly head again. However, I believe Justine is on the Index, not for violence or sex, but because of political content. If it were just a dirty or gory story, Justine would have been forgotten, but it criticizes the Catholic Church and, for this, it was banned and the author thrown into prison. Never mind that the man engaged in pedophilia, rape, torture, and abduction. These were not viewed as his crimes. He was banned and imprisoned for his philosophy, not for his violent acts against his fellow humans. Les Miserable was once on the Index as well, most likely for containing less than flattering views of priests. That's the best I can figure out anyway.
With trepidation I send my novella off to a publisher. At times, I fear I've gone too far, at other times I worry that my writing isn't erotic enough. Truth be told, I'm more interested in politics, society, and economics than I am in sex. In this my writing is very definitely science fiction in the tradition of Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein, The Left Hand of Darkness by Le Guin, or one of my favorites Ethan of Athos by Bujold.
Eve Marlinspike
writer of erotic science fiction
Monday, January 2, 2012
NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS – Again?
Resolution is a hateful word really. It’s down and dreary, and dusty. I looked up the definition of resolution and this is what I found.
Number 1: the process of resolving something such as a problem or dispute. Maybe if we didn’t make resolutions we wouldn’t have so many problems or disputes to resolve. All those weight loss resolutions make for some pretty foul moods. That’s it! I resolve to eat chocolate!
Number 2: a firm decision to do something. This one is a little better. I like making firm decisions. So I firmly decide to enjoy more chocolate with family and friends.
Number 3: firmness of mind or purpose. Okay, I can live with having a purpose.
Number 4: an answer to a problem. Wrong. Chocolate is always the answer.
Number 5: a formal expression of the consensus at a meeting arrived at after discussion and usually as the result of a vote. Huh? We’ll just skip this one. It makes my head hurt.
Number 6: the quality of detail offered by a TV or computer screen or a photographic image. Interesting, and my husband could give me a detailed report on the importance of this and why we need a TV that costs the price of a compact car. Chocolate is cheaper.
Number 7: the process of separating something such as a chemical compound or a source of light into its constituent part. Hmm. Skip.
Number 8: the disappearance or coming to an end of a medical symptom or condition. Couldn’t they have used a more exciting word for this?
Number 9: the musical progression from a dissonant to a consonant chord or note. Since I don’t play an instrument the only thing in this definition that connected was music. I need some Journey with my chocolate, or Queen. Add in Foreigner too.
Number 10: the point in a literary work when the conflict is resolved. As a writer, I resolve to like this one. Though it does mean the story is coming to an end for my imaginary friends.
After reviewing the definitions above, I think we should resolve resolutions. Do we really need them? Now goals are a different ball of yarn. Some will say that resolutions and goals are the same. No, they are not.
Read the above definition of resolution and then compare it to words associated with goals: score, aim, successful attempt at hitting, kicking, throwing, or slapping a puck into the goal, and finish line. I love all these words. Much more doable, positive, inspiring, and powerful. Come on, slapping? You betcha.
I loved a friend’s idea where instead of resolutions she builds a bonfire and burns what didn’t work the year before. Add marshmallows, graham crackers, and CHOCOLATE and make it a party.
The month of January is depressing enough what with the bills of December, income taxes coming due, the dark and bleakness of winter that seems to have no end in sight (this is especially true in Alaska). So I suggest we set up our goals to aim successfully at the finish line. Go out there and hit, kick, throw, or slap until you reach your goal! Then celebrate with chocolate.
Since there is power in putting goals in print, I’d love to hear about the goals you’ve set or reasons you aren’t setting any.
Tiffinie Helmer
Number 1: the process of resolving something such as a problem or dispute. Maybe if we didn’t make resolutions we wouldn’t have so many problems or disputes to resolve. All those weight loss resolutions make for some pretty foul moods. That’s it! I resolve to eat chocolate!
Number 2: a firm decision to do something. This one is a little better. I like making firm decisions. So I firmly decide to enjoy more chocolate with family and friends.
Number 3: firmness of mind or purpose. Okay, I can live with having a purpose.
Number 4: an answer to a problem. Wrong. Chocolate is always the answer.
Number 5: a formal expression of the consensus at a meeting arrived at after discussion and usually as the result of a vote. Huh? We’ll just skip this one. It makes my head hurt.
Number 6: the quality of detail offered by a TV or computer screen or a photographic image. Interesting, and my husband could give me a detailed report on the importance of this and why we need a TV that costs the price of a compact car. Chocolate is cheaper.
Number 7: the process of separating something such as a chemical compound or a source of light into its constituent part. Hmm. Skip.
Number 8: the disappearance or coming to an end of a medical symptom or condition. Couldn’t they have used a more exciting word for this?
Number 9: the musical progression from a dissonant to a consonant chord or note. Since I don’t play an instrument the only thing in this definition that connected was music. I need some Journey with my chocolate, or Queen. Add in Foreigner too.
Number 10: the point in a literary work when the conflict is resolved. As a writer, I resolve to like this one. Though it does mean the story is coming to an end for my imaginary friends.
After reviewing the definitions above, I think we should resolve resolutions. Do we really need them? Now goals are a different ball of yarn. Some will say that resolutions and goals are the same. No, they are not.
Read the above definition of resolution and then compare it to words associated with goals: score, aim, successful attempt at hitting, kicking, throwing, or slapping a puck into the goal, and finish line. I love all these words. Much more doable, positive, inspiring, and powerful. Come on, slapping? You betcha.
I loved a friend’s idea where instead of resolutions she builds a bonfire and burns what didn’t work the year before. Add marshmallows, graham crackers, and CHOCOLATE and make it a party.
The month of January is depressing enough what with the bills of December, income taxes coming due, the dark and bleakness of winter that seems to have no end in sight (this is especially true in Alaska). So I suggest we set up our goals to aim successfully at the finish line. Go out there and hit, kick, throw, or slap until you reach your goal! Then celebrate with chocolate.
Since there is power in putting goals in print, I’d love to hear about the goals you’ve set or reasons you aren’t setting any.
Tiffinie Helmer
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Shield of Fire by Boone Brux
Blurb:
Protecting humans is the Bringers’ duty. Sending demons to the Shadow World is their pleasure.
In one night, Ravyn’s life plunges from barely tolerable to deadly. Forced to flee the only home she’s known, she stumbles headlong into the clutches of Icarus, a powerful demon intent on stealing her powers. Unfortunately for him, she has no intention of cooperating.
When Rhys realizes the woman he’s rescued from the Bane Demon is no mere human, his obligation as a Bringer dictates he protect and train her in the ways of his people. But he’s unprepared for the intense desire he feels for the fiery Ravyn. To surrender to his need may mean her death.As the Demon King’s desire for ultimate power escalates, fathers are slated against sons, and foes are made allies. The Bane threat upon them, Rhys and Ravyn must quest to unite the last of the Bringers—and explore a passion too powerful to ignore.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Menda Abbey, Itta Territory, Inness
One Thousand Years after the Bane War
The demon’s gaze narrowed. “Let me see her.”
Beautiful and horrifying, Icarus moved toward Brother Powell with frightening grace. Sinewy muscles rippled under taut, black skin as he prowled toward the crumbled wall of the abbey. His leathery wings scraped the tree branches overhead and waves of ebony hair, banded with rings of gold, cradled two spiraling horns that jutted upward.
Powell glanced away, refusing to gaze into the mesmerizing, reptilian eyes.
The demon’s deep purr poured over him. “What troubles you, Brother? Are you not happy to see me?”
The monk ignored the question and swiped the cold rain from his eyes. He held the hissing torch higher to reveal a young woman. She stood unnaturally still, compelled by the monk’s hypnosis—a spell taught to him by the demon. Her thin shift clung to her bony frame, and her dull eyes stared ahead. Angela had been lovely once, but like so many, she hadn’t been woman enough to withstand the honor of his attentions. They never were, always crying and pleading to be left alone. Lucky for them, the Demon Bane preferred their sacrifices pure.
“This is not what I asked for.” The deadly calm of Icarus’s voice belied the danger of his statement. “Where is the other woman—the gifted one?”
“In her cell. She doesn’t trust me.” Powell stroked Angela’s limp, blonde hair. “But she’ll not be able to resist the cries of her closest friend.”
“For your sake, monk, I hope you are right.” Icarus held out his hand. “Come to me.”
The compulsion whispered past Powell, sweeping across his skin with the promise of pleasure. He slipped his hand under his robe and adjusted his erection.
The demon’s call slithered toward Angela and wrapped around her like a sensual net. Before the force could ensnare him as well, Powell released his hold and backed away. She glided forward.
He watched, immobilized with morbid fascination. Her progress faltered when she reached the holy ground’s boundaries. He leaned toward Angela, willing her to cross the invisible barrier.
“Come to me,” Icarus repeated.
Weak of mind and body, she lumbered forward through the opening in the wall and away from the protection of the abbey’s sanctified ground.
The demon stood before her and grasped her frail arm. With the smooth curve of his talon, he caressed Angela’s cheek.
She didn’t move.
Powell cringed, excited and repulsed at the same time. He ached for a taste of the power Icarus would give him one day.
“So pure,” Icarus crooned. He trailed his talon down her neck. “So sweet.”
Powell squeezed his holy medallion, its ornate embellishments biting deep into his skin. The pain kept him present and protected against the call of the Bane, a call he wanted to answer. Riveted, he held the torch higher, trying to shed more light on the black demon.
Icarus slid his claw lower, coming to rest between Angela’s breasts. His energy pulsed and reached for its prey. The compulsion grazed Powell’s mind. The medallion slipped from his grasp, the chain catching on his fingers to hang loose. Forgotten.
“Awaken, little bird, and let me see your fear,” Icarus whispered.
Like a parting veil, Angela’s deadened expression cleared. She gasped, frozen by the sight of the towering demon before her. She twisted and fought for her freedom. Bare heels dug into the soggy earth, but the slick grass provided no traction. Icarus jerked her hard, his hold unbreakable.
“No!” Her scream shattered the silence of the night, its echoes hanging in the air like a heavy mist.
He pressed his fingers against her heart and pricked her delicate skin.
She convulsed, her strangled cry dying in her throat. With whispers as soft as the lightest breeze, the silvery essence of her soul sighed and bled from her body. Gossamer threads slithered around Icarus’s hand like small, white snakes, encircling his arm and swirling along the planes of his rounded biceps in an achingly slow, erotically sublime dance. The demon tilted his head and closed his eyes. Angela’s shimmering purity crept up his neck and hovered at his lips. He inhaled and drew her in, stiffening as if in the throes of passion, absorbing every delicate wisp.
The intimate union between predator and prey mesmerized Powell. He crept forward, forgetting the danger. The seductive and deadly act held a perverse beauty. Powell stroked himself, dragging the rough material of his robe over his erection, losing himself in The Taking. Time had no place; the tap, tap of rain on the leaves the only disruption brave enough to break through the reticence of the night.
When the sparkling vapor faded around her heart, Icarus retracted his talons and released his hold. Angela’s body slumped to the ground, dead. He stretched and smiled, his fangs glimmering in the torchlight. “That’s better.”
Powell’s heavy breathing punctuated the quiet. His body quivered from the demon’s feral presence. As the pleasurable effect began to fade, he opened his senses and scrambled to ingest the lingering scraps of Bane essence. Its pure power raced through his body and filled his veins with an intoxicating fire.
Icarus bent and scooped up Angela’s body. Four powerful strides brought him to the abbey’s border. He heaved his burden at Powell. The monk shrieked and jumped back, his euphoric haze evaporating. Bones snapped as the body landed in a crumpled heap at his feet. Bile rose in his throat. For a fraction of a second, remorse pawed at him, but, just as quickly, the sentiment disappeared.
“Bring me the other—now.” Icarus’s wings unfurled and stretched behind him. “Do not fail me, monk.” He crouched and pinned Powell with a yellow stare. “Or I won’t be as kind to you as I was to the girl.”
Powell glanced at the broken body at his feet and swallowed hard. Meeting the demon’s stare, he nodded.
With a powerful leap, Icarus launched into the sky and was instantly swallowed by the darkness.
Thanks for stopping by! Boone
…
Friday, December 9, 2011
Romantic Science Fiction
by Tam Linsey
Genres have been on my mind lately. Not just genres, but subgenres. Do I write "science fantasy" or "science fiction"? "apocalyptic" or "dystopic"? "science fiction romance" (SFR) or "romantic science fiction" (RSF)?
This last pair is what I want to talk about today, because I didn't know there was a difference until recently. Why do I care? Because I've had several agents who represent science fiction request my manuscript, only to pass on representation because there was "too much science" in my story.
Too much science?
How can science fiction readers not want the science explained? In my opinion, just setting characters onto another world and throwing in a space ship or two doesn't make something science fiction. There must be verisimilitude – credibility that such a world could exist. That is where the science part of science fiction becomes important.
I was baffled by the rejections.
So I did what any good scientist would do; I researched and developed a theory about why these agents didn't like the science.
Why are readers these days okay with novels not explaining how things work? This is where the distinction between SFR and RSF becomes important. Although these agents claim to represent science fiction, they are big names in the romance industry. As romance readers, they want the story – be it paranormal, contemporary, historical, or science fiction – to be about a relationship first and foremost. Any speculative, otherworldly, or scientific elements of the story must be less important to the plot than the romance. In fact, the story they want could not exist without the romance. The science is taken for granted. Science Fiction has become part of our culture. Other writers have already done all the speculation for us. Who hasn't seen an episode of Star Trek, or a movie with aliens or space ships? The proof is already out there. Why prove it again?
Most romance readers don't care about the science. They just want a really good story about a relationship.
They want Science Fiction Romance.
I like romance. Love is what binds characters together, and binds readers to my characters. But love doesn't dominate the story in science fiction. My manuscript, Botanicaust, has a love interest relationship, but the plot could proceed without the romance. In fact, it wouldn't be too hard to rewrite the novel and remove the romance altogether.
But take out the science, and Botanicaust falls apart.
I write Romantic Science Fiction.
See the difference? It is all a matter of where the emphasis lies. The rejections are because I've been targeting the wrong readers.
Do you like to know how the world works in the book you are reading? Or do you prefer to take for granted that things are the way the author says they are?
Genres have been on my mind lately. Not just genres, but subgenres. Do I write "science fantasy" or "science fiction"? "apocalyptic" or "dystopic"? "science fiction romance" (SFR) or "romantic science fiction" (RSF)?
This last pair is what I want to talk about today, because I didn't know there was a difference until recently. Why do I care? Because I've had several agents who represent science fiction request my manuscript, only to pass on representation because there was "too much science" in my story.
Too much science?
How can science fiction readers not want the science explained? In my opinion, just setting characters onto another world and throwing in a space ship or two doesn't make something science fiction. There must be verisimilitude – credibility that such a world could exist. That is where the science part of science fiction becomes important.
I was baffled by the rejections.
So I did what any good scientist would do; I researched and developed a theory about why these agents didn't like the science.
Why are readers these days okay with novels not explaining how things work? This is where the distinction between SFR and RSF becomes important. Although these agents claim to represent science fiction, they are big names in the romance industry. As romance readers, they want the story – be it paranormal, contemporary, historical, or science fiction – to be about a relationship first and foremost. Any speculative, otherworldly, or scientific elements of the story must be less important to the plot than the romance. In fact, the story they want could not exist without the romance. The science is taken for granted. Science Fiction has become part of our culture. Other writers have already done all the speculation for us. Who hasn't seen an episode of Star Trek, or a movie with aliens or space ships? The proof is already out there. Why prove it again?
Most romance readers don't care about the science. They just want a really good story about a relationship.
They want Science Fiction Romance.
I like romance. Love is what binds characters together, and binds readers to my characters. But love doesn't dominate the story in science fiction. My manuscript, Botanicaust, has a love interest relationship, but the plot could proceed without the romance. In fact, it wouldn't be too hard to rewrite the novel and remove the romance altogether.
But take out the science, and Botanicaust falls apart.
I write Romantic Science Fiction.
See the difference? It is all a matter of where the emphasis lies. The rejections are because I've been targeting the wrong readers.
Do you like to know how the world works in the book you are reading? Or do you prefer to take for granted that things are the way the author says they are?
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Book Reviews - Bookin' It Reviews: A Day in the Life of Rachel Dahlrumple
Book Reviews - Bookin' It Reviews: A Day in the Life of Rachel Dahlrumple: Bookin' It Reviews is proud to welcome AKRWA author Shea McMaster here today! She's here today with Rachel Dahlrumple, the heroine from her romantic suspense...
Friday, November 4, 2011
Story Logic and the Kitchen Sink
I woke up this morning and got hit in the head by a kitchen sink.
Er, let me explain that.
I used to write stories for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Edward Ferman – the editor and one of the truest gentlemen ever to grace the offices of publishing – once told me that my stories contained everything but the kitchen sink. Understandably worried – I was feeding a family of four by writing stories – I asked him if that was bad. He said, “No, it just may be your best asset.” (Which could be avoiding the question, if you think about it.)
So I began taking his advice to heart.
I began throwing in the kitchen sink.
*
To explain that, abide me while I switch hats to that of a professor, which is my “regular job.”
Begin with a pop quiz.
Answer the following. Neither is a trick question.
1. What is the image on the right?
2. Which item of the following does not fit with the others? hammer, saw, house, screwdriver.
◊
The answers:
In the 1930s, when working with illiterate peasants in Uzbekistan, a great Russian educational theorist, Alexander Luria, made a startling discovery: People who cannot read cannot think abstractly.
This is not to imply, which Western culture unwittingly does with its typical ethnocentrism, that oral folk – nonliterates in Western tradition – somehow are sick, being ill-literate. Rather, oral folk think in concrete, real-world ways. Technically, their thinking is called “situational logic.”
The Uzbekistani peasants could not recognize the circle as a circle. They would say, “It’s the top of a water jar” or “It’s the end of a log.” And there was only a 25 percent chance that they would decide that house does not fit. They lacked the ability to group items by traits. Rather than realizing that three of the items are tools, they might say that saw does not fit. When asked why, they would answer, “I left it outside the house.”
Many literate people see such thinking as silly, superficial, or sophomoric. They do not realize that Western thinking is the result of the written word – a new change of human consciousness and thus not the result of basal intelligence – and that it has limited usefulness.
Probably as a byproduct of the Greeks’ greatest invention, the only true alphabet ever created, the human mind changed during the first millennium B.C. This new type of thinking so infused the Western mind, especially after Greek thinking and Christianity became linked through the Gospels, that even how we think of cognition reflects our love affair with the written word. We talk about context and being literal.
That mind change makes it difficult for Western peoples to think holistically, to see all the variables that a situation involves. Until the computer began to change everything (and if you think that your kids don’t think like you, then you’re probably more right than you realize), Western peoples thought lineally, sequentially, akin to chapters in a book.
But how we think was not the only byproduct of the alphabet. The other was a change in what form of logic is elevated as being important. This change is so pervasive that most Western peoples do not even realize that there is another form of logic.
The logic the Greeks’ love of abstraction produced was the syllogism, the most famous is the one Plato published: All men are mortal, Socrates is a man, therefore Socrates is mortal.
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So what does this all have to do with a kitchen sink?
Aristotle was Plato’s star pupil. Aristotle disliked the direction in which Greek intellectual culture was going. He pointed out that syllogisms do not work in the real world. If Plato were right, Aristotle said, then the following is true: Women who are pregnant are pale. This woman is pale. Therefore this woman is pregnant.
By contrast, Aristotle advocated what is technically called “enthymematic logic.” It combines situational logical and syllogistic logic. Also known as evidentiary logic, it combines Western thinking and non-Western thinking. Expressed as a triad, Aristotle said, it analyzes a situation and then expresses it in a syllogistic-like form: Some women who are pregnant are pale. This woman is pale. Therefore this woman is pregnant.
However, the Greeks so worshipped the syllogism that Theophrastus, who inherited Aristotle’s school, threw out the enthymeme – which Aristotle had called “the heart of communication” – and steered the school back to the syllogism. Ever since, the syllogism has been what most Western people think of as “being logical,” even though it is a school-learned, artificial construct, rather than a natural way of thinking.
To make matters worse, in tenth century Byzantium, Greek monks copying over Aristotle’s manuscripts were so imbued with love of the syllogism that they assumed Aristotle was wrong. So they changed the master’s manuscript. Today, if you look up enthymeme, the dictionary will tell you that it’s “a truncated syllogism” or “a syllogism missing a premise.” Neither definition is correct, and what was perhaps the most powerful tool ever invented for communications fell by the wayside.
Skip ahead 2,300 years. About a decade ago, Walter Fisher – one of the finest minds working today in communications theory – announced that narrative, rather than the syllogism, is the basis of human logic. Narrative is so fundamental to human understanding, he says, that he calls us Homo narrans.
But narrative is not story. Narrative is usually just a retold incident. There is a basic difference between narrative and story. That’s why most people cannot write story even if they have an excellent ability to string words together. They confuse the two concepts.
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In the Western tradition, story consists of a logical attempt to solve or resolve an emotional problem. The “logic” is not syllogistic. It is diachronic.
Diachronic logic is telescopic. It unfolds like an old-fashioned spyglass or, for us Alaskans, like a cup used in camping. Unless it’s experimental fiction, then it consists of a series of (false) solutions the protagonist attempts until at last she arrives at a final possibility.
The reader can look back and see that everything was planned, that nothing was extraneous, that everything led irrevocably to that final, satisfying conclusion. In terms of communication theory, such diachronic logic is narrative expressed as enthymematic logic. In romance fiction, that becomes Girl falls in love with boy, boy loses girl because he’s a dunderhead, girl must resolve the situation and bring them back together.
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Except I push the envelope. I stretch the logic. I am constantly upset with myself for doing this, because it adds a thick layer of difficulty to my writing life, but I seem unable to think otherwise. Or maybe I just can’t say no, even though I am professionally trained in enthymematic logic and thus should know better.
It happened again this morning.
I am writing what started as a simple book in which an American physician right out of med school goes to Madagascar as a volunteer with Doctors Without Borders and falls in love with a Malagasy primatologist. He is dedicated to saving the aye-aye, an ugly but highly affectionate lemur that is being slaughtered because of the superstition that if it points at you, then you or a family member will die soon. The two run into difficulties, but through her efforts they resolve the difficulties, and they live happily ever after among the lemurs.
All fine, I think – except that other entities, all of which are real people and/or events, have demanded to be let into the mix:
A Hungarian Count who escaped from Siberia by seducing the warden’s daughter and stealing two Russian ships, a queen who was so truly evil that she came back fifty years after she died and people danced in the streets until they died of exhaustion, a member of the Madagascar Mafia, and the fact that Madagascar is the world’s worst ecological disaster.
All the writing advice I have read has said to avoid side streams and alleys where research can take you. But every time I have done so, my stories have gone unnoticed. And those times when I have finaled for or won major awards have been when I opened the doors and embraced everything except the kitchen sink, working and reworking the plot until all the pieces that caught my interest are there and yet all (hopefully) contributed to pushing the plot to its climax.
But once in a while, the kitchen sink has come flying through the door as well, demanding to be included.
It happened again this morning.
According to advice I have gotten from essays, blogs, and friends, heroines in romance should not be severely flawed. Their hearts can be broken, but the pieces are all there. It just takes Mr. Right and the heroine’s gumption and often all the king’s horses and all the kings’ men to put her heart back together again.
This morning, though, my heroine told me that at age thirteen she saw her mother drown and now, at twenty-six, the young woman can engage in professional relationships – but personal ones allude her. She functions well in the office but is dysfunctional when she’s alone. Unknown to others in the clinic where she works, her smile is always outward, rarely inward. She is physically beautiful but psychologically misshaped.
So is the story still within the environs of romantic fiction?
I don’t know.
And it scares me.
©2011 by George Guthridge
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