The "scene" is, once complete and wholly integrated into the story, an invisible unit, with nicely blurred edges. You can't learn scene structure just by reading completed stories, novels or screenplays.
It is especially hard to learn scene structure from very well written stories. The scene "edge" is not always or only where the camera cuts to a different location.
This was brought to my attention recently when I read a very good story that had major scene-structure problems. This novel would be a candidate for mass market paperback distribution if that scene structure problem were solved. As it is, it's winning prizes in self-publishing, indie, and small press venues.
But I don't know what to say to this author. There's so much RIGHT with this novel, but the scenes FAIL.
I've been trying to remember (with little success) when and where I learned scene structure, how to fix a failed scene, how to avoid failing to begin with, and how to teach these skills.
Blake Snyder's SAVE THE CAT! and SAVE THE CAT! GOES TO THE MOVIES provide serious clues about "Primal" storytelling and accessibility that would make sense even to a "caveman" (no offense). Follow Blake's blog at http://www.blakesnyder.com/
Here's how I put the whole "what's a scene" problem together after reading Blake's books on screenwriting.
Let's start with an analog of the story constructing process.
The hot desert sun of July edges the distant horizon, rising steadily into a cloudless sky. Night puddles behind bright outlines etched against the desert.
A pile of cinder blocks in an empty lot with a tarp casually thrown over the top grows a long shadow.
An old truck full of workmen with dirty, hard-used tools in the back drifts to a lazy stop before the pile of blocks. One guy gets out and unrolls a huge paper onto the hood of the truck, squints at the blocks, at his paper, and nods.
Then a cement truck pulls up.
Before sundown, low walls have grown up in the desert outlining a building where there had been nothing.
Now, weeks later, there's a whole building with an inside and outside, windows and doors, even a roof. But the cinder block walls are bare, the mortar outlining the cracks, starkly visible.
Go into the living room. Bare cinder block walls, raw cement floor.
It's going to be a place where characters live. But right now you can see every structural element including the plumbing, electric conduits, fiberoptic cables, telephone lines, even rebar hanging out in spots.
It's easy to see what this thing is and how it was created.
Now along comes the plasterer and puts up chicken wire, insulation, then smears gooey stuff all over, then comes the guy with the textured towel and makes ridges and bumps in a low-relief pattern, and then the painter with lovely colors.
Then comes the inhabitants of the house to make it a home, and they add light fixtures, drapes and curtains, pictures, and macrame hangings, carpets and deep chairs, mirrors, TV-game console, magazine rack, umbrella stand.
That completed room is a novel or screenplay. It contains the characters.
You watch the characters go through the antics of their lives, but you aren't aware of the CINDER BLOCKS hidden inside the WALLS.
Without those cinder blocks, there would be no antics.
Those cinder blocks are the SCENES.
A good, well structured scene is held to other scenes by "rebar" -- the metal rods that hold cinder-block construction together (in earthquake prone areas rebar is code because without it the wall will fall down if shaken).
You can hammer away at a well constructed story and never find the scene seams.
To understand how the building that showcases your characters is made, you need to see it "under construction."
And that's why it is so very helpful to read books or manuscripts that just don't quite measure up -- that have something "wrong" with them. You can see the raw construction hanging out.
This is a hard point for many writers to grasp.
Every scene in your novel or screenplay HAS THE SAME IDENTICAL STRUCTURE.
There is a thing called 'THE SCENE' -- and that's all it is, a cinder block.
It's virtue and usefulness lies in the fact that it is identical to all other scenes.
Now, we know how a standard cinder block is constructed, with holes in a nice rectangle. (yes, they come thin, with patterns, and so on, but those are other things made out of the same material, not what you build walls out of).
We also know that from these rectangles, you can build a huge variety of shapes and sizes of buildings or architectural elements like garden walls.
They're all the same, but you can make a thousand different shapes out of them.
That's the quality of a well structured scene.
So what is the standard "scene" shape?
1. Like an entire story, it has a BEGINNING, a MIDDLE, and an END. Each of these points has a clear, defining formula for what it must contain.
2. Like an entire story, it clearly demonstrates the characters ARCing, or changing in a way that can be identified and verbalized. In screenwriting, this is designated by a + or - sign for the increase or decrease in emotional TENSION that the scene produces.
3. Like an entire story, the scene must ADVANCE THE PLOT. At least ONE PLOT MOVING EVENT must transpire. One of the classic 6-things-that-have-to-be-fixed must move toward being fixed.
4. Like an entire story, the scene must ADVANCE THE STORY. Something has to happen (be learned, be said, be extracted from evidence or testified to) that changes what life means to the main character in the scene.
5. Like an entire story, THE ESSENCE OF SCENE IS CONFLICT + RESOLUTION
6. We'll get to this last item at the end because you really won't like it and I want to run for cover before you throw this all back at me.
I've never seen that list anywhere that I can remember. I just made it up from bits and pieces I've learned here and there, so I may have left out something really important.
But for sure, count on it, every item on that list is absolutely essential in order to have a "scene" at all.
When I see a scene that violates one of those essential parameters, I generally don't bother to finish the book (there are exceptions).
In art, there are always exceptions. In highly commercial art exceptions are extremely rare and if successful usually start whole new genres. (Urban Fantasy; Cyberpunk; Acid Rock -- all started as "exceptions." But remember that the BEETLES had a grounding in classical music and that was their key to success.)
Also note that each of these 5 essential elements of a scene is not at all specific to any genre, story format, delivery medium, style, or historical period.
All cinder blocks are identical, and that's the property that makes them useful.
----------------
So to analysis.
Every scene must start with a Narrative Hook (just like any novel must)
The Mid-Point of the scene must (in Blake Snyder's words) RAISE THE STAKES, just as the mid-point of a screenplay or novel must.
The middle point of the scene must be as pivotal as the mid-point of the whole story. The EXACT MIDDLE (by word-count) must be the point where SOMETHING CHANGES.
The END of a Scene must be a cliff-hanger matching the Narrative Hook that started it and planting a set-up or foreshadowing of what will happen at the beginning of the next scene.
MUST-MUST-MUST
Like as if I were artificially forcing this exact and unvarying structure upon all hapless beginners.
No, far from it.
These are not artificial rules imposed on story structure by some all-powerful gatekeeper publisher.
These rules have been discovered by trial and error since the first caveman tried to hold the attention of his terrified kids and tribesmen during a thunder storm. HOLD THE ATTENTION -- that's the key, and it is (as Blake Snyder keeps saying) PRIMAL.
This BEGINNING - MIDDLE - END structure of a scene is like the square corners of building blocks. It has to be that way to be able to join together with the other scenes and hold the whole structure up.
2. ARC -- characters must somehow act, interact with each other or the environment, and react during a scene. The character's attention focus, emotional pitch (from complacency to terror is one example) or maybe relationship to other characters must CHANGE. That change must be CAUSED BY CONFLICT TUMBLING TOWARD A RESOLUTION.
Characters don't just jump up and fulminate for no reason. As in the whole story's structure, characters have internal conflicts that they project into their external environment (just like real people).
3. The plot is the sequence of events that happen in the story. The first event happens. The next thing happens because the first thing happened. And onwards to the last thing that happens, which happens because the first thing happened in an unbroken line of consequences.
In really sophisticated fiction, it can sometimes be hard to see the connecting links between events. The harder it is to see the connections, the smaller the potential audience and the less those people will actually talk about and recommend this story.
Each scene must contain a PLOT EVENT that connects the beginning scene to the ending scene.
It doesn't have to be a straight line, but the straighter the line of cause and effect the bigger the audience.
4. EACH SCENE starts with a narrative hook that pulls the reader/viewer into a CONFLICT, a sub-sub-conflict of the over-arching conflict the story is hurtling on to resolve. WITHIN THE SCENE the conflict of the whole story must advance THROUGH the mini-conflict of this scene.
The END OF the scene resolves the scene's conflict and hands the momentum on to the next scene.
The "cliffhanger" is a good model, though not as widely known as it was in the days when every feature film in a theater was accompanied by two or more "serials" -- Buck Rogers comes to mind. Each serial installment would end with a (sometimes literal) cliff hanger.
The new STAR TREK movie played on that motif graphically with people falling off the edges of things and hanging by one arm for a while.
Living On The Edge might have been the theme of that new STAR TREK MOVIE.
The NEXT SCENE starts with the character inching back up off the edge of the cliff and going on with the story.
It is that gasping TENSION the pure anticipation of disaster, or of the mere fact that SOMETHING must "happen next" that makes the final line or image of a scene.
The END of a scene must IMPLY action, not deliver it.
The Narrative Hook has to promise that something will happen. The Ending has to have it actually happen (fall off the cliff), but promise that SOMETHING ELSE will "happen next" -- i.e. either fall all the way or get pulled back by a friend, or muscle back up, or "with a mighty leap" solve the problem.
When there's nothing that can "happen next" that originated in the beginning of the story -- then you're at the end and you better stop writing scenes.
5. THE ESSENCE OF SCENE IS CONFLICT
That's the biggie and the one that divides the professional from the amateur.
This is where the size of the potential market for a story is determined.
You can "get away with" including whole scenes that do nothing but convey exposition, set the atmosphere, characterize the characters, fill in back story, lend artistic resonance, or describe the location.
But every time you do that, you narrow your potential audience, and you shed readers you did hook because they get bored.
You will be left only with readers who already are interested in your characters, backstory, history, artistic lyricism, gorgeous flowing prose.
If that reader happens to be an editor with money to invest, you could sell this thing. But will the reviewers be able to get through it?
That's not to say that this shapeless fluff of exposition, backstory, character depth, words for the sake of pure art, or location for the sake of strange-places is not the SUM AND SUBSTANCE of what you have to sell.
Atmosphere, style, ambiance, rich detail -- all that is what readers actually read FOR.
But all those nebulous things are the cement and gravel out of which your cinder blocks are made, and sometimes ingredients in the mortar that holds the whole story-structure together.
They are ingredients, shapeless in themselves and useless for story telling until you add that personal element (like water for the cinder blocks) and bake them to structural hardness just like cinder blocks. Mix and pour your ingredients into a mold, bake them good and hard, and you will have a scene.
The 5 item list I've sketched here describe the shape of that mold.
That mold is the same shape for every scene. The ingredients sometimes differ a little, just as some cinder blocks have a higher quality than others, some tend to crumble around the corners, some have a rougher texture than others.
And like cinderblocks, some have a Lacy pattern and are thin, just for decorative purposes (poems, epigraphs, vignettes, episodes, even COMMERCIALS).
Your completed story is like the wall of that room we started with. Once you get done painting the texturized plaster, nobody but another writer will know that the wall stands up so nice and vertical because it's made of many identical blocks.
So, now you're ready to write an actual scene, to practice putting those 5 requirements together all in one scene. You think walking and chewing gum is hard, just wait until you try writing a scene that fits all these requirements. Pat your head and rub your tummy at the same time while skipping rope!
But you're ready to try it now -- so the first thing you will think to ask yourself (if you're a professional writer) is, "Well, how LONG does this have to be?"
So we come to that dreaded #6 on this list of parameters that govern scene structure.
Every fiction market has a specific preferred length for the whole story.
6. Scene Size
That length is governed by the parameters of the marketing process. The length of books is governed by the cost of a signature. A signature is that folded sheaf of papers they glue together at the binding to make a book. If you go ONE WORD over the end of the final signature, it costs the price of an ENTIRE SIGNATURE to include that one word.
Hence writers learn the discipline of "right sizing" their work.
I discussed the practical marketing problems for fiction in several posts including this one:
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/05/marketing-fiction-in-changing-world.html
Words are elastic. You can say the same thing in less space by choosing synonyms that are shorter (Anglo-Saxon origin rather than Latin), by restructuring sentences with fewer modals, and there are myriad tricks for shortening (or lengthening) text to fit the signatures.
Another sizing trick is to choose shorter names for characters you mention a lot -- or nickname them. Saves tons of trees if you're in print media.
E-books don't have that problem, but there is a "handy" number of K's for an e-book that sells better than longer ones or shorter ones.
So if your genre dictates a total, overall length to aim for, what size should your scenes be? All the genres are different lengths, right? So the scenes should be different lengths, too?
Think hard about this.
What is the main purpose of a scene?
I don't mean "to advance the plot" -- though that is a purpose every scene must achieve.
But why must a scene advance the plot? What's the purpose of an ironclad requirement to include a plot-advance in every scene?
A scene does not have to fill backstory, create atmosphere, explain character motives, or lay clues to the mystery. You don't have to include exposition in every scene, explaining the politics the characters are embedded within. But you MAY do any or all of those in any given scene.
What is the purpose of having SCENES? Why not one long flowing narrative?
And what has that purpose to do with figuring out the length a scene has to be, the size of your cinder blocks?
Look at that wall again. Do different walls of different heights and lengths have different size cinder blocks in them? How versatile that one common size structural element, the cinder block!!!
We know the purpose of the cinder block. It's rectangular because that makes it strong. It's actually 2 squares stuck together. It has holes to make it light. The holes are all in the same place in each block so you can thread the blocks onto rebar, then pour cement down and solidify that wall so it won't fall on you if the earth quakes.
The purpose of a cinder block is clear from it's STRUCTURE.
So what's the purpose of breaking your narrative into scenes?
Here's a clue. The purpose of a scene is the same as the purpose of a commercial on TV.
That's right: a) grab attention, b) hold attention, c) deliver a message, d) make the viewer remember that message (only the part you want them to remember).
Look at our list of 5 essential ingredients in a scene again.
Narrative Hook (grabber), Character Arc (holder), Advance Plot and Story (deliver message), cliff hanger ending (seat that message good and hard - make them want the next message).
The purpose of having scenes at all is to a) GRAB ATTENTION and b) HOLD ATTENTION, then TEACH SOMETHING, and MAKE THEM REMEMBER IT AND WANT MORE.
Who is "them?"
Human beings.
So scene length has a purpose founded in the essence of human behavior.
There are parameters that describe the fundamental essence of human attention in terms of the nervous system, and the brain.
If your fiction is to "entertain" (i.e. grab attention of) human beings you must work within the parameters of the human attention span.
And that's pretty elastic, actually. It's different for different people at different ages and from different cultures, or in different nervous states (a person about to get married isn't going to sit still for tedium).
So, since caveman days, we have developed a kind of average or median, an artistic estimation of attention span.
Lately, that has been encoded into some very commercial ventures (Sesame Street comes to mind - founded on the idea that you'll get more information across to children if you use the attention span of the child at the age when they want to learn this particular fact.)
The film industry invests millions upon millions to make a film. Making their money back plus a profit depends on holding audience attention. Major amounts of scientific research (but also mostly trial and error) has gone into determining how long a scene should be in order not to lose the audience's attention.
Lose attention in scene 3 and scene 5 won't impress this audience. Lose my attention in scene 3 and you aren't going to get a review from me. Lose your editor's (or producer's) attention in scene 3 and you did all that work for nothing.
Likewise, way back in the 1940's, as films were really taking off as a preferred entertainment vehicle, WRITERS figured out how to emulate that scene length that is most likely to hold the attention of the most people.
What is that secret scene length?
Oh, you are going to hate me. Boy are you gonna hate me for this one.
You see, all 5 of the ingredients I've mentioned above are actually pretty easy to do -- but they are nigh to impossible to accomplish within this attention-span determined limit.
And since your attention span (being as how you are either a writer or an inveterate and eclectic reader or I would have lost your attention before this) is likely much longer than the average person's, you won't believe me either.
And if it's not true, why do it -- because it's hard.
SCENES MUST BE SHORT DURATION
But how short must a scene be?
This is what I learned directly from A. E. Van Vogt
when I was in (on paper) correspondence with him (and I've since lost those historic letters).
A narrative scene must be NO MORE THAN 750 words.
That's about 3 manuscript pages.
A screenplay scene must be NO MORE THAN 3 pages.
Isn't that an odd coincidence?
The narrative scene is "3 pages" because when you create manuscript for a publisher, the "page" should be set up with margins and line spacing so that it has a 60 character line and 25 lines per page, which gives you a "page" of 250 "words." And it supplies enough room for editing and copyediting and book designing squiggles in the margins and between lines. Your WORDS aren't all that will ultimately be on your "page."
OK, today, with electronic files, it's not quite like that, but that's where the 3-page limit on a scene came FROM.
Also remember that way back, publishing only used the "fixed font" because that's all a typewriter could do - but also because the spaces between the letters has to be FIXED in order for length to be determined by the book designer. (figuring the printed length is called doing a "cast off.")
Screenplays must even today be submitted in COURIER, a fixed-font, for exactly that reason. RUN TIME can be determined as 1 minute per page if the page is in FIXED FONT.
So why 3 pages of narrative = 3 pages of script that is mostly white space?
A "word" in publishing isn't a grammatical unit. The word "a" is a single character plus the space after it (right, spaces count as characters).
But if you have a 100,000 word manuscript, in English, on average your words are "6 characters" -- or a printer's word, not a grammatical unit.
The purpose of all this old typewriter driven calculation is simple.
The editor has to be able to look at the final page number of the manuscript and KNOW instantly what the cover price has to be if they buy this manuscript. Then reading the first page, the middle page, and the final page, the experienced editor can tell whether the company can make a profit selling this book by estimating the size of the book's potential market.
It all has to do with "signatures" as noted above. If the editor knows they are dealing with a seasoned professional writer, and the MS seems too long for current pricing -- they KNOW they can depend on that writer to shrink the manuscript to the "right size" in a jiffy and without argument by subtracting SCENES.
Likewise if the manuscript is too short. A professional writer can "right size" it up without "padding" by adding SCENES.
Because the manuscript was constructed of SCENES, the writer who knows which holes the rebar went through can pull out a scene and move essential information to another scene, or pull out information from a scene and create another scene to convey that information.
An amateur writing on pure inspiration would be stumped by this rewrite order and it would take more than a weekend to achieve the adjustment. And then the result would introduce incoherencies into the story line.
Your reputation and your next contract depend on being able to do these things FAST.
You achieve that by making your original construction out of well constructed scenes.
So why do 3 pages of narrative = 3 pages of script?
TIME.
That's what they have in common.
An average reader will cover about 250 words a minute (1 page) overall when fully engaged.
Fast readers can top 800, and slow ones might be more like 100 words a minute. But a real person reading VARIES speed according to the kind of material -- so on average over a 450 page novel, it'll come out to about 250 words a minute (maybe including interruptions like phone calls and the baby crying).
A good director will bring in a film at about 3 minutes per scene -- some a little longer to fondle a beautiful moment, some a little shorter to "get on with it." But about 1 minute per manuscript page is the average over a 110 page screenplay.
Commercials have shrunk to 15 seconds. Twitter is 140 characters (which most readers can grab without actually "reading" each word).
Multi-tasking is the core training of our 3 year olds.
ATTENTION SPAN IS SHRINKING IN THIS CULTURE.
If your writing can hold attention for 3 whole minutes to convey a scene, you are really REALLY good!
So now I'll duck and run for cover. 5 elements in 3 minutes -- that's miraculous! But you gotta do it.
I will post this lesson on http://editingcircle.blogspot.com in a couple of weeks and you can post your scene attempts as comments and get commentary.
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
World Building For Writers, Or Why Everyone in the Galaxy doesn't Speak English
(Lecture #1 from a class I taught in 2008)
Lesson One: Building Your World Where Everyone Definitely Does Not Speak English (even if they do…)
There’s a misconception out there in the galaxy and I want to correct it. The misconception is that world building is only for science fiction and fantasy writers. See, you thought I was going to say it was that everyone speaks English. Thanks for reading the title, but that’s not the misconception I’m going to start with. It’s that world building is a sci fi geek’s playground.
It is. But it’s also yours, no matter what genre you flail around in.
“But I write chick-lit,” you wail as you flail. “And she writes police procedurals. And he writes horror set in Chicago.”
“I don’t care,” sez Linnea. “If you write commercial genre fiction, you need to pay attention to world building.”
And the reason you need to pay attention to world building is because writing guru Dwight V. Swain ::Linnea genuflects:: said we need to. And he’s right. (If you’re not familiar with Swain, you should be. His Techniques of the Selling Writer, first published around 1965, is dang near the bible for most of the published authors I know.)
The reason every fiction writer needs to pay attention to world building is because every fiction piece is set in a “story world” and that story world—even if it is based on a real place—is still being interpreted through the characters’/author’s eyes.
Let’s take West Long Branch, NJ. Never been there? I was born and raised there. It’s a sleepy little town a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean just where the state of New Jersey dinks in. I know it really well but I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that the way I knew West Long Branch isn’t exactly the same as the way my best friend Claudia knew it. For one thing, I was an only child of financially comfortable parents. Claudia was the middle child in a divorced family. She was about a year younger than I was, and was a grade behind. Her heritage was Italian. Mine was Polish.
The reality is that even though we lived across the street from each other for almost twenty years, how she processed her experiences were different than the way I did. She had to deal with parental discord, as her mother usually pulled some stunt every time Claudia’s father came for visitation. I never experienced that—I watched it as it happened to Claudia but the emotional impact wasn’t mine. However, I had parents who owned a business. I was a “latchkey kid.” Claudia’s mother was always home.
So my experiences of my “world”—West Long Branch, circa 1965—were affected by my background, family and heritage, just as Claudia’s were. Loud voices in her house were common (she had a larger family that included two brothers and her parents were often fighting). Loud voices in my house would signal something unusual. I didn’t like to watch monster movies because I was often alone at home. Monster movies never bothered her because she had the company of her brothers. Thunderstorms, honking horns, the love or hate of going to school differed between us. Yet we grew up across the street from each other, breathing the same air, drinking the same water.
Which brings me to what Swain teaches about a story world:
a. Your reader has never been there.
b. It’s a sensory world.
c. It’s a subjective world.
It is critical you understand these three points as you world build. Even if your reader has been to that exact town or city, the reader has never been there INSIDE YOUR CHARACTER’S SKIN. Your reader may be a Claudia and the character is a Linnea. Or the other way around. The key here is that your character(s) bring their own unique viewpoint and interpretations into every locale, setting, scene, place, planet, space station, level of hell, heavenly cloud or whatever—and that character’s viewpoint will literally color the scene.
If you write it well.
If you cheap out and go for generic Manhattan or generic West Long Branch or generic Rigel IV, then you’re failing in your duty as a writer and a world builder.
Remember that no matter where you place your story, the reader has never been there, it’s a sensory world and it’s a subjective world. You need to use those three parameters for every book, every locale, every world you build.
For even if you’re a triple PhD scientist and you can describe in minute and excruciating detail the geo-thermodynamics of a particular distant star…it don’t amount to a hill of beans (to the reader) until that particular distant star is SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHARACTER. And the character has some opinion—some reaction, some response, some interpretation—of that star. Or of that city. Or of that office. Or of that castle dungeon.
Good world building is not just an accurate travelogue or detailed list of the flora and fauna. Those kinds of things—while necessary—are static and impotent until your drop your character(s) into the story.
Your character makes your world come alive. Your reader sees the world through your character’s eyes, hears its sounds through your character’s ears, deems a thunderstorm or ion storm good or bad through your character’s opinions and experiences.
Your character also influences how the story world is experienced in the sense that a twelve-year old’s take on Manhattan would not be the same as a forty-three year old’s. A twelve-year old might marvel at all the sounds and the lights and the cars. A forty-three year old might see another goddamned gridlock.
Unless the forty-three year old was a forty-three year old Amish farmer.
Ah, see the difference?
Your story world is a subjective world.
Linnea’s first key to great world building is personalization.
Linnea’s second key is Dwight V. Swain’s item b: it’s a sensory world. But that should come naturally when you’re immersed in character.
For all my time being alone as a child, for all my fears of monster movies, I love thunderstorms. I find them invigorating. I know they terrify a lot of children (and dogs).
One’s man trash is another man’s treasure. When we get to the sensory aspect of world building, it’s the stench of the trash and the glitter of the treasure the reader wants to experience. The easiest way, the very best of bestest ways to bring a reader into whatever world is your story world is through the senses. What does the space station Cirrus One SMELL like? What does your character HEAR on the streets of Manhattan at three in the afternoon? At three in the morning? What does the sand FEEL like under your character’s bare feet as she trudges down the beach towards the dead body? The sand in St. Petersburg, FL—so soft and fine it’s referred to as “sugar sand”—is different than the blacker, grittier sand on the Atlantic beaches of Ft. Lauderdale.
If your character grew up in St. Pete, she might not give much thought to the sugar sands there. She’s used to it. However, if she grew up on the Jersey Shore (like I did), she’d notice the difference immediately.
You cannot separate world building and character building. IMHO.
And it’s through character that you reveal your story world.
In the opening scene of THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES, I have my female protagonist, Commander Jorie Mikkalah, find herself in an unfamiliar world. No big deal for Jorie. She’s an intergalactic hunter. She constantly finds herself on strange worlds. But ah, this strange world is Bahia Vista (ie: St. Pete), Florida. USA. Earth.
So familiar to me, author. So unfamiliar to Jorie, character.
In ZOMBIE BLUES I had to erase everything I knew about a town I’d lived in for over ten years. And I had to see it, fresh and unfamiliar, through Jorie’s jaded eyes. I’m adding some snippets here, snippets I spent some time on as I built JORIE’S world out of my own. Do you recognize things that are commonplace—to you—and foreign to my intergalactic heroine?
Chapter 1
Another dark, humid, stinking alley. Another nil-tech planet. What a surprise.
Commander Jorie Mikkalah cataloged her surroundings as she absently rubbed her bare arm. Needle pricks danced across her skin. Only her vision was unaffected by the dispersing and reassembling of her molecules courtesy of the Personnel Matter Transporter—her means of arrival in the alley moments before.
The ocular over her right eye eradicated the alley’s murky gloom, enhancing the moonlight so she could clearly see the shards of broken glass and small rusted metal cylinders strewn across the hard surface under her and her team’s boots.
Another dark, humid, stinking, filthy alley. Jorie amended her initial appraisal of her location as a breeze filtered past, sending one of the metal cylinders tumbling, clanking hollowly.
She checked her scanner even though no alarm had sounded. But it would take a few more seconds yet for her body to adjust to the aftereffects of the PMaT and for her equilibrium to segue from the lighter gravity of an intergalactic battle cruiser to the heavier gravity of a Class-F5 world. It wouldn’t do to fall flat on her face trying to defend her team if a zombie appeared.
She swiveled toward them. “You two all right?”
Tamlynne Herryck’s sharp features relaxed under her short cap of dark red curls. “Fine, sir.”
Low mechanical rumblings echoed behind Jorie. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder, saw nothing threatening at the alleyway opening. Only the expected metallic land vehicles, lighted front and aft, moving slowly past.
Herryck was scrubbing at her face with the side of her hand when Jorie turned back. The ever-efficient lieutenant had been under Jorie’s command for four years; she knew how to work through the PMaT experience.
Ensign Jacare Trenat, however, was as green as liaso hedges and looked more than a bit dazed from the transit. ….[snip]….
“Transportation.” Herryck thumbed down Danjay’s data on her scanner screen. “Land vehicles powered by combustion engines. Fossil petroleum fueled. Local term is car.”
Jorie had read the reports. No personal air transits—at least, not for internal city use. Damned nil-techs. A four-seater gravripper would be very convenient right now. She resumed her trek toward the alley’s entrance, waving her team to follow. “Let’s go find one of those cars.”
“City population is less than three hundred thousand humans,” Herryck dutifully read as she came up behind Jorie. “The surrounding region contains approximately one million.”
…[snip]…
It is. But it’s also yours, no matter what genre you flail around in.
“But I write chick-lit,” you wail as you flail. “And she writes police procedurals. And he writes horror set in Chicago.”
“I don’t care,” sez Linnea. “If you write commercial genre fiction, you need to pay attention to world building.”
And the reason you need to pay attention to world building is because writing guru Dwight V. Swain ::Linnea genuflects:: said we need to. And he’s right. (If you’re not familiar with Swain, you should be. His Techniques of the Selling Writer, first published around 1965, is dang near the bible for most of the published authors I know.)
The reason every fiction writer needs to pay attention to world building is because every fiction piece is set in a “story world” and that story world—even if it is based on a real place—is still being interpreted through the characters’/author’s eyes.
Let’s take West Long Branch, NJ. Never been there? I was born and raised there. It’s a sleepy little town a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean just where the state of New Jersey dinks in. I know it really well but I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that the way I knew West Long Branch isn’t exactly the same as the way my best friend Claudia knew it. For one thing, I was an only child of financially comfortable parents. Claudia was the middle child in a divorced family. She was about a year younger than I was, and was a grade behind. Her heritage was Italian. Mine was Polish.
The reality is that even though we lived across the street from each other for almost twenty years, how she processed her experiences were different than the way I did. She had to deal with parental discord, as her mother usually pulled some stunt every time Claudia’s father came for visitation. I never experienced that—I watched it as it happened to Claudia but the emotional impact wasn’t mine. However, I had parents who owned a business. I was a “latchkey kid.” Claudia’s mother was always home.
So my experiences of my “world”—West Long Branch, circa 1965—were affected by my background, family and heritage, just as Claudia’s were. Loud voices in her house were common (she had a larger family that included two brothers and her parents were often fighting). Loud voices in my house would signal something unusual. I didn’t like to watch monster movies because I was often alone at home. Monster movies never bothered her because she had the company of her brothers. Thunderstorms, honking horns, the love or hate of going to school differed between us. Yet we grew up across the street from each other, breathing the same air, drinking the same water.
Which brings me to what Swain teaches about a story world:
a. Your reader has never been there.
b. It’s a sensory world.
c. It’s a subjective world.
It is critical you understand these three points as you world build. Even if your reader has been to that exact town or city, the reader has never been there INSIDE YOUR CHARACTER’S SKIN. Your reader may be a Claudia and the character is a Linnea. Or the other way around. The key here is that your character(s) bring their own unique viewpoint and interpretations into every locale, setting, scene, place, planet, space station, level of hell, heavenly cloud or whatever—and that character’s viewpoint will literally color the scene.
If you write it well.
If you cheap out and go for generic Manhattan or generic West Long Branch or generic Rigel IV, then you’re failing in your duty as a writer and a world builder.
Remember that no matter where you place your story, the reader has never been there, it’s a sensory world and it’s a subjective world. You need to use those three parameters for every book, every locale, every world you build.
For even if you’re a triple PhD scientist and you can describe in minute and excruciating detail the geo-thermodynamics of a particular distant star…it don’t amount to a hill of beans (to the reader) until that particular distant star is SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHARACTER. And the character has some opinion—some reaction, some response, some interpretation—of that star. Or of that city. Or of that office. Or of that castle dungeon.
Good world building is not just an accurate travelogue or detailed list of the flora and fauna. Those kinds of things—while necessary—are static and impotent until your drop your character(s) into the story.
Your character makes your world come alive. Your reader sees the world through your character’s eyes, hears its sounds through your character’s ears, deems a thunderstorm or ion storm good or bad through your character’s opinions and experiences.
Your character also influences how the story world is experienced in the sense that a twelve-year old’s take on Manhattan would not be the same as a forty-three year old’s. A twelve-year old might marvel at all the sounds and the lights and the cars. A forty-three year old might see another goddamned gridlock.
Unless the forty-three year old was a forty-three year old Amish farmer.
Ah, see the difference?
Your story world is a subjective world.
Linnea’s first key to great world building is personalization.
Linnea’s second key is Dwight V. Swain’s item b: it’s a sensory world. But that should come naturally when you’re immersed in character.
For all my time being alone as a child, for all my fears of monster movies, I love thunderstorms. I find them invigorating. I know they terrify a lot of children (and dogs).
One’s man trash is another man’s treasure. When we get to the sensory aspect of world building, it’s the stench of the trash and the glitter of the treasure the reader wants to experience. The easiest way, the very best of bestest ways to bring a reader into whatever world is your story world is through the senses. What does the space station Cirrus One SMELL like? What does your character HEAR on the streets of Manhattan at three in the afternoon? At three in the morning? What does the sand FEEL like under your character’s bare feet as she trudges down the beach towards the dead body? The sand in St. Petersburg, FL—so soft and fine it’s referred to as “sugar sand”—is different than the blacker, grittier sand on the Atlantic beaches of Ft. Lauderdale.
If your character grew up in St. Pete, she might not give much thought to the sugar sands there. She’s used to it. However, if she grew up on the Jersey Shore (like I did), she’d notice the difference immediately.
You cannot separate world building and character building. IMHO.
And it’s through character that you reveal your story world.
In the opening scene of THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES, I have my female protagonist, Commander Jorie Mikkalah, find herself in an unfamiliar world. No big deal for Jorie. She’s an intergalactic hunter. She constantly finds herself on strange worlds. But ah, this strange world is Bahia Vista (ie: St. Pete), Florida. USA. Earth.
So familiar to me, author. So unfamiliar to Jorie, character.
In ZOMBIE BLUES I had to erase everything I knew about a town I’d lived in for over ten years. And I had to see it, fresh and unfamiliar, through Jorie’s jaded eyes. I’m adding some snippets here, snippets I spent some time on as I built JORIE’S world out of my own. Do you recognize things that are commonplace—to you—and foreign to my intergalactic heroine?
Chapter 1
Another dark, humid, stinking alley. Another nil-tech planet. What a surprise.
Commander Jorie Mikkalah cataloged her surroundings as she absently rubbed her bare arm. Needle pricks danced across her skin. Only her vision was unaffected by the dispersing and reassembling of her molecules courtesy of the Personnel Matter Transporter—her means of arrival in the alley moments before.
The ocular over her right eye eradicated the alley’s murky gloom, enhancing the moonlight so she could clearly see the shards of broken glass and small rusted metal cylinders strewn across the hard surface under her and her team’s boots.
Another dark, humid, stinking, filthy alley. Jorie amended her initial appraisal of her location as a breeze filtered past, sending one of the metal cylinders tumbling, clanking hollowly.
She checked her scanner even though no alarm had sounded. But it would take a few more seconds yet for her body to adjust to the aftereffects of the PMaT and for her equilibrium to segue from the lighter gravity of an intergalactic battle cruiser to the heavier gravity of a Class-F5 world. It wouldn’t do to fall flat on her face trying to defend her team if a zombie appeared.
She swiveled toward them. “You two all right?”
Tamlynne Herryck’s sharp features relaxed under her short cap of dark red curls. “Fine, sir.”
Low mechanical rumblings echoed behind Jorie. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder, saw nothing threatening at the alleyway opening. Only the expected metallic land vehicles, lighted front and aft, moving slowly past.
Herryck was scrubbing at her face with the side of her hand when Jorie turned back. The ever-efficient lieutenant had been under Jorie’s command for four years; she knew how to work through the PMaT experience.
Ensign Jacare Trenat, however, was as green as liaso hedges and looked more than a bit dazed from the transit. ….[snip]….
“Transportation.” Herryck thumbed down Danjay’s data on her scanner screen. “Land vehicles powered by combustion engines. Fossil petroleum fueled. Local term is car.”
Jorie had read the reports. No personal air transits—at least, not for internal city use. Damned nil-techs. A four-seater gravripper would be very convenient right now. She resumed her trek toward the alley’s entrance, waving her team to follow. “Let’s go find one of those cars.”
“City population is less than three hundred thousand humans,” Herryck dutifully read as she came up behind Jorie. “The surrounding region contains approximately one million.”
…[snip]…
The stickiness of the air and the sharp stench of rotting garbage faded. Jorie paused cautiously at the darkened alley entrance, assessing the landscape. The street was dotted with silent land vehicles, all pointing in the same direction, lights extinguished. Black shadows of thin trees jutted now and then in between. The uneven rows of low buildings were two-story, five-story, a few taller. Two much taller ones—twenty stories or more—glowed with a few uneven rectangles of light far down to her right.
Judging from the brief flashes of light between the buildings and tinny echoes of sound, most of the city’s activity appeared to be a street or so in front of her. At least Ronna’s seeker ’droid had analyzed that correctly. Materializing in the midst of a crowd of nil-techs while dressed in full tracker gear had proven to be patently counterproductive.
A bell clanged hollowly to her left. Trenat, beside her, stiffened. She didn’t but tilted her head toward the sound, curious. As the third gong pealed, she guessed it wasn’t a warning system and remembered reading about a nil-tech method of announcing the time.
She didn’t know local time, didn’t care. Unlike the Tresh, humanoids here had no naturally enhanced night sight. It was only important that it was dark and would continue to be dark for a while yet. She and her team needed that, dressed as they were, if they were going to find out what had happened to Agent Danjay Wain.
The bell pealed eight more times, then fell silent. A fresh breeze drifted over her skin. She caught a salty tang in the air.
“…is situated on a peninsula that is bordered on one side by a large body of water known as Bay Tampa.” Herryck was still reading. “On the other…”
Gulf of Mexico, Jorie knew, tuning her out. Data was Herryck’s passion.
Zombie hunting was Jorie’s.
But first she had to appropriate a car and locate Danjay Wain.
Let’s go over some of the things in this opening scene. A PMaT, an ocular, a F-5 world are all things that are commonplace to Jorie. So as an author, I need to have them FEEL commonplace to the reader because the reader is Jorie at this point. But I also, as author, know my readers don’t have a clue in a bucket what a PMaT is. Or an ocular.
So rather than info-dump—a huge no-no—I show these items in action as best as possible:
The ocular over her right eye eradicated the alley’s murky gloom, enhancing the moonlight so she could clearly see the shards of broken glass and small rusted metal cylinders strewn across the hard surface under her and her team’s boots.
So the reader, while not familiar with a Guardian ocular, at least understands it’s something to do with vision, something that helps the character see in the dark.
I could have written:
The ocular over her right eye was invented forty mega-years before by a gifted scientist who was hired by the intergalactic government to produce vision-enhancing equipment for the Guardian Forces. The ocular used reverse optometric filtration technology to… and so and and so forth.
But that begs the question: would Jorie really know all this? Would she care? Would she be THINKING THAT RIGHT NOW?
Do you know who invented the microwave oven? Do you THINK OF THAT PERSON every time you make popcorn? Do you CARE?
No. At least, I don’t. I can’t even tell you who first created the QWERTY keyboard. And even if I did, I’m more concerned with the keyboard on my laptop functioning properly than I am with its inventor.
One of the biggest mistakes writers make with world building is to drop into an Encyclopedia Brown persona when writing, believing the reader NEEDS TO KNOW the technology when all the reader needs to know IS WHAT THE CHARACTER KNOWS. Jorie doesn’t know who invented the ocular. She doesn’t care. She only cares that it works as it should.
Isn’t that true with most of us and our technology?
Show your “unfamiliar ” (to the reader) in action. Do not lecture the reader. Put the damned ocular on the reader’s eye and let them be the character, experience the experience. The unfamiliar to the reader is the ordinary to the character. We don’t—at least most of us don’t—stand aghast and a-goggle at the microwave as it cooks. At the radio when sound comes through the speakers. We take it FOR GRANTED.
Be very aware of what’s normal to your characters and have them take it—if not for granted—at least comfortably.
Be very aware of what to your character is not normal. Let the “sensory” and “subjective” tell the story there.
Here’s a snippet of what happens when Jorie and her team steal a car:
Tam Herryck, rummaging through the vehicle’s small storage compartment on the control panel, produced a short paper-bound book. “Aw-nortz Min-o-al,” she read in the narrow glow of her wristbeam on her technosleeve.
Jorie leaned toward her. Tam Herryck’s Vekran was, at best, rudimentary. “Ow-ner’s Min-u-al,” she corrected. She took the book, tapped on her wristbeam, and scanned the first few pages. It would be too much to ask, she supposed, that the entire universe be civilized enough—and considerate enough—to speak Alarsh. “Operating instructions for the vehicle’s pilot.” As the engine chugged quietly, she found a page depicting the gauges and read in silence for a few moments. “I think I have the basics.” She tapped off her wristbeam, then caught Trenat’s smile in the rectangular mirror over her head. “Never met a ship I couldn’t fly, Ensign. That’s what six years in the marines will teach you.”
The vehicle’s control stick was between the two front seats. She depressed the small button, eased it until it clicked once.
The vehicle lurched backwards, crashing into one parked behind it.
“Damn!” She shoved the stick again and missed a head-on impact with another parked vehicle only because she grabbed the wheel and yanked it to the left.
Herryck bounced against the door. “Sir!”
“I have it, I have it. It’s okay.” Damn, damn. Give her a nice antigrav hopper any day.
Her feet played with the two pedals, the vehicle seesawing as it jerked toward the open gate.
“I think,” Herryck said, bracing herself with her right hand against the front control panel, “those are some kind of throttle and braking system. Sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I know that. I’m just trying to determine their sensitivity ranges.”
“Of course, sir.” Herryck’s head jerked back and forth, but whether she was nodding or reacting to the vehicle’s movement, Jorie didn’t know. “Good idea.”
By the time they exited onto the street, Jorie felt she had the nil-tech land vehicle under control. “Which direction?”
“We need to take a heading of 240.8, sir.” Herryck glanced from her scanner over at the gauges in front of Jorie, none of which functioned as guidance or directional. “Oh.” She pulled her palm off the control panel and pointed out the window. “That way.”
They went that way, this way, then that way again. Jorie noticed that Trenat had found some kind of safety webbing and flattened himself against the cushions of the rear seat.
“What do you think those colored lights on their structures mean?” Herryck asked as Jorie was again forced to swerve to avoid an impact with another vehicle, whose driver was obviously not adept at proper usage of airspace.
Jorie shrugged. “A religious custom. Wain mentioned that locals hang colored lights on their residences and even on the foliage this time of the year. Nil-techs can be very supersti—hey!” A dark land vehicle appeared on her right, seemingly out of nowhere. Jorie pushed her foot down on the throttle, barely escaping being rammed broadside. There was a loud screeching noise, then the discordant blare of a horn. A pair of oncoming vehicles added their horns to the noise as she sped by them.
“Another religious custom,” she told Herryck, who sank down in her seat and planted her boots against the front console. “Their vehicles play music as they pass. And they’re blessing us.”
“Blessing us?”
Jorie nodded as she negotiated her vehicle between two others that seemed to want to travel at an unreasonably slow rate of speed. “They put one hand out the window, middle finger pointing upward. Wain’s reports stated many natives worship a god they believe lives in the sky. So I think that raised finger is a gesture of blessing.”
“How kind of them. We need to go that way again, sir.”
“I’m coming up to an intersection now. How much farther?”
“We should be within walking distance in a few minutes.”
“Praise be,” Trenat croaked from the rear seat.
Jorie snickered softly. “You’d never survive in the marines, Ensign.”
Jorie is doing the best she can—based on her previous experiences and personal knowledge (remember Claudia and Linnea?)—to interpret the world she now inhabits. And she’s doing it in a race-against-time scenario (always useful) so there’s not a lot of time to ask questions or find out answers. She’s learning on the fly, in a subjective, sensory manner. And so is your reader.
So to recap Lesson One, remember the three things the are the foundation of all good world building:
a. Your reader has never been there.
b. It’s a sensory world.
c. It’s a subjective world.
Questions? Comments? Please don’t be silent or I will come a-hunting.
~Linnea
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Always Chaotic Evil?
On the TVtropes.org website—I urge you to explore this site, it’s not to be missed, but be warned, it’s the ultimate Internet time vampire—there’s a category labeled “Always Chaotic Evil.” It refers to races, e.g. the Drow (dark elves) of the Dungeons and Dragons system, all of whom are evil by definition (except for the occasional anomalous individual). Having read several of the Redwall novels by Brian Jacques (set in a world inhabited solely by animals, centering upon Redwall Abbey, inhabited by good mice and other good-aligned beasts), I've been consistently irritated by the moral species determinism practiced by the author. If a type of animal is defined as evil—e.g. foxes, ferrets, wolverines, rats, stoats, carrion-eating birds, etc., collectively known as “vermin”—all members of that species are irredeemably evil with no positive qualities whatever except, perhaps, brute courage and devious cleverness. There’s no honor among thieves and almost no genuine affection, except its very rare appearance in mated couples and mother-child dyads. As Ursula Le Guin discusses in an essay on animal stories in her recent collection CHEEK BY JOWL, the species in Jacques’ series are typecast in other ways, too. Mice stand at the top of the social hierarchy and speak standard English. Most other “good” animals represent the working classes and speak in various dialects of the British Isles. Badgers are noble, although subject to berserk rages in battle, and hares, all military, are either stiff-upper-lip English officers or gallant Highland warriors.
The older novel I’ve just read, OUTCAST OF REDWALL, features a baby ferret abandoned by his father, a ruthless warlord, then rescued and brought up at the abbey. Here at last, I thought, I'd find some sort of nuance in the portrayal of a vermin character. No such luck. To my surprise, given his prominence in the title and cover blurb, the young ferret, Veil, has relatively little “onstage” time, not even born until halfway through the story. The childhood of the foundling is skipped over; after his rescue, we next see him as the animal equivalent of a young teenager, already hardened into a liar and thief. An unpardonable offense leads to his exile from Redwall (this isn’t a spoiler, since it’s on the jacket flap, even though it doesn’t happen until the last third of the book). I was disappointed that there’s almost no mention of the possibility that his having been treated with suspicion from earliest childhood might have contributed to his antisocial personality. By the end of the book, even Veil’s tenderhearted foster mother acknowledges that he was born Just Plain Bad. Aargh. True, Jacques is writing in the tradition of animal fables, in which the various species conform to their traditional archetypes; he’s said as much in interviews. What bugs me is the double standard in applying this principle. Good animals can have flaws, make mistakes, quarrel among themselves, and even (in childhood and youth) occasionally be naughty. Bad animals aren’t allowed any trace of goodness.
This lack of psychological realism makes it impossible for me to completely suspend disbelief in the Redwall universe. I always feel a bit remote from the action, critiquing the stories while reading them. It might be different if we saw the villains only from a distance through the eyes of the heroes, but Jacques writes many scenes from the vermin viewpoint. To me, they can’t help but come across as Kick the Dog (another TVtropes.org topic) caricatures. Good grief, even Hitler loved his dogs and seemed to have genuine affection for poor Eva Braun. The Klingons and Romulans in STAR TREK started out as Always Evil (even if not chaotic) but developed into three-dimensional cultures with characters capable of good as well as bad deeds. I prefer the kind of fiction displaying awareness that the antagonist seldom thinks of himself as the “villain” and always has credible rationalizations to justify his behavior to himself and the reader. Even Satan in PARADISE LOST (although in his case there’s a sound reason for his being totally Evil by definition) is presented in the best possible light in his early scenes.
Margaret L. Carter
Carter's Crypt
The older novel I’ve just read, OUTCAST OF REDWALL, features a baby ferret abandoned by his father, a ruthless warlord, then rescued and brought up at the abbey. Here at last, I thought, I'd find some sort of nuance in the portrayal of a vermin character. No such luck. To my surprise, given his prominence in the title and cover blurb, the young ferret, Veil, has relatively little “onstage” time, not even born until halfway through the story. The childhood of the foundling is skipped over; after his rescue, we next see him as the animal equivalent of a young teenager, already hardened into a liar and thief. An unpardonable offense leads to his exile from Redwall (this isn’t a spoiler, since it’s on the jacket flap, even though it doesn’t happen until the last third of the book). I was disappointed that there’s almost no mention of the possibility that his having been treated with suspicion from earliest childhood might have contributed to his antisocial personality. By the end of the book, even Veil’s tenderhearted foster mother acknowledges that he was born Just Plain Bad. Aargh. True, Jacques is writing in the tradition of animal fables, in which the various species conform to their traditional archetypes; he’s said as much in interviews. What bugs me is the double standard in applying this principle. Good animals can have flaws, make mistakes, quarrel among themselves, and even (in childhood and youth) occasionally be naughty. Bad animals aren’t allowed any trace of goodness.
This lack of psychological realism makes it impossible for me to completely suspend disbelief in the Redwall universe. I always feel a bit remote from the action, critiquing the stories while reading them. It might be different if we saw the villains only from a distance through the eyes of the heroes, but Jacques writes many scenes from the vermin viewpoint. To me, they can’t help but come across as Kick the Dog (another TVtropes.org topic) caricatures. Good grief, even Hitler loved his dogs and seemed to have genuine affection for poor Eva Braun. The Klingons and Romulans in STAR TREK started out as Always Evil (even if not chaotic) but developed into three-dimensional cultures with characters capable of good as well as bad deeds. I prefer the kind of fiction displaying awareness that the antagonist seldom thinks of himself as the “villain” and always has credible rationalizations to justify his behavior to himself and the reader. Even Satan in PARADISE LOST (although in his case there’s a sound reason for his being totally Evil by definition) is presented in the best possible light in his early scenes.
Margaret L. Carter
Carter's Crypt
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Westercon 2009
No, it wasn't the Two Thousand Ninth Westercon, but the 62nd.
62 is really a respectable number for an annual science fiction convention. But I can't keep track of conventions by their numbers, so I use the year. I even do autographs that way. And this year was a particularly nice Westercon.
Science Fiction conventions aren't like political conventions where large bodies of people send "delegates" to represent them. Cons are a 'y'all come' gathering of anyone and everyone interested in the array of topics and the professionals working in the various fields from books, e-books, and other text media all the way to feature films.
I posted my panel schedule here
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/06/snow-dogs-and-happily-ever-after.html
And as it happened, all my programmed events actually were on time and in the scheduled location. That is the sign of a well run convention.
My husband and I arrived at the Tempe Mission Palms hotel just before 9AM on Friday July 3, 2009, and for a wonder, our room was already cleaned and ready for us to move in. The convention had even arranged for us to use the valet parking without an additional charge, so that saved a good fifteen minutes. That was a good omen and the rest of the weekend went just as well.
Those 15 minutes were important minutes as I was scheduled for my first panel at 10AM. We deployed our stuff in our room, and went to find the Green Room where program participant badges were to be had.
Finding the Green Room was easy. We were on the same floor, but far enough away that the parties in the convention's reserved corridor weren't going to keep us up all night. The Mission Palms is laid out somewhat like a Roman Villa with a square hole in the middle, palm trees waving in the court yard, their fronds on the second story level.
The sound proofing was really good since the hotel is right under the flight path for Sky Harbor airport but planes were a distant rumble. And it was a comfortable room (not that I saw much of it!)
When I arrived at my first panel, there were already people in the room holding a rambling conversation as the other panelists zipped in and the room gradually filled. And from there on, it was energy and laughter and wide-ranging well informed questions and comments from the audience.
The first moment I opened the panel room door was a total shock. Instead of the usual hotel chairs that kill your back, the whole room (including behind the panel table) was filled with COMFORTABLE CHAIRS. They had 5-spoke rollers, tilted, spun, and RAISED HEIGHT for taller people, lowered for smaller, and had CHAIR ARMS!!!! The seat and back were made of lacey open fabric that might have been carbon filament, I don't know, but it stretched nicely and didn't make you hot.
I couldn't believe those chairs. I loved them and so did everyone else.
You'd think it would make you crazy to sit facing a room full of rows and rows of these swiveling chairs and watch people fidget, rock, sway, and jigger back and forth. Guess what? FANS didn't do that to people. Everyone sat still (except me; I succumbed a number of times, then realized I had to sit still too.) Everyone loved those chairs though, even people who had to watch other people sit in them.
A few quick polls of several of the panel audiences showed that they had much reading in common and had at least seen many of the same TV shows. They didn't all know each other, but they really all KNEW each other. There were instant friendships being formed everywhere and old acquaintances re-connecting.
That thread continued through nonstop panels, hallway conversations, con suite conversations and into the evening parties.
Friday night, one of the Sime~Gen fans known as Kaires engineered a Sime~Gen party, put posters up, got a room in the party section of the con's hotel block, and put out an array of interesting snacks. Laurraine Tutihasi and her husband helped set up, and within an hour we were having drawings for door prizes (mostly books of course).
The Art Guest of Honor was Todd Lockwood ( http://www.toddlockwood.com/ ) who did the splendid cover for Sime~Gen The Unity Trilogy
While I was madly running around Friday on programming, my husband tracked down Todd (who seemed to be on programming opposite me all the time) and got him to sign a hardcover copy of Sime~Gen The Unity Trilogy for me. (goshwow indeed)
One panel I was on was about the new Star Trek movie, and I was on with David A. Williams who moderated and Alan Dean Foster who did the novelization of the screenplay.
Alan had tales to tell about how much and how little access he had to the film before having to write the novelization. He has written a number of novelizations of films so he had a great deal of experience to draw on to make the most of the very little a novelization writer gets from producers. He said he got to see a screening of the Trek movie rough cut, but couldn't record it and had to take hand-written notes to work from.
Photo taken with my new cell phone! Your left to right - Alan Dean Foster, David A. Williams (ASU space science professional), and me, Jacqueline Lichtenberg.
Between panels on Friday I stopped at one of the used book dealers in the dealer's room to sign whatever copies of my books he had (quite a stack -- I keep thinking I must have signed every one printed, but alas not yet) and while I was sitting there a couple more people came up with stacks for me to sign.
I think they may have thought it was my official autographing session, which was scheduled for 5PM on Friday. One fellow brought along three or four titles plus FACES OF SCIENCE FICTION (photos of SF authors) which I'm in. I said, "Ah, you must be a dealer," and he said, "No, these are for my relatives."
A whole family that loves science fiction? Wow.
I think I signed books and touted and sold some for the merchant for about 40 minutes.
Then I ran to another panel, and came back for my official autographing and there were only a couple of people waiting. The other person who was to autograph didn't make it to the table. A writer I'd met on facebook, Dana Davis ( http://www.danadaviswriting.com/ )brought me a couple of review copies of her own books, one of which I started right at the autographing table because there was a lull in conversations, and am still reading (with absorption). Desert Magic: Superstition, is set in Scottsdale, right here in the Valley of the Sun, and in the Superstition Mountains which I see every day I go walk in the park. (I'd see them all the time but houses are in the way.)
Jennifer Roberson likewise didn't make it to Westercon though she was assigned a number of program items. I was looking forward to seeing her again!
Saturday I was pooped already, and I wasn't on any programming items, so I had the luxury of going TO things instead. I saw an entry for a film titled STARWATCH that was being previewed at the convention and after showing the film there was to be a panel with the actors and producer. I wish I had a website where you could buy the DVD already, but I will be notifying you as soon as I know how you can see this film.
Here's why.
As I sat down to watch it, I recalled it was supposed to be a low budget film, but when it started I sat watching the whole first act and it suddenly occurred to me to wonder if I were in the wrong place. "Where's the low budget film?"
But no, it was the right place. It was an astonishingly low low budget film with a credit roll that took only a few seconds but the film had the look and feel of a typical theater release.
It's set in the asteroid belt after a war between Earth and a corporation that settled the astroid belt and created a whole new culture. But it's still oil and water out there -- the factions are spoiling for more fighting.
The science premise that has me intrigued is that one faction is hot on the trail of a method for "weaponizing souls" -- harvesting souls from dark-energy from the Big Bang and using the souls to transmit destructive force that can pulverize anything.
The audience and the producer didn't seem to think this particular weapons research would turn up again in a TV Series made from this feature film (if there ever is one), but I can think of more stories to tell about it.
I didn't at first realize that the fellow introducing the film (whom I was sure I'd seen at cons before) was actually THE producer of the film, but later I went up and told him exactly what I thought of it, then realized it was his work. Well, honestly, I wasn't trying to butter him up or anything. I really do like this film.
After the panel with the actors and producer that followed, I met the fellow who did the special effects (all the space ships and advanced tech), Jeremy Totel http://www.pixeleight.org/ -- that's ORG not COM; the .com is selling cameras)
And I met a couple of the stars, among them a woman I think may go far, Silvia Suvadova (http://www.suvadova.net/ ) I met her later in the restaurant and she gave me her card. I gave her my NL flyer. Today she turned up linking to me on facebook. I would love to see her as a Vulcan on Star Trek, and a major ongoing character.
Then I went to see (finally) a presentation by Todd Lockwood
http://www.toddlockwood.com/ with a blog at http://www.tolo.biz/
Todd showed slides of some of his work (mostly dragons and warriors which is his specialty) and then gave a demonstration of how he can use Corel Draw to make a dragon's head. But he says he much prefers working in oils. Today publishers often accept electronic files for artwork which makes working in electronic originals more attractive. He uses a top of the line digitizer pad to draw freehand.
And Saturday night, the 4th of July, was FIREWORKS (the hotel was very close to where major city firewords displays originate, and mundanes flock to this hotel for the vantage). The Con Committee had the genius to nail a suite for the Con Suite that had the best view of the fireworks and they held a fabulous party with good food and lots of people.
At the same time there was a STAR TREK PARTY put on by the local Star Trek fan organization one of the oldest (perhaps by now the oldest) in the country. Many members have gone on to work in the space program projects based in the ASU (Arizona State University) campus nearby, and south of here in Tucson.
I talked so much that by Sunday morning I had laryngitis. There were no microphones for the panelists and the parties were full and loud. The crowd was exuberant and joyful, even the smokers who could only smoke out-doors usually on the balconies outside the elevator lobbies.
But Sunday, luckily, I had smaller panel rooms which still had a good turnout, considering how much partying everyone had done. Even the 3PM panel I was on about making fan friendly websites was well attended.
Sunday between panels I signed some more books. By the end of the con I was ready to take off for home which was only a half hour drive. This is one of the reasons I decided to move here -- local conventions! And Los Angeles and San Diego are in reach. Even the San Francisco Bay area is available. And these days there are good cons developing in Las Vegas ( Xanadu being a case in point.) Seattle often hosts Westercons, too.
Overall, Westercon was a very well run convention, the programming mix of topics and panelists was ingenius (done by Catherine Book), the food services in the con suite were nothing short of miraculous, and the dealer's room was full of books, costumes and jewelry.
The art show was small, but high quality. In addition to Todd Lockwood's leap-off-the-wall art (the man is a master of perspective), there was a tapestry of the Hogworts coat of arms that dominated one aisle and was readable across the huge ballroom that contained art show and dealers room. It looked REAL. I've seen it before, but it was hung splendidly under the right lighting here.
The costume Masquerade actually ran short but produced eye-popping winners. I suspect the economy and the threat of the flu pandemic that's developing as worse for younger people kept some people with children home. There were fewer very young children than usual, but those that were there had the advantage of a very professionally run children's programming track.
Usually fans come to conventions whether they're sick or not, hacking and coughing, sneezing and wheezing they ignore everything just to get to the panels and parties. This time though, I didn't notice anyone who was ill.
Regional SF book-focused conventions have shrunk in size, and this year Westercon (July in Phoenix, remember) had around 700 people attending in a hotel where you had to go outside to get from one group of function rooms to another.
Since I live here, I didn't mind too much, and there were even people sitting at outdoor tables in the court yard in the 107 degree heat talking a mile-a-minute. I actually had to wear a sweater most of the time because the hotel had cold-spots. I wasn't uncomfortable in the sweater when I went outside. The dew point had dropped below 50 again, and it was nice weather (for July 4th in Phoenix).
But when I got into the car to drive home -- I checked the dashboard thermometer and it read 112F. Well ... the valet parking had left the car in the sun, but 112 is noticeably warmish.
Watch http://www.westercon.org/ for the next Westercon. Pasadena CA in 2010, San Jose CA in 2011 -- July 1-4 each one.
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
62 is really a respectable number for an annual science fiction convention. But I can't keep track of conventions by their numbers, so I use the year. I even do autographs that way. And this year was a particularly nice Westercon.
Science Fiction conventions aren't like political conventions where large bodies of people send "delegates" to represent them. Cons are a 'y'all come' gathering of anyone and everyone interested in the array of topics and the professionals working in the various fields from books, e-books, and other text media all the way to feature films.
I posted my panel schedule here
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/06/snow-dogs-and-happily-ever-after.html
And as it happened, all my programmed events actually were on time and in the scheduled location. That is the sign of a well run convention.
My husband and I arrived at the Tempe Mission Palms hotel just before 9AM on Friday July 3, 2009, and for a wonder, our room was already cleaned and ready for us to move in. The convention had even arranged for us to use the valet parking without an additional charge, so that saved a good fifteen minutes. That was a good omen and the rest of the weekend went just as well.
Those 15 minutes were important minutes as I was scheduled for my first panel at 10AM. We deployed our stuff in our room, and went to find the Green Room where program participant badges were to be had.
Finding the Green Room was easy. We were on the same floor, but far enough away that the parties in the convention's reserved corridor weren't going to keep us up all night. The Mission Palms is laid out somewhat like a Roman Villa with a square hole in the middle, palm trees waving in the court yard, their fronds on the second story level.
The sound proofing was really good since the hotel is right under the flight path for Sky Harbor airport but planes were a distant rumble. And it was a comfortable room (not that I saw much of it!)
When I arrived at my first panel, there were already people in the room holding a rambling conversation as the other panelists zipped in and the room gradually filled. And from there on, it was energy and laughter and wide-ranging well informed questions and comments from the audience.
The first moment I opened the panel room door was a total shock. Instead of the usual hotel chairs that kill your back, the whole room (including behind the panel table) was filled with COMFORTABLE CHAIRS. They had 5-spoke rollers, tilted, spun, and RAISED HEIGHT for taller people, lowered for smaller, and had CHAIR ARMS!!!! The seat and back were made of lacey open fabric that might have been carbon filament, I don't know, but it stretched nicely and didn't make you hot.
I couldn't believe those chairs. I loved them and so did everyone else.
You'd think it would make you crazy to sit facing a room full of rows and rows of these swiveling chairs and watch people fidget, rock, sway, and jigger back and forth. Guess what? FANS didn't do that to people. Everyone sat still (except me; I succumbed a number of times, then realized I had to sit still too.) Everyone loved those chairs though, even people who had to watch other people sit in them.
A few quick polls of several of the panel audiences showed that they had much reading in common and had at least seen many of the same TV shows. They didn't all know each other, but they really all KNEW each other. There were instant friendships being formed everywhere and old acquaintances re-connecting.
That thread continued through nonstop panels, hallway conversations, con suite conversations and into the evening parties.
Friday night, one of the Sime~Gen fans known as Kaires engineered a Sime~Gen party, put posters up, got a room in the party section of the con's hotel block, and put out an array of interesting snacks. Laurraine Tutihasi and her husband helped set up, and within an hour we were having drawings for door prizes (mostly books of course).
The Art Guest of Honor was Todd Lockwood ( http://www.toddlockwood.com/ ) who did the splendid cover for Sime~Gen The Unity Trilogy
While I was madly running around Friday on programming, my husband tracked down Todd (who seemed to be on programming opposite me all the time) and got him to sign a hardcover copy of Sime~Gen The Unity Trilogy for me. (goshwow indeed)
One panel I was on was about the new Star Trek movie, and I was on with David A. Williams who moderated and Alan Dean Foster who did the novelization of the screenplay.
Alan had tales to tell about how much and how little access he had to the film before having to write the novelization. He has written a number of novelizations of films so he had a great deal of experience to draw on to make the most of the very little a novelization writer gets from producers. He said he got to see a screening of the Trek movie rough cut, but couldn't record it and had to take hand-written notes to work from.
Photo taken with my new cell phone! Your left to right - Alan Dean Foster, David A. Williams (ASU space science professional), and me, Jacqueline Lichtenberg.
Between panels on Friday I stopped at one of the used book dealers in the dealer's room to sign whatever copies of my books he had (quite a stack -- I keep thinking I must have signed every one printed, but alas not yet) and while I was sitting there a couple more people came up with stacks for me to sign.
I think they may have thought it was my official autographing session, which was scheduled for 5PM on Friday. One fellow brought along three or four titles plus FACES OF SCIENCE FICTION (photos of SF authors) which I'm in. I said, "Ah, you must be a dealer," and he said, "No, these are for my relatives."
A whole family that loves science fiction? Wow.
I think I signed books and touted and sold some for the merchant for about 40 minutes.
Then I ran to another panel, and came back for my official autographing and there were only a couple of people waiting. The other person who was to autograph didn't make it to the table. A writer I'd met on facebook, Dana Davis ( http://www.danadaviswriting.com/ )brought me a couple of review copies of her own books, one of which I started right at the autographing table because there was a lull in conversations, and am still reading (with absorption). Desert Magic: Superstition, is set in Scottsdale, right here in the Valley of the Sun, and in the Superstition Mountains which I see every day I go walk in the park. (I'd see them all the time but houses are in the way.)
Jennifer Roberson likewise didn't make it to Westercon though she was assigned a number of program items. I was looking forward to seeing her again!
Saturday I was pooped already, and I wasn't on any programming items, so I had the luxury of going TO things instead. I saw an entry for a film titled STARWATCH that was being previewed at the convention and after showing the film there was to be a panel with the actors and producer. I wish I had a website where you could buy the DVD already, but I will be notifying you as soon as I know how you can see this film.
Here's why.
As I sat down to watch it, I recalled it was supposed to be a low budget film, but when it started I sat watching the whole first act and it suddenly occurred to me to wonder if I were in the wrong place. "Where's the low budget film?"
But no, it was the right place. It was an astonishingly low low budget film with a credit roll that took only a few seconds but the film had the look and feel of a typical theater release.
It's set in the asteroid belt after a war between Earth and a corporation that settled the astroid belt and created a whole new culture. But it's still oil and water out there -- the factions are spoiling for more fighting.
The science premise that has me intrigued is that one faction is hot on the trail of a method for "weaponizing souls" -- harvesting souls from dark-energy from the Big Bang and using the souls to transmit destructive force that can pulverize anything.
The audience and the producer didn't seem to think this particular weapons research would turn up again in a TV Series made from this feature film (if there ever is one), but I can think of more stories to tell about it.
I didn't at first realize that the fellow introducing the film (whom I was sure I'd seen at cons before) was actually THE producer of the film, but later I went up and told him exactly what I thought of it, then realized it was his work. Well, honestly, I wasn't trying to butter him up or anything. I really do like this film.
After the panel with the actors and producer that followed, I met the fellow who did the special effects (all the space ships and advanced tech), Jeremy Totel http://www.pixeleight.org/ -- that's ORG not COM; the .com is selling cameras)
And I met a couple of the stars, among them a woman I think may go far, Silvia Suvadova (http://www.suvadova.net/ ) I met her later in the restaurant and she gave me her card. I gave her my NL flyer. Today she turned up linking to me on facebook. I would love to see her as a Vulcan on Star Trek, and a major ongoing character.
Then I went to see (finally) a presentation by Todd Lockwood
http://www.toddlockwood.com/ with a blog at http://www.tolo.biz/
Todd showed slides of some of his work (mostly dragons and warriors which is his specialty) and then gave a demonstration of how he can use Corel Draw to make a dragon's head. But he says he much prefers working in oils. Today publishers often accept electronic files for artwork which makes working in electronic originals more attractive. He uses a top of the line digitizer pad to draw freehand.
And Saturday night, the 4th of July, was FIREWORKS (the hotel was very close to where major city firewords displays originate, and mundanes flock to this hotel for the vantage). The Con Committee had the genius to nail a suite for the Con Suite that had the best view of the fireworks and they held a fabulous party with good food and lots of people.
At the same time there was a STAR TREK PARTY put on by the local Star Trek fan organization one of the oldest (perhaps by now the oldest) in the country. Many members have gone on to work in the space program projects based in the ASU (Arizona State University) campus nearby, and south of here in Tucson.
I talked so much that by Sunday morning I had laryngitis. There were no microphones for the panelists and the parties were full and loud. The crowd was exuberant and joyful, even the smokers who could only smoke out-doors usually on the balconies outside the elevator lobbies.
But Sunday, luckily, I had smaller panel rooms which still had a good turnout, considering how much partying everyone had done. Even the 3PM panel I was on about making fan friendly websites was well attended.
Sunday between panels I signed some more books. By the end of the con I was ready to take off for home which was only a half hour drive. This is one of the reasons I decided to move here -- local conventions! And Los Angeles and San Diego are in reach. Even the San Francisco Bay area is available. And these days there are good cons developing in Las Vegas ( Xanadu being a case in point.) Seattle often hosts Westercons, too.
Overall, Westercon was a very well run convention, the programming mix of topics and panelists was ingenius (done by Catherine Book), the food services in the con suite were nothing short of miraculous, and the dealer's room was full of books, costumes and jewelry.
The art show was small, but high quality. In addition to Todd Lockwood's leap-off-the-wall art (the man is a master of perspective), there was a tapestry of the Hogworts coat of arms that dominated one aisle and was readable across the huge ballroom that contained art show and dealers room. It looked REAL. I've seen it before, but it was hung splendidly under the right lighting here.
The costume Masquerade actually ran short but produced eye-popping winners. I suspect the economy and the threat of the flu pandemic that's developing as worse for younger people kept some people with children home. There were fewer very young children than usual, but those that were there had the advantage of a very professionally run children's programming track.
Usually fans come to conventions whether they're sick or not, hacking and coughing, sneezing and wheezing they ignore everything just to get to the panels and parties. This time though, I didn't notice anyone who was ill.
Regional SF book-focused conventions have shrunk in size, and this year Westercon (July in Phoenix, remember) had around 700 people attending in a hotel where you had to go outside to get from one group of function rooms to another.
Since I live here, I didn't mind too much, and there were even people sitting at outdoor tables in the court yard in the 107 degree heat talking a mile-a-minute. I actually had to wear a sweater most of the time because the hotel had cold-spots. I wasn't uncomfortable in the sweater when I went outside. The dew point had dropped below 50 again, and it was nice weather (for July 4th in Phoenix).
But when I got into the car to drive home -- I checked the dashboard thermometer and it read 112F. Well ... the valet parking had left the car in the sun, but 112 is noticeably warmish.
Watch http://www.westercon.org/ for the next Westercon. Pasadena CA in 2010, San Jose CA in 2011 -- July 1-4 each one.
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://www.simegen.com/jl/
Monday, July 06, 2009
Conference in Your Jammies: the rwa national alternative
For those not going to National, Romance Divas is having its own online conference...which you can attend in your jammies!
Are the RWA threads getting you down? Is bitterness creeping in the closer July gets?
Well, come on down. You're the next Diva on I GET TO HAVE A CONFERENCE IN MY JAMMIES!!!!!
That's right. Starting
July 14th instead of sweating on an airplane or negotiating your pricey room, you'll be logging in with your PJ's on and a cup of coffee in hand. We know how to do you right.
Are the RWA threads getting you down? Is bitterness creeping in the closer July gets?
Well, come on down. You're the next Diva on I GET TO HAVE A CONFERENCE IN MY JAMMIES!!!!!
That's right. Starting
July 14th instead of sweating on an airplane or negotiating your pricey room, you'll be logging in with your PJ's on and a cup of coffee in hand. We know how to do you right.Sign up here. http://forums.romancedivas.com/
and come to the conference here. http://forums.romancedivas.com//index.php?showforum=110
Look who we got to come and give us the benefit of their wisdom. (FOR FREE!!)
SCHEDULE FOR THE NGTCC
July 14th
Josh Lanyon Kicks off the workshop "ENOUGH TO MAKE A GROWN MAN CRY. Characterization, Motivation, and POV in m/m fiction."
The Bar will Open!
Kick off the NGTCC door prize drawings.
July 15th
Rowan McBride, Shayla Kersten and Jet Mykles continue the workshop "ENOUGH TO MAKE A GROWN MAN CRY. Characterization, Motivation, and POV in m/m fiction."
Ona Russel and Steve Hockensmith team up to do the Historical workshop " Perils and Pleasures of Historical Research".
More awesome door prizes.
July 16th
Rowan McBride, Shayla Kersten, and Jet Mykles "MAKING A GROWN MAN CRY"
Joey W. Hill "Epublishing to New York: One author's journey"
Linnea Sinclair "Going Deep: Writing Deep POV"
July 17th
Rowan McBride, Shayla Kersten and Jet Mykles "MAKING A GROWN MAN CRY"
Linnea Sinclair "Going Deep: Writing Deep POV"
Sasha White Q&A "Burnout: How to avoid it and how to handle it."
More door prizes.
July 18th
Rowan McBride, Shayla Kersten and Jet Mykles "MAKING A GROWN MAN CRY"
Linnea Sinclair "Going Deep: Writing Deep POV"
Y.A. workshop, CARRIE JONES and MARLEY GIBSON "Creating Believable Teen Characters"
HEAD GAMES: WRITING DEEP THIRD POV FOR MAXIMUM IMPACT
Reading is a vicarious experience, right? That means as a writer you need to immerse the reader into 
the heart, mind and skin of the character, and there’s no better way to do that than Deep Third Point Of View. Deep Third is often likened to First Person POV for its emotional intensity and intimacy factor. But it’s also a sure way to keep readers (and agents and editors!) turning pages. Award-winning Bantam Dell author Linnea Sinclair will take you on a journey through the flavors of Third Person, explain why Deep Third works, show you how and when to use Deep Third, how to know when Deep is Too Deep, and share tips and tricks to keep readers sobbing, giggling, gasping and grabbing… for more of your stories!
BIO: Winner of the prestigious national book award, the RITA, science fiction romance author Linnea Sinclair has become a name synonymous for high-action, emotionally intense, character-driven novels. Reviewers note that Sinclair's novels "have the wow-factor in spades," earning her accolades from both the science fiction and romance communities. Sinclair's current releases are GAMES OF COMMAND (PEARL Award winner and RITA finalist), THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES (PEARL Award Honorable Mention), SHADES OF DARK (PEARL Award and RT Reviewers’ Choice Award winner) and HOPE’S FOLLY.
A former news reporter and retired private detective, Sinclair resides in Naples, Florida (winters) and Columbus, Ohio (summers) along with her husband, Robert Bernadino, and their thoroughly spoiled cats. Readers can find her perched on the third barstool from the left in her Intergalactic Bar and Grille at www.linneasinclair..com.
Hope to see you there! ~LinneaSunday, July 05, 2009
Preditors and Editors is being sued
I'm reposting an appeal from Preditors and Editors (which runs the predpoll every year).
They are asking for donations:
I apologize that this post is not especially to do with alien romances, nor Craft, nor Opinion.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
They are asking for donations:
http://anotherealm.com/prededitors/
Help Defend P&E
Unfortunately, there are those who do not like P&E or its editor because we give out information that they would prefer remain hidden from writers. Usually, they slink away, but not this time. P&E is being sued and we are asking for donations to mount a legal defense in court. Please click on the link below and give if you can to help protect P&E so it can continue to defend writers as it has for the past eleven years.
I apologize that this post is not especially to do with alien romances, nor Craft, nor Opinion.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Celebrate Independence Day with a book
A very non alien post for the 4th of July.
Two of my stories feature our country's fight for independence. Fallen has the Battle of Guilford Courthouse in NC and is told from the perspective of an English soldier. Rising Wind is about a colonial scout and features the Battle of Point Pleasant in WV. I grew up on the Point Pleasant battle field so always felt this was the book I had to write.
Happy 4th of July everyone. We are blessed with many freedoms in this country. May we never take them for granted.
Two of my stories feature our country's fight for independence. Fallen has the Battle of Guilford Courthouse in NC and is told from the perspective of an English soldier. Rising Wind is about a colonial scout and features the Battle of Point Pleasant in WV. I grew up on the Point Pleasant battle field so always felt this was the book I had to write.
Happy 4th of July everyone. We are blessed with many freedoms in this country. May we never take them for granted.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Reaching Out and Touching Online
On another blog this week I saw a comment that online communication (some kinds, anyway) is more “touchy-feely” than in-person conversation. At first sight, this remark sounds counter-intuitive. One of the drawbacks of the Internet is usually said to be that it lacks body language and emotional cues (hence the invention of emoticons).
On the other hand, many people feel freer to express opinions and emotions in the “safe” context of a virtual environment with no face-to-face contact. It’s certainly easier, sometimes, to talk to an uninvolved acquaintance about sensitive matters, rather than someone deeply affected by the situation.
On the third hand, the ease and apparent (not necessarily real) anonymity of the Internet can tempt people into reckless self-disclosure. Also, many critics insist online intimacy is an illusion, an artificial substitute for “real” human interaction. True, it’s not unknown for someone to invent a fictitious online persona and present it as real, but surely that not the norm (I hope). Personally, I think in some sense the thoughts and emotions I express in writing, when I have time to reflect and get the wording “just right,” may offer a more “real” self-disclosure than remarks I blurt out on the spur of the moment. What do you think? Is online human interaction usually genuine, and when (if at all) could it be called “touchy-feely”?
SF connection: Future societies where characters live in virtual worlds on the Net in preference to—or even to the exclusion of—the physical world. We already have the first generation of such a world in Second Life. Has anybody here tried that? I’ve never visited it, though it sounds intriguing. A potential super time vampire, though, and considering how thoroughly I’ve neglected the Sims I created a couple of years ago, trying to keep up with another life on top of the “real” one would clearly be a hopeless endeavor.
Margaret L. Carter
Carter’s Crypt
On the other hand, many people feel freer to express opinions and emotions in the “safe” context of a virtual environment with no face-to-face contact. It’s certainly easier, sometimes, to talk to an uninvolved acquaintance about sensitive matters, rather than someone deeply affected by the situation.
On the third hand, the ease and apparent (not necessarily real) anonymity of the Internet can tempt people into reckless self-disclosure. Also, many critics insist online intimacy is an illusion, an artificial substitute for “real” human interaction. True, it’s not unknown for someone to invent a fictitious online persona and present it as real, but surely that not the norm (I hope). Personally, I think in some sense the thoughts and emotions I express in writing, when I have time to reflect and get the wording “just right,” may offer a more “real” self-disclosure than remarks I blurt out on the spur of the moment. What do you think? Is online human interaction usually genuine, and when (if at all) could it be called “touchy-feely”?
SF connection: Future societies where characters live in virtual worlds on the Net in preference to—or even to the exclusion of—the physical world. We already have the first generation of such a world in Second Life. Has anybody here tried that? I’ve never visited it, though it sounds intriguing. A potential super time vampire, though, and considering how thoroughly I’ve neglected the Sims I created a couple of years ago, trying to keep up with another life on top of the “real” one would clearly be a hopeless endeavor.
Margaret L. Carter
Carter’s Crypt
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Choosing The Age of Your Protagonist To Win An Oscar
Last week, the Oscar rules were changed by the Academy that awards them. Now 10 nominees for BEST PICTURE compete for the Oscar, the most since 1943. Maybe this is not a good thing?
Here's the link.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090625/media_nm/us_oscars_reaction_2
Quoting from that article:
---------------
In fact, one studio executive compared the Academy bombshell to getting doused with a bucket of cold water. He confided that he has enough trouble every awards season figuring out whom they have to satisfy with an Oscar campaign and which talent they can safely neglect or do less for.
--------------
Read that article for the attitude and values of the decision-makers who decide what will (and will not) be allowed to attract your attention. People who go to few movies, generally favor the award-winners because they've heard of them and know people who've seen them.
TV advertising budgets go to award contenders and winners, not to the others.
If you don't follow an industry (any industry) you may only choose from what "they" decide you may.
With the proliferation of E-books and small publishers to the point where Publisher's Weekly routinely covers the field, the roll of "gatekeeper" has disintegrated. But it is quickly being re-invented.
http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6666456.html?q=e%2Dbook
The Academy is expanding its finalists list from 5 to 10, and that may be because of the disintegration of the "gatekeeper" role.
The Academy has been, with the Oscars, a major gatekeeper. Now there are many other gatekeepers in the film industry with Festivals awarding winners and other Awards like the BET awards. There are many more films you've heard of so you get to choose whether to see them or not. So the Academy has responded to changes in the world by trying to compete for its top gatekeeper spot.
I did not find anything in this article on the Oscar rules the least bit surprising and I doubt most of you will either. The book business now works exactly the same way (though it didn't in the early 20th Century or before.)
In this new media-dominated world, we need to understand how (and why) our choices are deliberately limited by people who don't know us and couldn't care less about us.
This gatekeeper thinking is the thinking that rejects Romance, especially SF Romance, while at the same time panders to teens. That's a relatively new development.
Don't ever forget the 1951 film DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL Talk about hot Alien Romance!
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0043456/
Quoting on increasing the number of nominees to 10 from that article on the Oscar rules:
----------------
The only problem with widening the net is that this is no longer the 1930s or '40s, when the Academy last fielded 10 or so best picture noms each year. Back then, it had an overabundance of what were grown-up yet popular titles -- ranging from "It Happened One Night" and "Mutiny on the Bounty" early on to "You Can't Take It with You" and "Casablanca," the last movie, in 1943, to wrest the Oscar from nine other contenders. Nowadays, most Hollywood movies aren't really made for grown-ups.
-----------------
My boldface on that very telling comment, tossed in off-handedly. "Nowadays, most Hollywood movies aren't really made for grown-ups."
On 6/16/09 I posted here a commentary on the award winning film Mr. And Mrs. Smith
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/06/writers-eye-finds-symmetry.html
Would you say that film was for grownups? No children characters and it's ostensibly about marriage counseling and professional assassination.
On 6/23/09 I posted here a commentary on the Disney film Snow Dogs:
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/06/writers-eye-finds-symmetry.html
Children were not the featured characters in Snow Dogs, but the adults were working through issues having to do with their parents just as if they were still children, and the comedy venue made it accessible to children, so it's billed as a "family movie" -- which basically means it's not really for grownups but grownups wouldn't mind watching it. (I enjoyed it!)
Both Mr. & Mrs. Smith and Snow Dogs are stories focused on Relationships, with the Romance part in the B-story, hidden but thematic.
With the loss of so many middle-aged celebrities these last couple of weeks, ( David Caradine, Ed McMahon (who was 70's but too young to die), Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Gale Storm ( http://www.popeater.com/television/article/gale-storm-dies/547078?icid=main%7Chtmlws-main%7Cdl2%7Clink4%7Chttp%3A%2F%2Fwww.popeater.com%2Ftelevision%2Farticle%2Fgale-storm-dies%2F547078 ) and Billy Mays.
Here's a website that tries to keep an up to date listing of deceased celebrities:
http://www.hollywoodmemoir.com/forum/8?sort=desc&order=Created
We are clearly in a turning-of-the-generations cycle.
McMahon had risen to the level of decision maker, as has Leonard Nimoy (who's still with us, and did a splendid job in the new Star Trek movie). David Caradine did much more than acting, as did Farrah Fawcett. Michael Jackson was mostly known for being wild and irresponsible (ending up in half a billion in debt), but likewise he was an influence whose success made others want to copy or pick up one or another of his attributes.
Our deceased icons of American culture knew very well how the movers and shakers behind the Academy and the Oscars think. That's how they got to be icons.
Do we have to go back to the 1940's to find a ROMANCE ICON? If so, do you think maybe it's been long enough and it's time for a new Romance Icon to arise?
If so, who? And with what sort of public image profile? How are they going to impress the gatekeepers? The decision makers?
What sells? And why?
Demographics.
Hollywood studios (and even book publishers) have spent big bucks commissioning statistical studies and analyses of the demographics of movie ticket buyers. They know that what held true in novels holds true in the movies -- the age-group that will want to read or see a story will be close or related to the age of the protagonist.
The film Cocoon was a hit with older people, not so much with the youngest demographic.
If you're writing a children's book for 7 year olds, the protagonist has to be 7 or maybe 9 years old, not 15 or 25.
For pre-teens, your protagonist has to be a teen (because that's what pre-teens identify with and aspire to).
Middle Aged people don't really yearn to become OLD, so stories about older people who "can still shoot straight" abound.
But film producers discovered that today's audiences are composed mostly of teens and college age people, often dating. And on a date like that, even TODAY, the male's taste in entertainment prevails.
The 16 and 17 year old crowd wants stories about early 20's. The 20 somethings will go for stories about 30-somethings who "have it made" but still get into the same pickles 20 somethings get into. Only they handle it better.
We want to identify with a Hero we can feel proud to become.
So when choosing the age of the protagonist of your story, consider how big an audience you want it to attract. Look at the demographics, note which age group has the most disposable income.
The Golden Rule of protagonist age choice is simply, the protagonist has to be the age of your typical reader/viewer.
If the golden rule holds, the key to creating a blockbuster Alien Romance will be primarily the age of the protagonists.
In all genre fiction, it is the audience's identification with the main characters that determines the sales volume, thus the prominence, and whether they are chosen as contenders for major awards. Or as the article I was quoting above pointed out, which actors the production company can safely ignore.
As the article points out, it doesn't matter how good a film is. When it comes to the Oscars, it only matters "who" the stars are and what it will take to mollify them.
Go back to my analysis of why and how a writer can use Astrology to plot a story (5 post series in 2008)
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2008/12/astrology-just-for-writers-part-5-high.html
and see that "life" has a particular shape, an ebb and flow, a sequence in which we learn lessons.
Writers often learn or are born knowing that at certain ages, we reach certain plights, challenges, consequences, and choices all of which shape the plot of our real life, and our taste in fictional life.
Many of these most prominent and widely understood (without the aid of knowing astrology) life lessons are connected to Saturn's 29 year period.
Relationships are ruled by Venus which has a period of about a year, and "Romance" is induced by Neptune which has a period of about 164 years; more than a lifetime. Neptune is also famous for creating "strange" (i.e. alien) environments, coincidences, and miracles. Neptune is all about the exceptional moments in time when the rules blur.
You really do, literally, get a once-in-a-lifetime shot at real Romance.
But it comes at different ages in different lives. Sometimes it's in the teens, sometimes the 40's or even the 70's. So you can write a really hot Romance with some deeply significant lessons about the relationship between self-esteem and unconditional love, and use characters of almost any age.
Yes, sometimes the Romance transit of a lifetime comes before you're 10, but when that happens, you usually experience it through your parents (or parental figures), so it shapes your attitude toward life. And perhaps, those are the "marry the boy next door" stories.
So as far as creating that blockbuster Alien Romance that will change the way the entire field is regarded, as Star Trek changed the way Science Fiction was regarded, you can focus on any age demographic and still craft a plausible Alien Romance.
But certain ages will be preferred by certain producers or publishers.
A Silver Rule perhaps would be that the more expensive the fiction is to deliver to the consumer, the broader the target demographic must be.
A book costs less to produce than a movie, (though a book has a smaller potential profit margin) and so a book can appeal to a narrower audience and still make a profit. Authors know their book made a profit when the publisher sends them royalties beyond the advance.
A film on the other hand must appeal to a very diverse and broad and deep audience. The higher the budget for the film, the broader the apparent appeal must be. It's all about the numbers, and the Academy knows that -- and perhaps the Academy does not know much else!
This article on changes in the Academy of Motion Picture rules of the Oscars clearly informs us that the blockbuster film that becomes a TV show, with endless spinoffs, books, action figures etc, has to be "NOT FOR GROWNUPS."
The article also makes the point clearly that SEQUELS don't win awards because they are "warmed over popcorn." But it also indicates literary pedigree is acceptable. So we can pry open this field via novels.
The general rule though, in what producers are looking for is something "the same" but "different."
It occurs to me to wonder if the "different" part could be not the involvement of a human with an alien on a deep, intimate level (romance, but do we really need to tell them that up front?) but rather the revival of the 1940's "romance."
Just think, Casablanca - set on Epsilon Eridani in the midst of an interstellar war with invaders from another galaxy.
Or think The Boy Next Door and transform it to The Alien Next Door (it's been done, but not really well as a Romance.)
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://twitter.com/JLichtenberg
http://facebook.com/jacqueline.lichtenberg
Here's the link.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20090625/media_nm/us_oscars_reaction_2
Quoting from that article:
---------------
In fact, one studio executive compared the Academy bombshell to getting doused with a bucket of cold water. He confided that he has enough trouble every awards season figuring out whom they have to satisfy with an Oscar campaign and which talent they can safely neglect or do less for.
--------------
Read that article for the attitude and values of the decision-makers who decide what will (and will not) be allowed to attract your attention. People who go to few movies, generally favor the award-winners because they've heard of them and know people who've seen them.
TV advertising budgets go to award contenders and winners, not to the others.
If you don't follow an industry (any industry) you may only choose from what "they" decide you may.
With the proliferation of E-books and small publishers to the point where Publisher's Weekly routinely covers the field, the roll of "gatekeeper" has disintegrated. But it is quickly being re-invented.
http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6666456.html?q=e%2Dbook
The Academy is expanding its finalists list from 5 to 10, and that may be because of the disintegration of the "gatekeeper" role.
The Academy has been, with the Oscars, a major gatekeeper. Now there are many other gatekeepers in the film industry with Festivals awarding winners and other Awards like the BET awards. There are many more films you've heard of so you get to choose whether to see them or not. So the Academy has responded to changes in the world by trying to compete for its top gatekeeper spot.
I did not find anything in this article on the Oscar rules the least bit surprising and I doubt most of you will either. The book business now works exactly the same way (though it didn't in the early 20th Century or before.)
In this new media-dominated world, we need to understand how (and why) our choices are deliberately limited by people who don't know us and couldn't care less about us.
This gatekeeper thinking is the thinking that rejects Romance, especially SF Romance, while at the same time panders to teens. That's a relatively new development.
Don't ever forget the 1951 film DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL Talk about hot Alien Romance!
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0043456/
Quoting on increasing the number of nominees to 10 from that article on the Oscar rules:
----------------
The only problem with widening the net is that this is no longer the 1930s or '40s, when the Academy last fielded 10 or so best picture noms each year. Back then, it had an overabundance of what were grown-up yet popular titles -- ranging from "It Happened One Night" and "Mutiny on the Bounty" early on to "You Can't Take It with You" and "Casablanca," the last movie, in 1943, to wrest the Oscar from nine other contenders. Nowadays, most Hollywood movies aren't really made for grown-ups.
-----------------
My boldface on that very telling comment, tossed in off-handedly. "Nowadays, most Hollywood movies aren't really made for grown-ups."
On 6/16/09 I posted here a commentary on the award winning film Mr. And Mrs. Smith
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/06/writers-eye-finds-symmetry.html
Would you say that film was for grownups? No children characters and it's ostensibly about marriage counseling and professional assassination.
On 6/23/09 I posted here a commentary on the Disney film Snow Dogs:
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2009/06/writers-eye-finds-symmetry.html
Children were not the featured characters in Snow Dogs, but the adults were working through issues having to do with their parents just as if they were still children, and the comedy venue made it accessible to children, so it's billed as a "family movie" -- which basically means it's not really for grownups but grownups wouldn't mind watching it. (I enjoyed it!)
Both Mr. & Mrs. Smith and Snow Dogs are stories focused on Relationships, with the Romance part in the B-story, hidden but thematic.
With the loss of so many middle-aged celebrities these last couple of weeks, ( David Caradine, Ed McMahon (who was 70's but too young to die), Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Gale Storm ( http://www.popeater.com/television/article/gale-storm-dies/547078?icid=main%7Chtmlws-main%7Cdl2%7Clink4%7Chttp%3A%2F%2Fwww.popeater.com%2Ftelevision%2Farticle%2Fgale-storm-dies%2F547078 ) and Billy Mays.
Here's a website that tries to keep an up to date listing of deceased celebrities:
http://www.hollywoodmemoir.com/forum/8?sort=desc&order=Created
We are clearly in a turning-of-the-generations cycle.
McMahon had risen to the level of decision maker, as has Leonard Nimoy (who's still with us, and did a splendid job in the new Star Trek movie). David Caradine did much more than acting, as did Farrah Fawcett. Michael Jackson was mostly known for being wild and irresponsible (ending up in half a billion in debt), but likewise he was an influence whose success made others want to copy or pick up one or another of his attributes.
Our deceased icons of American culture knew very well how the movers and shakers behind the Academy and the Oscars think. That's how they got to be icons.
Do we have to go back to the 1940's to find a ROMANCE ICON? If so, do you think maybe it's been long enough and it's time for a new Romance Icon to arise?
If so, who? And with what sort of public image profile? How are they going to impress the gatekeepers? The decision makers?
What sells? And why?
Demographics.
Hollywood studios (and even book publishers) have spent big bucks commissioning statistical studies and analyses of the demographics of movie ticket buyers. They know that what held true in novels holds true in the movies -- the age-group that will want to read or see a story will be close or related to the age of the protagonist.
The film Cocoon was a hit with older people, not so much with the youngest demographic.
If you're writing a children's book for 7 year olds, the protagonist has to be 7 or maybe 9 years old, not 15 or 25.
For pre-teens, your protagonist has to be a teen (because that's what pre-teens identify with and aspire to).
Middle Aged people don't really yearn to become OLD, so stories about older people who "can still shoot straight" abound.
But film producers discovered that today's audiences are composed mostly of teens and college age people, often dating. And on a date like that, even TODAY, the male's taste in entertainment prevails.
The 16 and 17 year old crowd wants stories about early 20's. The 20 somethings will go for stories about 30-somethings who "have it made" but still get into the same pickles 20 somethings get into. Only they handle it better.
We want to identify with a Hero we can feel proud to become.
So when choosing the age of the protagonist of your story, consider how big an audience you want it to attract. Look at the demographics, note which age group has the most disposable income.
The Golden Rule of protagonist age choice is simply, the protagonist has to be the age of your typical reader/viewer.
If the golden rule holds, the key to creating a blockbuster Alien Romance will be primarily the age of the protagonists.
In all genre fiction, it is the audience's identification with the main characters that determines the sales volume, thus the prominence, and whether they are chosen as contenders for major awards. Or as the article I was quoting above pointed out, which actors the production company can safely ignore.
As the article points out, it doesn't matter how good a film is. When it comes to the Oscars, it only matters "who" the stars are and what it will take to mollify them.
Go back to my analysis of why and how a writer can use Astrology to plot a story (5 post series in 2008)
http://aliendjinnromances.blogspot.com/2008/12/astrology-just-for-writers-part-5-high.html
and see that "life" has a particular shape, an ebb and flow, a sequence in which we learn lessons.
Writers often learn or are born knowing that at certain ages, we reach certain plights, challenges, consequences, and choices all of which shape the plot of our real life, and our taste in fictional life.
Many of these most prominent and widely understood (without the aid of knowing astrology) life lessons are connected to Saturn's 29 year period.
Relationships are ruled by Venus which has a period of about a year, and "Romance" is induced by Neptune which has a period of about 164 years; more than a lifetime. Neptune is also famous for creating "strange" (i.e. alien) environments, coincidences, and miracles. Neptune is all about the exceptional moments in time when the rules blur.
You really do, literally, get a once-in-a-lifetime shot at real Romance.
But it comes at different ages in different lives. Sometimes it's in the teens, sometimes the 40's or even the 70's. So you can write a really hot Romance with some deeply significant lessons about the relationship between self-esteem and unconditional love, and use characters of almost any age.
Yes, sometimes the Romance transit of a lifetime comes before you're 10, but when that happens, you usually experience it through your parents (or parental figures), so it shapes your attitude toward life. And perhaps, those are the "marry the boy next door" stories.
So as far as creating that blockbuster Alien Romance that will change the way the entire field is regarded, as Star Trek changed the way Science Fiction was regarded, you can focus on any age demographic and still craft a plausible Alien Romance.
But certain ages will be preferred by certain producers or publishers.
A Silver Rule perhaps would be that the more expensive the fiction is to deliver to the consumer, the broader the target demographic must be.
A book costs less to produce than a movie, (though a book has a smaller potential profit margin) and so a book can appeal to a narrower audience and still make a profit. Authors know their book made a profit when the publisher sends them royalties beyond the advance.
A film on the other hand must appeal to a very diverse and broad and deep audience. The higher the budget for the film, the broader the apparent appeal must be. It's all about the numbers, and the Academy knows that -- and perhaps the Academy does not know much else!
This article on changes in the Academy of Motion Picture rules of the Oscars clearly informs us that the blockbuster film that becomes a TV show, with endless spinoffs, books, action figures etc, has to be "NOT FOR GROWNUPS."
The article also makes the point clearly that SEQUELS don't win awards because they are "warmed over popcorn." But it also indicates literary pedigree is acceptable. So we can pry open this field via novels.
The general rule though, in what producers are looking for is something "the same" but "different."
It occurs to me to wonder if the "different" part could be not the involvement of a human with an alien on a deep, intimate level (romance, but do we really need to tell them that up front?) but rather the revival of the 1940's "romance."
Just think, Casablanca - set on Epsilon Eridani in the midst of an interstellar war with invaders from another galaxy.
Or think The Boy Next Door and transform it to The Alien Next Door (it's been done, but not really well as a Romance.)
Jacqueline Lichtenberg
http://twitter.com/JLichtenberg
http://facebook.com/jacqueline.lichtenberg
Sunday, June 28, 2009
What does an alien hero smell of?
An alien romance might be a thinly (or heavily) disguised Western, or Historical, or "billionaire sheikh with harem" story.
I don't see anything wrong with that.
Moreover, every Romance has to answer at least four important questions:
1. (a) Who is the hero?
(b) Who is the heroine?
2. (a) What does he want?
(b) What does she want?
3. (a) Why can't he have what he wants?
(b) Why can't she have what she wants?
4. (a) Why does he want... whatever he wants?
(b) Why does she want whatever she wants?
One of the things that interests me about alien romance (and Romances where either the hero or heroine is not human) is the cultural conflict and the differences between one of "them" and one of "us".
The hero has to be convincing for his sex, time, place, situation, social status. An he has to be different from human heroes. Yet, he has to be reasonably attractive, interesting and compelling, because the reader must understand viscerally why the heroine doesn't mind having sex with him.
As Jennifer Dunne said "Write a hero you can fall in love with, and your reader will, too."
The alien hero may look like us. This could be because of parallelism or because of convergence. His species could have evolved to look like us because they prey on us and are more successful if they blend in until they strike.
Vampires are a great example. (Especially Margaret L. Carter's).
When an aspiring author does the contest circuit, she is almost invariably advised to use every sense in her writing. Not just the looks of him, or the sound of him, or the feel of him, or the taste of him (oh, my!), but also his smell.
What would a vampire smell of? Breath-mints? Blood? Soil? Sex? As part of blending in, he'd probably use human perfumes... I wonder whether the over-used aftershave would react differently with his chemistry.
Moving on....
Gargoyle body odor would be fun, wouldn't it? Have you sniffed any rocks lately?
Were-wolves! If he has a dog-like sense of smell, he's likely to be highly interested in his personal odors, as well as those of the heroine. We cannot leave it up to the heroine's nose to take care of all the smelling. The same applies to my god-Princes of Tigron who have seven senses, all of which are much more acute than human senses.
As long as a human heroine is sniffing the hero and reporting her observations to the reader, I suppose it is reasonable for her to translate his scents into fragrances with which her reader is familiar.
Personally, I find this description (of an alien hunk on an alien planet) a bit of a cop-out. "He smelled of horses, leather, and himself."
Does all leather smell the same? How many leather things do you own? Crocodile handbag, perhaps? (I don't!) Snakeskin boots? Cowhide on your car seat? Should an alien planet's horses smell like ours? I think I'd want to make it clear that their horses smelled a bit like the way ours smell but with bottom notes of some other animal.
Musk is an eternal favorite. Countless heroes smell of musk and get away with it. Isn't musk a secretion of... well, never mind... as long as the heroine and your editor finds the fragrance pleasant and exciting.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
I don't see anything wrong with that.
Moreover, every Romance has to answer at least four important questions:
1. (a) Who is the hero?
(b) Who is the heroine?
2. (a) What does he want?
(b) What does she want?
3. (a) Why can't he have what he wants?
(b) Why can't she have what she wants?
4. (a) Why does he want... whatever he wants?
(b) Why does she want whatever she wants?
One of the things that interests me about alien romance (and Romances where either the hero or heroine is not human) is the cultural conflict and the differences between one of "them" and one of "us".
The hero has to be convincing for his sex, time, place, situation, social status. An he has to be different from human heroes. Yet, he has to be reasonably attractive, interesting and compelling, because the reader must understand viscerally why the heroine doesn't mind having sex with him.
As Jennifer Dunne said "Write a hero you can fall in love with, and your reader will, too."
The alien hero may look like us. This could be because of parallelism or because of convergence. His species could have evolved to look like us because they prey on us and are more successful if they blend in until they strike.
Vampires are a great example. (Especially Margaret L. Carter's).
When an aspiring author does the contest circuit, she is almost invariably advised to use every sense in her writing. Not just the looks of him, or the sound of him, or the feel of him, or the taste of him (oh, my!), but also his smell.
What would a vampire smell of? Breath-mints? Blood? Soil? Sex? As part of blending in, he'd probably use human perfumes... I wonder whether the over-used aftershave would react differently with his chemistry.
Moving on....
Gargoyle body odor would be fun, wouldn't it? Have you sniffed any rocks lately?
Were-wolves! If he has a dog-like sense of smell, he's likely to be highly interested in his personal odors, as well as those of the heroine. We cannot leave it up to the heroine's nose to take care of all the smelling. The same applies to my god-Princes of Tigron who have seven senses, all of which are much more acute than human senses.
As long as a human heroine is sniffing the hero and reporting her observations to the reader, I suppose it is reasonable for her to translate his scents into fragrances with which her reader is familiar.
Personally, I find this description (of an alien hunk on an alien planet) a bit of a cop-out. "He smelled of horses, leather, and himself."
Does all leather smell the same? How many leather things do you own? Crocodile handbag, perhaps? (I don't!) Snakeskin boots? Cowhide on your car seat? Should an alien planet's horses smell like ours? I think I'd want to make it clear that their horses smelled a bit like the way ours smell but with bottom notes of some other animal.
Musk is an eternal favorite. Countless heroes smell of musk and get away with it. Isn't musk a secretion of... well, never mind... as long as the heroine and your editor finds the fragrance pleasant and exciting.
Best wishes,
Rowena Cherry
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Continuing series, when a story doesn't work.
When researching victorian England for my Steampunk proposal I came up with an interesting fact. The Buffalo Bill Wild West Show appeared in England in 1887. I try to remain as historically actuate as possible, even though this book has fantasy elements and thowing a cowboy who is very good with his guns into the mix set my heart all aflutter. I write cowboys well and it seemed much more interesting than writing your typical British Lord of that time. I needed someone who could be in the same social circle as my heroine but also be forbidden. So Dax became a cowboy with a past.
I wanted him to have a rough edge of danger but also be able to pass in the society of the day. So I created a history for him. Dax was raised my his grandmother, a grand society dame in Boston. His mother died in childbirth and his father, who was a Doctor was stricken with grief and took off for the west. When Dax reached his late teens he took off to find his father who was living with the Sioux. Dax fell in love with Rebekah who'd was raised in the tribe. She died from a plague along with his father and once more Dax took off to become a scout for the army. He was part of the hunt for Geronimo and at one time was captured and tortured by the Apache. AFter his rescue he decided he'd had enough of the west and wanted to travel. He hooked up with the Wild West show and became Kid Cochran, the fastest gun alive.
The following is the first chapter which contains the meet between the Hero and Heroine and hopefully draws the reader into the story.
Prism
April 14, 1887
“What ever is the hold up?” Thomas Chadwyke, Earl of Pemberton rapped the silver handle of his walking stick on the roof of the carriage to get the attention of his driver. They had come to a complete stop on Gloucester Street and the Earl’s impatience was as usual, quite evident.
“It seems to be some sort of parade Sir,” Harry, the driver called down from his perch. “Coming from the train station.”
“A parade?” The Earl stuck his head through the carriage window.
“Really, Thomas,” Evelyn, Countess Pemberton said. “Don’t be crass.”
The Earl ignored her as he hung out the window and exclaimed quite loudly. “It’s the Americans! And I believe those fellows wrapped up in blankets are Indians.” The Countess leaned forward and peered through the window on her side of the carriage as the Earl continued with his exclamations. “Good Lord, those must be buffalo.”
“Oh!” The Countess said as she sat back onto her seat. “The smell is quite dreadful.” She pulled an embroidered square of linen from her reticule and placed it over the lower half of her face. “Merritt,” she said to her daughter. “Quickly, cover your face before some horrid disease creeps in.”
Before Merritt could respond, or even protest, her nurse and constant companion, Rose, slapped a ready handkerchief over the lower half of Merritt’s face and held it there. Merritt knew from experience that it would do no good to protest, or even move as Rose, in direct contradiction to her name, was extremely strong for a woman.
It was one of the requirements Rose met when she was interviewed for the position after discreet inquires were made by her parents. They lived with the fear that Merritt would hurt herself when she was in the throes of one of her spells, therefore her nurse must have the physical strength to keep that from happening. Merritt always wondered what it was they expected to happen to her since her spells usually entailed her speaking of strange things while seeming to lose all touch with what was happening around her. She was glad to know that with Rose’s constant care she would not throw herself from a window or cut herself with a butter knife which were just a few of the ways her mother’s vivid imagination had conjured up for Merritt to injure herself.
Merritt placed her hand over Rose’s and smiled agreeably with her eyes, since that was all of her face that was showing. She practically sighed in relief when Rose released the linen into her care and went about the business of protecting her own mouth and nose from whatever dreaded disease her mother was going on about.
“I do wish they would hurry,” the Countess said. “We’re going to miss our appointment.” The countess peered out her window once more as if just looking at the delay would convince it to stop inconveniencing her. Merritt sat with her back to the front of her carriage so could not see what was creating the stir. She was tempted to look but knew it would result in more fussing from her mother and Rose so instead she stared complacently ahead and tried not to think about what the day held in store for her.
If only we would miss the appointment…That would not trouble Merritt in the least. It would be cause for much rejoicing on her part. She might even be tempted to join the parade of Americans herself if only to prolong it so that she could miss her appointment. Of course that would be enough to send her mother into one of her own spells. She did her best not to laugh aloud at the vision of her mother swooning into her father’s arms while their rebellious daughter chased down the street after buffalo and wild Indians. Luckily the handkerchief covered the quivering of her lips as she suppressed the urge.
“I do believe they are coming this way,” the Earl said. He resumed his seat. “There are policemen about directing the carriages to move over to the side.”
“Oh, if only we had known,” the Countess exclaimed. “We could have traveled another route.”
“It was my understanding that they were supposed to ride the train all the way to the exhibition grounds,” the Earl said. “I say, it will not do to have the streets of London run amok with these wild creatures.”
“Are you referring to the buffalo or the Indians?” The Countess asked.
“Both.” The carriage lurched as Harry urged the four in hand over. Merritt barely heard Harry’s faint apology over the drumming sound of hooves against the cobblestones that suddenly filled the streets. Shouts and whistles joined the cacophony of noise. Her curiosity finally got the best of her and she turned so that she could see out the window.
“Do be careful dear,” the Countess instructed.
“I just want to see,” Merritt said. A rider went by and she caught the bright stripes of a blanket trailing over the brown and white splotched coat of a horse. “Is that what they call a paint?” she asked her father.
“I believe so.” He leaned out the window once more and Merritt rose up to join him, conveniently leaving her handkerchief on her seat. Rose tried to grasp her arm to stop her. Merritt managed to gracefully avoid her nurse and looped her arm through her father’s so that she was pressed against his side. She knew they resembled a pair of children with their faces pressed against the glass of the sweet shop but she did not care. It was not often that her father’s natural exuberance took over and she wanted to relish the moment. Who knew how long it would last?
“Oh his hair is nearly as long as mine!” she exclaimed as another Indian rode by. This one had long black hair cascading down his back and a feather sticking up in the back. “I wonder if Buffalo Bill is among the riders.”
“From what I’ve read he should be easy to recognize. Perhaps he stayed with the train.”
“Could that be Annie Oakley?” Merritt saw a woman dressed in fringed buckskin and a gun belt around her waist go by on a beautiful palomino. The papers had been full of stories of the Wild West show and the people who were slated to appear with it. For the past few weeks Merritt read about Buffalo Bill, Annie Oakley, Red Shirt the Indian, and Kid Cochran who the papers claimed was the fastest gun alive, whatever that meant. She supposed it could have something to do with quick draw or rapid firing. Whatever it was, it all seemed very exciting and adventurous, especially when one’s life seemed to center around doctor visits and the constant hovering of her mother, her maid, and Rose the nurse.
“We are going, aren’t we Papa?” she asked as a dozen or so buffalo went by with their shaggy humped backs reeking from too much confinement.
“We shall see.” His usual reply to her requests for some sort of normalcy in her life.
“I do not see how it could possibly be safe,” the Countess interjected.
“Evelyn,” the Earl said dryly. “Or course it will be safe. The Prince is planning to attend and the Queen has requested a private showing.”
Merritt allowed herself a small smile. Her father’s retort was quick assurance that they would attend the Wild West Show and most likely at the nearest opportunity. The first scheduled public performance was for May the ninth but it was well known among the members of parliament, of which her father was included, that there would be private showings before then. It was a small victory she relished to make up for the dreaded appointment that was to occur later on.
“Watch out!” her father suddenly exclaimed. The carriage lurched as Merritt crashed into her father who steadied her with his arm. “Are you hurt my dear?”
“No,” she said. “I am quite all right.”
“Thomas,” the Countess said. “Would you please do something about removing us before we are trampled by these creatures?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The Earl quickly exited the carriage on the side that was closest to the buildings without waiting for his man Jerry, to open the door. Merritt knew it was only because he wanted a closer look at the commotion without listening to her mother’s constant concerns. She turned back to the window and was amazed to see a buffalo staring at her. The head with its protruding horns was immense and the humped back seemed to her to be as high as the carriage windows. If she wanted to, she could stretch out a gloved hand and touch the shaggy coat.
A piercing whistle sounded followed by a shout.” Get outa there!” There was a popping sound and the buffalo jumped away and joined its fellows as they trotted on down the street.
“Sorry about that.” A horse and rider stopped by the carriage. The horse was extraordinary, nothing like Merritt had ever seen before. Its nose was a deep blue black then the color faded to bluish gray before becoming white on its hindquarters. There was a spattering of blue-gray spots across its back that ended in a silky tail that seemed to be a blend of all three colors.
“Oh my,” Merritt exclaimed. “What type of horse is that?”
The rider rubbed the arched neck of the animal with pride. “This here is Katie,” he said. “And she’s what we call an Appaloosa.”
“She’s extraordinary.” Merritt said as her eyes moved from the horse to the muscular thigh that held the animal in check. Her breath quickened at the sight of the raw wildness that was within her reach.
“Yes she is.” The voice had a lazy drawl and it captured her, drawing her gaze to his face. She saw a strong jaw and straight nose beneath the brim of a wide hat the types of which she’d seen pictures of in the newspapers. The jaw was covered with a stubble of beard and strong white teeth flashed a grin at her from full lips. He wore a short brown coat with the collar turned up against the crisp cold air. There was a blue paisley scarf tied about his neck and buckskin pants tucked into brown boots. Much to her surprise a gun belt rode low on his left hip and was tied off around his thigh to keep it from moving. He coiled a short whip around a knob that protruded from his saddle.
Her mother craned her neck to see who she was talking to and gasped at the blatant display of weaponry.
“They’re all a bit frisky after being cooped up for so long,” he said with a wave at the small contingent of buffalo that trotted on down the cobblestones with the riders doing their best to keep them contained. “We all are,” he added.
“I would imagine so,” Merritt said. She felt a flutter of excitement inside as she studied the cowboy. He seemed mysterious and forbidden, like one of the scandalous romance novels she kept hidden beneath her mattress or the champagne her mother would not let her drink at parties lest it bring on another spell. She heard her mother’s hiss and felt the sharp tug on her skirt. She ignored it as the cowboy pushed back his hat so she could see the rest of his face.
Deep blue eyes gazed at her from beneath a flop of golden brown hair that touched his incredibly long lashes. He pushed the recalcitrant locks aside and gave her a wide grin. “I hope you’re coming to the show.” He looked at her, boldly, brazenly and a lazy smile turned up the corners of his full lips.
Merritt felt the heat of his eyes and her cheeks burned with his look. He sees me… For the first time someone was looking at her, as a person, whole into herself. She was so used to the whispers about her spells and the sympathetic looks of the servants or the constant worry that lined her parent’s faces. No one ever truly saw Merritt. They only saw the circumstances that surrounded her.
“It is my intent.” She returned his smile with a shy one of her own.
“Merritt!” Her mother’s voice was loud enough for the cowboy to hear. She was not surprised. It was unusual for her to engage in conversation with the prim and proper gentlemen of the peerage. Of course it would shock her mother to see her hanging from a carriage window, talking to a complete stranger who seemed so rough around the edges. It might even be considered dangerous, enough so that a thrill went down her spine.
“That’s a pretty name,” he drawled. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”
“Thank you,” Merritt replied. “My father gave it to me.”
As if on cue her father stepped round from behind the carriage with Jerry close behind him. “Taking in the scenery?” he said to the cowboy.
“Yes sir,” the cowboy said as he looked between Merritt and her father. The relationship had to be obvious to even a stranger on the street. She had the same blonde hair and the same piercing blue eyes although she was grateful to be blessed with her mother’s nose and chin. Her mother was still considered to be a great beauty. Merritt’s beauty was always an addendum to her condition.
“That’s an interesting piece you’re wearing there,” the Earl said, motioning towards the gun strapped to the cowboy’s hip.”
“It gets the job done,” the cowboy said. His eyes changed, along with his posture. He was no longer open and easy. Suddenly he was more reserved, as if there were secrets that he was trying to protect.
“The way seems to be clear, sir,” Harry said from his post.
“Oh,” the Earl said. His disappoint was evident. “Well then, I supposed we must be off. The cowboy backed his horse away as Jerry opened the carriage door and her father stepped in. He leaned out the window once more. “Will we see you in the show?” he asked as Harry set the team in motion.
“Yes, sir,” the cowboy replied. “Just keep a lookout for Kid Cochran!” he called out after them. He tugged on the reins and Katie, the beautiful appaloosa, rose up on her hind legs and pawed the air as her rider lifted his arm in the air and let out a farewell whoop.
Merritt and her father clapped their approval of the show as Katie took off in a clatter of hooves after the retreating buffalo. The crowd gathered in the melting snow let out a collective gasp and then a cheer at the cowboy’s bravado.
Kid Cochran…The fastest gun alive. And to think she had met him boldly on the street. Her friend Caro would never believe it.
It would make for much better conversation than the coming appointment.
I wanted him to have a rough edge of danger but also be able to pass in the society of the day. So I created a history for him. Dax was raised my his grandmother, a grand society dame in Boston. His mother died in childbirth and his father, who was a Doctor was stricken with grief and took off for the west. When Dax reached his late teens he took off to find his father who was living with the Sioux. Dax fell in love with Rebekah who'd was raised in the tribe. She died from a plague along with his father and once more Dax took off to become a scout for the army. He was part of the hunt for Geronimo and at one time was captured and tortured by the Apache. AFter his rescue he decided he'd had enough of the west and wanted to travel. He hooked up with the Wild West show and became Kid Cochran, the fastest gun alive.
The following is the first chapter which contains the meet between the Hero and Heroine and hopefully draws the reader into the story.
Prism
April 14, 1887
“What ever is the hold up?” Thomas Chadwyke, Earl of Pemberton rapped the silver handle of his walking stick on the roof of the carriage to get the attention of his driver. They had come to a complete stop on Gloucester Street and the Earl’s impatience was as usual, quite evident.
“It seems to be some sort of parade Sir,” Harry, the driver called down from his perch. “Coming from the train station.”
“A parade?” The Earl stuck his head through the carriage window.
“Really, Thomas,” Evelyn, Countess Pemberton said. “Don’t be crass.”
The Earl ignored her as he hung out the window and exclaimed quite loudly. “It’s the Americans! And I believe those fellows wrapped up in blankets are Indians.” The Countess leaned forward and peered through the window on her side of the carriage as the Earl continued with his exclamations. “Good Lord, those must be buffalo.”
“Oh!” The Countess said as she sat back onto her seat. “The smell is quite dreadful.” She pulled an embroidered square of linen from her reticule and placed it over the lower half of her face. “Merritt,” she said to her daughter. “Quickly, cover your face before some horrid disease creeps in.”
Before Merritt could respond, or even protest, her nurse and constant companion, Rose, slapped a ready handkerchief over the lower half of Merritt’s face and held it there. Merritt knew from experience that it would do no good to protest, or even move as Rose, in direct contradiction to her name, was extremely strong for a woman.
It was one of the requirements Rose met when she was interviewed for the position after discreet inquires were made by her parents. They lived with the fear that Merritt would hurt herself when she was in the throes of one of her spells, therefore her nurse must have the physical strength to keep that from happening. Merritt always wondered what it was they expected to happen to her since her spells usually entailed her speaking of strange things while seeming to lose all touch with what was happening around her. She was glad to know that with Rose’s constant care she would not throw herself from a window or cut herself with a butter knife which were just a few of the ways her mother’s vivid imagination had conjured up for Merritt to injure herself.
Merritt placed her hand over Rose’s and smiled agreeably with her eyes, since that was all of her face that was showing. She practically sighed in relief when Rose released the linen into her care and went about the business of protecting her own mouth and nose from whatever dreaded disease her mother was going on about.
“I do wish they would hurry,” the Countess said. “We’re going to miss our appointment.” The countess peered out her window once more as if just looking at the delay would convince it to stop inconveniencing her. Merritt sat with her back to the front of her carriage so could not see what was creating the stir. She was tempted to look but knew it would result in more fussing from her mother and Rose so instead she stared complacently ahead and tried not to think about what the day held in store for her.
If only we would miss the appointment…That would not trouble Merritt in the least. It would be cause for much rejoicing on her part. She might even be tempted to join the parade of Americans herself if only to prolong it so that she could miss her appointment. Of course that would be enough to send her mother into one of her own spells. She did her best not to laugh aloud at the vision of her mother swooning into her father’s arms while their rebellious daughter chased down the street after buffalo and wild Indians. Luckily the handkerchief covered the quivering of her lips as she suppressed the urge.
“I do believe they are coming this way,” the Earl said. He resumed his seat. “There are policemen about directing the carriages to move over to the side.”
“Oh, if only we had known,” the Countess exclaimed. “We could have traveled another route.”
“It was my understanding that they were supposed to ride the train all the way to the exhibition grounds,” the Earl said. “I say, it will not do to have the streets of London run amok with these wild creatures.”
“Are you referring to the buffalo or the Indians?” The Countess asked.
“Both.” The carriage lurched as Harry urged the four in hand over. Merritt barely heard Harry’s faint apology over the drumming sound of hooves against the cobblestones that suddenly filled the streets. Shouts and whistles joined the cacophony of noise. Her curiosity finally got the best of her and she turned so that she could see out the window.
“Do be careful dear,” the Countess instructed.
“I just want to see,” Merritt said. A rider went by and she caught the bright stripes of a blanket trailing over the brown and white splotched coat of a horse. “Is that what they call a paint?” she asked her father.
“I believe so.” He leaned out the window once more and Merritt rose up to join him, conveniently leaving her handkerchief on her seat. Rose tried to grasp her arm to stop her. Merritt managed to gracefully avoid her nurse and looped her arm through her father’s so that she was pressed against his side. She knew they resembled a pair of children with their faces pressed against the glass of the sweet shop but she did not care. It was not often that her father’s natural exuberance took over and she wanted to relish the moment. Who knew how long it would last?
“Oh his hair is nearly as long as mine!” she exclaimed as another Indian rode by. This one had long black hair cascading down his back and a feather sticking up in the back. “I wonder if Buffalo Bill is among the riders.”
“From what I’ve read he should be easy to recognize. Perhaps he stayed with the train.”
“Could that be Annie Oakley?” Merritt saw a woman dressed in fringed buckskin and a gun belt around her waist go by on a beautiful palomino. The papers had been full of stories of the Wild West show and the people who were slated to appear with it. For the past few weeks Merritt read about Buffalo Bill, Annie Oakley, Red Shirt the Indian, and Kid Cochran who the papers claimed was the fastest gun alive, whatever that meant. She supposed it could have something to do with quick draw or rapid firing. Whatever it was, it all seemed very exciting and adventurous, especially when one’s life seemed to center around doctor visits and the constant hovering of her mother, her maid, and Rose the nurse.
“We are going, aren’t we Papa?” she asked as a dozen or so buffalo went by with their shaggy humped backs reeking from too much confinement.
“We shall see.” His usual reply to her requests for some sort of normalcy in her life.
“I do not see how it could possibly be safe,” the Countess interjected.
“Evelyn,” the Earl said dryly. “Or course it will be safe. The Prince is planning to attend and the Queen has requested a private showing.”
Merritt allowed herself a small smile. Her father’s retort was quick assurance that they would attend the Wild West Show and most likely at the nearest opportunity. The first scheduled public performance was for May the ninth but it was well known among the members of parliament, of which her father was included, that there would be private showings before then. It was a small victory she relished to make up for the dreaded appointment that was to occur later on.
“Watch out!” her father suddenly exclaimed. The carriage lurched as Merritt crashed into her father who steadied her with his arm. “Are you hurt my dear?”
“No,” she said. “I am quite all right.”
“Thomas,” the Countess said. “Would you please do something about removing us before we are trampled by these creatures?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The Earl quickly exited the carriage on the side that was closest to the buildings without waiting for his man Jerry, to open the door. Merritt knew it was only because he wanted a closer look at the commotion without listening to her mother’s constant concerns. She turned back to the window and was amazed to see a buffalo staring at her. The head with its protruding horns was immense and the humped back seemed to her to be as high as the carriage windows. If she wanted to, she could stretch out a gloved hand and touch the shaggy coat.
A piercing whistle sounded followed by a shout.” Get outa there!” There was a popping sound and the buffalo jumped away and joined its fellows as they trotted on down the street.
“Sorry about that.” A horse and rider stopped by the carriage. The horse was extraordinary, nothing like Merritt had ever seen before. Its nose was a deep blue black then the color faded to bluish gray before becoming white on its hindquarters. There was a spattering of blue-gray spots across its back that ended in a silky tail that seemed to be a blend of all three colors.
“Oh my,” Merritt exclaimed. “What type of horse is that?”
The rider rubbed the arched neck of the animal with pride. “This here is Katie,” he said. “And she’s what we call an Appaloosa.”
“She’s extraordinary.” Merritt said as her eyes moved from the horse to the muscular thigh that held the animal in check. Her breath quickened at the sight of the raw wildness that was within her reach.
“Yes she is.” The voice had a lazy drawl and it captured her, drawing her gaze to his face. She saw a strong jaw and straight nose beneath the brim of a wide hat the types of which she’d seen pictures of in the newspapers. The jaw was covered with a stubble of beard and strong white teeth flashed a grin at her from full lips. He wore a short brown coat with the collar turned up against the crisp cold air. There was a blue paisley scarf tied about his neck and buckskin pants tucked into brown boots. Much to her surprise a gun belt rode low on his left hip and was tied off around his thigh to keep it from moving. He coiled a short whip around a knob that protruded from his saddle.
Her mother craned her neck to see who she was talking to and gasped at the blatant display of weaponry.
“They’re all a bit frisky after being cooped up for so long,” he said with a wave at the small contingent of buffalo that trotted on down the cobblestones with the riders doing their best to keep them contained. “We all are,” he added.
“I would imagine so,” Merritt said. She felt a flutter of excitement inside as she studied the cowboy. He seemed mysterious and forbidden, like one of the scandalous romance novels she kept hidden beneath her mattress or the champagne her mother would not let her drink at parties lest it bring on another spell. She heard her mother’s hiss and felt the sharp tug on her skirt. She ignored it as the cowboy pushed back his hat so she could see the rest of his face.
Deep blue eyes gazed at her from beneath a flop of golden brown hair that touched his incredibly long lashes. He pushed the recalcitrant locks aside and gave her a wide grin. “I hope you’re coming to the show.” He looked at her, boldly, brazenly and a lazy smile turned up the corners of his full lips.
Merritt felt the heat of his eyes and her cheeks burned with his look. He sees me… For the first time someone was looking at her, as a person, whole into herself. She was so used to the whispers about her spells and the sympathetic looks of the servants or the constant worry that lined her parent’s faces. No one ever truly saw Merritt. They only saw the circumstances that surrounded her.
“It is my intent.” She returned his smile with a shy one of her own.
“Merritt!” Her mother’s voice was loud enough for the cowboy to hear. She was not surprised. It was unusual for her to engage in conversation with the prim and proper gentlemen of the peerage. Of course it would shock her mother to see her hanging from a carriage window, talking to a complete stranger who seemed so rough around the edges. It might even be considered dangerous, enough so that a thrill went down her spine.
“That’s a pretty name,” he drawled. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard that one before.”
“Thank you,” Merritt replied. “My father gave it to me.”
As if on cue her father stepped round from behind the carriage with Jerry close behind him. “Taking in the scenery?” he said to the cowboy.
“Yes sir,” the cowboy said as he looked between Merritt and her father. The relationship had to be obvious to even a stranger on the street. She had the same blonde hair and the same piercing blue eyes although she was grateful to be blessed with her mother’s nose and chin. Her mother was still considered to be a great beauty. Merritt’s beauty was always an addendum to her condition.
“That’s an interesting piece you’re wearing there,” the Earl said, motioning towards the gun strapped to the cowboy’s hip.”
“It gets the job done,” the cowboy said. His eyes changed, along with his posture. He was no longer open and easy. Suddenly he was more reserved, as if there were secrets that he was trying to protect.
“The way seems to be clear, sir,” Harry said from his post.
“Oh,” the Earl said. His disappoint was evident. “Well then, I supposed we must be off. The cowboy backed his horse away as Jerry opened the carriage door and her father stepped in. He leaned out the window once more. “Will we see you in the show?” he asked as Harry set the team in motion.
“Yes, sir,” the cowboy replied. “Just keep a lookout for Kid Cochran!” he called out after them. He tugged on the reins and Katie, the beautiful appaloosa, rose up on her hind legs and pawed the air as her rider lifted his arm in the air and let out a farewell whoop.
Merritt and her father clapped their approval of the show as Katie took off in a clatter of hooves after the retreating buffalo. The crowd gathered in the melting snow let out a collective gasp and then a cheer at the cowboy’s bravado.
Kid Cochran…The fastest gun alive. And to think she had met him boldly on the street. Her friend Caro would never believe it.
It would make for much better conversation than the coming appointment.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Post-Apocalyptic Novel: JULIAN COMSTOCK
I love S. M. Stirling's "Dies the Fire" series, about a world in which all advanced technology (anything dependent on electronics, explosions, internal combustion, etc.) instantaneously and inexplicably stopped working at one catastrophic moment in the 1990s. So I was intrigued when I picked up JULIAN COMSTOCK, by Robert Charles Wilson. It's set in the twenty-second century of an America where technology has recovered to a late Victorian level after the devastating End of Oil, False Tribulation, and Plague of Infertility in the twenty-first century. The United States, though nominally a republic, is governed by despotic presidents who rule for life. Julian's uncle, the current president, was responsible for Julian's father's death. The theocratic Dominion also wields vast power, including censorship of books and culture in general. Julian (whom the author modeled on the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate) has an avid interest in the forbidden works of the Secular Ancients (us) and heretical doctrines such as Evolution. The story is told by a naive young man, Adam, Julian's best friend. In this future, elections are only a ritual. The outward forms and verbal formulas of American culture and politics as we know them are mostly preserved, but with altered meanings. There's a biting scene in which a military officer solemnly tells Adam the Dutch are trying to drive the Americans out of Labrador because "they hate our freedoms"—while the guileless Adam accepts this claim at face value, the reader by this point is well aware that most of those "freedoms" survive in name only.
As the current crisis in Iran reminds us, the mere existence of an election process doesn't guarantee rights and freedoms, much less the peaceful transitions we're fortunate to enjoy here. In the America of JULIAN COMSTOCK, presidents often lose their lives, like many of the Roman emperors, to coups and assassinations. This novel offers cautionary and mildly satirical retrospective glimpses of our own world through the eyes of a future century with only distorted memories of the pre-collapse world.
How well would most of us cope if our technological civilization suddenly collapsed? I don't know about you, but I am not and never will be an omnicompetent Heinlein-style survivalist. I don't even like camping! I'm very attached to my conveniences and would hate to go back even to the 1970s. My favorite historical era is the 1890s, but I don't want to *live* there. Five days without electricity after Hurricane Isabel made that point clear (worse than the nineteenth century, actually, because without power our well pump doesn't work). And relatively few of us have the useful experience of belonging to the SCA or other historical re-creation groups, as the resourceful protagonists in Stirling's DIES THE FIRE do. I'm afraid I would be a victim of the collapse, not a survivor.
Margaret L. Carter
Carter's Crypt
As the current crisis in Iran reminds us, the mere existence of an election process doesn't guarantee rights and freedoms, much less the peaceful transitions we're fortunate to enjoy here. In the America of JULIAN COMSTOCK, presidents often lose their lives, like many of the Roman emperors, to coups and assassinations. This novel offers cautionary and mildly satirical retrospective glimpses of our own world through the eyes of a future century with only distorted memories of the pre-collapse world.
How well would most of us cope if our technological civilization suddenly collapsed? I don't know about you, but I am not and never will be an omnicompetent Heinlein-style survivalist. I don't even like camping! I'm very attached to my conveniences and would hate to go back even to the 1970s. My favorite historical era is the 1890s, but I don't want to *live* there. Five days without electricity after Hurricane Isabel made that point clear (worse than the nineteenth century, actually, because without power our well pump doesn't work). And relatively few of us have the useful experience of belonging to the SCA or other historical re-creation groups, as the resourceful protagonists in Stirling's DIES THE FIRE do. I'm afraid I would be a victim of the collapse, not a survivor.
Margaret L. Carter
Carter's Crypt
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