Today’s Story Time is something a little different–an actual science fiction story, “Keeping Lalande Station,” originally published in Future Orbits #2, back in 2001. I wish I had something relative to say about the story. I remember the process of writing it, but the genesis? No clue. Then again, it’s a story about illusion and reality, so whatever I think about it might not be relevant. I wrote it, I know that much. After that, it all gets a little fuzzy, not unlike my protagonist’s mental state.
Standard Note: “Keeping Lalande Station” will stay online until next Wednesday, February 28th, when it will be replaced by…something.
I’m a little tardy with this today, but at least I have a good excuse—I was working through the editor’s notes on “An Account of the Madness of the Magistrate, Chengdhu Village.” Did anyone out there think the job was done once the story was written? Heh. Quite often, that’s the easy part. Then there’s marketing, deciding where you’d like a story to be published—and no, the answer is NOT “anywhere that will take it.” You have to be picky about those things, even from the beginning. If your first venue turns you down, then you consider where next, but only then. If you believe in your work, you want a showcase, not just a venue.
Then, if you’re lucky enough to get the story placed where you want it, odds are more than likely there will be galleys, probably electronic these days, and it’s time to revise the story again, this time taking into account where an editor thinks it can be improved. You can agree or not—it’s your story—but be very clear on what you’ll accept and what you want, and keep your ego out of it. The goal on both sides is to make the story the best it can possibly be, and there WILL be things you missed, points in the story where you didn’t consider all the implications of your text. Keep an open mind, but fight—politely—for your vision. A good editor will not try to turn the story into something you didn’t intend. She is your ally, not the enemy.
And, when all that is done and out of the way, comes the waiting. Again, though this time it’s for the story to be published. As with submissions, the time passes easier when you don’t have your eggs in that one basket. Write the next one.
Time to take my own advice.
In honor of Valentine’s Day, this week’s Story Time is a love story…sort of. “The Last Romantic” originally appeared in MIke Allen’s MYTHIC #1 back in 2006. It was written long before that, a reminder that sometimes a story stays in your files because the right venue for it does not exist…yet. I’m not sure if patience really is a virtue, but it sure is necessary.
Standard Disclaimer: “The Last Romantic” will remain online until next Wednesday, February 21st. Then it won’t be.
Incapussitated (n) The inability to do the thing because there’s a cat in your lap demanding all the attentions.
It’s not in the dictionary, but it should be. Happens frequently here, but then there’s always an excuse not to do the thing, whatever it is. Take this blog, for prime example. I didn’t write anything for twenty minutes because there was a cat on my lap. Now, technically I could have continued writing despite the constant pawing for attention, but I chose to respond to the demands of my fellow living creature. Who, it must be known, finally had enough and jumped down to go elsewhere. Incapussitated (alt. incapurritated) is always a temporary condition.
Blind, crippling self-doubt? Yeah, that one’s always around. Yes, of course it helps to know that you’ve done the thing before and very well and can surely do it again.
It never goes away. Not completely. In some ways it gets worse. When you’re first trying to do the thing, you don’t know you can’t do it. You don’t know that you can. That uncertainty actually works in your favor as a partial antidote to crippling self-doubt because you don’t know, and so neither does crippling self-doubt, and maybe you’re both a bit curious. So why does it get worse after you’ve actually done the thing? (Pausing to note here the obvious point that “the thing” can be anything from writing a novel to learning to play a musical instrument. It doesn’t much matter what the thing is because there’s always a new thing, and crippling self-doubt trying to ruin it for you.) I think it’s easier to argue with yourself that a skill was lost rather than never being gained. Sure, you did it once—pure luck—but I bet you can’t do it again. Or, sure you’ve done it a dozen times—obviously you’re played out now, just repeating yourself, best quit while you’re ahead, et many a cetera.
If there’s a cure I don’t know what it is, except just to do the thing anyway, one battle at a time.
Allowing for incapussitation, of course
Today’s Story Time is “Doing Time in the Wild Hunt.” It was originally sold to an anthology to be titled Splatterfaires from the first incarnation of Pulphouse Publishing, which went under before the book was published. From there it found its way into my first collection, The Ogre’s Wife: Fairy Tales for Grownups.
Here’s what I wrote about the story for the afterwards in the second (Kindle) Edition. I don’t think I have anything to add now.
“Happily Ever After” is the most difficult and dangerous part of the story, and yet it’s the part you almost never hear about. There’s a reason for that — marriage is complicated. Slaying a dragon by comparison is simple. Not easy, mind, but simple. Consider: A dragon is between you and your Fated One and you’re a hero/heroine in love. What do you do? Duh. Now cut to this scene after the fairytale wedding, because sooner or later it’s going to happen. Your love is pensive, unhappy. You ask what’s wrong and they say, “Nothing.” When pressed they will explain: “If you don’t know what you did, I’m not going to tell you!”
What’s the plan now, hero?
I was driving to work one morning in 1994 and saw a white doe in the woods near the Natchez Trace. Far from blending into the trees and brush nearby, the deer was about as hidden as a neon sign. It seemed odd to me how it had managed to survive so long against all the odds but here it was standing there, watching me drive by. A miracle. Or maybe the deer was just doing what it had to do and, with a little luck and care, getting along. Maybe that’s the miracle. I don’t know. I just wrote this story because, once upon a time at the beginning of my ordinary day, I saw a white doe. My wife told me that, of all the stories I’ve ever done, this was the only one that made her cry. Discarding the other possible explanations, I take that as a sign I got the story right.
Take that, dragon.
Usual Disclaimer: “Doing Time in the Wild Hunt” will stay up until next Wednesday, February 14. At which time I might be too preoccupied to take it down, but don’t count on it.