John C. Wright's Blog, page 39

Consistancy and Social Cues among the Herbivores

I have previously expressed doubt about the R/K theory of Anonymous Conservative that Conservatives exhibit typical carnivorous behavior of pack-hunting animals like wolves (including such things as having few young and lavishing resources on training each one) and Progressives exhibit herbivorous behavior (including such things as having many young and devoting little or no care to them). However, as time passes, I confess the explanatory power of the theory makes it more and more attractive.

Whether or not the theory is literally true, figuratively the point when a civilization grows successful, hence happy, fat, and lazy, can be likened to the abundant meadow of wealth where the herbivores hop like bunnies, careless and thoughtless, and as long as the predators prey only on the weak and old, the young bucks among the bunnies have no reason to be altruistic. Altruism is most needed, hence most often developed, and praised, and taught, in hard times, when neighbors are hungry, and the loss of even on member of the community wounds it.

So I find myself turning to the explanation of the Anonymous Conservative with less skepticism than previously.

For example, a reader writes and asks:

I’ve seen so many authors on social media rail against this consumer revolt, not even considering what it might be like if their ‘socially acceptable’ art suddenly becomes the target of some idealogue.

Look at Seth Rogen, who spoke against GamerGate early on, then had his own work censored by hackers, and that censorship celebrated by people on the left because The Interview was ‘in poor taste’ and ‘shouldn’t have been made anyway’.

How can other creators sit idly by and even cheer on the censorship and suppression of other people’s art?

My answer is no explanation other than that a student of the Anonymous Conservative might utter.

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

The Paradigm

At the time of this writing, there was a Mohammedan attack in a chocolate shop yesterday, and the shoppers held hostage, and two were killed; today Mohammedans assaulted a school in Peshawar, doused a teacher in gasoline and set him ablaze, and forced the students to watch, and then killed over a hundred children, beheading many. Meanwhile a church was broken into, the priest slain, and the children beheaded when they would not renounce Christ.

Earlier this year, schoolgirls in Africa were abducted and tortured and sold as sex slaves. Riots over Danish cartoons. Death threats against novelists. Theo van Gogh stabbed to death on the street. A British soldier beheaded in broad daylight on a street in England. The Boston Marathon bombed. A nightclub in Bali. A train in Madrid. The London Underground. The Bombay massacre. The school in Russia attacked, children tortured, killed. The Twin Towers. Khobar Towers. The S.S. Cole.

To see a fuller list, go to the Religion of Peace website. But this list goes only as far back as 2001. The real list goes back from the shores of Tripoli, to the Battle of Lepanto, to the Gates of Vienna, to the Seige of Constantinople, to Battle of Manzikert, and beyond.

Meanwhile, the list of atrocities carried out by the Baptists includes … nothing.

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Answering the Blind Vision

A reader with the remote and ocular name of Vision from Afar has a few questions for me. I refer to him as ‘her’ and ‘she’ because I assume she is a young lady, and I am too lazy to ask him his sex.

This is part of an ongoing conversation. Let me see if I can sum up what has gone before:

My comment

Using the word in the broad sense, no one has ‘non-religious beliefs’ as his foundation.

The Left, and those who use a secular philosophy to decide all the fundamental issues of their lives, use it as an ersatz religion. Leftism is an pseudoreligion, and it is no less based on faith, far more willing to impose its beliefs, sacraments and rites on us, and immensely far more prone to violence, than any Western faith. (Abortion is a sacrament of theirs; recycling is a rite)

Her answer

That, I’m afraid, is a matter of opinion. While several similarities may exist with codified religious mandates, a person certainly can have a non-religious worldview as a basis for behavior. The problem so often lies not in legislation for allowing the expression of religious viewpoints, but rather for legislation restricting the expression of others via a different religious viewpoint. Same-sex marriage being the best example of this. No sane person is advocating for forcing a clergy of any stripe to perform the rites against their will, but due to an over-abundance of existing mandates/laws/policies, using any word other than marriage to create an equal legal, secular footing would result in a horrible and unnecessary level of expenditure at every level of government. So why continue to attempt legislating against it, except as a religious expression attempting to subvert the will of others?

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Reviewer Praise for CITY BEYOND TIME

More from the same reviewer, Keith West:

http://adventuresfantastic.com/futurespastandpresent/visiting-the-city-beyond-time/

City Beyond Time is a combination short story collection and novel. The setting is Metachronopolis, a city at the end of time controlled by the Time Wardens. They manipulate history for their own ends. This is nothing new in science fiction. Poul Anderson’s Time Patrol stories are probably the high water mark for temporal police, but the concept goes back to the pulps.

Only these time cops aren’t exactly the good guys. They’re more like the cops you find in a noir novel by Raymond Chandler. Shady and on the take, with an agenda of their own.

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Reviewer Praise for FEASTS AND SEASONS: Better Written and More Original

Mr Kieth West of Amazing Stories has an amazingly kind review of my work:

http://amazingstoriesmag.com/2014/12/small-press-book-review-book-feasts-seasons-john-c-wright/

Here is the review, which I reprint in full, in order to flatter my bloated ego.

This week I’m reviewing a title that’s seasonal in nature, although the seasons it deals with occur across an entire year rather than a small part of the year. I’ve not read much of Mr. Wright’s work, but what I have has been better written and more original than much of what’s currently being published.

The same is true here. These stories have a great deal of depth, both in the characters they’re about and the concepts with which they deal.

Wright is a Catholic, and as a result the holidays and feasts he focuses on tend to be religious ones or have religious aspects. There are ten stories here. I’ll focus on the ones that resonated the most with me.

Wright opens with New Year’s Day. “The Meaning of Life as Told Me by an Inebriated Science Fiction Writer in New Jersey” sounds like it should be a Harlan Ellison story. Which is quite appropriate since Ellison is one of the characters. So are H. G. Wells, Olaf Stapleton, and A. E. van Vogt. It seems that what these three men wrote was actually fact thinly disguised as fiction. This is something Ellison reveals to Wright (yes, he’s a character in his own story) one night in a bar in New Jersey.

I should point out that this is the first story in the collection that directly involves the time machine as H. G. Wells described it. Wright has a fondness for time travel stories, and after reading City Beyond Time, I have to say he writes some of the best.

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Pay No Attention to that Man Behind the Curtain

A reader with the inattentive yet fraternally equine name of Distracted Brony asks:

One thing I’m curious about. Do you have any, how to say this… infrastructure for your writing? Like, notebooks with scientific facts you often need to refer to, half-formed plot ideas, or personal notes on how to write a given character or convey a given idea most effectively? Or do you just hold all that stuff in your head?

All writers I know carry with them at all times a notebook in pocket or purse where he can jot down story ideas as they occur to him. Most also maintain a continually updated file on his home computer labeled ‘story ideas’ where he carries his story ideas, possible titles, scraps of dialog, and so on.

The idea of carrying all the information that goes into a science fiction novel in one’s head is not feasible for anyone other than a mentat.

The notes for my current series is a document in its 375th iteration reaching 164 pages long. This is not the outline, which is the plan of the plot, just the notes, which contains background material.

I run the risk of ruining the mystery and mystique of novel writing, let me describe this monstrous document to anyone curious about my particular, personal writing process. I am not suggesting the creative method is useful for other writers, and I may not use it for other books.

Under the first header is my chart of Orders of Ascensions, including the thematic element they represent, and the conflict in the plot.

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Radioactive Dinosaurs & Writing as Fishing

A reader writes in with two unrelated questions:

 In your opinion, what is the best Godzilla movie?

I love questions, silly or serious. Every question is a little doorway into the walled garden of truth, big or small.

I have several Godzilla flicks that I like. What lawyer does not like Godzilla movies? All the titles sound like law cases.

The original first one, which I finally saw in Japanese (without Raymond Burr), was really a work of art that worked on several levels, as a myth, as mystery story, as a meditation on the dangers of atomic weapons, and as a monster story.

Read the rest of this entry »

Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Radioactive Dinosaurs & Writing as Fishing

A reader writes in with two unrelated questions:

 In your opinion, what is the best Godzilla movie?

I love questions, silly or serious. Every question is a little doorway into the walled garden or truth, big or small.

I have several Godzilla flicks that I like. What lawyer does not like Godzilla movies? All the titles sound like law cases.

The original first one, which I finally saw in Japanese (without Raymond Burr), was really a work of art that worked on several levels, as a myth, as mystery story, as a meditation on the dangers of atomic weapons, and as a monster story.

Aside from that, I like the sixth film in the series, GODZILLA VERSUS MONSTER ZERO, where the menacing aliens of Planet X, the Xiliens, use the various Toho kaiju to attack  the Earth.

[image error]

Part of my reason for liking the film was the actress Kumi Mizuno looks delightful in her spacesuit.

 

[image error]

I rather like DESTROY ALL MONSTERS, just because it will filled with monster goodness, and I liked when Toho returned to the same them with GODZILLA FINAL WARS, and not only did our old friends from Planet X, the Xiliens, again show up, but so did the flying submersible boring-drill machine battleship Gotengo from the movie Atragon.

Next question:

Do writers seek to make a masterpiece everytime they write a new story, or do they simply try to write to the best of their abilities? Is there a difference?

I can speak for no writer but myself. I write the same way a cobbler makes shoes. He wants each pair to be made in a craftsmanlike fashion: well-made, serviceable, watertight, comfortable to the foot, long-lasting, and good to the eye.

Likewise, I want my books to do the service for which the customer paid the money: to be entertained on a rainy day, to praise the praiseworthy, blame the blameworthy, and remind the reader that grass is green, snow is white, and water will wet you and fire will burn.

I do not seek to make a masterpiece each time I write, or any time I write. Nor do I seek to crank out hackwork, stuffed with lazy writing. I do not really think about me and my motives when I write: I only think about the work itself.

Writing is the art of being brave in the face of a blank sheet of paper.

I write what I am inspired to write by that mysterious thing that compels writers to write, the thing pagans call the muses, or Christians know to be heaven, and postchristians call the subconscious mind.

Technically speaking, a masterpiece is the work a journeyman in a guild wrights in order to show he has mastered his craft. By that standard, one’s first professional sale into a major market is one’s masterpiece, and, by no coincidence, often it is a writer’s best work.

But we are not speaking technically: you are asking whether writers attempt to make their current work their best.

The difference between doing one’s best and doing a masterpiece is the difference between a comparative and a superlative. Doing one’s best means straining each nerve and muscle to the utmost, whether those efforts are met by success or failure. Writing a masterpiece means the work itself merits fame and applause, whether it was done with great effort on the author’s part, or, ironically, tossed off without a second thought.

My editor says my best work, the best thing I have ever written, is a short story that I penned in an afternoon off the top of my head in one draft. The story made no impression on me and I hardly remember it.

On the other hand, I sweated and labored over my favorite thing I ever wrote, and expected it would win awards. When it appeared in the magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, it received no comment, no applause, no awards.

Writing is like fishing. The fisherman wakes early, finds a good spot where the salmon are running, selects his bait, and uses his skill to tie his lure and to cast. He can be proud of his part of the work, which is the skill at fishing.

Sometimes you stand in the cold for hours and catch only small fry. Sometimes you have to know what to throw back. Sometimes you struggle with a huge fish too big for you, and the line parts, and it gets away from you. Other times a prizewinning fish leaps at the first moment, with no effort on your part.

Trying your best is like the fisherman’s task, and the masterpiece is the fish.

You catch the fish, and you can feel a quiet pride in your fishing skills. But you did not make the fish.

God made the fish.

* * *

And, speaking of fishing, we need more Gotengo!

(Maser?! Maser?! What gives? That is clear the Zero Canon from the movie ATRAGON!)

Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Radioactive Dinosaurs & Writing as Fishing

A reader writes in with two unrelated questions:

 In your opinion, what is the best Godzilla movie?

I love questions, silly or serious. Every question is a little doorway into the walled garden or truth, big or small.

I have several Godzilla flicks that I like. What lawyer does not like Godzilla movies? All the titles sound like law cases.

The original first one, which I finally saw in Japanese (without Raymond Burr), was really a work of art that worked on several levels, as a myth, as mystery story, as a meditation on the dangers of atomic weapons, and as a monster story.

Aside from that, I like the sixth film in the series, GODZILLA VERSUS MONSTER ZERO, where the aliens of Planet X use the various Toho kaiju to attack  the Earth.

Part of my reason for liking the film was the actress Kumi Mizuno looks delightful in her spacesuit.

[image error]

(Maser? We all know that is the famed and dreaded Zero Cannon! What gives?)

[image error]

I rather like DESTROY ALL MONSTERS, just because it will filled with monster goodness, and I liked when Toho returned to the same them with GODZILLA FINAL WARS, and not only did our old friends from Planet X, the Xiliens, again show up, but so did the flying submersible boring-drill machine battleship Gotengo from the movie Atragon.

Next question:

Do writers seek to make a masterpiece everytime they write a new story, or do they simply try to write to the best of their abilities? Is there a difference?

I can speak for no writer but myself. I write the same way a cobbler makes shoes. He wants each pair to be made in a craftsmanlike fashion: well-made, serviceable, watertight, comfortable to the foot, long-lasting, and good to the eye.

Likewise, I want my books to do the service for which the customer paid the money: to be entertained on a rainy day, to praise the praiseworthy, blame the blameworthy, and remind the reader that grass is green, snow is white, and water will wet you and fire will burn.

I do not seek to make a masterpiece each time I write, or any time I write. Nor do I seek to crank out hackwork, stuffed with lazy writing. I do not really think about me and my motives when I write: I only think about the work itself.

Writing is the art of being brave in the face of a blank sheet of paper.

I write what I am inspired to write by that mysterious thing that compels writers to write, the thing pagans call the muses, or Christians know to be heaven, and postchristians call the subconscious mind.

Technically speaking, a masterpiece is the work a journeyman in a guild wrights in order to show he has mastered his craft. By that standard, one’s first professional sale into a major market is one’s masterpiece, and, by no coincidence, often it is a writer’s best work.

But we are not speaking technically: you are asking whether writers attempt to make their current work their best.

The difference between doing one’s best and doing a masterpiece is the difference between a comparative and a superlative. Doing one’s best means straining each nerve and muscle to the utmost, whether those efforts are met by success or failure. Writing a masterpiece means the work itself merits fame and applause, whether it was done with great effort on the author’s part, or, ironically, tossed off without a second thought.

My editor says my best work, the best thing I have ever written, is a short story that I penned in an afternoon off the top of my head in one draft. The story made no impression on me and I hardly remember it.

On the other hand, I sweated and labored over my favorite thing I ever wrote, and expected it would win awards. When it appeared in the magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, it received no comment, no applause, no awards.

Writing is like fishing. The fisherman wakes early, finds a good spot where the salmon are running, selects his bait, and uses his skill to tie his lure and to cast. He can be proud of his part of the work, which is the skill at fishing.

Sometimes you stand in the cold for hours and catch only small fry. Sometimes you have to know what to throw back. Sometimes you struggle with a huge fish too big for you, and the line parts, and it gets away from you. Other times a prizewinning fish leaps at the first moment, with no effort on your part.

Trying your best is like the fisherman’s task, and the masterpiece is the fish.

You catch the fish, and you can feel a quiet pride in your fishing skills. But you did not make the fish.

God made the fish.

And, speaking of fishing, we need more Gotengo!

Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.

Radioactive Dinosaurs & Writing as Fishing

A reader writes in with two unrelated questions:

 In your opinion, what is the best Godzilla movie?

I love questions, silly or serious. Every question is a little doorway into the walled garden or truth, big or small.

I have several Godzilla flicks that I like. What lawyer does not like Godzilla movies? All the titles sound like law cases.

The original first one, which I finally saw in Japanese (without Raymond Burr), was really a work of art that worked on several levels, as a myth, as mystery story, as a meditation on the dangers of atomic weapons, and as a monster story.

Aside from that, I like the sixth film in the series, GODZILLA VERSUS MONSTER ZERO, where the aliens of Planet X use the various Toho kaiju to attack  the Earth.

Part of my reason for liking the film was the actress Kumi Mizuno looks delightful in her spacesuit.

[image error]

[image error]

I rather like DESTROY ALL MONSTERS, just because it will filled with monster goodness, and I liked when Toho returned to the same them with GODZILLA FINAL WARS, and not only did our old friends from Planet X, the Xiliens, again show up, but so did the flying submersible boring-drill machine battleship Gotengo from the movie Atragon.

Next question:

Do writers seek to make a masterpiece everytime they write a new story, or do they simply try to write to the best of their abilities? Is there a difference?

I can speak for no writer but myself. I write the same way a cobbler makes shoes. He wants each pair to be made in a craftsmanlike fashion: well-made, serviceable, watertight, comfortable to the foot, long-lasting, and good to the eye.

Likewise, I want my books to do the service for which the customer paid the money: to be entertained on a rainy day, to praise the praiseworthy, blame the blameworthy, and remind the reader that grass is green, snow is white, and water will wet you and fire will burn.

I do not seek to make a masterpiece each time I write, or any time I write. Nor do I seek to crank out hackwork, stuffed with lazy writing. I do not really think about me and my motives when I write: I only think about the work itself.

Writing is the art of being brave in the face of a blank sheet of paper.

I write what I am inspired to write by that mysterious thing that compels writers to write, the thing pagans call the muses, or Christians know to be heaven, and postchristians call the subconscious mind.

Technically speaking, a masterpiece is the work a journeyman in a guild wrights in order to show he has mastered his craft. By that standard, one’s first professional sale into a major market is one’s masterpiece, and, by no coincidence, often it is a writer’s best work.

But we are not speaking technically: you are asking whether writers attempt to make their current work their best.

The difference between doing one’s best and doing a masterpiece is the difference between a comparative and a superlative. Doing one’s best means straining each nerve and muscle to the utmost, whether those efforts are met by success or failure. Writing a masterpiece means the work itself merits fame and applause, whether it was done with great effort on the author’s part, or, ironically, tossed off without a second thought.

My editor says my best work, the best thing I have ever written, is a short story that I penned in an afternoon off the top of my head in one draft. The story made no impression on me and I hardly remember it.

On the other hand, I sweated and labored over my favorite thing I ever wrote, and expected it would win awards. When it appeared in the magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, it received no comment, no applause, no awards.

Writing is like fishing. The fisherman wakes early, finds a good spot where the salmon are running, selects his bait, and uses his skill to tie his lure and to cast. He can be proud of his part of the work, which is the skill at fishing.

Sometimes you stand in the cold for hours and catch only small fry. Sometimes you have to know what to throw back. Sometimes you struggle with a huge fish too big for you, and the line parts, and it gets away from you. Other times a prizewinning fish leaps at the first moment, with no effort on your part.

Trying your best is like the fisherman’s task, and the masterpiece is the fish.

You catch the fish, and you can feel a quiet pride in your fishing skills. But you did not make the fish.

God made the fish.

And, speaking of fishing, we need more Gotengo!

Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.