The Hump

So here it is. 50, 000+ words.

And I really do feel like I’m halfway done.

This is always the weird part of writing a novel (I say, as if I have much experience, when in fact, this is only the third time) when you’ve been lowering your head and crawling through the trenches, only focusing on what’s coming up just over the next ridge and dealing with what you find there. But when you get this far, it’s a weird thing to stop and stand up and look back and see that long line of foot prints and body prints as your crawled or crab-walked your way to this point, and you see just how far you’ve come.

It’s all downhill from here, though whether that’s a good or bad thing remains to be seen. But there’s no denying the momentum that’s built up now. So much has happened in the book, and so many things have been set up that the story really does have a life of its own at this point and will tell itself as it needs to, with me just hanging on to make sure I cross the finish line with it.

It also feels different from the last two novels. But then maybe every novel should feel different from the one before it. My first novel was just that, a first novel. I was learning all kinds of things as I put it together. And it was a coming of age story written when I was younger, and I don’t know if I could write that kind of novel again. The second novel came with the benefit of more life experience, and it was more of a “Okay, now let’s DO this thing,” kind of affair where I knew I had learned more things since that first novel, and I wanted to see what I could do with all the tricks and techniques–and plain old fashioned experience–I had acquired.

This third novel comes from having written two novels and a whole ton of short stories and there’s a lot less pressure. Especially since the other two have yet to see the light of day, so I’m not laboring under any expectations from an audience that will say, “It’s not like Shift” or “This is okay, but it’s no Broken Presences.” If anything, this book may precede those two in order of publication, which will make for some truly weird moments if it turns out readers prefer the later books over the earlier ones. Or maybe it’ll mean I was simply a better writer when I was younger than I am now.

But this novel is fun. After playing around with all that dialogue and plotting and structuring over the years, this story is one that’s being told with a strong sense of play, because I’ve done all these things before, and I’m not doing anything especially radical or experimental, simply taking what I know and using those tools with an easy familiarity to a story I’ve tossed around for the last couple of years and am now finally getting around to.

It’s also my most globe-trotting novel. I have never written anything that hopped to so many different parts of the world, and that was a blast to finally just go anywhere with the legitimate excuse that the story needed it.

And finally, as of yesterday, I have a title I’m happy with. I had nothing to do with it of course, because I suck at titles.

But at least now I know what this book is, and it’s The Pale Summer.

For better or worse, you’re all stuck with that now.

Things I’d Like To Work On

If I ever got into the position where my books got published and I was able to pick projects, I think I’d probably follow Neil-O’s advice and do it out of interest, not out of money. I mean, it would be very cool if someone thought well enough of my books that they offered several large buckets of non-sequential $100 bills for the rights and wanted to produce a movie. And I’m mercenary enough and shameless enough to know that no good will EVER come of that (Except in a few minor miracle cases) and would gleefully take that money and run, then not really attach my name to it in anyway. And I sure as heck wouldn’t decry a movie before it came out, only to change my mind and heap praises on it afterwards the way Anne Rice did with the Interview With A Vampire film.

But what I’d really like to do if I had the financial freedom and sufficient opportunity is to get my hands good and dirty and wallow in a lot un-literary stuff.

For instance, if anyone asked me if I wanted to work on a comic book, I’d say “Hell YEAH!” I owe a great deal to comic books, if for no other reason than they inspired endless hours of entertainment while I was growing up, and I do think they are a valid genre within literature if the likes of Miller, Gaiman, or even up and comers like Vaughn are anything to go by. And if anyone asked me, “Hey, you wanna’ work on a video game?” that would also be a total no-brainer, as video games have brought me an unimaginable number of hours of entertainment and happiness over the years. To be able to tell a story in a video game like the kind I experienced with Final Fantasy VI or its sequels, or to tell a tale of adventure like The Longest Journey would be a geek dream come true.

I wouldn’t say no to television or film either. It’s more curiosity about getting actively involved in high budget productions that would compel to get some experience, but as you might have guessed from the previous blog entry, I’m by no means blind to all the ways it could go wrong.

But one thing that I sure wouldn’t mind taking a crack at is that much ignored bastard child of written entertainment in today’s visual world.

Radio Plays.

When I was in university, I signed up with a group of wild n’ crazy kids that went under the monkier “Eclectic Underwriters Radio Theater.” We were amateurs, we were just starting to get our writing legs under us, and the equipment, especially by the standards I’m used to now in a typical editing suite, were appallingly Victorian.

But dammit, radio plays were fun.

There’s something liberating about knowing you can create any kind of story you want, that has the immediacy of the spoken word, but with sound effects and careful writing to carry off the visual aspect in the listener’s imagination. During my Electic days, I was WAAAAAAAY ambitious and created a huge monstrosity called “King’s Cove” which ended up being the longest and most technically complex radio play ever devised by the group. It was a huge, unwieldly thing with layers of sound, many actors, and all kinds of goofiness. But then you have to expect that from a radio play that posits “Elvis Presley is happily running a lighthouse in a small New England coastal town.”

Man. Radio plays.

I’d love to jump into that again…

Having Ideas Versus Doing Something About Them

Of late, that particular train of thought has crossed my mind a lot. I expect it happens in other parts of the world as well, but my particular experience of it here is the only one that I can relate to, and sometimes I find it a bit frightening, but mostly I find it just annoying and unfair.

I have come across a particular kind of person during my days of work here. They call themselves a lot of things, but for the most part, I think of them as “The Idea Man.” This is someone who has the belief that their imaginationa, and their imagination alone is sufficiently wonderful that it separates them from the vast sea of other people around them, and accords them privileges that no other deserves.

The usual variations, whether they are in advertising agencies, television production houses, or even magazine publications is that these people lack any kind of “tangible” talent. By that I mean they cannot write, or draw, or shoot, or edit, or design in any outstanding matter, though perhaps they dabble enough in such areas that they feel they are qualified to comment or control the results of others who have honed their skills such that there is no question that they are good at what they do.

And so despite the fact they lack the means to create, they insist on driving the engine that creates because they believe that their ideas–though they are unable to manifest them themselves–are so strong, that, given the proper resources and people “of means” they will be able to make these ideas into a wonderful thing that will amaze and delight.

There are some–not many, but a very few–of such “Idea Men” that actually make good on their claims. The rest, all too often, and all too unfortunately for the people that must work with them, are merely managers with neither the knowledge, experience or understanding to do what must be done and instead live off the desire for glory or fame.

I think good ideas are very cool. I like good ideas.

But I also think good ideas are a dime a dozen.

All of us have good ideas. I know lots of people that have better ideas than I do. I know some people that come up with GREAT ideas for stories, ideas I wish I’d had.

But the difference between the ideas they have and the ideas that I have, is, at least in this case, that I DO something about it.

Writing is hard. It means spending a lot of time on your own, staring at a screen, trying to piece together a story in your head and hoping that it all hangs together long enough to get it out, and then hangs sufficiently well that it can survive a reading intact. Art is hard. It means taking that picture that’s in your mind and trying to give it the color and luminosity and delicacy of line in reality that is perfect in your mind’s eye. Arts like these take years of practice, reptition and discipline to hone. It is hard to tell a good story. And it is hard to create a beautiful picture. And the reason these things are done is because the artist has a desire to bring the idea, the thing in the heart or mind, to life.

And so they pay the price. They do the time, pay their dues, learn the fundamentals, and then toil, learn, refine and ultimately come to a place where the skill of their art is sufficient to task of giving life to what they imagine. It is an incredibly high price, but for some insane reason, they are willing to pay it. And they do.

And for that, I think people who go to that length are entitled to have their ideas and give them life.

I don’t necessarily believe the same of people who only have ideas and then believe that though they lack the skill to bring them to life, they are somehow–by virtue of the wonderfulness of the idea–entitled to find someone ELSE, to bring it to life for them. It’s kind of insulting to artists everywhere to have someone come along and go “Though I didn’t have the patience, or dedication or ambition to learn these skills to your level, I am going to tell you what to do and how to do it (Though I’m not sure how you do it, and there is no way in hell I’m going to do it myself, but I’ll criticize whatever you do if I don’t like it), and you will sit there, and you will like it because I AM AN IDEA MAN.”

This is the reason that I’ve been gunning for being a novelist for such a long time. I fear people like this. I loathe being in situations where I know someone is in charge with no idea of how to do what must be done and yet their decisions–informed or not–are the ones that must be followed. And the truth of working in many creative ventures–especially, it seems, that of Hollywood–is that it is precisely these Idea Men who inevitably find themselves in charge, and unleash twelve kinds of hell on the people who actually know how to get it done.

There is only one way to deal with a person like this. Promote them so high within the hierarchy that they can no longer touch you or concern themselves with you and hope that someone more reasonable takes their place.

The Hump Is In Sight

44, 000+ words.

Damn. This “Make sure you write every day” stuff is a pain in the ass, but it sure gets results…

To Read Or Not To Read

Ever find yourself having this particular dilemma?

Well, if you’re not trying to write fiction, then maybe not.

Reading is a wonderful thing that entertains, provokes, enlightens, and can occasionally have the bad habit of seriously influencing you. I always wrestle with this problem when it’s time to write a novel, because–and perhaps this is me simply being weak willed–I notice that if I read too much of a particular writer I find myself slipping into phrases that could pass as “isms” of that particular writer. I’ve done Kingisms, Gibsonisms, and unsurprisingly because of all the Neil-O hoopla of recent weeks, Gaimanisms are creeping in.

This is probably not that big a deal if, hope against hope, people read certain things and think “Hey, that’s like Neil!” but it’s AS GOOD AS what Neil-O writes. If it simply comes off as a pale echo, then that’s a big problem.

Which means I have a tendency to go through periods where I deliberately cute myself off from reading anything that anyone else has written (fiction-wise, anyhow) in order preserve my own voice without undue influence. I don’t know whether that actually works or not, but it’s something I do sometimes. Other times, especially when the novel has turned into a brick wall that threatens to fall on me in large, heavy pieces, I read lots of other stuff voraciously, to remember why I love stories, and remind myself “Oh yeah, THAT’S why you wanted to be a novelist. So you could do stuff like that and maybe generate the same reaction in other people.”

It’s a balancing act, to be sure.

For the most part, I think I found my own particular voice years ago. I saw the beginnings of it in university, emerging very slowly out of my creative writing class as I was forced to write one story after another, experimenting wildly with this, rejecting out of hand that, as I tried to figure out what worked for me and what didn’t. In the end, I think I narrowed down my particular virtues and vices in writing to a love of character and dialogue, with spates of description heavily inspired by Williamn Gibson and ultimately a weak point in the area of plot. I’m no M. Night Shyamalan, and I tend not to weave intricate plot structures into my stories that tick-tick-tick with the precision of a clock to logically, finally strike 12 and leave everyone gaping wide-eyed by what happens at midnight. My stories tend to build momentum and have a tendency to resolve themselves–happily or not–based on who the people are, and what they do, with very little in the way of clever structuring.

It’s something I’ve been sloooowly trying to address over the years, but I think that plot will always be an inherent weakness with me. I just seem to be more interested in caring about what happens next to a character, rather than simply caring about what happens next. It’s always more fun for me to suddenly have my brain drop an event into the mix and see how the various people react, ’cause I never really know what they will do until they go ahead and do it.

But all of that I guess should be tempered with, “It’s good to appreciate other writers, but keep in mind you have to tell it your own way. And while inspiration is good, never get so inspired that your own voice disappears, because then it’s not your story, it’s your story the way you wish someone else had told it.”

And that’s not a real good place to be.

R.I.P James Doohan

Beam him up, God.

The word is given.

The Gods Must Be Sadistic

I’m imagining that this is what must have happened somewhere up in the celestial heavens about a month ago…

Loki: Hey, Coyote.

Coyote: Hey, Loki… Hey, Puck! Long time no see!

Puck: ‘Lo, fella’s.

Loki: So what are you doin’ tonight?

Puck: Nuthin’. Been messin’ around with America and that Roves thing, but that’s getting kind of old.

Coyote: I heard that. I was just down in Singapore telling some of the reporters there that the National Kidney Foundation chairman has gold plated faucets and flies first class, but I gotta’ sit on that one.

Loki: Gettin’ pretty bored here, fella’s.

[They all nod]

Coyote: So now what?

Loki: Hey, check that out?

[The three gods of mischief and trickery look down upon Earth to see me happily playing video games, writing novels and hanging out with my fiance.]

Coyote: He seems… Happy.

Loki: Yeah. Too happy.

Puck: Extremely happy…

[They all look at each other]

Puck: Shall we?

Loki: Yes, let’s.

[I pick up the phone as it rings]

Me: Hallo.

Producer: Hey, ya’ wanna’ job writing for a television program?

Me: Would I? And HOW!

Producer: Great! It’s all about the cosmetics industry and helping to make beautiful people feel even more superior about themselves, while making ugly people and social rejects even more suicidal!

Me: …

One Month Later

Puck: Hey, guys, check it out!

Loki: What’s up?

Coyote: Oh, my God, look at him go!

[They look down to see me running around the apartment, banging my head against the walls and hugging cats in fetal position while whimpering like a Nancy Boy]

Coyote: Oh my God, this is priceless! What happened?

Puck: They picked him up for a second episode. And a third. He just found out about the third.

Loki: Hey, hey, what’s he doing now?

Coyote: [Laughing] Oh, MAN! I’ve done that. He’s trying to chew his own leg off.

Loki: Why?

Coyote: Sometimes that’s the only way you can get out of the steel claw trap.

Sorry kids, just venting. Carry on…

The Novel Update

41, 000+ words! Go me!

And it seems like, incredibly enough, I am actually approaching the halfway point rather than being nowhere near it. Either I’m beginning to lose my ability to tell big, big stories, or I’m actually getting better at this novel thing. I’ll decide whether to be proud or panic later.

Overload. Again.

That was astonishingly brief.

So my quiet week lasted exactly one day, and today I find myself scrambling to finish a bunch of proposals and synopses, am told that the series I had thought done (Y’know, the one in support of the cosmetics industry) has arisen, Zombie-Like from the grave for One More Episode, and that I am tagged to do this as well, and that the one hour documentary is on the verge of having the inevitable round of first changes dropped on it.

So much for taking it easy.

Back to work, back to the novel, and back to wondering why a guy that’s technically unemployed is so damn busy…

Yay, Quiet

I really like these quiet days. I think I’m addicted to boredom now, because when I have a day that I don’t have to do anything in particular, and I know I can do anything want, it always ends up being fun for me in a completely monotonous way. Sitting around reading Sandman comics, then doing work I know I don’t have to do, but I’m feeling charitable, so what the heck, I’ll work on it now, listening to the cat purr while it sits in my lap, and hearing the music groove out of a nearly dead DVD player that no longer plays DVDs.

But just because it’s been a quiet day, it doesn’t mean that nothing’s happened.

I had a very pleasant surprise waiting for me in the e-mail box today. Over at the Greatest Geek Repository On Earth, IGN, they recently started up a feature for Insiders (That’s people who actually pay a small yearly subscription) called WTF, which is written by the Hot New Geek Girl Jessica Chobot. In this column, she waxes lyrical about anything that geeks fancy, except of course that this all comes funneled through a thread of high oscillation nervous sexual tension since she is in fact Incredibly Hot.

But after reading a few of her articles, I noticed that she had a tendency to take advice from readers that gave her the heads up on links to interesting websites/people. And apparently interesting in her opinion also included artistic. So I naturally did what any self-respecting guy would when he knows his fiance is drop dead talented but has an inferiority complex the size of Nebraska about it. I pimped her.

I got an e-mail back, not from Jessica, but from IGN itself asking what kind of rates my fiance charges for her work. Feeling mighty pleased, I wrote back that they could discuss it with her, and for the hell of it, threw my resume and samples of my gaming articles at them.

So yeah, you guessed it. I opened my e-mail box today and found them asking “Would you like to write a column for us about Gaming Life in Asia?”

Needless to say, I am extremely pleased. IGN is obviously not the pulitzer prize, Hugo or Nebula or World Fantasy award. But it is probably one of the best places on the internet to go if you’re interested in movies, games and comics, and I’ve come to rely on them mightily over the last few years to keep up with what’s going on in gaming back home, so it’s nice to suddenly have them turn around and say “You don’t suck.”

I have no idea how this will turn out, but still, it’s cool.

Okay, back to the novel…