Chuck Wendig's Blog, page 66

The Save The Cat Conundrum

(No, that cat isn’t the cat we’re saving. This battleworn death metal cat is a cat that skulks around the woods around my writing shed. I don’t run it off, as I hope it has better luck catching the mice, moles and voles instead of the songbirds it sometimes stalks. Stop chasing pretty birds, cat!)

This is about the book by the late Blake Snyder: Save the Cat.

It’s a fine book. You should read it [indiebound / amazon].

Here’s why I like it: it breaks story down into very recognizable blockbustery beats. Like, oh, here’s the part of the movie where there’s a FALSE VICTORY and here’s the part where ALL IS LOST and oh now it’s the time of the movie when the HERO has to say some COOL GLIB SHIT and GLISTEN SWEATILY. Or something. Whatever. There’s a worksheet. It’s great.

I meet a lot of book authors who really love this book and who swear by it. And I go to writing conferences and conventions and inevitably I see someone doing a talk or a workshop and they lean on the book — sometimes a little, sometimes a whole lot.

And that’s okay.

But it’s really worth noting:

Save the Cat is a book about screenwriting.

It is not a book about… well, writing books.

And that’s a vital distinction, because Snyder’s book isn’t here to tell you about the bones of story in general, it’s here to give you a very specific framework you may apply to any screenplay you care to write, and more specifically, with the goal of writing a sellable, blockbustery film.

And here you might say, “But what if I want to write a big, sellable, blockbustery book? Isn’t that the same thing, Mister Chuck?”

Nnnggh.

Whhhh.

*winces*

No.

Not really?

Not really.

A book is not a movie. A movie is not a comic book. No one format is another format. Each carries with it a series of advantages and limitations (and some limitations are also advantages, assuming you don’t buy a duck hoping it’ll be a dog). A film tends to be a thing that follows a clearer, more illustrative pattern. It doesn’t have to be! Many times, it’s not, specifically when we look to smaller, niche, more “indie” films. But bigger films tend to follow more typical patterns and tropes. A book, though? A book is bigger. Sprawlier. Stranger. Books can be exciting and cinematic but even then, if you write them exactly like you’d write a film, you’d potentially end up with something too lean, too shallow — because films do not explore an internal dimension. Yes, there’s subtext! Yes, actors and direction reflect an internal world of the characters. But books don’t reflect that — they rip open the exterior wall to show what goes on inside character’s heads and hearts and histories.

A film is a lean 90-120 minutes.

A book is…

*whistles*

Not?

Further, a screenplay isn’t even a film. It’s the blueprint of a film. A screenplay is a very robust outline. So: Save the Cat is preparing you to write a very robust outline, the goal of which is to outline a future film made by a whole team of people.

A book is just you.

I mean, yes, there’s input from an editor.

But the book is the book. It is the alpha and omega of its own narrative.

It’s not meant to become something else (and if it does, that’s rarely on you, and when it does, it’ll be squished and made malleable to fit into whatever additional format, be it TV or film or an STD pamphlet or an injectable nightmare invented by Elon Musk).

The final problem with Save the Cat is that it is totally formulaic.

That is its purpose.

To give you a formula.

Now, that’s not all bad. A formula is a really great jumping off point to understand certain story-beats — and to recognize those beats in popular storytelling media. Of course, the danger of that too is the predictability of those beats. Storytellers, and inevitably audiences, begin to unconsciously (and later, quite consciously) internalize those rigorous beats. It means that stories become safe because we can detect the pattern. We know what happens after an ALL IS LOST moment. We know, “oh hey here’s the part where the VILLAINS REGROUP and MEGATRON fights CAPTAIN AMERICA.”

That can be good.

It can be comfortable to watch stories and to know how they’re going to go.

It can also get really, really boring.

Which leads me to this:

Save the Cat is like an Applebee’s meal —

It’s rigorously tested and reliably reconstructed and, at the end of the day, safe.

And by safe, I do also mean “boring.”

That’s not so much the fault of the book, which again, I like just fine — but it is one result of relying on it like it’s a fucking LEGO instruction manual instead of just another way to break apart and utilize the fiddly constituent bits of storytelling.

There’s definite value in taking Save the Cat and mining it for a deeper understanding of how stories are constructed — the rise and fall and twists of certain beats is useful to see. It’s a neat peek behind the narrative curtain. Because at the end of the day, the bones of story are common between formats, despite their differences. It’s like in nature: a dolphin, a dog, and a human being don’t look much alike, and don’t act much alike, either. But rip off all their skin (metaphorically, put down the skinning knife) and you find that the bones are similar. I mean, seriously, it’s fucked up, a dolphin has hands, you guys, a dolphin has motherfucking hands inside those flipper mitts. Which leads me to believe that, at any point, a dolphin can take off its gloves and like, undo knots, or hack a computer or some shit.

Still, at the end of the day, stories are not computer programs, they’re not math equations, they’re not cookie recipes. They’re much wigglier and weirder than that. They follow patterns, but they are also best when the patterns are made to serve the story, rather than the story made to serve the pattern. Stories can be best when they are not tourists on a tour bus following a prescribed, predefined path. Sometimes a story is at its most interesting when the tour bus gains sentience, jumps the fence, and fucks off into the woods, rumbling toward a cliff as the tourists inside its metal body scream and bleat. It’s not about confidently striding along well-lit paths; it’s about a trepidatious journey through a dark forest where the only light you get is a flashlight whose batteries are dying.

So, what I’d ask of you, Dear Authors of Books — and, arguably, storytellers of all stripes — is to use Save the Cat sparingly, and without any kind of dogmatic devotion. Do not study it (or worse, teach it) as if it is true, but rather, as a book full of formulaic beats that any good storyteller should feel free to smash apart. You should be comfortable rearranging those beats, reversing them, fucking with them ten ways from Tuesday. And you should also concentrate less on any kind of prescriptivist, plot-focused storytelling methodology. It has value as food to feed the story, but not as a formula by which the story must rigidly adhere.

Save the Cat? Read it. Enjoy it.

Just don’t put a ring on it.

THIS HAS BEEN A PSA FROM CHNURK MANDOG

*rainbow and star cascade across the screen*

*star explodes*

*rainbow melts*

*centipedes descend*

* * *

[image error]

DAMN FINE STORY: Mastering the Tools of a Powerful Narrative

What do Luke Skywalker, John McClane, and a lonely dog on Ho’okipa Beach have in common? Simply put, we care about them.

Great storytelling is making readers care about your characters, the choices they make, and what happens to them. It’s making your audience feel the tension and emotion of a situation right alongside your protagonist. And to tell a damn fine story, you need to understand why and how that caring happens.

Whether you’re writing a novel, screenplay, video game, or comic, this funny and informative guide is chock-full of examples about the art and craft of storytelling–and how to write a damn fine story of your own.

Indiebound  /  Amazon  /  B&N

Macro Monday And The Boycott Of Doom

It is another Monday.

Though, hopefully we can all agree that Mondays are fundamentally stupid, so we should collectively all agree to call them Pre-Tuesdays instead. And you can welcome this particular Pre-Tuesday with the open arms of GARY THE CRAB SPIDER, who has claimed that particular day-lily as his domain. (Sorry for folks who might be arachnophobic; I like to think that the photo is funny and goofy enough that you can barely tell he’s even a spider.)

GOOD MORNING, FELLOW WORD-NERDS.

A real quick buncha information to stuff into your brainholes:

First, hey, my Darth Vader annual — drawn by the impeccable Leonard Kirk — comes out July 18th, or next Weds, so hopefully you’ll grab it at your local comic book grotto. Note that some very fun people claim they want to boycott the issue — or “soycott” it, I guess, since they seem to love the “soy” insult with great dipshit gusto? — so feel free to read their very sound logic on why you should boycott my issue of a comic book.

Second, some folks have been asking about The Raptor & Wren (Miriam Black book five!) in audio — well, the day has come, and it is here. Narrated once again by Emily Beresford. Check it out.

Third, the audio for Damn Fine Story will be coming soon.

Fourth, soon I’ll have some cool news in the form of [redacted].

Fifth, note that the Awkward Author Photo Contest runs till this Wednesday, so you’re on your last chance to get in a photo. Don’t miss out. Prizes! Glory! Awkwardness!

And I think that’s it for now.

Here is another cool macro photo that I’m really happy with, this one of a blue dasher dragonfly — up close and personal.

Note too that the dragonfly’s head, if you ignore the eyes, looks like the face of a weirdly bearded man —

Or perhaps the King from Katamari Damacy —

Terribleminds, Reborn In The Ashes Of Moderate Dysfunction

HELLO, PEOPLE.

As you’ll note, the blog looks a little different, now.

New theme, some tweaks, some gentle massages.

If you’ll do me a very kind favor — swing by, scout around, see how everything looks? Make sure nothing seems broken? I’ll keep on tweaking some of the typography and stuff, but I’m mostly digging how it looks. Hopefully it serves as a fairly nice update to the site given that it’s been a while since I’ve actually changed shit around here.

The merch section is gone, because it was crap — also I’ve had a few issues getting paid from sales by the provider, Zazzle, so I’m going to wait to see if they’ll fix that before I go re-upping. Also noodling on a way to sell photo prints here, too, but that’s something for down the road.

New contact page.

New about me page.

Updated appearances.

My books/works section is updated, too — though I’ll still need to do some tweaks on individual pages to make them all line up and be consistent across each. Anyway! If you’ll do me the greatest solid of dropping into the comments and letting me know how it all looks? Thanks! You’re the bee’s knees. The literal bee’s knees. Without you, a bee can’t do karate.

And that makes you damn important.

K.D. Edwards: Five Things I Learned Writing The Last Sun

New Atlantis is a self-contained nation of magic users, ensconced on Nantucket Island after a devastating war and ruled by courts named for the major arcana of the tarot. Rune Saint John and his bound companion and bodyguard, Brand, are the last survivors of the fallen Sun Court; they make a living doing odd jobs involving varying degrees of danger, mostly for the formidable Lord Tower.

After participating in an attack on the Lovers Court, Rune and Brand end up shielding the sheltered and abused grandson of Lady Lovers and searching for the missing son of Lady Justice. Their quest leads them to a conspiracy that involves undead monsters and murder, and may be connected to the fall of Rune’s court and the brutal assault he endured afterward.

TAKE NOTES

Whether you’re a planner or a pantser, there’s so much value in capturing inspiration as it occurs to you. Writers see the world through unique filters—we see real-time events in words and phrases. So journals? They are your friends.

(And the reverse is true. I’ve LOST entire scenes by not having a journal handy. I once lost an entire solution to a bridge between tricky chapters because I ate a cream-based chowder despite my lactose intolerance, and was….er, stuck somewhere without a notepad. To this very day, I can’t remember the idea, I only remember saying to myself, “THIS SOLVES EVERYTHING!”)

It’s also worth your time to figure out a way to categorize those notes. I have a stack of old, filled journals that reach my waist, which are hell to transcribe. I’m much smarter now – I work in concert with my innate laziness, and dictate my notes directly into an email, which I then mail to myself, so all I need to do is copy and paste the email into a larger database.

These notes are my secret weapon. As a die-hard planner, I’ve never felt that having a detailed outline robs me of spontaneity during the writing process. Rather, it’s a huge safety net that I can tightrope walk over without fear.

IT’S OKAY TO USE “SAID” AND “ASKED”

Elmore Leonard said it best in his TEN RULES OF WRITING. It’s okay to use “said” and “asked.” If I find myself struggling with dialog tags, there’s a good chance I’ve forgotten that the reader’s eyes tend to skip over things like that.

In a wider sense, one of my greatest learnings during writing THE LAST SUN—a novel that leveled me up as a writer—is that I can evoke entire scenes with sparse details. It’s one of the most treasured compliments I get from fellow writers. I’ve learned that I can trust the reader to paint between the lines. I’ve learned that it’s okay to give my reader agency; it’s okay to let them finish the setting in their mind without leading them by every bookshelf, every weather event, every article of clothing.

I’ll never forget reading the WICKED LOVELY books. Melissa Marr had this one scene where she described the mansion of a crazy person by saying there was trash all along the floor, and a charred log sticking out of the drywall. That’s all she wrote, and my brain all but exploded with the details of what the rest of the house must look like, because a charred log stuck in a wall is some seriously wild shit.

WRITING TEAM

You’ll hear this a lot: join a writing group. But what KIND of writing group? For me, picking the right people changed my life. I’m not exaggerating in the slightest – joining my NC-based writing group changed my life. It didn’t just help my WIP, it made me a better writer. It made me explore my relationship with criticism, and realize that genuine feedback is a gift.

Not to mention, there’s value in supporting each other, even if someday you’ll be foaming at the mouth because of that one guy who gets published first and meets Robin Hobb before you did.

But seriously, a good writing group is a network that will help you on your road to publication, because every friend you make leads to all the industry friends they’ll make, and so on. While it was my own talent that walked me through the door toward publication, a fellow writer opened the door for me, and gave me an introduction to my now-agent (the incomparable Sara Megibow). I will owe him forever for that, even if he did meet Robin Hobb first.

KILL YOUR DARLINGS AND SALT THE EARTH

For me, 80% of editing is hitting the delete button. I rarely find myself having to do large-scale rewrites, but, by God, do I tell the readers things they don’t need to know. And it doesn’t matter how pretty the words are, or whether diamond and pixie dust rises in fragrant clouds from the prose, it weighs down the story. It blocks the fire exit. It’s like an outstretched leg, tripping the reader into a decision to get up for a snack, or put down the book for the night.

There’s so much value in writing a lot of that exposition in the first place. More often than not, I needed to do it so that I, myself, understood my world and characters better. But once I’d learned that? Its needed to be gone, and I had to develop the cold-blooded skill set to do it.

My best trick was to stick the final WIP in a drawer for 6 months, so that the passage of time made it easier for me to bear down on the manuscript with a knife and axe. And the more I did that, the easier it got. It’s worth it, to develop that mercenary switch in your head.

TAKE CHANCES, DON’T JUST PLAY THE MARKET

I need to write what I’m passionate about. If I don’t, the reader knows. Understanding the market is fine, and I’m not saying it’s entirely without influence, but writing is a labor of love. I need to be able to sustain that love over the course of the boring bits, right? Not every scene can be a character returning from the dead or a car chase or a shower scene.

I made a decision early on that I was going to write novels similar to my biggest mainstream inspirations—but to do it with main characters who just happen to be gay. Even better, to set those novels in worlds where I don’t need the words “gay” or “straight” – to make relationships of all size & shape endemic to the world-building. That was a risk, for me. That was a chance I took. And you know what? It paid off. I’m amazed at the number of people who are responding to my characters. It was so damn awesome to see how hungry people were for a story like that.

So, take chances, because I’ve learned there are plenty of people thinking the same thing I am, and are just waiting to see who else steps forward first.

* * *

K.D. Edwards lives and writes in North Carolina, but has spent time in Massachusetts, Maine, Colorado, New Hampshire, Montana, and Washington State. (Common theme until NC: Snow. So, so much snow.) Mercifully short careers in food service, interactive television, corporate banking, retail management, and bariatric furniture have led to a much less short career in higher education, currently for the University of North Carolina System. He is ridiculously proud to guest blog on Chuck Wendig’s site, because Chuck is one of his Big Writing Heroes.

KD Edwards: Twitter

The Last Sun: Indiebound | Amazon

Laura Anne Gilman: On Writing Weird Alt-Westerns…

Last week, Laura Anne Gilman finished up the enviable task of writing and then publishing a whole trilogy of books, which is always a success that should be met with fireworks and whiskey and a Herculean nap. That book is Red Waters Rising, and you can check it out now where books are sold. Here she is, with some final thoughts on ending the series…

* * *

Many thanks to Chuck for giving me a bit of a platform today.

This month is the release of RED WATERS RISING, the third book in the Devil’s West series, what I’m calling (in my head, anyway) the “Devil’s Ride trilogy,’ about the adventures of two very different people bound together by a devilish plan to keep the West That Wasn’t safe against the Future to Come…

And I’ve been blessed that the trilogy’s gotten such a positive response from readers and reviewers, because it was, in technical publishing terms, a holy hell crapshoot.

Honestly never had any desire to write “weird west.”  Or any kind of western at all, honestly.  I was born and raised on the East Coast, and at heart am a city girl.  Urban fantasy?  I got you covered.  And as a history major/geek, you wanna do historical fantasy?  Hey, let’s go all the way back to the Etruscans and create a new mythology!  Contemporary dark fantasy?  I’ve got your sociopathic elves right here!  (no, really, I do.  Careful, they definitely bite).

But – despite knowing how to ride a horse and safely handle a shotgun, and, okay, I admit it, owning a pair of authentic, bought-in-a-feed-and-supply store-in-Oklahoma pair of cowboy boots,  the idea of writing a western of any sort had never meandered across my thought patterns.  Or rather, it didn’t until the opening lines of a story – “John came to the crossroads at just shy of noon, where a man dressed all in black was staring up at another man hanging from a gallowstree ” – cracked open a world I didn’t know I’d been creating, and out spilled not just a handful of diverse short stories, but this trilogy,  SILVER ON THE ROAD, THE COLD EYE, and this month’s RED WATERS RISING.

And I went from “no desire to write weird west” to “holy shit I love writing American historical fiction with a heavy dose of Da Weird, give it all to me now please let me do this forever.”

Even if I did have to spend several years explaining why there are no gunslingers in this time period.

And now, with the trilogy complete, and new adventures on the horizon, I’m looking back over the words written, things learned, and hopes both realized and deflated, and trying to sum it all up for you, the joy and the frustration, the heartbreak all writers are heir to.  But that, I discovered, leads me not to words of wisdom, but, well, filk.

Really, having met me, you should have expected nothing less.

…Mamas’ don’t let your babies grow up to write alt-westerns

Don’t let ’em ride horses or learn about flintlocks

Let ’em write spaceships, or Regency frocks

Mamas’ don’t let your babies grow up to write alt-westerns

‘Cause they won’t fly off the shelves and they’re quick out of print

Despite dedicated readers who say it’s their thing

Alt-westerns need obscure lib’ry resources and costly road trip wand’rings

Little known factoids and magic and historical plights

Them that don’t read ‘em won’t like ’em

And them that do sometimes won’t ever find ‘em

They’re not bad they’re just a bitch to write

and writers are so stubborn when a book’s got their heart…

Mamas’ don’t let your babies grow up to write alt-westerns.

Laura Anne Gilman: Website | Twitter

Red Waters Rising: Indiebound | Amazon

Macro Monday And The Wonky Website Of Doom

LOOK, A PRETTY PICTURE.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is, this here website has gone a little wonky. I spent most of last week dealing with my webhost, LiquidWeb (who are great, by the way) in order to squash some bugs. And squashing some bugs meant doing tons of updates — both to WordPress and to some server side business — which took time and put the website out of commission and such. It’s mostly up and working again, with the exception of the blog page. Individual blog posts, like this one, should work fine, and subscriptions should once again be going out. (They stopped, which was one of the bugs that needed squashing.) But the blog page itself is now weirdly empty, which means I need to somehow find a way to update my theme and hope that does the trick.

So, we’re operating at 90%, but still trying to eke out that last ten.

Worse comes to worse, I may just say fuck it and nab a new theme and just start changing the look of the site, because it’s been a while since YE OLDE TERRIBLEMINDS had a refresh.

In the meantime!

That means I missed announcing the end of the Awkward Author photo contest — I’ve updated that page accordingly and extended the due date out. The contest submission period now runs till July 11th, Wednesday, since this week is a holiday. Get awkward and enter!

Let’s see. What else is up?

The world is still a clogged and bulging sewer pipe, so that’s fun.

Here is a fun Twitter thread I did about dreams, if you’d rather that.

Also, if you haven’t met Mister Carrot, do so.

And I’d be remiss if I did not remind you that today is the last day to grab Zer0es at the $1.99 price for the Kindle e-book. So, if like hackers and artificial intelligence and thrillery fun-times with a little splash of body horror, hey, I got you covered for under two bucks.

I think that’s it for now — expect some potential further wonkiness throughout the week as I continue to fold, spindle and mutilate the website back into fighting shape. Be good to each other.

Tremontaine: The Interview

[image error] Previously on Tremontaine…

Ixkaab Balam came to the city to do her family duty and put a botched spying mission behind her; she didn’t expect to find politics, the sword, or a discovery that threatens to put her family’s coveted chocolate monopoly at risk.

By the time of Kaab’s arrival, Diane, Duchess Tremontaine was long used to the surprises her city could deal out. Originally from the north, she had also once been a stranger to this place. With a past to hide and a house in financial peril, the duchess wasted no time in forging a secret alliance with the newcomer.

Politics, however, never has only two players. Kaab and Diane quickly found their plans complicated by Rafe Fenton, a handsome scholar with more passion than sense, and Micah Heslop, a farm girl with a unique perspective on the world and the mathematics that define it.

The dance of betrayal and treachery that followed was mostly fun and games. After all, in this city the powerful hire swordsmen to fight – sometimes to the death – for entertainment.

But now, a complex engineering project that could open the city to the world threatens to put everyone at risk. With little distinction between enemies and lovers or rivals and friends, survival – even for the savviest of players – is not guaranteed.

This city that never was is changing, dear reader. Outcasts are the tastemakers, and now, more than ever, is the time to keep your wit as sharp as your steel!

* * *

As Tremontaine approaches its fourth season, we’re showing off the cover image for the first time — and, to celebrate, its current writers got together digitally to ask each other questions about the weird world of collaborative writing, extreme research, and letting other people see our most draftiest drafts.

Tessa Gratton: What’s your favorite thing about writing for Tremontaine?

Liz Duffy Adams: I like being a sort of stealth collaborator on Tremontaine, emerging from the wilderness into the Land to join my name with another writer and then vanish again. It was intimidating at first. I read and loved Tremontaine before I was invited into it, and of course Swordspoint and the other original novels before that, so I was reasonably steeped in the world. But suddenly to be writing in these fabulous characters’ voices, characters I had no hand in creating, in this immensely rich and detailed world where I had only been a tourist, not a citizen? I quailed a bit.

And then I began to enjoy myself. The hunt episode in Season Three that I wrote with Delia Sherman was sheer pleasure; working with Delia—she of luminous wit and perfect sentences—is always great fun, and among other things a brief moment with Lady Davenant alone in her chamber made me very happy. And now I’m back in Season Four in another episode co-written with Delia, and three with the droll and brilliant Joel Derfner, with whom I got to introduce a couple of new characters and so feel I’ve left a small footprint in the City, before slipping back off across the river.

Joel Derfner: Which of our characters is the most difficult for you to write, and why?

Tessa Gratton: I find it extremely difficult to write Micah. Or rather, to convince myself to write from her POV. Once I’m in it, I can do it–she’s so unique and her voice is fun, interesting, and entertaining, her perspective different from everyone else’s. But when I’m working on an episode in its early stages, choosing which point of view I’m going to use for an episode frame, or for individual scenes, Micah is always my last choice. I avoid her if I can help it, and it took me a while to realize why: she’s not ambitious and she doesn’t have desires the way the rest of the characters do–which is a function of who she is. Sure, she wants things: to learn, to grow, to have family, protect her loved ones, to ascend to a purely mathematical state, probably. Unlike our other main characters, she’s not a schemer, and she isn’t an actor. She’s a reactor. You bet she’ll finish something somebody else starts if it will protect her people, but she doesn’t start things on her own. To me, that makes her a less useful protagonist. I love how she wanders through our narrative, affecting people and making everything just better, but that’s frustrating for me to write, when I need DRAMA.

ALSO anytime somebody calls Micah cinnamon roll, I think to myself, “I like to eat cinnamon rolls.” Especially in a show like Tremontaine, I look for ways to hurt the characters, to make them suffer and dial the angst up to 100%. I just can’t do that to Micah!

Ellen Kushner: Which character do you most identify with?

Karen Lord: Definitely Joshua. A bit of an observer, drama happens around him more than it happens to him, and he tries his best to look out for his friends.

Racheline Maltese: I wouldn’t say I identify with Diane–I don’t have that type of self-control, for one–but I think her actions are highly rational and, for the world she lives in, highly reasonable. I know we’re often supposed to preface discussions of her with “I know she’s a bad person, but…” except I don’t think she is. Davenant is a bad person; he’s not trying to survive, he’s trying to dominate. Diane really is trying to survive, even if that survival is through winning. She’s just a perfectionist about her survival. I get it. I really do.

Karen Lord: What new thing did you learn from writing with a team that changed your own solo writing process?

Ellen Kushner: The main thing I have learned, with humility and respect, is how differently everyone’s brain works. I know by now that we’re going to end up with thirteen highly elegant novellas. But as we work our way through First Outline to Second Outline to Zero Draft to It’s Ready for Editing Draft, some people’s First Outlines read like rough arguments inside their brains, while others are precise right down to the word count for each scene. Some Zero Drafts appear smooth and polished. Others – well, OK, mine – are full of alternate word suggestions and bracketed questions.  The one thing we all have in common is that everyone is convinced that their rough draft is awful, which I find hilarious because they’re all so brilliant. And Joel Derfner taught all of us the [say something really smart here] technique of [adjective] bracketing in Zero Drafts.

Liz Duffy Adams: Is there a character you feel particular ownership over/affinity with, and how does it feel to share them?

Karen Lord: Out of all the strangers in a strange Land, Esha, probably. I quite like sharing her as long as she’s Doing Stuff for Herself more than she’s Doing Stuff for Others.

Ellen Kushner: Which of our gang of authors would you most like to have write your own death scene?

Karen Lord: Tessa, without doubt! It will be profound, touching and remembered for generations to come!

Ellen Kushner: I want Liz Duffy Adams to write my death scene because the dialogue will be spectacular. I want Joel Derfner to write my death scene, because it will happen so fast I won’t feel a thing. I want Karen Lord to write my death scene because the secrets of the universe will be revealed (after some hot sex). I want Tessa Gratton to write my death scene because it will be incredibly moving and everyone would cry buckets. I want Racheline Maltese to write my death scene because there will be a spectacular sword fight – and maybe a cow.

* * *

Tremontaine season 1-3 are available on the Serial Box app and website and on all third party retailers. Season 1 is also available in print wherever books are sold. Tremontaine season 4 will be available on September 12th.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Pop Culture Mash-Up Edition

This is a classic, and it’s always a blast — roll a d20 or use a random number generator, once for each of the two tables below. Then, take each of the results and mash them together in a flash fiction story.

Note: the goal is not to tell a literal fan-fic story set in those pop culture storyworlds — though, I guess if you wanna do that, hey, YOU DO YOU. The goal is to take the spirit of those two properties and find a story that embodies the weird mashup. (The origins of this particular challenge come from that old Hollywood conceit of pitching your original story to executives as X meets Y — “It’s The Big Bang Theory meets Westworld ha ha ha right? Hand me money.”)

Length: You have, mmm, let’s say 2000 words for this one.

Due by: next Friday, 7/19, noon EST.

Post the story at your online space.

Give us a linky-poo so we can follow it back.

Now, the two tables —

TABLE X

The Incredibles
The Last Starfighter
Adventure Time
Gravity Falls
Nightmare on Elm Street
Gilmore Girls
The Thing
Saving Private Ryan
Goodfellas
The Hobbit
Dune
The Handmaid’s Tale
The Jetsons
Batman
Stephen King’s The Stand
Get Out
The Matrix
Watership Down
The Hunger Games
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

TABLE Y

DuckTales
Hamilton
Avatar the Last Airbender
The Princess Bride
When Harry Met Sally
The Shape of Water
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Se7en
Neuromancer
Spirited Away
Indiana Jones
The Fast & The Furious
James Bond
Alice in Wonderland
Transformers
GI Joe
The Cat In The Hat
Parks and Recreation
Twin Peaks
The Bible

How To Be A Writer In This Fucked-Ass Age Of Rot And Resistance

It is fucking weird being a writer right now.

Especially the writer of what is ostensibly entertainment — it feels precariously like tap-dancing on the Titanic. It’s like, tippity-tap-tappity-tip, “Ya-da-da-da-doo-dee-da-da! Hey, ignore the iceberg, look at me dancing, I’m dancing over here, it’s great, we’re not smashing into a jagged frozen nightmare, ha ha ha that’s just the power of my dance you’re feeling as the boat splits apart and, oh god I’m falling into the hoary black depths, but maybe I can tap dance on an ice floe or the head of a shark–” *is frozen* *is eaten*

What I’m trying to say is:

It’s hecka hard to conjure words these days.

Hard to sit down, avert your gaze from the Hieronymous Bosch painting going on outside your window (“Oh, good, there’s a giant face vomiting up a skeleton bird and the skeleton bird is eating children”), and especially hard to put words down. It can feel hollow. Or like a waste of time, a fruitless endeavor. Or it might just feel like nonsense, like all you’re doing is typing out nice-sounding gibberish that has no impact on anything or anyone. Just squawking into the void. Squawk, squawk. And the void does not answer.

This is truly the stupidest, meanest timeline.

And it would be easy to… just not write.

But that’s not an option. Okay, it’s totally an option, but it’s not a good option, especially for me, where I use this thing I do *gestures broadly to my desk and the scattering of papers and the Chewbacca toy near my coffee-stained keyboard* to pay bills. If I don’t make words into books, I don’t make my mortgage. So, I gotta do it. And, I bet, you gotta do it to. Maybe not for the mortgage, but for your peace of mind. Because it’s what you wanna do. Or better yet: it’s who you are, full-stop, end of story.

Only problem:

How?

How the fuck do you do it? It’s like trying to give a colonoscopy to a rabid badger in the dark — it seems impossible, bitey, foul-smelling. But there are ways. There have to be ways. Let us count them, so we have a way forward, together. Some of this I’ve spoken of before, but it helps me to put it down in words, to create a mission statement and a motivational springboard to help propel me — and hopefully you, too — through the maelstrom.

First: It’s Okay To Be Pissed Off And Upset As Fuck

That thing you’re feeling? That roiling, writhing middle like you just had a enema of Gaboon vipers and jagged driveway gravel? That’s anger. You’re pissed off.

It’s perfectly normal.

Christ, it’s abnormal to not be wanting to bite your keyboard in half. I wanna throw my phone into a wood chipper daily, not because I hate my phone, but because I hate all the hate that my phone contains. *looks at phone* “Oh, good, Trump is putting babies in holes, now, just random holes in the ground, wherever goblin-dildo Stephen Miller can dig them.”

It’s vital to realize you’re not alone. Nor are you alone as a writer who has no idea what to do with all of this — all the fuckery, all the madness, all the poison and sepsis and outhouse tornado, all the cruelty and the terror and the from-creeping-to-sprinting fascism. You are not alone.

Second: It’s Okay To Look Away

You can see a pile of shit on the ground and recognize what it is without stepping in it, and rolling in it, and then eating it. You can see it and walk the other way. You can pinch your nose; nobody is demanding you smell it to prove it. You are not required to marinate in all that’s going on in order to understand it. I promise, in five, maybe ten minutes you can get caught up on the latest batch of dipshit atrocities going on and then go do something else. Go outside. Throw a ball for a dog. Smell some honeysuckle. Have sexytimes with one or several consensual partners.

Self-care is king. Said it before, will say it again: adjust your own oxygen mask before attending to the oxygen masks of others. You’re no good to us if you’re rolling around on the floor, frothing in undirected rage. Pick yourself up, eat a cupcake, read a book —

Then get back into the fight.

Third: Words Are Weapons

In the arsenal of resistance, we have many weapons. We can protest with our bodies, we have votes, we have work stoppages and boycotts, we have Molotov cocktails if shit gets really hinky — but we also have words. Words matter; you have to believe that, if you’re a writer. The entire world is made up of words, and you are good at adding words to the world.

So, do that. Use that. Form your words into weapons and let them fly.

We need to write letters to our politicians. We need to convey what we think over social media, en masse. We can write articles and blog posts, and yes, I understand that seems a very passive, safe form of resistance, but I assure you — words can go far, and can have great power. Art is a presence in protest, or should be: during the most turbulent tides of our time, we look to writers, comedians, musicians, comics, games, and so on and so forth, to help us understand what’s going on. To channel our rage. To crystallize our thoughts and contextualize the history behind us and what’s to come. To find empathy and to practice critical thinking.

Is it enough? By itself, no.

But it’s part of it. We all add to this in our own way, and this is, arguably, your way. You gotta speak your mind. You gotta say what you feel. If only to purge all that pent-up poison.

(And here I recommend following Celeste Pewter, who often has very good advice on directing your words to counter this fuckery.)

Fourth: Words Are A Door

Just the same: embrace the power of escapism.

We all need to escape, man. Every day I’m looking for a portal out of this donkey show and into something more fun, something so distant that I can’t hear the chaos through the walls. Nothing wrong with writing that escape, or seeking it. Use your own stories to provide an out for yourself and your readers; and read books, too, that give you that escape. No shame. Words can be self-care. They can be a doorway out, for a time. A portal to a Narnia where it’s not a circus orgy of sick chimps running around, on fire, throwing flaming shit at one another.

Fifth: Words Are Trojan Horses

Sometimes instead of attacking head on with FROTHY TWEETS and FOUL-MOUTHED LETTERS TO YOUR REPRESENTATIVES, you instead pack a book with a lot of ideas and then you trebuchet that book out into the world. Just as there’s nothing wrong with writing an escapist story, there’s also nothing wrong with taking all that you’re feeling and pumping it into something — a book, a short story, a comic, a game, a poem, a fucking fortune cookie, I dunno. Somewhere. Anywhere. Sometimes, to contextualize resistance for yourself and your readers, you need to enrobe it in the raiment of something else — fantasy fiction, or superhero comics, or literary spec-fic. Ideas sometimes need idea-wrappers: you dress them up in something other than what they seem. It’s like giving your dog a pill: first you slather it in peanut butter.

Sixth: Connect With Your Community

To go back to the beginning: you’re not alone, so now’s the time to remember that and connect with those around you. If you’re feeling fucked up about the world and about your authorial place in it, ping some writer pals. They’ll listen. Trust me. And you listen to them, too. And then signal boost each other. Help out. Form a community. You don’t need to be ronin-ninja-without-clan. You have people. The way we make it through this gauntlet-of-fanged-assholes is not by ourselves, but together.

Seventh and Last: Fuck It, Put Words Down Wherever, Whenever, However

Sometimes that’s all it takes. You don’t need a direction. You don’t need a purpose. You don’t even need an audience. You are a writer, and your tool is right in front of you. Make sentences. Express thoughts. Write a journal, or angry Post-It notes, or an email to a friend. Squeeze the world and let the words ooze out. Write about your hopes, your fears, your everything, your anything. Make words. It’s okay. Have a laugh. Be funny. Be angry. Feel things and put them onto paper. Promote your work because we want to read it. Write your books because we need books now more than we did before. Write of resistance. Write for the resistance. Just make the words happen. A few at a time. Or a lot at once.

It’s what you do. It’s who you are. It’s how you’ll survive.

 

* * *

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DAMN FINE STORY: Mastering the Tools of a Powerful Narrative

What do Luke Skywalker, John McClane, and a lonely dog on Ho’okipa Beach have in common? Simply put, we care about them.

Great storytelling is making readers care about your characters, the choices they make, and what happens to them. It’s making your audience feel the tension and emotion of a situation right alongside your protagonist. And to tell a damn fine story, you need to understand why and how that caring happens.

Whether you’re writing a novel, screenplay, video game, or comic, this funny and informative guide is chock-full of examples about the art and craft of storytelling–and how to write a damn fine story of your own.

Out now!

Indiebound  |  Amazon  |  B&N

Macro Monday And The Fuck Trump Tweet

Here, have a pretty macro photo.

There shall be more at the bottom of the post.

Fuck Donald Trump.

I said that on Twitter the other day — that thread is here — and apparently, it resonated, given that it went somewhat viral. As it should, honestly. (Resonate, not go viral.) The time of being precious and polite is long past us. This is an era of dark corners, and we just keep on turning them, into deeper, blacker pockets of moral, national shadow. Our president — “president” — is the sick, beating heart of this whole thing, but he’s not alone in his fuckery, so nor should he be alone in his condemnation. We must condemn all his cronies, from Miller to Pence, and we must further condemn a dead-eyed, undignified, complicit Congress for — at best — idly standing by as he chews at the wires and support beams of this nation like a mad rat, and at worst, for helping him do all the things he does. Including, though certainly not limited to, separating migrant families at the border, and putting the children into a range of facilities, from prisons to cages to tent cities in the Texas heat. Fuck Trump, fuck the whole lot of them, and fuck the voters who helped vote for this foul stain upon our nation’s flag, credo, and fabric.

It’s hard not being angry all the time. And it’s weird being a writer or person of entertainment at this period because you mostly just wanna kick things and spit and thrash around, and yet we still have to form cogent sentences and sometimes use those cogent sentences to entertain, enlighten, and advertise.

So, we do what we can.

My best is that I can help you escape, from time to time, with the *waves magic wand* the mysteeeerious wooooorlds of fiiiiction, and so again I gently nudge you toward the fact that Zer0es is still like, $1.99 right now — or, if you’re looking for something different, people ask where to start with my fiction, well, I did a post that helps you figure exactly that.

In the meantime, I give you again some shiny-pretty-macro-and-non-macro photos. If only to give myself, and you, a moment’s solace in this time of unbridled fuckery.

(The first photo, by the way, is of a true rara avis, the scarlet tanager — a somewhat reclusive bird that’s also really beautiful, and hard to capture. Been trying to get a good shot of this one for weeks now with the new 100-400 lens. This one isn’t a great photo, but it’s serviceable, and I’m just happy to have gotten it. Also, the second photo — of a bee-like hover-fly — is a photo of what I think margined calligrapheris called a “.” What a fucking cool name for a bug. For anything! Find joy where you can folks. My other photos are over at Flickr.)