Monthly Archives: January 2016

Time to Own It

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I think I’ve known this for a long time, and I just didn’t want to admit it. After having it pointed out to me yet one more time, there’s no longer any denying it—when it comes to writing, my subconscious is a lot smarter than I am.

Not that there weren’t enough incidents before now. One example, in a story called “Four Horsemen, at Their Leisure,” (Tor.com April 2010) I was proceeding with a single notion—what happens to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse after the Apocalypse? Death, War, Famine, Pestilence…aren’t they out of a job? Just one of those odd musings that often turn into a story. Only, of course, that was just the idea, and an idea isn’t a story. What was the story? No (pardon the pun) idea. Then Death finds a living pine tree, in a place where absolutely nothing should be living. That was the story. Everything important, everything in the story that mattered, it all came from Death finding that one living thing. And I had absolutely no clue when I wrote the scene why Death should find a pine tree. There are a ton of other examples, but I won’t bore you with them. They all pretty much proceed from the same premise–The subconscious knew. I didn’t.

The incident that clarified this issue for me was something a little more recent—my hero has to travel from eastern Japan back to Heian-kyo (Kyoto) on a matter of some urgency. Only he isn’t going directly to Kyoto. First he’s going to travel a good distance out of his way further south to visit the Grand Shrine at Ise. Now, the Grand Shrine has been an extremely important spiritual site in Japan for hundreds of years before my hero’s time. It was not unusual for people then to be making pilgrimages there. Only my hero is not exactly religious, to put it mildly. He feels no compulsion to make a visit to the shrine to ask the gods’ favor for his coming trials. While he does believe in gods (he’s met a few) he’s not so sure about the idea of their favor. And yet he’s going to Ise. Why?

At the moment, I haven’t the vaguest idea, but that’s all right. To the extent that I have faith, that’s where it’s placed–I know my subconscious knows, and in due course, so will I.

And it’s gonna be good.

David G. Hartwell

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7b0d3f0e5b-fc2e-4ffe-b6f1-a01ee1f81da57dimg400  I, along with pretty much everyone who works in science fiction and fantasy, got the word yesterday that David Hartwell was in very serious condition and not expected to survive, and unfortunately so it proved. It’s not my place to give details, partly because I’ve only heard specifics second and third-hand, but mostly because that is for those closest to him to do or not as they see fit. I’m here for a different reason.

I only met David Hartwell once, at World Fantasy Convention 2003 and doubt we exchanged more than 20-30 words total then, but the reason I’m writing today is to say a long overdue (and in Mr. Hartwell’s case, sadly too late) thank you to both him and his wife and editing partner, Kathryn Cramer. The reason I spoke to David Hartwell that one time was because he was making sure he received a copy of my first collection, The Ogre’s Wife. I was on my way to give a reading at the time and had one copy with me. Not being a complete idiot, I gave that one to him. I should have thanked him then, since he and his wife and editing partner Kathryn Cramer had shown an interest in my early stories, taking two to reprint in their first two yearly editions of their Year’s Best Fantasy. In another incident where I wasn’t present, a (reliable) friend reported that, on a panel about newer and emerging writers, my name had come up as Ms. Cramer reportedly said something to the effect that, “If you haven’t read him yet, you should.” Such kindnesses were a huge boost to me at the time. Maybe writers shouldn’t need validation other than the work itself, but as human beings we savor it as much as anyone, and getting those two reprints at that point in my writing career was a big deal for me. So I should have said “thank you” to David Hartwell when I had the chance.  It never occurred to me at the time that life and circumstances would dictate that I never spoke to him again.

So I’ll say it now, and especially to his widow Kathryn Cramer who is still with us and I hope will be for a long time: Thank you.

 

SnowNuts

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SnowNuts

I’m learning about snow. In Mississippi, snow was a fleeting acquaintance at most. In all my childhood I can only remember two really significant snows, that is, accumulations great enough to scrape together a half-way decent snowman. One weird winter we had the local equivalent of a blizzard. Nine inches. Us kids had a ball, though I don’t remember the grownups being too keen on it.

So far this January it has snowed more here in NY than it did in the last five years in Mississippi. Yet snow is different here. In MS the snow was damper and tended to stick to itself. Easy to make snowballs and snowmen on the rare occasions when there was enough of it. Here in central NY there’s plenty, only it’s mostly what I think is referred to as “powder.” Very light and fluffy. Doesn’t stick together worth a darn, or at all, really. Good for shoveling. Good, apparently, for skiing, since there are several ski resorts in the area that were really bummed at the mild December. Not enough snow then. Mother Nature’s making up for it now. I am learning how to shovel snow. I can’t say it’s a skill I had ever aspired to, but it’s part of the deal. Fortunately, the snow is light and fluffy. It’s not that hard to move.

Another odd thing: when small animals make tracks, the snow is compressed in the middle and pushed up on the outside. When it partially melts, the pushed up area melts last, leaving these almost perfectly round “snownuts” along the animal’s path. They look like a trail of frosted doughnuts, just left there on the ground. Doubt they would taste as good, though.

The Emperor in Shadow proceeds. I have a long way to go, but I still think I can finish in time. I’m still in the section which I refer to usually as the “churning” section. Plot elements are being created, characters introduced, and the writing itself shows how they all fit together. Eventually. For the moment, it churns. Soon the pace will pick up when, well, I won’t say when I figure it all out, because that’s not quite how it works. Ray Bradbury is alleged to have said, “Plot is no more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run by on their way to incredible destinations.” That makes sense to me, but as for the actual day to day writing part, I say rather that the story triggers some sort of self-organization principle which is one of the keynotes of life in general. Life wants to happen, and so does story. For a book to live, it has to do something similar. At those times I feel more like a photojournalist than a writer, just trying to record the life as it happens. In this case, it just happens to be a novel.

If it’s not alive, well, there’s nothing to record. Just words. Like empty holes in the snow where maybe a living thing should have been.

 

Monday. Just…Monday.

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I spent Sunday installing cat doors so the boys could go out and play on the hillside. They choose not to, since it’s cold and windy out but inside they can lie in a warm sunbeam as Bast intended. Still, it’s good to have the option, and I’m sure they’ll use it. Probably in the spring. For the nonce, however, the squirrels are safe.

Something that almost came up before, so I thought I’d mention it and get it out of the way: I stopped doing formal reviews years ago and these days I don’t review that much, and when I do, I don’t review books by people I know personally. That is, friends. The reason is simple: I value the friendship more than the urge to voice an opinion. I make an exception for Parke Godwin mostly because 1) there was little chance of my NOT liking something he’d written. He was and remains one of my favorites and 2) Despite his better than decent career, I still consider him underrated, and anything that gets the word out is a good thing. In contrast to another book I’m reading. By a friend, and a very good writer, but this is early work and while not bad, should have been cut by at least a quarter. Very wordy, and believe me, I know wordy, being guilty of it myself on occasion. (Pause now for the Muse to stop laughing).

Anyway, I won’t review it because there’s little point in criticizing someone for something they used to do. And I value the friendship more than etc. Just so you know.

I was shocked to hear of David Bowie’s passing. He wasn’t that old and I had no idea he was ill. It’s impossible to overemphasize the influence the man had and continued to have on popular music since I was aware of music as a separate thing. “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars” was the soundtrack of my college years, and it feels like the passing of an era.

There and Back Again

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Starting to get a little better understanding of the “village vibe” we got when we moved here. We’d met exactly one of our neighbors at the time. In a day or two another neighbor came to talk to me for a bit. He already knew where we were from and that I was a published author. I have a strong feeling that the entire blocks knows. It reminds me of growing up in a small southern town where everyone knew everyone and if anything at all happened, in short order everyone else knew about it. There are good and bad sides to this. On the one hand, everyone’s all in your business. On the other, well, I remember as a kid my friends and I were free to go anywhere we wanted in town or around it, do anything we wanted, with the understanding that, if what we did was something stupid or dangerous (or both), we’d likely either be stopped or, if possible, saved from the worst consequences of said stupidity. Our lack of supervision was strictly an illusion, because everyone in town, directly or indirectly, was on the job.

I’m not completely sure that I’ve missed that. But I do recognize both the value and drawbacks in it.

After picking up Carol at the Albany airport, we got home around 2AM. Now it’s 10 degrees Fahrenheit outside. I don’t think I want to go outside, but there are things to do, unfortunately, that don’t involve sitting behind a computer. Some days, I wish there weren’t.