Patrice Sarath's Blog, page 19

“A Tiny Feast” by Chris Adrian should be nominated for the World Fantasy Award

Chris Adrian’s novel The Great Night is on my to-read list. I can’t believe I just found out about it; Adrian wrote one of my very favorite stories, “A Tiny Feast,” and The Great Night is a further expansion of this remarkable and poignant story. I’m so looking forward to going back into his world. For now, here’s my review of A Tiny Feast from 2009.

I loved this story, for the fantasy and the heart and the humor and the humanity and the sorrow. If you love good fantasy, you will pick up a copy of the April 20 New Yorker. You will not be disappointed. For some reason I always get my New Yorker way the hell past the time the rest of the country does  (maybe it has trouble clearing customs? Thank you Rick Perry) so it might not be available on newsstands anymore, but do your best.

I hope that this is nominated for a World Fantasy award, as well as an O’Henry and any other literary award out there. I wish that the Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror were still being published, because this story would have pride of place. Thankfully there are other Year’s Best fantasies. David Hartwell and Katherine Cramer, are you listening? Please read this story and reprint it. Please.

I usually flip past the stories in the New Yorker, because of their unbearable plotless dullness, as if slice-of-life vignettes with clever lit’ry tricks make up for an actual story. I have no idea why modern Irish writers, for example, who have a rich heritage of storytelling, should write such dull, lifeless stuff. Ditto for the Russians and the Chinese they were publishing in spates in years past. Naturalism ruined the short story in mainstream literature. Ruined it. Yes, I’m bitter.

And I almost flipped past this story because it was a fantasy, and it was written by an “outsider” and I just didn’t want to see fantasy butchered by people who think they are being oh so clever and isn’t this easy to write? Adrian isn’t an outsider, it turns out. His fiction bridges the modern and the fantastic, and he has a well-deserved following. So there!

Find a copy. Read it. Love it.

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All I want for Christmas is….strong female characters

Author’s note: I got nostalgic for some of my old observations, so I’m replaying them this month. Yes, it’s June. But strong female characters never go out of style.

When I set about writing Gordath Wood, I wanted a strong main character who was realistic at the same time. Lynn Romano is the type of woman who is confident, good at her job and able to hold her own in the face of all kinds of adversity. In short, she’s my kind of strong female character. She’s not Buffy, or any of a legion of shape-shifting, ass-whupping, leather-wearing, tramp stamp sporting heroines that are out there kicking butt and taking names.

And don’t get me wrong — those ladies who launch enemies are great fun. But I wanted a realistic heroine, and Lynn came riding out of my subconscious on a great white horse and did her best to save the world.

If you like your heroines strong, sexy, realistic, and unstoppable, Lynn’s your woman.  She may not be the strongest, and she doesn’t have a magical power, but she has heart, faith, and endurance. She might get scared, but she doesn’t let that stop her.

And when it comes time to rescue the boyfriend she thought she left behind, well, back she goes to save him.

If you know someone who likes heroes and horses, what better gift for Christmas than Gordath Wood and Red Gold Bridge?

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ArmadilloCon 36 Schedule

Look who’s coming to ArmadilloCon 2014:

Ian McDonald

Ted Chiang

Jacob Weisman

Stephanie Pui-Mun Law

Sigrid Close

Also, Michael Walsh, fan guest of honor, and Mario Acevedo, toastmaster.

Here’s what I’ll be doing,  and I’m honored to be moderating panels with many of these fine authors and artists:

ArmadilloCon 36 Schedule:

Mars 1 Dream Team Fri 8:00 PM-9:00 PM Conference Center Sarath*, Close, Latner, Ledbetter, Mahoney: If you could choose a person to be on the Mars 1 mission, who would you choose?
40 Years of D&D Fri 9:00 PM-10:00 PM Room F Benjamin*, Finn, Maresca, Marmell, Sarath, Wright
How did D&D inspire authors? Gothic Novels of the 1800s Sat Noon-1:00 PM Room F Sarath*, Cheney, Jones, Swendson, Wright Discussion of how gothic novels came to be and which stories can still hold up today.
Reading Sat 7:00 PM-8:00 PM Southpark B
Remembering the Future Sat 10:00 PM-11:00 PM Room E Sarath*, Chiang, Close The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.
Autographing Sun 1:00 PM-2:00 PM Dealers’ Room Brust, Downum, Sarath

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Scribd — The Crow God’s Girl

Scribd subscribers: The Crow God’s Girl is now available through your favorite reading site. Just like Netflix for movies, Scribd allows subscribers access to a vast library of books.

Even though I’ve  been working diligently on Bandit Girls, The Crow God’s Girl is not far from my thoughts. I left Kate in a precarious position, not to mention Colar. I know where the series is going, and in fact, I have the end scene for the next book already written. At this point Aeritan is a labor of love, but I am still committed to it and won’t let it fall by the wayside.

Here’s a reminder of where things started:

Something strange is happening in Gordath Wood, the old woods surrounding a training stable called Hunter’s Chase. The police think Lynn Romano and Kate Mossland have been murdered, but what actually occurred is much stranger. They’ve gone through a hole between worlds, into a medieval society at war.

In a world that doesn’t ordinarily have use for women, the danger is great. Good thing Lynn and Kate aren’t your ordinary women.

–From Gordath Wood

In the heart of the gordath, danger is waiting… A year ago, Lynn Romano and Kate Mossland stumbled through the gordath, a portal between our world and the war-torn society called Aeritan. Now, a powerful Aeritan general has crossed through to Earth, and his obsession with Kate could tear both worlds apart.

From Red Gold Bridge

Better to be a queen than a pawn…

Kate Mossland is an ordinary teenager in a strange and dangerous land. She has crossed the gordath, the portal between our world and Aeritan, and may never go home again. She has accepted her new life as foster daughter to Lord Terrick and is engaged to be married to his son Colar, a young noble whose life she saved and whom she loves.

But all is not easy in the House of Terrick. The servants distrust her, the men-at-arms disdain her, and learning how to be a great lady is harder than it looks. Every misstep brings her closer to ruin, and Kate must walk a fine line between independent teen and modest noblewoman.

When the youngest son of Lord Terrick is kidnapped by armed thugs, Kate and a mysterious young girl named Ossen make a daring rescue. But her unladylike courage only strengthens her enemies’ hatred.

Then in a single blow Kate learns that her life is truly not her own. As Aeritan teeters on the brink of war, and promises once made are so easily broken, Lord Terrick demands that Kate submit to a new role.

But Kate is not so easily managed. Together with Ossen and the girl’s rough and roguish brothers, she leaves the protection of the only House she has known in Aeritan to choose her own path and find her true home.

From The Crow God’s Girl

As for where things are going, well — I promise to have more.

 

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The way in — developing story

You can’t make a story happen. Or at least, I can’t. Sometimes though, all the wrong directions and false starts and pounding against the locked door are what it takes to break through.

Tonight I figured out how to get the protagonists out of town. I figured out how one protagonist can use her powers for well, not really good, but at least not evil. I figured out the antagonist’s back story and motivation. I don’t know everything that’s going to happen — remember, I can’t outline — but I know it’s about to be fun.

And as a bonus, I came up with the epigraph.

In the first book, it’s:

Behind every great fortune is a great crime. — Attributed to Balzac

For this book, it’s:

It’s not cheating if there aren’t any rules. — Attributed to Butch Cassidy*

I’m at 8,000 words. The writing is fun, it’s fast, and while I know the middle-of-the-book suck** is lying in wait, I’m prepared for it.

*made up by me, and yes, it comes from a particular scene in the great William Goldman screenplay Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

** Just like it sounds. When the writing is really hard, and the inspiration that powered you through in the beginning is gone.

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Outlining — and so ends the experiment

This where pantsing has gotten me. I’d say it’s been pretty successful.

After weeks of diligent outlining, and a pretty bad case of writer’s block, this morning on the way to work I finally got the breakthrough I needed. I can’t start writing until I find my way into the story, and finally it all fell into place.

Not a word of which was in the outline. Not the plot, not the events, not the scene that set the stage for the outlined novel, not the implications of these events, nor the impact they will have on the characters, changing them forever.

And so, the experiment is over. Once a pantser, always a pantser. I give myself credit for trying to outline, because I totally get the merits of the process. But I have to do what works for me, and I write my stories by the seat of my pants.

It’s good to know, actually. As I told a writer friend this morning, just because I’m the author doesn’t mean I know how it’s going to end. Nor do I want to know. That’s all the fun!

So outliners out there (and pantsers): what’s your experience? Can a writer change her spots?

 

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Glorious Texas day

You ever have one of those days where you do all of the things? Today was that day.

First I went on a trail ride in the woods with friends at the stable where Gus the horse is kept. We meandered around and came out in one field and saw a feral hog, which hightailed it out of there. Jennifer reminded us to keep an eye out for the rest of the herd, or horde, or whatever collective nouns that hogs gather in, but we only saw the one piggy.

We walked through fields of wildflowers, sadly most of which was bastard cabbage, which is an invasive species, but pretty anyway. We rode through fields of gold. There were bluebonnets and promroses and daisies, too, and also some Indian blanket, and it was pretty spectacular. We all agreed that this is why we live in Texas, and we store up days like this for August, when it’s hotter than hell. “You may all go to hell and I will go to Texas,” quoth the general, and he wasn’t kidding.

The horses had a fine old time browsing on leaves every chance they could get, and we crossed streams and surged up hills, and my saddle and bridle are in the back of the Forester because man they are filthy. In a bit I will go sit on the deck and clean my tack.

So that was that. Then after cleaning Gus and washing him off and letting him graze and picking his stall and heading home, I also:

did laundry
cleaned the bathroom
mowed the front and back yards
swept the front walkway

I am achy but in a good way and I am sure I will be moving a little creakily tomorrow. But it feels so good to do all that, and move and ride and live in the world on a glorious day in Central Texas.

Gus at the end of a long ride.

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Colar in North Salem — A Gordath Wood story

Keeping readers up past their bedtime since 2008.

I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic for the world of Gordath Wood and the characters I have lived with for so long. This small excerpt of Colar Terrick in North Salem brought me back in a good way. I still have stories to tell about the gordath, but it has gone on the back burner while I work on new projects.

In the meantime, here’s a bit of what it was like for Colar in North Salem, before he and Kate return to Aeritan in The Crow God’s Girl.

“Yo, white boy! You just gonna stand there or you gonna play?”

Colar started. He’d been watching the black kids play a fluid, fast game of basketball, and kind of forgot where he was. The kid who hollered at him bounced the ball impatiently, waiting.

He knew he shouldn’t play. He didn’t know how, his wounds were still healing, and the surgeon had told him not to exert himself too much or he could pull stitches, or start bleeding again. He reminded Colar he had to take out his spleen, and Colar nodded, not even knowing what a spleen was. He nodded a lot since crossing the gordath.

But he knew more than anything that if he walked away from the basketball court, he’d end up walking away from everything. Soldier’s god, be by my side he thought, as he loped over.

To continue reading, click here.

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Star Fire Adventure Camp (for grownups)

I went to summer camp last weekend. Sort of. Star Fire Adventure Camp for grownups is a new venture that my friend Wendy and several of her friends have just started. They had a run-through of their Paleolithic Camp and I was invited to play. I think they are onto something. With the interest in adventure games like Tough Mudder and adventure races, as well as the reality shows like Man vs. Wild, there’s clearly an interest in this kind of thing.

Guys, this is awesome. Despite the rain, which only added to the authenticity in my mind, we learned about the early paleolithic people of Central Texas and how they lived, what they ate, and what sort of predators and prey they would have encountered. The camp includes flint knapping and learning how to throw an atlatl — a foraging hike, and more.

By the end of the camp I had the form down somewhat; still no range, though

Atlatl instruction.

If you are in Central Texas, you definitely should give this a try. There’s a camp scheduled for April 12-13 and if you are into adventure and new (well, old) things, sign up!

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The myth of the writing community

No writing community, just words. Jane’s writing desk.

I have friends.

I have friends who are writers.

I have friends who are writers, musicians, friends from work, friends I’ve had for 30 years, friends who ride horses, friends who like the same books and movies I do, friends who like DIFFERENT books and movies than I do, friends who don’t even LIKE books. Etc.

The point is, only my spec-fic writing friends consider themselves part of a writing community, as part of a general consensus, in which the community is given its own voice and its own say. My musician friends belong to musician groups and songwriting groups, and they support each other, sure, but no one ever says they are in the musician’s community or anything like that. Or speak of “the musician’s community” as having a consensus voice.

Maybe I’m wrong about that. I’m not an Austin musician.

So why does the spec-fic writing community act as if it speaks with one voice? In fact, there are just a few very loud voices among s-f writers who pronounce judgment as if they speak for the rest of us, when in fact they are only screaming into the wilderness. I have heard pronouncements of where a writer should submit and not submit their work; I’ve even heard pronouncements on what a writer should write. On social media, I’ve seen a silverback writer insult an aspiring writer for daring to have a different opinion on a market.

There is no spec-fic writing community. There’s no consensus, and the rules of who gets support and who doesn’t are arbitrary and loose. Contorting one’s position and writing to fit into some arbitrary community notion (can’t write this, must write this, must be on Twitter, must support this and not that) takes a toll.

It took me a long time to figure that out, so if it’s not revelatory to anyone else, just consider me a slow learner. However, I know one writer whose career may have suffered because of their dependence upon the approval of the community for what they write or don’t write. Following the rules too slavishly has impacted a potentially singular voice from reaching a wider audience.

Now, this is not to say, everybody just shut up. Far from it (I love a screed as much as anyone) (Which is to say, I kind of don’t). But I put a caution out to writers not to get sucked in. Have your own opinion, posted or not, and go your own way. The community is a myth. We don’t have to think alike, and it’s not a fight to the death if we don’t. Some of us are friends, some of us aren’t, at best we are colleagues, and at worst — well, there is no worst. There’s just no connection.

I think the convention culture has contributed to this misconception. S-f writers are often fans first, and we hang out with our con friends and that might have helped give the writing community idea traction. But think about it — mystery and romance writers have conventions too, but they don’t seem to consider themselves members of the mystery writers community or the romance writers community.

I was a member of Sisters in Crime, but it was years ago, so I may be wrong about that.

I don’t know if this will help anyone else from making my mistake, in giving the s-f writing community far more weight than it really has. I do know that life is too short — and we only have one career — to waste it by adhering to meaningless strictures from other people who don’t have our best interests at heart. The writing community doesn’t care about your career. The loud voices have their own agenda, and it doesn’t include your success.

Here are a few good rules of thumb:

If the writing community consensus prevents you from submitting to a certain market, don’t listen.
If the writing community consensus says that some subject matter is not fit for writing about, and that’s what you write, don’t listen.
If the writing community consensus says that “this is good and wise, and you must think this,” look twice.
If the writing community consensus keeps you from reaching out to fans who might read your work, don’t listen.
BUT: If there is collective wisdom in the writing community that will enhance your career (contracts, publishing houses, certain editors, etc.) pay attention.

Ultimately, as writers, our only goal should be pleasing our fans, not other writers. No other voices matter.

So the next time I see you at a convention or around town or online, let’s just — talk. Not try to create a consensus view or force a common consensus when there doesn’t need to be one. You write sf? Cool. I write it too.

That’s all there needs to be.

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