I hope to see you there.
I hope to see you there.
In preparation for a bit of professional writing I made a map showing a rendezvous in Asia of two airships – the Copertino and the Wakefield. Once I’d finished getting the time markers along navigationally accurate great circle paths, I realized the work was wasted if I didn’t incorporate more of the data represented in the graphic within the text of the story.
This completely changed the beginning of the tale and, I think, will involve the reader faster. A much more in medias res start. I recently had an unrelated experience that, although it went remarkably well, I would have preferred it went “even better”. Once writers and editors finish with a piece it amounts to the same sort of wishing.
I’m very glad I caught this opportunity and that my habit of maps with stories served me very well in this instance.
For roughly two weeks, I have been pondering the concept of anarchy. In the present political climate of the United States I have heard members of both major parties accuse the other side of wanting anarchy. One calls their rivals proponents of lawlessness, the other follows suit. It does not matter if one side is correct or if neither argument has a foundation in fact. What are they actually suggesting?
Apart from this conflict – one that may have no resolution – there may not actually be any such thing as lawlessness and, therefore, no anarchy as the term seems to be understood à l’esprit de l’époque. If every human being is individually comparable to a nation then each person’s code of conduct amounts to their body of laws. Where a number of people choose to follow the same code, the result is a culture.
It is not irrational to propose that we all follow such a code whether consciously aware of it or not. The patterns that drive the sociopath and psychopath may be deduced. The criminal may be profiled. Such patterns and profiles are evidence of a code.
A completely chaotic environment is imagined of so-called failed states. History demonstrates, however, that society will resort to some form of might makes right after a collapse of the previous order. A warlord seizes power and imposes his or her code. A strict new system of law is implemented. Kant called this despotism. He offered the formula of a dominant force in control of the people without providing any law or for any freedom as barbarism. That’s precisely what most seem to think anarchy is.
Anarchy is actually the same as a republic, again following Kant, with one exception. An anarchic state rejects the use of force. The term originally implied the absence of a leader. There seems to be a tendency in human nature to demonize any person or group that make different choices about facets of a code of behavior – whether that’s a foreign power, a minority group or subculture, or an outlaw. Instead of being challenged to offense by other options it might cause less societal woes if the challenge accepted it to reexamine past choices.
The anarchist has a bad reputation that may only be deserved if the objective is to tear down a government and no replace it with something to address the functions of government.
For some time the work of T. H. White has been bumping about in my mind. In his tales of King Arthur the central figure is transformed by Merlyn into a variety of different animals. Each species and how it lives is a metaphor for a form of government. The goose serves as the emblem of anarchy. Young Arthur is to learn alternatives to might makes right by these experiences and he ultimately prefers the ways of geese.
The cause of war, White concludes, is twofold: dividing people by borders and making resources harder to reach will result in conflict. The goose is tolerant to a point – until another seeks its food or progeny. Each member of a flock of geese takes a turn on land as a sentinel while the others feed and as the tip of the v-formation in the sky. The position of “leader” rotates in all situations. Borders are circumvented and fresh resources are discovered by flight.
Arthur might never have become king. While living as a gander he learned to prefer their society to that of humans or that of any animal Merlyn forced him to examine. Just before the old wizard restored Arthur to human form the future king had proposed marriage to a goose named Lyo-lyok.
Given that, it’s a wonder King Arthur didn’t have a goose on his shield or banner. And given all of the above, I’m not convinced lawlessness can exist. Some of these musings and some other parts of T. H. White’s work have gone into the socio-political environment of Astral. There likely won’t be geese, though.
Chuck Francisco of Pop Kernal called Book I of The Eterna Files, by my very dear friend and business partner – Leanna Renee Hieber, “the Empire Strikes Back of Victorian paranormal gothic”. I have described her work in reviews and on panels at conventions as being located four blocks west of the intersection of Poe and Stoker. Her work and many conversations with her have helped me make my own writing and thinking a bit more accessible; I have a tendency to range cerebral.
Ms. Hieber is a diligent and skilled crafter of characters you’ll want to include among the circle of your fictional friends. It is they who guide you as they make their way along the boundaries between this world and a stranger one. The ripples on the veil are not caused by a night breeze but the tendrils of death and dark fates.
Book II, titled Eterna and Omega launched today. The privilege of discussing and reading parts of it before the release was mine but it is now something you can share. I gladly and strongly recommend buying a copy. You may not be as certain about strange sounds around midnight after this worthy tale.
Visualization can get sometimes get in the way of manifestation. I had started to develop a map of a hypothetical planet in orbit around the larger star in the Alpha Fornacis binary system, a location in Astral. What does the story need from such a map?
While I was in high school Ralph Bakshi’s animated version of The Lord of the Rings was released. Some educators including my English teacher seized the opportunity to introduce a classic of modern literature. There is, of course, the famous map of Middle-Earth of which there are now countless variations. Pauline Baynes, trained as a cartographer during World War II while a volunteer with the Ministry of Defence, did the original work.
J. R. R. Tolkien was very impressed by Miss Baynes’ talent though some of his friends suggested that her work reduced his “to a commentary on the drawings”. He viewed her mapmaking as presenting a “collateral theme” and introduced her to C. S. Lewis. Some of how we view Narnia is still influenced by her imagination.
Maps tell stories just as novels do. If used in conjunction they must help tell the same story. Does it help show how long and/or arduous a physical journey is? Are there warnings about potential dangers along the way? Is the map equivalent to a trail of breadcrumbs away from Rosina Leckermaul or a length of thread leading back to Ariadne? Proper use of a map helps shape the narrative and defines the characters.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m very pro-map. One of the things I’ll catch myself wondering when I pick up a science fiction or fantasy novel, “I hope there’s a map.” As a fan of fiction I think I rather expect a nice, fancy map. But why map α For Aa?
Building an illustration of the network of Earth’s five dozen future colony worlds helped establish the sociopolitical environment of Astral. The concerns and attitudes of the major characters grew out of my understanding of how humans had spread into interstellar space. Part of the motive of the murderer stems from the star map.
In a setting where terraforming is somewhat commonplace – and the character of any given planet can therefore be changed to suit settlers – there’s less need to map the planet’s surface. Moving from future city’s public transit station to another seems far less important to map out when some of the characters have already traveled more than 20 light-years before the story begins.
I’ve done animations of rotating fictional worlds before but I’d forgotten how time-consuming that can be. From time to time now I will have to ask myself, “What does this contribute to the story?”, which is a polite way of asking, “Are you wasting your time on this detail?”
This afternoon I remembered something I’d made eight years ago. In Astral, the locations that matter are those along the way in pursuit of the murderer and where justice may be meted out. Less spinning globe and more floor plan, then. And I won’t need to sketch out any rooms; real buildings are everywhere as a menu of locations.
From preschool on, we’re told that imagination is a virtue. It is, in fact, the first tool of any artist whether with images or words – unless you happen to be one of those lucky people for whom a blank page or canvas is a Muse in itself. In order to invite and guide a reader to explore any new world, the author must be a diligent scout first. A writer of any sort owes those who may follow his or her lead not to be distracted along the first trail blazed.
From the end of May 1985 to the day before Halloween of 1992 (first on HBO and then shown by USA Network), each episode of The Ray Bradbury Theatre began with the author’s description of himself as a pack rat of things that helped him dream stories into being. The introduction concluded with Mr. Bradbury saying, “And the trip? Exactly one half exhilaration, exactly one half terror.”
If a map helps along the way it is a valuable tool. If not it’s another item of clutter.
Procrastination is the only thing we can do that we don’t put off to a later moment. Lack of action or progress is immune to that particular bad habit. Theories about why we delay generally distill to fewer than ten reasons. As this pertains to writing there are four essential factors.
• Will [___] be good enough?
There’s really only one way to find out. This is the virtue of making an effort. This element of procrastination has three main branches: A] Perfectionism, B] “Do I have the skill/talent to do this?”, and C] “Will anyone else find this interesting?”
Writing may not always result in gold but it does always count as practice. Don’t worry about an audience until the work is finished.
• As cool as I think [___] is, how do I know I still will x months from now?
I tend to rely on the notion that an actually good idea will return in due time. They’re never really forgotten and will have been refined (by the subconscious) during a hiatus. To a certain extent this is precisely the backburner on which A Song Heard in the Future sits.
For reasons that I assume are obvious my sense of heroism and patriotism tends to peak near mid-Summer. If a lull in writing hits then, I’ll harness my own emotion to explore what might cause characters to derive a sense of satisfaction – national pride or otherwise.
Though I don’t find myself subject to Winter doldrums many people on whom I rely as sounding boards do. If this causes a snag in inspiration or refining, I’ll spend snowy days pondering new locations.
If we learn something new everyday we can apply ourselves anew to a work-in-progress on a daily basis.
• I’m too busy for [___].
Arthur Golden worked on Memoirs of a Geisha for six years, research and writing included. J. R. R. Tolkien worked on The Lord of the Rings in several phases and over more than a decade. Pauses are justified and to be expected; they can be useful. What matters is returning to the effort.
• I’ll never be able to do as well as [___] again.
In all honesty the likelihood that any author (myself included) will produce a work that will sit next to the work of Ursula Le Guin, Octavia Butler, or Madeleine L’Engle is probably rather low. If any work-in-progress stands such a chance, how can there be any justification for not devoting every feasible waking moment to its completion?
And if it’s really that good, and you don’t write it, do you really want to see someone treat nearly the same material and do it badly?
Additionally, there are plenty of authors who are famous for a single book. Sylvia Plath wrote only one novel. Harper Lee, until very recently had a single book to her credit. In Plath’s case, she wrote poetry; work on a novel can be done between other writing. With regard to Lee’s “sequel”, it is now known to have been an early draft of her more famous work.
The answer to each of the above is the same: Recommit. Allow yourself to be compelled. Welcome it and your demanding Muse. Neglect of their role as psychopomp for your dream projects only makes them more relentless and subversive in their prompting.
Note: Two other potential factors are not considered here: A] “I don’t know where to start/what comes next?” and B] True depression. In the first case, do consult your muse and in the second, please consult a physician.
A Venn diagram – more commonly called “those overlapping circles” – illustrate how distinct aspects of a situation combine to create variations. When one is completely enclosed by another it describes relationships like “While all squares are rectangles not all rectangles are squares.”
Though I’ve never seen it done, they could also be used as a checklist to circumvent procrastination. In converse, addressing each factor outlined above make the Venn approach a process of elimination rather than permutation
It may seem ironic to post here about procrastination when Astral is not yet finished. When not musing here work on the far future, detective novel is and has been in progress. Venn-in-reverse is offered here as a reminder to myself not to worry, not to fear. The mission and message are cause enough to continually recommit. For the most part, I’ve only been taking breaks to sculpt, attend/vend at shows and conventions, and note ideas to address – yes, later.
Let the Muse court you. She’ll bring you flowers.
Please take a moment to visit Criminal Element‘s posting of my 7th essay for them. If you like it – if you don’t – I invite you to comment here either way.