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Looks like I’m not the only one pondering genre lately.¹  Here’s Peter Straub turning over some of the same rocks (as regards horror) and laying claim to the genre with a well-thought out case.  Which is funny, because even though his stuff does arouse fear, I’ve often thought of his work as the most broadly un-genre within horror.   Which makes me wonder how far off base I’ve been in my own ideas of what horror is over the years.

(In a nutshell: horror to me is a genre of survival.  When it succeeds, I think it carries forward the idea that no matter how bad things get, life will go on–not necessarily for the characters, but for the readers who enjoy vicariously experiencing the extreme depths and desperation contained in the pages.  We can experience the things we fear and live to tell the tale.  In the end, the best zombie apocalypse story or Stoker winner like Straub’s lost boy, lost girl work for me in the same way: they affirm that we are stronger than our pain and fear.)

1. I suppose I’ll be chewing on this subject of “genre and nonre” a little more as time goes by, so I’ve went ahead and made a tag. [↩]

Stanley Karnow says, “History is often a series of expedients that become dogma.”

I suspect it goes further than that.  You could make a good argument that culture grows out of the same process.  Evolution, too, if you want to look at it on a biological level.  Within the writerverse, I think it explains a lot about the rise of “genres” and “subgenres”, and our obsession with fail-proof rules for business/life.  Not to mention–it’s probably the reason so many SF convention programs look alike.  :D

I try to write what gets me jazzed and not focus too much on whether it’s going to pass the genre smell test.  But in the end, deep down inside, I still know the elaborate system of hoots and grunts necessary to communicate exactly which part of the Fiction Tree every one of my stories was plucked from.  Every genre we see today came about because at some point in literary history, some damn fool did something in fiction that no one had ever done before–or at least hadn’t succeeded enough to be noticed at it–and surprisingly enough, other folks liked it!

Smelling success like blood in the water, or just realizing they had a similar kind of story jazzing around in their souls, other folks wrote within the same rubric.  People made money (the ultimate reinforcing behavior in our modern world).  Lather, Rinse, Repeat, and now we have a “genre”, a proven comfort zone for both the writer and the reader, where everyone knows what the ground rules are and when it’s okay to bend them and which way.

And it’s kind of a pervasive and hard system to opt-out of, frankly.  Like a fish trying to opt out of water, maybe.  Or an everyday guy trying to opt out of Google’s universe.  Deliberate effort to read outside of my genre usually starts with the question: “Well, what other genre should I read?”  Which isn’t to say that the confinements of genre-based thinking, this classing and sorting behavior we’ve been at for millenia, do not have value. Both as a survival mechanism and a socializing tool, it’s done us well.

But I wonder sometimes how much we are missing out on as a literate culture–as a species that thrives on narrative–because of our own pigeonholing proclivities.   What is the opposite of genre?  Is it “slipstream” or “interstitial”? Could it be “mainstream”–and what the hell is mainstream these days anyway?  Or is it just plain ol’ Art–the kind of floating vagary that, like Justice Stewart’s porno, is indefineable yet somehow we’ll still know it when we see it?

I wonder if it is even possible to create popular art that is unclassifiable.  It can’t be sold and gotten cleanly through all the marketing wickets into the public awareness unless there are hooks and jumping off points and existing audiences to say “fans of X will love Y” to.  At least not usually, and almost never by intent.

If there were such a thing, even it would need a name.  So it could be discussed.  Compared.  Contrasted.  Already in my head I refer to the idea, this imaginary number of literary theory, as “nonre”.  And by giving it a name, I’ve already begun the process of classifying it.  Killing it, maybe.

It’s a hopeless task, I think, trying to envision nonre and what it would look like.  A self-defeating prophecy, maybe. Probably the sanest thing to do is just try to tell good stories that jazz me and hope they jazz others. Let the rest of the world tirelessly catalog its taxonomies, let the suits throttle the field with their MBAs until they’re no longer selling stories but processed fiction product. Or, in hipster circles: indie-flavored processed fiction product.

But if for just one day you could write nonre–or pick it up in a bookstore, savor it and then pass it along to your friends–what do you think it would look like?  Is it simply Art created for an audience of one, some kind of proto-meme waiting for the right environmental conditions so that its species can thrive and mutate into a dominant genre?

I don’t know the answers, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

PS If anybody mislabels this woolgathering as some kind of manifesto, they owe me a beer.  It’s not in the manifesto genre at all….    ;P

Two years passed in the flip of a page, it seemed to Sam. He completed his “Double Barrelled Detective Story” for Harper’s and the farcical adventure of Sherlock Holmes in the Old West met with modest applause.  No doubt it would have met with even more, had his admiring readers only known it would be the last of his humorous fiction.  Clara and Ossip wed that fall in Holbrook Hall; Livy, prancing and nervous despite the orders of her doctor and a palpitating heart, helped her daughter arrange the whole affair–from the bready apple babka of Ossip’s Russian youth to the score of white doves released upon their kiss.  Ossip, now a staunch and staid Presbyterian American, began planning a concert tour of Europe.  With Clara’s voice and his fingers upon the piano keys, Ossip was fond of saying, the American Dream was theirs for the taking.  It would just be cheaper to get started overseas.

***

Besides getting some fresh pages hammered out, I worked out a lot of the kinks for the second half and re-ordered some of the things that need to occur.  Discovered a layer of subtext I hadn’t been aware of consciously before now; it is always such a cool feeling to see that all along my subconscious has been foreshadowing details I had no idea I needed.  Besides that, it turns out a plot point I thought I was going to have to fabricate rather than base on history actually happened, and at just about the same timeframe as I needed it to.  Spooky how that works out sometimes.

So, what are you working on, fellow writer-types?  Feel free to post a snippet in the comments.

The past week or so has been filled with small happy moments:  Kind words from many different friends, unexpected boons, things accomplished sooner than planned, a little of the weight lifted from worrying shoulders, etc.  Now I’m delighted to add a few moments of writing-related joy to that list.

*I heard from Tim Deal of Shroud Publications, who put out gloriously gorgeous & horrific books¹ and zines.  (Not to mention throw a heckuva suite party at Context!)  He thinks my Viet Nam War/horror story “Last Rites in the Big Green Empty” will be a good fit for issue 9 of Shroud Magazine.  Look for it early summer or thereabouts!

*It’s been a while since it happened, but I was pleased to be invited to a small press anthology.  Not sure if I have something that meets the theme, so I’ll have to figure it out.  Even so, it was a great feeling to know that someone enjoys my fiction enough to ask me directly if I wanted to submit to their book.  :)

*Rich Horton of Locus gives Triangulation: Dark Glass a little love:

“Finally, Triangulation: Dark Glass, is the latest of an annual series of anthologies sponsored by the Pittsburgh area SF writers’ group Parsec. The book is a mix of a few reprints (some revised) and a number of new stories. My favorite story was probably the longest, “A More Beautiful Monster”, by Loretta Sylvestre, about the relationship between a sorcerer, a demon, and a priest. I also liked stories by Lon Prater, D. K. Thompson, and Amy Treadwell.

1. such as Abominations, which features my novelette “Starvelito” [↩]

The title of this post comes from the opening of a novel published in 1953, L.P. Hartley’s The Go-Between.  Oddly appropriate that it came to mind, given the date of the other source I’ll be quoting from below. I suppose it is also an ironic choice, given how similar the worries of a dying media were then to those of today.

Publishing isn’t dead.  Reading isn’t dead. But the switch to a more open and accessible media in the Internet/Digital Age will require some drastic changes, not unlike the transition caused by television.  I’ll let the parallels from a not-so-distant past speak for themselves:

From The Story of Our Time – Encyclopedia Yearbook 1953

radio is here to stay

[I]n the past five years, since the advent of TV, radio broadcasters have quite naturally had to make great adjustments both in their programs and in the rates charged to their advertisers.  Yet, despite television’s inroads, radio listening has not fallen off.

[...]

One of the more recent trends in radio, according to Mr. Fellows, is the growth of “secondary listening.”  This is the growing habit among people everywhere of listening to receivers in other parts of the home (not the living room), to automobile sets and portable receivers at beaches on vacation.

[...]

Should the Unites States be bombed by enemy aircraft, radio would be the only system of communication allowed to remain on the air…. The White House recently announced the existence of this plan.¹

[...]

The person to whom radio programs alone are available is still as well informed and entertained as a TV set owner.

[...]

Those who think that radio is on its way out and that radio stations are now available at knock-down prices or are going begging because of TV are quite wrong.  It was recently reported than an offer of  $3,500,000 for an independent and nonnetwork [sic] station was turned down.  The station was earning $1,000,000 net annually before taxes, on a $3,000,000 gross revenue.²

[...]

Radio is developing some interesting new trends in programs [....]  One station is experimenting with a new type of program schedule–the programs of any given day are all of a single type.  On Monday, for instance, the station broadcasts drama; on Tuesday, variety; on Wednesday, popular music and so on.

[...]

In many cities, particularly the larger ones, FM stations alone hold high the torch of education and fine music. In such cities it is still possible to hear major symphonies, operas, oratorios, chamber and vocal works on the air every day.

[...]

As a direct result of high-fidelity FM radio and modern high-quality recording, the “audio age,” as it is sometimes called has come into being.

Also of note in this volume is a longish article on the surprising popularity and history of the paperback reprint novel, with some chuckle-worthy statistics and publishing house origin stories.  If there’s any interest, I’ll try to post some of the relevant quotes later this week.

1. OK, I know this has little to do with current death of a media discussions, but it was too cool of a factoid to leave out. [↩]
2. To adjust for inflation to 2009 dollars, multiply by 8. [↩]

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. ” ~ Martin Buber

So now the real question is: “Why is this not terrorism again?”

USC Title 18, 2331

(5) the term “domestic terrorism” means activities that -

(A) involve acts dangerous to human life that are a violation of the criminal laws of the United States or of any State;

(B) appear to be intended -

(i) to intimidate or coerce a civilian population;

(ii) to influence the policy of a government by intimidation or coercion; or

(iii) to affect the conduct of a government by mass destruction, assassination, or kidnapping; and

(C) occur primarily within the territorial jurisdiction of the United States.

So Joe the Plumber has been replaced by Joe the Divebomber down in Austin.  Why is this not “terrorism” ?  My understanding is that it’s because it’s presumed he was working alone.

U.S. Code Title 22, Ch.38, Para. 2656f(d) defines terrorism as:

premeditated, politically motivated violence perpetrated against noncombatant targets by subnational groups or clandestine agents.

Now consider this rather reasonable definition from a research outfit/context ad site of some kind, which was most likely abstracted from USG public domain sources:

Terrorism is a criminal act that influences an audience beyond the immediate victim. The strategy of terrorists is to commit acts of violence that draws the attention of the local populace, the government, and the world to their cause. The terrorists plan their attack to obtain the greatest publicity, choosing targets that symbolize what they oppose. The effectiveness of the terrorist act lies not in the act itself, but in the public’s or government’s reaction to the act.

So now my question is this–why is it that intent is not a feature of the legal definition of terrorism, but having a posse is?  My first thought was that intent might be too difficult to categorize legally.  But then, hate crimes are determined based on intent, so it couldn’t be that.  Failing there, why is the USG so nervous about defining terrorism as a function of intent?  What about acting alone to influence public opinion, make a statement, and effect change is so fundamentally different from doing the same thing with a secret organizational chart at your back?

This isn’t a snarky question, it’s a sincere one.  Does anyone know how it came to be that in America you couldn’t be a terrorist unless were a team player?

(And keep it civil, gang! Please and thank you.)

After Patrick Rothfuss gave his “live somewhere cheap” advice last week, it reminded me how sometimes my non-writing friends are surprised when I tell them that–except for a few at the top of the game–writing novels ain’t exactly a living wage.  I’m fond of pointing out that if you were to walk through the fiction aisles of your favorite bookstore, maybe 5% of the authors there are full-time novelists.

The rest of them probably have one or more of the following “enablers” to their writing habit:

1) A day job and modest living arrangements

2) An understanding, well-paid spouse

3) A trust fund or other independent wealth

4) A pseudonym or two, or maybe a handful of nonfiction writing gigs.

More good stuff showed up on the internet this past week when Sharon Lee further dispelled the myth of the rich author, with some real numbers. (via Martha Wells, with bonus links to Toby Buckell’s First Time Novelist Advances Survey, which pins the average first time novel advance at closer to 5K for the big publishing houses.)

Jay Lake on why you shouldn’t listen to him.

Is he saying that because he means it, or because¹ he really wants you to listen to all his hard-won advice and war stories?

Or does he just want you to think he² wants you to listen to his hard-won advice and war stories, because then if you think that, you’ll ignore him all the faster?

Confuzled yet?  Don’t ask me, I just blog here.   But FWIW, I think he’s right.  It’s hardwired into all of us to think in terms of what worked for us in the past.  When offering such up as advice, however well-meaning, some or all of it may be past its shelf-life.  Subject every piece of writing advice you hear to the smell test.  Consider the differences in your paradigm and whoever’s offering up the helpful hints and make up your own mind.  Experiment a little.

Reminds me of my favorite Stephen R. Donaldson quote from somewhere in the depths of his website: “There is only one way to write–or to be a writer–and that is to figure it out for yourself.”  I don’t know if Stephen would call this his own best piece of advice, but I sure value it.

—

And apparently this must be unannounced “Successful Writers Giving Their Best Advice Week”, because Patrick Rothfuss takes that same hook and jumps off in an entirely different direction.  With bonus elaboration from genre stalwart Toby Buckell:

“I remember talking to someone, before the real estate boom, that hundreds of thousands of dollars of equity in a house on one of the coasts, as yet unpublished, who told me they envied me the dream of writing full time. They said it was their greatest dream. I told them I envied the fact that they could sell their house and live where I lived for 10 years on the cash at hand, and write for 10 years without any worries.

“I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t leave CITY X.”

“Ah,” said I. “You love that dream then, far more than the dream of writing.”

“

1. secretly [↩]
2. secretly [↩]

Ruminating on romance novelist Vicki Hinze’s advice (If you can quit writing and be content, then do it) and an unrelated discussion in a closed forum led me to set up this thought experiment for myself:

Think about your current inventory of completed but unsold fiction. Novels to flashfic.

What if you never sold a word of it? Not. Ever.

(In my case, I’ve written about 382,000 words of fiction since 2003, and sold about 100,000 of them. So about 282K of work that–for the sake of this thought experiment–I never, ever sell.)

Do you feel like you will have wasted your time on those unsold stories?  That none of them deserved to have ever been written?  Where is your urge to write any particular story coming from: the love of creating stories and exercising your craft-muscles, or on the external validation of publication and readership?  Some other locus I’ve not thought of?

Are some stories coming from one place, and other stories from the other?  Has that changed for you as you progressed on your walk with The Muse?

Boosting a few signals from the Writerverse.

+ On the DEATH! OF! PUBLISHING! “As has been pointed out many times by people better with numbers than I am, the costs of publishing an ebook are not zero. That is, if you have any interest at all in a quality product. No one goes around suggesting that everyone should become their own autonomous cheesemakers and cheering the death of the cheese industry. Why? Because that would result in a lot of shitty cheese.”  From The End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine) by Cat Valente.

+ Think you’ve heard enough about the Amzilla vs. Mothra-millan throwdown?  Not yet.  Go read this analysis at Making Light, if you haven’t already. And everything they link to.  You’ll be smarter for it.

+ On Publish America: “Niche publisher? That’s one way to put it. Sort of like saying Al Capone was a niche businessman.”  More at Today’s Publishing Industry Embarrassment by Nick Kaufmann.

+Oh, and one last link for the grammar geeks:  While conscientious writers have been worried sick about anachronisms like using the word “moron” before it was coined in 1910–not to mention howlers of Hollywood proportion–Now we have a new one to obsess over.  Turns out the “apostrophe-s” wasn’t usually used to indicate possessives till at least the 1800’s.  Good thing I’ve kept my artistic license up to date!  For extra fun, check out the list of antiquated contractions on page 8.

Unless, that is, you han’t the time to click oth‘ link….





The part of the whole Amazon-Macmillan thing that surprises me most, at least with its irony, is the number of people out there saying Amazon’s got the right idea–books have no purpose other than being a loss-leader for the Kindle, and not only that, but Amazon should be able to force publishers to sell at a loss EVERYWHERE, just so Amazon’s price point stays lowest. This kind of dollar-sign-driven, selfishly short-sighted, bottom-line-only thinking is almost too weird for me to even get my brain around. 

(Yes, despite numerous failed attempts to shepherd me into “Lean 6 Sigma Solves Everything” fold, I still think it’s just one tool in the toolbox and even though you can use a hammer to sink a Phillip’s head screw, is that really the best approach?  But I digress.)

I strongly suspect that the very same people–you know, the ones who are so up in arms about Macmillan wanting to protect the value of books as products in and of themselves–would be ABSOLUTELY FOAMY AND RAILING if their company decided to outsource their jobs in the name of saving a few dollars and reducing prices for its customers. 

Hey, it’s just about the bottom line, right?

+Ever wonder just how much unique identifying information your browser is betraying to the sites you visit?  EFF wonders the same thing.  So they set up Panopticlick.  Dumb name, potentially scary results.  Give it a click and help them compile crunchy data in the name of protecting your online privacy.

+We Amurricans like to think we aren’t as dumb about the rest of the world and what they think about us as we think they think we are.  (Parse THAT one, Furriners!)  Find out just how much you know about the rest of the world’s attitudes at the Pew Global Attitudes Project.  The results, at least in my case, were rather humbling.

+A rare, rare interview with the Salinger of my generation:  Reclusive Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin & Hobbes. The man who quit at the top of his game–and stayed quit.  If only that trait was more common, and creators were able to resist the siren call of keeping their creations on life support for a few dollars more.  One of my most treasured books is the leatherbound Complete Calvin & Hobbes.  I hope it stays complete–though I sure would have liked it if he’d allowed a darn C&H calendar!   [via Erica Hildebrand]

Too bad you can’t be here to taste it.  This soup is crazy good, and the way she makes it is pretty easy on the waistline, too.

Wanna make some yourself? Here’s her recipe.

Shelley’s Curried Carrot Soup

1 tbsp Extra Virgin Olive Oil
2 tbsp butter (I used Fat Free I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter)
1 medium onion, chopped
1.5 lbs packaged baby carrots
6 cups chicken stock (organic with ultra-low sodium is best)
1.5 tbsp curry powder
1/4 to 1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp coarse salt
1 cup sour cream (I used Fat Free)
6 blades fresh chives

Preheat medium pot over medium high heat.

Add olive oil, butter, onions and carrots and saute for five minutes (if
you use the fake butter make sure you keep stirring because it acts
funny at high heat).

Add 4 cups chicken stock, curry, cayenne and salt.

Bring to a boil, cover and cook until carrots are very tender (about
15 minutes).

Process soup in processor in 2 or 3 small batches until soup is smooth.

Return soup to pot over low heat.

If soup is too thick add more chicken stock (up to two cups) to
achieve desired consistency.

If soup is too thin add a paste of corn starch mixed with cold water
(1 to 2 ratio).

Adjust seasonings if necessary.

Place sour cream in small sandwich bag.  Cut small hole in corner.
Ladle soup into bowls and squirt a swirl of sour cream around the bowl
from center to rim.

Drag a toothpick or knife from the center of bowls out to the edges to
make spider web effect.

Garnish with chives.

Apart from a disappointingly pat ending, this review of THE UNNAMED by Joshua Ferris does a decent job laying out the playing field–without making the mistake of turning it into a battlefield.

[Or even the cliche of invoking Joyce!]

When we talk about the difference between “high” and “pop” culture, we often mean that one requires the work of interpretation, while the other is a ready source of easy pleasure. Certain writers, artists, musicians, and filmmakers are assumed to have intentions beyond simple entertainment: The Metamorphosis can’t really just be about a guy who wakes up one morning transformed into a beetle. It has to be a metaphor for self-alienation. (Unless it’s about the Holocaust. Or capitalism.) Anyone who has taken an introductory course in literary theory can play this game, and feel all the smarter for it. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it deepens our appreciation of the work.

When we evaluate a work first and foremost for its subtext, we can overlook the power of the text itself. “To interpret is to impoverish,” Susan Sontag wrote 50 years ago, arguing that the best way to engage with a work of art is not to analyze or unpack it, but to take it at face value. Sontag believed cinema, with its capacity for total sensory immersion and its designation as mass, instead of high, culture, was the art form most likely to resist the deadening effects of interpretation. But today even the most mainstream movie is ripe for pseudo-serious analysis: consider the recent essay collection The Year’s Work in Lebowski Studies, a compilation of academic papers about the cult favorite The Big Lebowski. Rather than film, the most interpretation-proof form of art is nonfiction: memoir, documentary, and, at its most mass level, reality TV. It is possible that the current popularity of nonfiction art is due to just this freedom to consume it whole, without first having to figure out what it “means.”

A bit more behind the link at the full article.  (However long it lasts for free anyway.)

Major Davis followed Sam to the ticket window and attempted to purchase a return ticket on Sam’s behalf for the following morning.  Sam, assessing the major’s air of duty and frank disappointment, nearly went against his first impulse and allowed the man to buy the ticket.  His temper rarely cooled as quickly as it flared, however.  In a huff, he declared, “I’m returning home tonight, by carriage, since there are no more trains.”

The major nodded grudgingly and made the arrangements with the driver of a horse and buggy.  “Mr. Twain, it’s been an honor meeting you, despite whatever went on between you and the President.”

Sam considered asking the major whether he had seen any action in the Philippines, or if he’d partaken in any good Indian massacres lately, but something stayed his tongue.  Instead, he quirked one fuzzy white eyebrow and quipped, “Best you found some honor here in America, Major.  It’s in damned short supply overseas.”  With that, he signaled the driver to start for Wave Hill.

* Someone (an actual person, not that laggardly Google Alert service!) sent me a link to fantasy author Joshua Palmatier’s very kind review of Triangulation: Dark Glass, with extra special love for my story “Deadglass” which was reprinted within.

* It’s the 75th anniversary of beer coming in cans.  A hearty “D’oh!” to the geniuses who made the first ::mumble,mumble:: years of my Navy career very hard to remember.  I know some of you are out there a little confused…. “You mean it comes in servings smaller than tankard?!”  :)

* And of course since I’m talking about beer and the way the Navy used to be back when it was fun, why not make it a hat trick and bring up tattoos?  Somehow I never got one, but according to this article, it’s not the first, or even the second tattoo that makes you a “deviant”, it’s the fourth.  Is a stated policy of tattoo profiling next?  Take it with a grain of salt, people.  Remember–strictly speaking, people who stay married to the same person for longer than 20 years are also “deviants” to a sociologist….

* The big honkin’ 29th edition of the textbook I edited for work survived the first class of the year with no hair-on-fire catastrophes in the final printed version.  Wanna find out all there is to know about U.S. arms sales and giveaways to other countries, as they are practiced today? Email me and I’ll point you to the free 24 Meg PDF.  (Hey, it’s cheaper than Ambien!)

770 pages and no plot. Sort of like the Necronomicon that way.

*Oh, and there’s also this–a cool pre-order offer for Dark Faith (which will include a new poem of mine when it debuts in May 2010.)   If you pre-order through this link, I’ll even get a little bit of extra payola!

Advice on handling medical issues in fiction, in all its bloggerific goodness.

How To Kill Your Imaginary Friends is a new blog by a multiclassed doctor/writer friend. It’s off to a promising start!

…enjoying the parts of the apple that *aren’t* bruised.