Ken Lizzi's Blog, page 77

Pounding the Pavement and Knocking on Doors

Taking a look at the calendar, I noticed that the next couple of months will call frequently on my woefully lacking marketing skills. Oh, joy. Promotion. What’s that rising up within? Heartburn? Acid reflux? Incipient panic?

Some of us prefer to remain unnoticed, to blend, chameleon-like, in the crowd. Deliberately drawing multiple pairs of eyeballs to our existence can be a trifle uncomfortable. But, that’s the gig. I knew it was part of the deal when I signed up.

The festivities commence November 20, with Orycon. For the third year running, Orycon has invited me as a guest and panelist. I suppose that means I haven’t screwed up egregiously. Yet. I’ll post the names and times of my panels closer to the date. Orycon is fun. And I share the panels with other writers, so there’s a sort of pro rata distribution of eyeballs. The attention is not on me alone.

My first book signing for Under Strange Suns is December 5, at Jan’s Paperbacks in Aloha, Oregon. I’m aquiver with anticipation of sitting behind a table facing the front door, watching as each customer walks in while trying to avoid eye contact with the author and his stack of unsold books. Actually, the signing at Jan’s for Reunion turned out well. I enjoyed it, and the store seems to have sold enough to make it worthwhile having me back for another go.

December 15 is the official release date for Under Strange Suns. It is also the date I’ll sit staring into a webcam while Simon Rose interviews me for his Fantasy Fiction Focus webcast. See, with e-mail interviews, I have the chance to carefully consider the question and prepare what I hope is a clever response. A response, at least, in the form of a complete sentence, sans “ums” and “likes” and other filler words and phatic expressions. A live interview, however, removes that safety net. And as an extemporaneous speaker, I’m no Flying Wallenda. Still, it should be interesting. Simon Rose is an engaging interviewer, and skilled at tossing his guests life preservers if they begin flailing about. You should check out some of his interviews on his Youtube channel, they are informative and entertaining.

December 16 brings another signing, this one at the Things From Another World store in Portland. Last year the store provided free beer. So I had that going for me. I’m much less concerned by the eyeballs after a beer or two.

There you have it. If you can attend any of the live events, come up and say hello.

Playing Catch Up

It would be a stretch to say I’ve caught up on my movie viewing. But I did drop a few bucks at the Red Box while the rest of my family was in Mexico for a week and a half. Thus I was able to see a few of the explody, sci-fi, bullet-ridden flicks that I seldom have the opportunity to do now. And on the 65” hi-def screen, not the ten-inch computer screen that normally provides my viewing backdrop, thanks to late night viewing of Netflix.

When one’s two-year old daughter is sleeping behind a hollow-core door not too far away, one does not crank the speakers and slip — for example  — From Dusk ‘Til Dawn into the Blu Ray player. Nor does one go to the theater to see movies on a whim. One must plan ahead, coordinating the movie-house schedule with that of the baby sitter. So I’m rather far behind on recent releases. “Recent” meaning anything that has come out over the last couple of years.

The Avengers: Age of Ultron held the honors as first flick teed up. I liked it. It suffered somewhat from what many sophomore entries in a series do: it tried for a greater gravitas than its predecessor, wanting to project a sense of its own importance. The film-makers forget that what the audience wants is more of what it saw originally. Instead, the film-makers delude themselves that what we want is an upping of the stakes, and a more thoughtful, mature work. This usually leads to a grimmer, less fun film. No exception here. But the movie managed to include enough of the humor and light-heartedness that made the first Avengers film so enjoyable.

Mad Max: Fury Road roared in next. It took me a while to warm up to it, to allow myself to be pulled into the story the film-makers wanted to tell. It didn’t seem to follow in any logical sense the previous entries. But I was probably expecting too much, and really, after the first one, the Mad Max franchise was anything goes in the outback. This new one is no different. Whether massive generational shifts of memory and culture could realistically occur during the few years of Max Rockatansky’s sojourn in the wilderness is beside the point. Shut up and enjoy the hours long car chase, Ken. And mostly I did.

Interstellar followed. Surprisingly, I enjoyed the first part of the film. I’d expected to want the director to get on with it, get to the good stuff. Maybe I’m getting old. The truth is, the later parts of the movie didn’t work for me. The causal relations made no sense. Normally I pay little attention to the film score, but I couldn’t help but feel that the music in this film was uninspired, flat when it should be moving. So while the acting was top-notch, the sets and effects were excellent, and while I do want to encourage serious, hard sci-fi in film, Interstellar failed to win me over.

Furious 7 certainly didn’t require any mental engagement. And I never expected the plot or the action to make any sense. So my low expectations were met.

Fury is a well made World War II tank film. Like Interstellar it was well-acted, and the production values were high. But while I could appreciate what the film-makers were doing, I kept wanting to turn Fury off and put in my copy of Kelly’s Heroes. I found Fury too unrelentingly grim to enjoy.

Ant-Man I saw at a second-run theater with the accompaniment of a slice of pizza and a pint of beer. No grimness here. It is a slight entry in the Marvel film repertory, but fun in a breezy sort of way.

Oddly, it wasn’t until my family returned that I saw the best of the bunch. And that despite the handicap of seeing it on, yes, the 10-inch computer screen I’m staring at now as I type. My wife wanted to see it, so I waited until she was home to watch American Sniper, thanks to HBO. I guess the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences can get one right every now and then.

Brewing

I got out the brew kettle yesterday. It’s been a while since I whipped up a batch of beer, but the entire process felt familiar and proceeded smoothly. And, of course, the kitchen smelled wonderful. The kitchen also required a thorough cleaning, but creating a bit of a mess is an unavoidable consequence of brewing beer.

There is a sense of satisfaction that accompanies making something yourself. A feeling of accomplishment. Something akin to ownership, but at a deeper level than possession of something you merely purchased. I made this, this is mine.

Writing provides a similar glow of pride. “I wrote that,” you think upon seeing your output’s publication for the first time, the final results of your dedication and craftsmanship. There is a difference, however. Once the brewing process is complete, you’ll want to drink the beer. When your novel reaches publication, you’re unlikely to want to read it one more time. The enjoyment of the product is vicarious.

So, if you’re feeling a creative urge, get out there and make something, build something, cook something, write something. You may end up making only a mess, but damnit, it’s your mess.

Tardy Film Reviews: Big Hero 6

My daughter V.V.,  the budding Disney animated film enthusiast, is highly discriminating. But when she likes something, she is obsessive. This may be typical of the nigh-two year population at large: I don’t know; this is my first trip down fatherhood lane.

V.V.’s latest obsession is Big Hero 6, Disney’s first foray into animated superhero films after The Incredibles. This joins The Jungle Book, Lilo and Stitch, and The Adventures of Winnie the Pooh in her arsenal of go to, view ad nauseum movies. Why these? Why the lack of interest in 101 Dalmations or The Aristocats? I have a theory that I hereby designate the Pooh Theory. V.V. is drawn to animation featuring rotund, cuddly, semi-neotenic characters. Winnie the Pooh was the first. Baloo the Bear followed. She always grows more animated when he appears on screen. He’s a more adult Pooh, but I think the connection is there. Stitch is a cuddly stuffed-animal sort of character, somewhat bear-like. And Baymax, the robotic health-care provider cum superhero, fits the mold. As exhibit 1 (and the only exhibit, really – this is just a half-assed theory, not a doctoral thesis) I submit that when Baymax appears on screen V.V. will occasionally say “Pooh.”

So, V.V. likes it. But is it any good if you are old enough to dress yourself? Well, yes. It is gorgeously animated. I see something new every time (oh, so many times) I see it. I notice the care the animators took detailing the environment: the cracks in a windowsill, the discoloration in a roof tile. The signs, the photographs. The detailing is impressive. The story is the expected origin tale, but entertaining. The humor is sharp. The emotion is well-conveyed, not contrived or driven primarily by swelling music.

What’s it about? In a near future world, San Francisco has, for some unexplained reason, become San Fransokyo, the SF we know, but overlain with Japanese elements. Or perhaps this is a parallel Earth. The film never bothers with this point. It just is. And it works. Of course, I amuse myself inventing scenarios leading to the transforming of SF to San Fransokyo (I’m partial to the one involving Japanese refugees from a Godzilla attack) but that’s me: I make up things and write them down for fun and money. Anyway, our hero, Hiro, is a wunderkind, wasting his precocious brain on underground robot fighting. His elder brother tricks him into interest in college, an institution Hiro refers to dismissively as “Nerd School.” The elder brother has been developing a robot health-care provider, Baymax. Circumstances lead Hiro and his brother’s nerd school friends to create a superhero team, with Baymax an unlikely centerpiece. Baymax is, in fact, the fulcrum that lifts the film. I don’t want to spoil any of that.

Now, I do have nits to pick. But that is inevitable after watching any film an absurd number of times. Still, at least one of my objections applies to other films as well. In superhero films, often a character becomes a superhero through use of one particular piece of technology currently unavailable to anyone else. Fair enough, as far as it goes. Yet, why does possession of this one item render the wearer suddenly capable of acrobatic feats and martial arts mastery unrelated to the technology? I’m looking at you, Wasabi.

I could complain more. But that would undermine the point that I do, in fact, recommend

Big Hero 6, whether you are just about to turn 2 or 52. And V.V., I’m comfortable asserting, agrees.

Sterling Lanier: Appendix N Meets the Apocalypse

For many, the 1980’s were years shadowed by the specter of nuclear war. I never worried about it. But nuclear war — the chances, the scenarios, the aftermath — fueled the creations of filmmakers, writers, musicians, etc. It was the decade that brought Kris Kristofferson’s seamed, craggy face to our TV screens for the mini-series Amerika. It brought us Phil Collins caterwauling with puppet Thatcher and Reagan on MTV. And it brought us Sterling Lanier’s post-apocalyptic novels Hiero’s Journey and Unforsaken Hiero.

Hiero’s Journey was actually first published in 1973. But the 1980s brought a new edition, with the (to me) compelling cover art by the then ubiquitous Darrell K. Sweet. That riding moose! The bear in conversation with the guy in the frontier garb! Good stuff. I had to buy it. And I’m glad I did. This is great post-apocalyptic stuff. Telepaths, mutants, far-future societies with only dim memories of pre-cataclysmic history. Our hero, Hiero, is a Catholic priest sent off on a mission by his superior. (There seems to be a thread of belief among science-fiction writers that the Catholic Church would be a passable, though problematic, repository for the values, history, and technology of the Western world; the only organization that might survive to guard the last treasures of civilization. See also A Canticle for Leibowitz. Interesting notion.) Hiero encounters danger, new enemies, and politics. There’s plenty of action, mystery, and tension. And the sequel, Unforsaken Hiero doesn’t drop off by much.

I can certainly see how Lanier could influence Gary Gygax. Though my assumption is that these novels were more of an influence on Gamma World than on D&D. I never played Gamma World. I enjoy reading post-apocalyptic fiction, but playing a game in that world doesn’t much appeal to me. It’s all make-believe, tactical problem solving, no matter what the setting, but somehow I’m more at ease with a setting in which the characters can retreat to civilization, hole up in an inn, spend the loot, plan for the future — a setting in which there is a future. The sheer bleakness of post-apocalyptic settings, with the characters merely delaying the final ebbing of the last embers of civilization, isn’t an attractive game feature for me.

But it certainly was for some. Ever since the US learned that the Soviets had the bomb, tales of nuclear holocaust had proliferated. From classics like On the Beach, to 1950’s schlock sci-fi films. The 1980’s (in which I include the latter half of the seventies and up to the fall of the Berlin Wall) saw that focus include gaming. In addition to Gamma World (1978), there was Aftermath! (1981), Twilight 2000 (1984), and others.

The interest in post-nuclear holocaust stories has waned, though never completely disappeared. And with a newly resurgent Russia (in perhaps the first spasms of a country caught in the demographic death spiral) retaining an enormous nuclear stockpile, and with North Korea and Iran developing programs, and with non-state actors working in the shadows to acquire nuclear weapons, we may see a re-kindling of popularity in these stories. Sterling Lanier provided us, at the very least, some of the most entertaining. Hail the conquering Hiero!

Hello Blank Page, My Old Friend

Beginning a new project is both exhilarating and daunting. The notebook or the blank document sits before you, an expanse of empty white space waiting for you to fill it with words.

There is a great degree of freedom promised by the empty page. You can put anything there. No limits, no boundaries. A new world to create, new characters to invent, new actions and motivations to develop. Of course, once you start writing, the constraints grow, each a byproduct of the decisions you make. That world will dictate rules, the characters will delimit likely responses, the actions will suggest counteraction. The great idea you had will approach the test of praxis. Does it make sense in the context you’ve established? Would such-and-such work given the rules of the world you’ve built? Would so-and-so really believe X, or perform action Y? The freedom dribbles away as the plot begins to constrict potential options.

And then there’s the sheer amount of time and work involved. The idea has finally hit. You’re ready to begin outlining or writing. The end is so clear in your mind. But then you consider how long it’s going to take to get there. How many hours of sitting and typing. The months of investment this will demand. The rounds of editing. It could be years until anyone reads the final product. What will your life be like by then? How old will your child be? You’ve begun to measure your life by projects, the epoch of Book A, the toddler years of Book B. Are you ready for yet one more?

But you’ve done this before. In the abstract this thought instills confidence. Confidence, however, never fully survives first contact with the Blank Page. Uncertainty will accompany the process, from the first scribbled note of the outline through the final correction of galley proofs.

That’s the Blank Page for you. The obverse and reverse of the coin. The yin and the yang. The Agony and the Ecstasy. The Chico and The Man.

So cowboy up and deal with it. C’mon Blank Page, let’s rumble.

The Shotgun Approach

I prefer to outline before I begin writing. I want a blueprint for the general structure in place, a scaffolding built to give me purchase from which to work. But once that’s done, I have to fill those empty space I reach from the scaffolding. Sometimes I have a pretty good idea what I’m going to put where. Other times I employ a scattershot approach. Fire out a bunch of ideas, hit and miss, and go with the idea that cracks the clay. Not hip-shooting of course, I have a bead on the target thanks to the outline.

Wait, is this some half-assed excuse to post pictures of your afternoon’s skeet-shooting? Why yes, yes it is. My typing fingers still smell of gunpowder. I’d like to thank Tri-County Gun Club and a beautiful, late September day for my Sunday fun. Few clay pigeons were harmed bringing these photos to existence. I did get better, a little, by the end. No, really. I wouldn’t lie to you.

Reconnoitering Kindle Scout

I’ve written before about the slender paperbacks popular in the 60s and 70s. They no longer make financial sense in today’s publishing market. Not in print, at any rate. But it seems to me they are admirably suited to e-readers. Digital is the new pulp.

When checking up on the status of my book sales on Amazon (who, me obsessive?) I discovered that Amazon was promoting an experimental new publishing model called Kindle Scout. The gist of the program is that readers can help choose which books get published by reading sample chapters and selecting which books they wish to read in full. Readers whose selection is chosen for publication receive a free copy. A nice incentive, I think. It isn’t precisely a democracy, Amazon retains the final choice. But it is an intriguing model.

I’ve also noted before my appreciation for Elmore Leonard. Sometime back I asked myself what the result would be had Elmore Leonard written a fantasy. Sadly, that will never happen. So to come anywhere near an answer, I’d have to write it myself. And I did, creating “Thick As Thieves.”

I had a good time writing “Thick As Thieves,” though at times I engaged in internal disputes over whether or not to employ a Leonardism for certain phrases. There is a balance to achieve between slavish imitation and appreciative evocation. It is my hope that I struck the right tone. The final result, however, did not reach the minimum word count most print publishers request. And that brings us to digital being the new pulp, and to Kindle Scout. See, I was going somewhere with this all along.

I turned in my submission package a few days ago. Kindle Scout is, if nothing else, prompt. “Thick As Thieves” began its thirty-day selection period today at Midnight. Please check out the sample on the Kindle Scout site and click the “Nominate Me” button if you want to read more. The link is here. https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/106TNIFG17ZG2

Happy reading.

Robert E. Howard, Appendix N’s Top Dog Contender

I approach this entry with some trepidation. I knew I’d need to write about Robert Ervin Howard at some point. But I’ve been reluctant to do so because, really, what more is there to say about the man? More ink has been spilled critiquing REH than any other Appendix N author save J.R.R. Tolkien. There are dedicated Howard scholars contributing to journals. The late, lamented blog “The Cimmerian” curated years worth of commentary. The annual Howard Days in Cross Plains, Texas, offers panel discussions. The topic of Robert E. Howard has been covered.

But, I’ve taken on this labor of Appendix N commentary, and by Crom’s beard, I’m going to write about REH. Adding a few more drops of digital ink to the ocean.

This may be a minority view, but I’m underwhelmed by the world-building of the Conan stories. Constructed in ad hoc fashion from whatever historical time frame and location REH was interested in at the time, the whole does not cohere. But it hardly matters. When I re-read Conan, I read a story here, a story there. I don’t sit down and plow through them all like a novel. And as discrete story packets, the (in historical context) anachronistic disconnect between stories set in, say Stygia, with its ancient Egyptian theme, and Zingara, Spanish buccaneer-land (now I’m going to start looking for Captain Jack Sparrow cameos), is unapparent, and thus not a factor. So, screw it. The Conan stories are terrific fun. Whining that REH didn’t have a logically consistent fictional universe in place at the time he sat down to write the first story would be absurd, even churlish.

Count me as a Solomon Kane fan. When I re-read them, they are never quite as swashbuckling as I recall. But they leave that impression behind. And I’ll take that. ‘Evocative’ is a worthy legacy.

I’ve read several of REH’s boxing stories. They tend to the formulaic, but it’s a good formula. If you haven’t had the pleasure, get your paws on a collection, you mug.

The hard boiled detective pieces? If I’m allowed to judge based on only one example, steer clear. Not the man’s best work.

The westerns are fun. The horror stories competent, even quite good (“Pigeons From Hell.” The (then) contemporary adventure stories, and the historical adventure stories are rip-roaring.

None of these opinions are new. There are countless variations of them already filling that ocean of ink. But, they are mine, and honest. Honesty is, perversely, something we look for in the prevarications of fiction. Honesty and consolation.

I’ve been thinking about the consolations of literature recently. Life and pain are inevitabilities. But literature can grant solace. We age, we sicken. Yet we can turn the pages back, and King Conan is once again a young thief, daring the Tower of the Elephant. Death approaches, yet we can read of Frodo nearing the undying lands, and whether we believe in an afterlife or not, for the moment we enjoy surcease. It is only mitigation. Consolation can never return us to the status quo ante. Consolation is ever only second-best: think ‘consolation prize.’ But it’s what we have. And I’m grateful for it. If only it had been good enough for REH.

Autumn is Coming!

Autumn is coming! Look to your rakes, sons of the Northern Hemisphere.

So, yeah, there’s that. Signs of the end of summer are accumulating. Chief among them: College football. Sales of chicken wings begin their annual climb, to a false peak during January bowl games, then ascending once more to the true summit of the Super Bowl in February.

The state fair is winding down, making its annual bet that it will miss the first rains. (Looking outside as I write, I think the fair lost this year.) My beautiful wife and I took our progeny to the fair yesterday. Pro tip: Don’t drive south from Portland on I-5 during Labor Day weekend the day of a UO Ducks football game. But eventually we reached Salem. It is safe to say that the fair was a big hit with V.V. Next year we might contrive to spend most of the day. Watching her enjoy, well, everything, is terrific entertainment. She’s enthusiastic about the animals. In fact the petting zoo was almost too much for her, fear and excitement alternating to a basically debilitating degree.

We’ve probably spent the last afternoon by the pool until next summer. Frankly, I’m relieved by the cooler temperatures. Triple digits is something I prefer to encounter on vacation, not come home from work to. Writing is challenging enough without contending with sweat dripping onto the keyboard.

So, those of you in the US, enjoy your Labor Day Weekend. Soak up these last days of summer. For autumn is coming.