Every so often, you know it’s going to happen. Like a dormant virus, it waits until conditions are right and then there’s the sudden outbreak, often triggered by a particular novel or story—“Is Deadbeat Downbelow really sf? I mean, its tone is very sfnal, but where’s the speculation?” or “Magic Wind Fairies reads like sf, I mean, everything’s very logical and thought out.” I follow the conversations with interest (it’s nearly always interesting when intelligent people discuss matters near and dear to them) but I don’t really have much to contribute. Maybe there really is a line, maybe there isn’t. Yet even those who agree that you can draw a line and say, “This side fantasy, this side sf” are never going to agree on where that line is going to be drawn. Continue reading
Author Archives: ogresan
Landscaping as Endurance Test
Earlier this year we had two Southern Pines taken down near our property line. They were too close to the house and made a mess besides. So then we had this bare strip of dirt bordering our neighbors, which made Carol unhappy. This weekend we set about correcting this. The plan was simple in theory—replace the pines with a smaller tree and then fill in the border with shrubs. Only our plan didn’t really take into account the nature of the dirt in that spot. If you can call it dirt. Here we call it pure Yazoo Clay.
There were eight plantings all together. Three “Sky Pencil” hollies along the fence. One Japanese Maple on the border strip, with two Chinese Hollies on either side. I tried a shovel. Yazoo Clay laughs at shovels. There are rocks that aren’t as hard to dig as packed Yazoo Clay. It occurred to me that there was a reason there were two pine trees in that location—nothing else would grow there of its own free will. So I got out the mattock, and that worked a little better, even though the situation was complicated by the fact that, while the trees were gone, most of their root systems were still in place. I was having to take frequent rest breaks, which prompted Carol to suggest that “Maybe we should have done this when we were younger. And of course by ‘we’ I mean ‘you.'” Ha. Ha. She so funny.
I managed three plantings on Saturday and the other five on Sunday. After about the twentieth pine root I’d chopped through, I took a good look at my mattock.
It was twisted.
Next time, I’m renting a jack-hammer, but only because dynamite is illegal.
WTF Was I Thinking?
Am I dogmatic? Sure looks that way sometimes. This or that discourse on the process of writing, filled with sturm and drang about “this is how that works” or “that is how that does not work,” and avoiding mistakes, and making the right mistakes…
While it hardly needs mentioning, I’m going to mention it anyway–when it comes to writing or most anything else, I don’t have the answers. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t understand the questions. And “promotion”? Puh-lease. My canned response on any panel about authorly self-promotion is this: “Watch what I do very carefully, and then for the love of heaven do something else.” Whatever career I’ve put together has been mostly work, trial and error, and dumb luck. So just what is it I’m doing here? Continue reading
In Which I Cop an Attitude
Something I read a while back in Kate Wilhelm’s book on the Clarion workshop, On WRITING, got me thinking about attitude. I don’t mean “Attitude” with a capital “A,” but rather a writer’s attitude toward the work. Her premise was related to Damon Knight’s concept of “Fred” as the subconscious, though she referred to hers as “SP” or Silent Partner. It’s the part of the brain this stuff (whatever this “stuff” may be) bubbles up from, and it has to be encouraged and reinforced.
Simply put, the more you use story ideas/notions the more you get story ideas/notions, because doing so is positive reinforcement for your own “Silent Partner.” The SP wants to give you what you can use, and if you use what it gives, it cheerfully gives more. Let’s leave the speculations on neural pathways and closed feedback loops for another day, but as anyone who’s been doing this a while can tell you, it just works. So how do you make it work for you? Continue reading
Writing Exercise #3
The challenge at writer’s group this week was “Assuming you knew you were going to die, what would your last meal be?” Time limit, as usual, 15 minutes. Some people actually described an ideal last meal, but seriously, where’s the fun in that? So with only minor tweaking, here’s my response:
Kenneth was being stubborn. I expected no less. he was, after all, Kenneth. So I explained the situation one more time in the name of sweet reason.
“This is tradition. They do it in prisons all the time.”
“This isn’t prison!”
“I was speaking of tradition, not location. I’m about to be executed by the State. Therefore, I’m entitled to a last meal. As my prosecutor, surely you recognize this fact?”
“Michael, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me go. You need help.”
I tested the ropes. “No, I think I can manage this on my own. After all, I managed to get free long enough to find you, didn’t I?”
Kenneth tried again. “Michael, I know you’re angry–”
“Angry? I was innocent, Kenneth. You knew that. The DNA evidence cleared me. Evidence you suppressed.”
“It wasn’t conclusive!”
“Even if true—and we both know it isn’t—there was reasonable doubt. Shouldn’t the jury have decided that? No matter. Water under the bridge. Funny how fate brought us together this way. Oh, don’t fret. The police will be here soon. I know. I called them.”
Kenneth looked relieved. “You’re going to give yourself up?”
“No, I’m going to die. I told you that. But I get my choice of last meal. Now hold still, I’m in the mood for liver.”
Kenneth was still. He didn’t have a choice. Later I was sure to show the responding officers the remains of the liver, and the gun. I even fired a few shots in their general direction to get their attention. Kenneth botched my trial. Let it never be said I’d botched my own execution.
The End
(c) 2011 Richard Parks
Richard Parks 