S.B. Stewart-Laing's Blog, page 29

Beyond the Bechdel Test

 In reading and thinking about gender and feminism and fiction, one is bound to find serious discussions of the Bechdel test. To pass the test, a story must have:·      2 or more female characters;·      Those characters having a conversation (with no non-females present);·      The conversation cannot be about men (ANY men)Now, in some ways, this is an interesting way to frame the portrayal of women in a particular piece, and highlights a major issue in fiction—namely, the female characters seem to talk exclusively about their (usually heterosexual) love lives. The first, and most obvious issue, that I have with this test is that it doesn’t exclude women having vapid, stereotype-ridden conversations. The female characters could have zero development in the story beyond being shoe-obsessed or getting into catfights over who is stealing whose (presumably lesbian) wedding ideas, and it would still pass.The second, and more annoying issue, is that it equates feminist content with the exclusion of men. As it stands, men are 50% of the human population, so if your story is not set in a nunnery or women’s football team or whatever, there will be dudes. Women have coworkers and brothers and nephews and sons and fathers and friends who are guys, and talking about these people doesn’t mean the female characters’ lives are meaningless without men. It just means their world has a typical gender ratio.This also quietly says that men, by their existence, mess up feminist dialogue. In reality, of course, there are lots of feminist guys (and non-binary or non-gendered people), and some of them even have interesting insights on gender dynamics. If gender is a source of conflict or a plot shaping element in your story, it will naturally become part of the story. [image error]

Show Yourself

'Show, don't tell' is a pretty well-worn piece of writing advice. Likely because it's good advice. However, I don't generally see this elaborated upon. So here's my quick guide to showing:
Think sensory. Describing smells, tastes, sounds, sights, and tactile sensations bring the reader 'into the moment' in the story and relay experience rather than sumarising facts.Use body language. Let characters demonstrate their emotional responses by actions that are unique to them. It's much more compelling to describe a character pulling and fidgeting with her hair than to simply state 'she was nervous'.  This has the bonus of giving characterisation at the same time. Actions speak louder. It's infinitely better to let the reader follow the character as they do daring deeds or puzzle out clever solutions to problems, rather than telling us that the character is 'brave' or 'smart' and expecting the reader to believe this with no supporting evidence. 

Only A Chemical Reaction

I've seen a large number of stories-- not just in the speculative fiction subgenres-- where two characters have an immediate attraction for each other, and the end result is love and happily ever after monogamy.
Now, as a closet romantic and general optimist, I am very much in favour of happily ever after. My problem with this plotline is the idea that life partnerships can run on lust alone, without anything else that goes into a relationship.
I'm not saying your characters should get together by sitting down with a list of likes and dislikes and drawing up a contract. Also, there certainly isn't a problem with characters who have a quick fling or a 'friends with benefits' relationship, or with characters entering an ill-matched romantic venture and having it implode when their incompatibility becomes too much. 
But to build up a believable, functional long-term relationship, you have to demonstrate what the characters can give to each other besides hot sex. Show how these two characters can communicate and compromise to work together without chipping away at their own identities. Show what they have in common, and where they compliment each other. Show that they really care about each other's happiness. I say 'show' because there's an overabundance of stories in which the author assures us loudly that the characters are in love and destined to ride off into the sunset, but nothing in the text actually shows this.
The bottom line-- don't fixate on the need to have a love interest, and work on developing your characters. If they are compatible and have a spark, so be it. If there isn't, your readers will thank you for being true to your plot and characters.

The Collective Consciousness

 One of the ways humans create a sense of group identity and social unity is through shared mythology. Mythology, in this context, doesn’t necessarily imply fiction, but can encompass facts presented in a way which affirms group values. This becomes the underpinnings of a collective identity narrative Thinking about your fictional culture’s group identity narrative (or researching one, if you are writing about an existing group), will give you a unique window into how your characters approach the world, both as individuals and as group members.It’s also a good way to give a sense of history and continuity in your world. Characters referencing stories or historical events give more information without info-dumping, as well as highlighting important cultural values, views of history and identity, and common reference points. Whether these are myths, facts, proverbs, or mythologised versions of historical events, the reader will have similar insights into the world your characters inhabit. [image error]

The Authorial Ant Farm

 Authorial distance describes the ‘size’ of the gap between what the characters think and what the author believes (ie, the ‘objective reality’ of your little created universe). As I noted on Monday, the best stories involve characters messing up their lives, or generally being flawed people, so it’s important to show the reader the gap between fictional perception and fictional objective reality*. So how does one show the reader that the characters might not be right about everything? The easiest way is to have multiple viewpoints, which tend to show off gaps in character knowledge by filling them in with more information from another perspective. Another method is having an omniscient narrator, as long as that narrator is there to point out what is really going on, as opposed to shilling the character—C.S. Lewis is a good example of an author using omniscient narration to create suspense by telling us that the characters are unaware of some important fact or have completely misinterpreted a situation. For a first-person perspective, it’s more challenging, as we’re seeing the world exclusively filtered through the character’s eyes. More subtlety is necessary to show actions or events that could be interpreted differently, things that ‘don’t add up’ when considered solely from that character’s perspective. Another option is to show the character’s cognitive dissonance, as they struggle with facts or arguments which challenge their previous conception of how the world works. Also, avoid the temptation to have a character intuit or figure things out for no reason, or have a get-out-of-jail free moment wherein they bend or break the rules of their world without consequence or an appropriate buildup. This reeks of the character having a direct line to the author, instead of being their own fictional person who is free to wreck up their lives in a suitably dramatic and realistic fashion.
*Is there such a thing? Philosophical types may discuss amongst yourselves in the comments. I would be delighted to hear your thoughts. 

Don't Try This At Home!

My characters do lots of inadvisable things. They break laws and make hasty contracts with faeries and stomp all over their partner's feelings and lots of other things. At the same time, I (and others) harp a lot on this blog about how such-and-such a portrayal of XYZ character promotes some dodgy stereotype. 

So this all ends up in the confusing zone for a lot of writers. My coauthor and I certainly had plenty of conversations to that effect when we were writing Forgotten Gods. On one hand, we wanted to have a realistic portrayal of 'characters behaving badly', but on the other, we wanted to make sure we weren't endorsing their all of their views, some of which are pretty bigoted.

I think a big part of the trick is maintaining authorial distance, and making sure that the character's PoV doesn't merge with the 'objective reality' of the story (yes, it's possible to show a discrepancy, even with first person narration). Easier said than done, but certainly superiour to scrubbing up your characters and your world. [image error]

What's In a (Story) Name?

Mike and I are not so great at the clever title thing. I'm in awe of people who are.
As it is, our second book used a Robert Burns shoutout, and we plan to use another for the title of the third.

Now, how do all of you lovely writers and blog readers title your stories?

I've Experiments to Run: Writing Mad Science

As a career scientist, I'm not a huge fan of panicky anti-science speculative fiction (*cough* State of Fear *cough*). At the same time, I think it's hard to work in the sciences and not think that cautionary speculative fiction has a place, particularly as technology often outpaces widespread discourse or careful consideration of the ethical nuances involved. So what is the line between consideration and fear-mongering?

I think, as I have said before, that complexity is a key factor. A sanitised storyline will devolve quickly into a flat good-vs-evil setup. To serve its purpose in questioning and critically examining the ethical implications of the situation, it is important to explore the story in detail and get to the squirmy, uncomfortable heart of the matter. For example, go beyond 'ew, genetic engineering is gross' and perhaps explore what it is that bothers you. Maybe it's the idea that you can patent a life form; maybe it's the idea that organisms could get out into the wild and act like an invasive species (or a lethal pathogen, if it's a bioweapons lab!); maybe it's a more existential problem of man playing god and creating new life forms when we can't get cloned cats to look alike.

That said, speculative fiction allows us to explore situations that are currently just outside our reach, but might be real-life headlines in the imminent future. Climate change (or attempts to curtail it), bioweapons, radically bioengineered life forms, teleportation through quantum entanglement, a human-animal chimera... all these and more are possible developments which would be fascinating to examine in a fictional context. Just do a lot of research, and write from a place of curiosity and criticism, not a place of fear.

When Doing Good Does Bad

The nine most terrifying words in the English language are, "I'm from the government and I'm here to help."
— Ronald Reagan
Giving a villain depth and complexity in their motives is usually a good thing-- greater tension, greater emotional conflict, and greater opportunities for unexpected plot twists. An under-rated way to do so is to have a gung-ho do-gooder as your main antagonist.

History has more than enough examples of sincere attempts at helping others that have caused all kinds of harm. The common thread is usually a misguided attempt to 'improve' the lives of people who were doing just fine. Whether it's bungling efforts to build shelters (which puts local workers out of a job, as well as leaving people with unstable housing), or missionary enterprises which spread germs, or attempts to 'civilise' a group at the expense of their social structure and cultural heritage (in my experience, most indigenous people agree with the Reagan quote up top), an enthusiastic round of misaimed charity can cause major havoc. Furthermore, the perpetrators are very hard to classify as villains-- after all, they are trying to help, even if they end up leaving destruction in their wake.

Writing a wannabe do-gooder who makes the protagonist's lives miserable through their charitable endeavours can create a complex conflict, and also is a refreshing change from a decidedly unpleasant villain with a Dark and Troubled Past that explains their behaviour. Better still, it allows you an avenue to explore the negative consequences of an attitude or belief system without demonising the people who are caught up in it.

When First-World Problems Aren't

Recently, one of my friends had trouble with her iPhone. Now, this sounds like a 'first world problem'. Except that my friend worked in a remote area of Scotland, and the iPhone was her lifeline to the rest of the world-- her emergency phone, her internet, her navigation system.

There are a good many scenarios like the one I just mentioned, where a problem which is trivial in one context becomes serious in another.  Soggy summer weather might be merely annoying for vacationers, but could mean financial ruin for a farmer whose crops rotted in the rain. Angst over social slights might seem shallow, but for a woman in 19th century England whose survival essentially depended on a good marriage, reputation damage could be a disaster.

I bring this up because I've encountered a number of stories in settings that make challenges which would be 'first world problems' to modern, Western audiences very serious conflicts indeed. And I've also seen people criticise those stories for having 'whiny' characters or 'trivial' plot points as major issues. Actually, I think the key is for the writer to convey the consequences of that problem in the context of that fictional world.[image error]