I wish I was writing right now. Grrr!!! Freaking life is too busy!
Maybe this is why I write so much when I do sit down and actually do it. All of that creative energy and whatnot pent in for so long, when it comes out, it comes out in a flood.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Good news! I’ve been getting a lot of emails from people interested in the Quark writing group recently. Looks like we’ll have quite a meeting this Saturday! Plenty of new people!
I just today finished this wonderful piece of science fiction. Ursula Leguin’s The Left Hand of Darkness is a science fiction classic and an excellent piece of writing. Although it’s pace was much slower than what I’m used to, I enjoyed it very much.
It tells the story of a man named Genly Ai, who is an envoy from the Ekumen, a sort of confederation of planets, to an independent world known as Winter. His mission is to convince the people of this world to join the Ekumen in alliance. Because the Ekumen doesn’t want to make mistakes in reaching out to new worlds, he was sent alone and unarmed, the first man from another world to visit this planet.
He finds a very strange race of human beings on this planet. Apparently, several thousand years ago, the planet was used as a sort of laboratory where experiments were performed on human sexuality. The result was a colony of people who are neither male nor female, but instead have a periodic sexual cycle, where for one or two days every lunar month, they come into “kemmer” and develop working sexual organs–sometimes male, sometimes female. After the outside worlds lost interest in the experiment, they left the colony to itself, and over thousands of years of isolation it developed into its own complex civilization.
The planet Winter is in a deep ice age, and everything in the Gethanian’s culture (that’s the name of the people of this world) revolves around both their peculiar reproductive biology and the severe weather in which they live. Their cities are designed for winters that drop dozens of feet of snow, and their culture is very hospitable and welcoming of strangers. The people are generally very passive; they never drive their vehicles faster than 10 or 15 miles per hour, people live in the same villages and towns where they were born without really caring much for the outside world, and scientific innovation progresses at a very slow pace. There are, however, two major countries on this world, and as Genly Ai starts his mission, the leaders of these countries are preparing for war.
It is a tale of a strange, exotic world, with a very deep mystical and religious structure, and many interesting ramifications from the unique biology of its people. It is also a tale of political intrigue and xenophobia. The plot is not all that complicated, but there are a couple of interesting twists. However, towards the beginning, Genly visits a hermitic sect of religious sages who have the ability to foretell the future, and learns how the story will basically end, so you really don’t have to do a lot of guessing.
That ends up to be a good thing, though, because it keeps you from thinking too much about the plot so that you’re free to focus on the beautiful way that LeGuin tells the story. Her descriptions are wonderful, and paint a very beautiful picture of the world and its culture. The focus of the book is not so much on the alien technology, or the history of the Ekumen or Winter, or even on Genly as a character, but on the culture of the Gethenians and how Genly interacts with them. In the end, he comes to feel closer to the alien culture than his own.
The concept of the Gethenian sexual cycle is fascinating, though I don’t necessarily agree with all of LeGuin’s conclusions. The way she describes it, it’s not obscene at all; in fact, she does a remarkably excellent job discussing sexuality in her work. Other pieces of Science Fiction tend to use sex and sexuality as a way to thrill or entertain the reader (or, failing that, the writer), and usually it ends up being puerile and shallow. But LeGuin approaches it entirely from a cultural perspective, to answer “what would a culture of people with this peculiar biological cycle look and feel like?” I found it mostly believable, though I disagreed with the idea that without a constant libido, mankind would not be very aggressive or innovative. However, that didn’t really take away much from reading her book.
I’d rate this book an eight out of ten. I loved the journeys that Genly went on, especially towards the end when he and one of the aliens traveled together across the frozen waste to escape to safety. The descriptions were wonderful and beautiful, and I could feel like I was making the journey myself. There isn’t a lot of action in this story, but it makes up for it in depth and in the very thorough conceptualization of this wonderfully alien culture.
Ok, so I haven’t written in the past two or three days in the story. I was going to write in the morning Wednesday, but I ended up sleeping in until just before class, and the rest of the day was extremely busy. Then, today, I was also going to write, but I ended up reading my scriptures in the morning (just got a new set), went to classes, did some readings for one of my classes, then had a meeting with the Quark leadership to plan for the semester, then did some work on the computer, then visited friends, went grocery shopping, and visited some Arabic friends (which went WAAAAAYYYYY late, I’m only just getting back having not finished my homework), and it’s nearly 3 am and of course I have no time to write. With classes starting and everything else, this is when things start to fall apart and I start finding it hard to meet my goals. What should I do? This is tough!
I moved back to Utah today. Got about two hours of sleep before leaving for the airport at 4:30 (I tried, but I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t sleep!), then basically slept, listened to podcasts, and talked with this lady from Tennessee all the way to SLC. Then, busy busy busy busy busy…holy cow! I’m pooped.
But I did get some writing in while I was in the airplane. And, surprise, surprise, it wasn’t on my novel. You see, last night, while I was writing on the novel, I had this idea for a story flash into my mind. It could make for a very good short story. I decided today to run with it.
The idea is this: what if there was a guy who could tell who was and wasn’t going to hell? And if this same person could give people a vision of hell? What would happen? How would individuals and society react to him? Would they accept him or reject him? And what if he wasn’t even a religious guy? Just because he knows about hell doesn’t mean that he knows anything about everything else. He could deduce some presuppositions to the existence of hell, but logic doesn’t translate into faith. What basically would be his story?
I started today by basically brainfarting on the subject. I put it in the first person and just started writing anything that the idea brought to mind. When I realized that I had to describe what hell looked like, it became a little bit tougher (and I’ll probably edit that section a lot), but mostly it just flowed out. However, the stuff that’s flowing out of my mind is DEFINITELY not anywhere close to a finished product. It doesn’t have a whole lot of structure, and where it does, it’s too lengthy. I’ll definitely have to cut it down. But that comes later. I figure it’s better to get it out now.
This is a lot different than Decision LZ150207 that I wrote a while ago. That story basically sprouted from my head fully formed. I’ve since edited the beginning quite a bit, and some of the descriptions, but the basic story hasn’t changed.
Also with Decision LZ150207, I had a great idea that I didn’t act on for a long time. It just sat in my brain and played itself over and over again until its demands to be written were greater than all of the other demands on my time. It was probably some of the least painful writing I’ve done, but that idea had a lot of time to die. It surprised me that it stayed alive.
What I’m wondering is this: if, in a flash of the mind, you get this idea that you think is really good for a story, is it better to focus on that idea right away, to at least start the story before the idea fades and is forgotten, or is it better to wait and not write until something just comes to you?
So…Freaking…Tired…my knee jerk reaction is to say that you should run with what you’ve got. And that’s why work on the novel is going to take the backseat until I figure out if the idea works or not.
So…tired…night!
One of the nice things about being at home is that I can go through all the old stuff that I didn’t take with me to college. You know, all that stuff from high school that got thrown into a box when I left on my mission and has been gathering dust for a few years.
As I was looking through the stuff, I found a bunch of little slips of paper and notes in various well-worn pocket sized notebooks. They contain little bits of philosophical thoughts and writing advice that I jotted down back when I was a high school freshman. THAT was a long time ago!
At first, I didn’t want to read it, but when I did, I found out that a lot of the stuff is actually pretty good. Here is some of it:
Before writing, one must know that one’s satisfaction in the writing comes not from external sources, such as popularity, acceptance by a publisher, or remarks made about the finished product. One’s satisfaction in one’s writing must come FROM the writing.
Perhaps we need stories so that we can look at things and treat them as suggestions instead of absolute truth; to read things as fiction may help us pull out the facts.
The essence of a question is not in the pursuit of its answer, but in the curiosity and imagination of the one who pursues the question.
It’s propositions and ideas that make up how we see and act, and imagination is the single most important faculty in conceptualizing [developing] these.
List of Wants and Desires:
You see all the ways things can go wrong. Now, broaden your vision and see all the ways things can go right.
How can you possibly doubt that which you understand not if the truth is what you seek for?
Either you know what you’re talking about, or you say it so easily that you end up finding out.
It seems that there must be some sort of law that says you can never know exactly why you do some of the things you do; the more light I shed on myself the more is hid in its shadow.
Cynicism never increases understanding.
Always leave something for the reader to “marvel at,” with every bit revealed. The last bit should capture the essence of virtue and humanity, and make a bold statement of them.
Never lose eagerness, never be discouraged, never be slave to perfection.
Don’t conclude; expose.
It can always be better, but better is relative.
Are you a writer or a critic? or even a cynic? Change! You can’t critique something that hasn’t been written. The best is not always perfect.
Here’s a funny one:
Sometimes in order to be able to “not do” you have to “do,” but you can’t do that which you must “do” if you’re “doing” that which you “must not do.”
“I don’t like half of you half as much as I should like…”
Moving on:
Don’t write about what you are unsure about, but make things flexible so that they may bend with the developing plan.
It’s much more important to make a mistake than to not. We learn from mistakes.
Do all to let creativity loose while you write; be relaxed and inventive!
In response to the quote: Everything in Fiction is False: If you can feel it, it exists.
Don’t be afraid of losing something you haven’t got yet, and you’ll be quite alright.
There you go. What happened to these little slips of paper, you may ask? Well, the next year, while I was right in the middle of the awkward teenage years, I got really self conscious about my writing, threw everything I’d been working on in eighth and ninth grade out the window (including two novels that had reached 100+ pages), stuffed all these little slips of paper into a folder somewhere and tried to forget about them. I haven’t read them ever since–until now.
It’s surprising to realize that they aren’t full of crap like I thought they were. Some of them are probably more accurate (or more well-written) than others, and there are some embarrassing ones that I didn’t put up here, but yeah, these ones aren’t all that bad.
Hope you liked them!
I wrote this a while ago on my other blog and thought I’d put it up here, since it’s pertinent to writing and fiction in general. It’s basically my thoughts on what science fiction is and what makes for good sci fi. Everyone’s personal definition of science fiction varies, and this is mine.
I originally wrote this in defense of a critique of Firefly I wrote that sparked a lot of controversy in many sci fi circles, so I’ll edit out the rebuttals and other stuff that doesn’t really pertain to the main point.
What Makes Good Science Fiction?
First of all, I think that good sci fi should have the qualities of good fiction in general. That is, it should be written well and be strong in the basic story elements, such as characterization, point of view, dialogue, etc. In particular, the story should have good conflict and character development.
I sometimes help out the people at The Leading Edge with their slushpile, and I’ll often read stories that are well written but just don’t have anything compelling or interesting about them. They basically seem to go like this: “stuff happens, the end.” The characters are flat and the conflict is boring. The story is forgettable, and it’s hard to find something in it that you can really care about. Usually, this can be fixed by developing the characters better and making sure that the reader can relate to both the characters and the conflict. This is important in any fiction.
Moving on to something that a lot of people find controversial, good science fiction (as well as good fiction in general) shouldn’t be obsessed with sex or treat sex as synonymous with love. In the last several decades, there’s been a deliberate and concerted effort in the mainstream American media to get society to abandon most of its traditional moral values concerning sexuality, and I’m personally in the camp that sees this as a bad thing.
Not that I think that fiction has to follow all my morals to be good; I’ve read some good sci fi that is also quite explicit (eg Veil of Ignorance by David Barr Kirtley). It has more to do with pushing the line for the sake of a social agenda, or pushing the sex just to get an arousal out of the readers. These kinds of stories seem to send the message that “true love = sex” and “anything is ok if you’re ‘in love.’ ” It’s not just that I disagree with these ideas on a moral basis, it’s that I think that they’re erroneous in the first place. Yes, you can have sex and love at the same time, and you can even have sincere love and extramarital sex at the same time (eg Braveheart), but you can also have strong romantic love without the sex (eg Cyrano de Bergerac) and sex that really isn’t about love at all, even between consenting adults.
Love, including romantic love, is really about much more than just the sex. To focus disproportionately on the sex while neglecting other aspects of the relationship lessens the quality of any fiction.
Now, to get onto the stuff that distinguishes science fiction from other genres, and specifically makes for good science fiction.
I’m more into the social sciences (eg political science) than the hard sciences, but the fundamental principles that guide both are the same. Science uses empirical methods to make generalizations about the universe we live in. It is a method of asking questions, advancing theories, conducting experiments, making observations, and, based on the observable implications of the experiments and observations, making applicable generalizations that help us to better understand our universe.
Good science fiction, whether it’s hard or soft, follows a similar pattern. It takes something that isn’t currently part of our world (maybe a technological advancement, contact with an alien race, or a significant event in the near or far future), explores the observable implications of that thing (maybe the technology leads to unforeseen social upheaval, or we end up going to war with the aliens), and through those observable implications helps us to better understand the real world which we do live in. The hard sci fi focuses more on scientific plausibility and accuracy, whereas the softer sci fi tends to focus more on the story itself, but both are basically the same in that they try to tell us something meaningful or interesting about the universe we live in.
It takes more than just a spaceship to turn a story into science fiction. In fact, a story can be science fiction and not have any spaceships in it at all. It can even take place entirely on Earth and still be excellent science fiction. One of my favorite pieces of science fiction is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and most people would categorize that as a romantic comedy, not science fiction.
I subscribe to the sci fi podcast Escape Pod, which produces excellent quality sci fi short stories every week, and I’ve listened to many excellent sci fi stories that don’t have the stereotypical spaceships or aliens in them. I would highly recommend Escape Pod to anyone interested in sci fi, and as an introduction to the genre for those who aren’t. In case you do like spaceships and aliens, don’t worry, they have lots of those too.
The first story I listened to was Shadowboxer by Paul Di Filippo, which was about a man who could kill people by looking at them. He was discovered by the government and used as a kind of hit man; they put him in a very comfortable but completely isolated hotel/prison, and gave him pictures of the people (mostly terrorists) that they wanted him to take out. If a man had the ability to kill people by looking at them, I could definitely see the government doing something like that. The government’s reaction to the man would be one of the observable implications. Eventually, the government gave him a picture which only later he recognized as the prime minister of a country allied with the US. Right after that, they gave the him a picture of the President and a mirror.
The message of the story was sort of a different angle on the old theme “power corrupts,” and one of the generalizations I took from the story was that humans and human organizations can’t responsibly handle the power to kill whomever they desire. Other people may take different generalizations; just as the scientific method is as objective as possible, the writer of sci fi lets the reader come to his/her own conclusions, rather than spoon feed a message.
Ursula LeGuin, in an excellent introduction she wrote to The Left Hand of Darkness, made the point that science fiction is not so much about predicting the future as it is about conducting a thought experiment. In a thought experiment, you basically say “what if?” and trace what happens as a result of the way that you’ve set things up. At the same time, science fiction is fiction; it’s not rigorous like science, and it shouldn’t have to be. I don’t believe the science fiction I read in the same way that I believe in science, but I do believe in it the same way that I believe in art or in other fiction. Basically, I don’t believe in science fiction literally; I look to it as a sort of mirror in which I can better understand things that are in the world around me. If the story doesn’t operationalize everything, or is written more for entertainment value, that’s fine. It’s just that science fiction, to be good, should still explore meaningful questions about the universe on some level.
The best sci fi goes beyond many of the outward manifestations of this world and gets right to the heart of the patterns, laws, and systems that determine how the universe works. There are patterns of truth all over the place, but we usually don’t see them because the stuff on surface obscures them. Have you ever noticed how cirrus clouds make the same pattern as ridges of sand on the ocean just behind the line where the waves break? Or that piles of snow on the side of the road start to look like miniature mountains after they’ve melted for a couple of days? I might not be entirely correct to say this, but I think that the two different systems demonstrate similar patterns. In the same way, there are patterns in the ways that we as humans interact with each other. Recognizing and understanding those patterns can lead to some of the most fascinating personal discoveries. The reason that I thought Ender’s Game was such an excellent piece of sci fi was that it helped me get right to the heart of these patterns and begin to understand them.
This is what really attracts me to sci fi; the fact that it really gets me thinking, or really gets my imagination to start working (since, as LeGuin pointed out, truth is a matter of the imagination). I think that good sci fi should not only feature sci fi elements, such as spaceships or space travel technology, but that it should explore the implications of these things in such a way that they’re meaningful and interesting to us as 21st century Earthlings. That is, for me, what distinguishes science fiction from any other genre, and good science fiction from weak science fiction.