Ahimsa Kerp's Blog, page 17

Why Zombies are less about eating brains and more about having them.

Okay, I am writing a book about zombies. They're not called that, but they are animated dead hungry for human flesh. It has a fairly unique setting, so I'm not worried that it is too similar to the bevy of other zombie books out there. But it is sort of embarrassing to tell people about. I would like to say "But don't worry, it's good," but I have to admit that I wouldn't know if it wasn't. I can say, though, that I'm approaching the subject as seriously as I can.

We all know there are a lot of bad zombie books and movies out there, and if it weren't for vampires they would be the most overused trope of horror in the last 10 years. The trope has been abused (fast zombies? Get the fuck out), degraded (zombie strippers? What are you doing?), and undeveloped (zombies as generic bad guys.) Yawn.

This is risking the "no true Scotsman" fallacy, but those aren't zombies. Not really. Zombies need to be slow, they need to multiply and they need to come back from the dead. It isn't exactly breaking new ground to say that zombies serve as a metaphor, but I'd say, rather, that they serve as the metaphor. The metaphor of inevitability.

I would argue further that this comes, most evidently, from existentialism. Sartre and Camus, among others, wrote about the importance of human individuality and freedom. (That is an embarrassingly superfluous definition, but to get into depth this would take thousands of pages of discussion.)

The tenets of the existentialists were became applied concepts in the Theatre of the Absurd. (The distinction is really not as neat as that. Sartre and Ionesco purportedly hated each other. More so than most labels, grouping these writers into one genre is painting with really broad brush strokes.) Writers like Beckett, Albee, Stoppard, Pinter and, most importantly for this discussion, Euegene Ionesco found a better well to discuss the human condition–by showing us, rather than telling us.

Consider this cherry-picked quote from the wikipedia entry on plots from Theatre of the Absurd: "Often there is a menacing outside force that remains a mystery" A little later, it adds "Absence, emptiness, nothingness, and unresolved mysteries are central features in many Absurdist plots" That could describe most horror movies, but of course anything that vague can be mis-applied.

More specifically, Ionesco explored the theme of death by writing a play about a corpse growing larger and larger. Most importantly at all he wrote "The Rhinoceros." In the play, people start, inexplicably, turning into rhinos. The protagonist is the only one who does not change; he is our everyman lens into the story. Ionesco was, probably, writing about the rise of Communism, Facism, and Nazism, but you could replace every instance of the word "rhinoceros" with "zombie" and it wouldn't lose its core meaning.

Albee's "Zoo Story," again according to wikipedia, "explores themes of isolation, loneliness, miscommunication as anathematization, social disparity and dehumanization in a commercial world." That's not too far off from Romero's Dawn of the Dead.

So, hell yes, I would argue that zombies are descended from the smokey parlours of 1950′s France. "Hell is other people" has one meaning in No Exit, but quite another in Night of the Living Dead. Absurdists began the process of showing these stories, creating improbable scenarios. And zombies have succeeded them; it doesn't get much more improbable than the dead rising and coming after you for their midnight snack.

This doesn't mean that reading World War Z is the same as reading The Plague, but they're not as far off as you might suppose.

The Silent Universe: Apocalyptic Flash Fiction

I don't often post my writing here, since a) I'm usually trying to find a home for it and b) there aren't too many people who are that interested in reading it anyway.

But this is some flash fiction I wrote for a contest that Neil Gaiman was judging. It didn't place. And, not unlike Rob Schneider, it's too short to do anything useful.

The prompt was something under 350 words, and involving the end of the world. As always, your opinions are always welcome.

Photo by NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center

The aether has always been here, so they say. We knew about it since Newton, since freaking Aristotle, but it wasn't until recently that it started to kill us. It came without warning, without quarter.

Three in four humans died those first few months. I survived, but my parents, wife, and son did not. And the aether kept killing those still living, human and animal. We may be the last survivors on Earth.

There are seventeen of us. Mostly scientists, we were researching in Peru when the doom came. We now live 19,000 feet high up in the Andes, chewing our red coco berries and emerging from our cave only when we need to. The aether doesn't often look for us this high up. Our conditions are Neolithic, save for a powerful telescope. We search the skies for answers every night, and we've learned two things.

First, something in the ozone was blocking the aether. The hippies were right—our ozone was badly needed. More devastatingly, we now know there is something out there in the cold night skies. Something malevolent, something destructive; a menace beyond comprehension.

See, the aether is merely an agent of the true evil. We knew about them since Mitchell—as science developed, Einstein tried to warn us and went mad. They may be what struck down young Professor Hawking as well. It sounds mad, I know, but the biocidal aether is merely a power acting on behalf of a greater menace. Black holes.

Yes, Black Holes. I've stared shivering in the thin mountain air for more nights than I can remember and I am convinced this is true. Most of us are, now. Was the whole of human history nothing more than a cosmic blip? Sagan thought his little blue dot moment was traumatic. At least he didn't know there was something out there, something looking in at us. The only thing reassuring about this menace, to me, is their absolute power. Even when we were united, a powerful race of humanity, this opponent was too great. We never stood a chance.

Writing (and Procrastinating)

My job has changed a bit. It's still teaching ESL to 8-12 year-olds, but it's far better than what I was doing before. Best of all, I am working 1-9. Dream hours for a writer–I get mornings to write, and I can stay up as late as I like. My goal is 500 words before noon. And then during the night I can add to that however much feels appropriate.

It's really a dream set-up. My current challenge comes from the game Medieval 2: Total War. It's a bit old now, but I never got around to playing it before (though I played the hell out of the first one). You get to take a medieval faction and through scheming, diplomacy, and the occasional battle rule over all of Europe. Your strategy is affected by your religion (Catholics get bossed around by the Pope), location (don't live near the Mongols), and random events like earthquakes and Bubonic Plague. It's a serious time waster, but I think I'll find a good balance. See the screenshot for some medieval mayhem.

"Almost too fun."

A reviewer on Amazon has included my story as one of their favorites in the Cthulhurotica collection.

As a new writer, it's always good to hear that people dig my shit.

Stand outs for me included: "Descent of the Wayward Sister" by Gabrielle Harbowy, which was the first story and did an excellent job in setting the tone for the rest of the book; "Infernal Attraction" by Cody Goodfellow, that had an ending I found to be deliciously bleak and sinister; "Turning On, Tuning In, and Dropping Out at the Mountains of Madness" by Ahimsa Kerp, which was absolutely saturated in a sixties milieu that felt almost too fun to belong in a Lovecraft world…

Plodding and Plotting

There's nothing like a good long walk to clear the mind, and this weekend saw a 26 K hike up to the third highest mountain in South Korea. It was mostly uphill, sans switchbacks, so I had a lot of long slow thinking time. The result? I think I have a basic construction of the next chapter. I also think there will only be two more chapters after that.

The moral of the story is that hiking is pretty much good for your body and your mind (though my legs disagree with at least half that statement.)

Damn you Patrick Rothfuss!

I normally enjoy reading while I am writing. Not at the same time, because I only have two eyes and one of those doesn't work super well. But it can be great seeing how another writer has arranged their words or how they use point of view. I never actively glean anything from the books, but I think reading triggers some of the thought processes that help me to write.

But I recently re-read "In the Name of the Wind" and read for the first time "Wise Man's Fear," by Patrick Rothfuss and I've stopped writing entirely. It's not just that his prose is infuriatingly good, or that his plot is meticulously crafted. Through a narrative device, he also has a cunning way of controlling narrative voice while adding an unreliable narrator aspect to the story. (The trade-off is that, as beautifully written as the book was, it seemed like not a lot happened. Just like Dance With Dragons, readers want more of the destination and less of the journey). Though not perfect books, they are as good as anything in the genre written in the last 30 years. And they killed me.

It wasn't a conscious decision to stop writing. Intellectually, I understand that it's not fair to compare my half-finished work to books that he has spent years on, and after writing the books he revised them with a zeal that many of his contemporaries would do well to take note of. But the craftsmanship is so blatantly brilliant that it's quite discouraging. I'm not breaking up with my book, but if our relationship were on facebook, our relationship would certainly be "it's complicated."

Purposeless Wandering

One of the best college classes I ever took was about Chinese philosophy. A visiting professor from Shanghai taught it, and it was exactly the sort of mind-stretching, thought-provoking courses one should have at college. I don't remember much of it now, other than I wrote a paper about how Bruce Lee's Jeet Kune Do should rank with the Tao Te Ching as a seminal work in Eastern philosophy that didn't exactly wow my professor.

The other thing that has stayed with me is the concept of wu wei. It is often translated as "knowing when to act and when not to act" or "natural action," but I think a more helpful way of thinking about it is developing correct instincts. There is an implication of action that is spontaneous, natural, and effortless. Another philosopher, Chuang Tzu, calls it "purposeless wandering."

Although it doesn't have precisely the same connotations, I think the Greek concept of Areté falls along the same lines. Often defined as "excellence" or "virtue," it's more fully understood as the act of living up to one's full potential. The famous Socratic paradox, "Virtue is knowledge," is in Greek, "Areté is knowledge."

This idea is represented in every aspect of life. Steve Nash hits ten shots in a row—he's "in the zone." Wu wei. Jimi Hendrix picks up a guitar and improves a jam like "Fire." Teachers or parents improvising important lessons. Going on a date and impressing the person next to you on the roller coaster. All these "right actions" are a way of quantifying wu wei.

As much as anybody, a writer needs to develop their wu wei. Just having "ideas" doesn't make you a writer. The "what" is less important than the "how." You need to hone your craft, the same as anybody who creates things. Developing correct instincts is essential. There are many "how to write" books and blogs out there, but when it comes down to it there aren't objective criteria as to what qualifies as good writing. Reading is important, and writing is just as important—like most things, it takes practice to hone your craft. Living a full life matters too—having life-changing experiences can inform your prose with an energy that cannot be replicated. But these are all aspects of something that cannot be truly seen.

You have to know without knowing. That sounds overly esoteric, but maybe life sometimes is overly esoteric. This doesn't mean that no one should plan out their work—that in itself may be where having the correct instincts help. But it does mean that, in order to be a good writer, you need to read, write, and live enough that you develop good instincts. What to write is easy You need to know how to write, and for that you need to develop some pretty killer instincts.

Waltzing with Wyverns: The latest from George RR Martin.

This is not normally a review blog.  (I have reviewed some books on Amazon; though even there I've heard one needs to either be a reviewer or a writer.  I think part of the fun of being a writer is having an informed opinion and enjoying [or not] fiction with a more critical viewpoint.)

That said, I've already mentioned Dance with Dragons in this space.  Here there be spoilers, so if you haven't read the book, then don't read any more.  (If you haven't read the book, why are you wasting time on blogs?  Just read it, already!)  And Martin is a big influence for me, especially on Blades of the North, my contribution to The Roads to Baldairn Motte.

This is a book that fans have waited ten years for.  Every character, every bit of foreshadowing, and every plot device has been discussed and re-discussed a million times.*  So in that regard, there weren't a lot of surprises.

Also, I thought more would happen.  I thought Dany would do something.  I thought that Tyrion would get somewhere.  I thought that we would see the Others again.

She didn't.  He didn't.  We didn't.  Feast didn't whet the appetite of many—it served more as an appetizer, Dance is more of a drive to the shoe store to pick up some tap shoes than a tango or waltz.  But the table is set, the dance shoes are on.  The next two (or, I think, three) books will be fairly monumental.  And that's exciting in its own right.  And I for one don't mind long books or long series—if I like something, I like more of it.  Ask me if I want one beer or two beers and I'll tell you right now the answer will always be two.**

I liked a lot about this book.  The plot didn't advance so much as organize.  But the characterization was great for all the characters.  Theon has long been a favorite of mine and his arc is great to see.  Tyrion is going through some dark times, but he's also learning how lucky he's been.  Even Princess Dany is bearable, mainly because her friends are fairly interesting.  (She has become this series' Rand al'Thor however; prevaricating when every one of her friends [and every reader] knows exactly what she should do and frequently tell her.)  Jon Snow's story was unexpected and I wonder if it was always the plan or if Martin got annoyed that everyone figured out the truth behind his parentage and eventual role.

If so, perhaps young Griff has become the new Jon Snow.  I know that there have been suspicions about him for a long time, but I wasn't expecting him to appear.  His story was great.  My single favorite part of the book was when he looked at everyone waiting, doing nothing, and just said "Screw you guys I'm going home."

My second favorite part was the epilogue—I've always thought Varys was the ultimate puppetmaster and most fascinating character, so his appearance was a treat.  I was surprised to see him in King's Landing, though–I didn't think he would have stuck around.  I think there's something big we're missing about him.  Is he a wizard?  A Faceless man?  Do we even know if he's actually a eunuch?

Martin's prose is, I think, better than ever.  He still repeats his character's catch phrases a bit too much, and suddenly "much and more" is the most repeated phrase in the world, but I was just relieved he stopped saying "nuncle" so much.   There are complaints that the last two books have had too much traveling–I like travelogues, so no complaints for me.

Martin dedicated his book to his fans, and named several that have been active in his community.  I'd like to extend the favor, and thank him for creating such a fascinating, vivid world.

*Probably an understatement rather than an exaggeration.

** This is, of course, assuming that the beer in question is a Mirrorpond or something equally delicious.

Stop the Presses!

(I'd like to say "Vicky Vale" after that, of course, but it seems a little unnecessary.)

( Also, in full disclosure, since the presses were never really going, they don't have to stop anything at all.)

(Also also, I'm pretty sure that Vicky Vale isn't even a real person.  And if she was, I don't think she'd ever actually stop any presses anyway.)

Anyway, this post is about something kind of scary to me.  What does "kind of scary" mean?  Well, it's scarier than Michael Meyers (either of them) stabbing you with a butcher knife, less scary than Fox News.

I think I have to write a lot more on novel.  Maybe double what I have now.  Worse, the end I sorta had planned from the beginning is entirely unfeasible now.  While it's good (for me, really good) to have 40,000 w0rds down, it's really just the first half.  And I don't know the second half yet.  (If you have any suggestions for good third acts, please let me know).

I know that I  just need to take a couple of long walks and let my shapely mind figure it all out, but it's sort of taken the wind out of my sails.  I wrote 3000 words in a day one week ago; I've written less than a thousand since.  I like what I have so far, but I do really have to figure out where it's going.  (It seems like there's a metaphor in there somewhere, but I'm too lazy to figure it out).

At least it won't take me as long as it took for A Dance with Dragons.  That will be another distraction, but a long-awaited one.  A Clash of Kings was the first hardback I ever bought, A Storm of Swords the second, and I paid a small fortune to buy Feast when I lived Australia (back on 05!).  I'm hoping I can find Dragons somewhere in Korea.  And then I'll have figured out my book and get to writing.  I promise!*

(*not really a promise)

Wisdom of the Romans

I am still writing my story set in ancient Rome.  In researching Latin words and phrases, I have come across several phrases that I won't use in the book but that I really like.  Here are three of them:

"Those who hurry across the sea change their sky, not their attitude." – Horace.  (Someday I'll stop being surprised by how little life changes over time. )
Maximus in minimus:  Being very great at very trivial things.  (This speaks against over-specialization, but also admonishes modesty I think.  After all, when you really think about it, what isn't trivial?)
Habent sua fata libelli —  Books have their destinations.  (Kind of fatalistic, but kind of liberating–you write a book and all you can do is see what happens.)