Just a quick note to let everyone know I've added a separate page for my short stories and excerpts from some of my novels. Click on the STORIES tab above, and check it out. It's a little light on the content at the moment, but more will be coming shortly. Indeed, I'll be adding a short story this Wednesday.
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Sorry this post is coming late in the day, but as they say better late than never...
To begin, I must say that if humanity is still around 100 years from now, the general consensus will be that Neil Gaiman was one of the greatest writers of the late 2oth/early 21st century, regardless of genre. The passage of time will let prejudices against comic book writers and genre fiction* fade, and Gaiman's beautiful prose will remain. Here is one of my favorite bits of Gaiman. It's from Neverwhere (as in my post on Raymond Chandler, I'll give a plain, stripped-down rendering of the passage followed by the original): When it rains it pours. Or, everything always seems to happen at once. And now Gaiman: Richard had noticed that events were cowards: they didn't occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once. This is just brilliant. First, it uses a very nice personification. Who hasn't felt that "events" are sentient -- that they get together at the corner bar and decide how they can really mess up your life in one fell swoop? I know I have. Second is its style. I find that Gaiman's stories, even the most modern, have a fairy-tale feel. Not simply because of the supernatural or fantastical elements they contain, but also because they give a sense that the reader is sitting by a fire, with a time-worn elder telling the tale. The sentence is a perfect example. Gaiman sets out a truism, and then proceeds in the following pages to provide a superlative example of that truism. Now, one could edit out the sentence and the following pages would make perfect sense. The plot would still be sound and the characters would still be themselves, but it would take out that "something" that makes the story special. Gaiman has a unique voice; it would be hard to mistake one of his stories for some other author's. And that is why his writing pops. *In my not so humble opinion, literary fiction is a genre, just like mystery, romance, or science fiction; it has its own rules and conventions that must be followed. I won't mention any names, but seriously how many times in literary fiction do we meet middle-aged white men who have lost their passion for their wives, feel their jobs are soul-crushing, and that they. Must. Do. Something...Someday, I'll have to write a full post on this topic. It's a rainy day here in Detroit with some nice thunder storms predicted for later today (I just love a good thunder storm). As it happens, over the past few days I've been reading and rereading some of M. R. James' classic ghost stories. While I avoid horror stories and movies that rely on gore, I do love old fashioned ghost stories such as "The Monkey's Paw" by W. W. Jacobs, and "The Body Snatcher" by Robert Louis Stevenson (which was written long before, and has nothing to do with the movie about pod people and alien invasions). Given their plots, both of these stories could have been very grotesque. However, both Jacobs and Stevenson only hint at things, and this makes their stories truly scary. Frankly, I think gore and graphic violence are creative cop-outs. To my mind, it is much harder and requires much more talent to write a scary story (or to make a scary movie) without gore. A contemporary writer who succeeds at creating chills without gore is Susan Hill. I love her Man in the Portrait (you can read my review of it on Goodreads here), and I'm looking forward to the new movie version of her novel The Woman in Black which stars Daniel Radcliffe. On her website, Ms. Hill notes that when she sat down to write The Woman in Black, she felt it was essential that the ghost have "a purpose...There has to be a motive for the hauntings." Today, I think many horror stories and movies lack a villain with purpose. Some have argued that the "Random Slasher" of contemporary horror is a personification of the contemporary fear that the world is chaotic and random, and anyone's life can be visited with disaster and tragedy. I do get this, but to me the Gothic tales and English ghost stories where the past purposefully comes back to haunt the present are far more compelling. Do you have a favorite ghost story? Ever told, or listened to, a ghost story around a camp fire up North? I once made a student of mine (who loved zombie movies) write a horror story without one drop of blood. Have you ever tried to write a scary/ghost story without any gore? Is it essential that the ghost (or creature/villain/etc) have a purpose or motive? Are writers and movie makers who rely on gore talentless hacks? This past weekend I searched the web to see how the movie version of The Woman in Black was coming along, and I found this teaser trailer. It's only 47 seconds long, but it is seriously creepy. I have notebook where I keep all my story ideas. When something comes to me, I write down a short summary (usually a couple pages). Looking over these stories, I found that I had one that involved a 21st-Century woman traveling to the Celtic Otherworld and meeting a troll king (The Maiden and the Troll King), and another that involved a 21st-Century woman traveling to the Celtic Otherworld and battling a dragon (Georgianna and the Dragon). In both, the young woman was trying to rescue a friend/loved one. Setting them next to each other in the harsh light of day, it is clear that they are structurally the same. At different times, they grew out of my love of Celtic fairy lore and my desire to write a story about a 21st-Century person finding themselves in the Celtic Otherworld. Specifically, I wanted to retell the story of Sir Orfeo (which is itself partially a retelling of Orpheus). Of course, the solution was to merge the two stories together. So far this has proved fairly easy; indeed, the parts of the two stories that I had written meshed together perfectly. The working title of this combination is Georgianna. You can click on this category in the sidebar to see how this story is progressing. The moral of the story is to never throw anything away, and be willing to experiment. Take two things you have written and put them together and see what happens. You might find something interesting. Penguin Classic Edition I love to practice "literary archeology." That is, I love to dig down to find out who inspired and influenced the writers I like. For example, one of my favorite writers is H. P. Lovecraft. A friend of mine introduced me to Lovecraft's work when I was a teenager and I've been hooked ever since (I'll save the full story of my introduction to Lovecraft for its own post). As I got older, I started to explore the authors that Lovecraft grew up reading and those that influenced him: Edgar A. Poe, Lord Dunsany, Arthur Machen, and Algernon Blackwood. By doing this, I've discovered some wonderful stories, and, in the case of Poe, I've read an author with fresh eyes. Recently, I've started reading Edgar Rice Burroughs' planetary romance A Princess of Mars (which incidentally was the last book I bought from Borders). I read that it was a model for Lovecraft's The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath, as well as countless other science fiction/fantasy stories, so I put it on my "to read" list. I've only read the first couple chapters, but from what I've read, it seems that Princess was also very influential on the work ofRobert E. Howard, in particular his Conan stories. Both have a "barbarian" warrior coming into contact with an ancient and dying civilization, which itself is built on the ruins of an even more ancient civilization. Have you read the works that have influenced your favorite author? Did you like them? Did reading them add to your appreciation of your favorite writer? P.S. Here's the trailer for a new movie version of A Princess of Mars (it's titled John Carter). It'll will be released March 2012. Looks pretty good to me. It is interesting that the studio is releasing it in March. I would have thought that a movie version of such a seminal adventure story would be a summer popcorn movie. Maybe its makers are trying to avoid Dark Knight Rises and The Avengers. Image Source: Wikimedia Commons Happy Birthday Detroit! Three hundred and ten years ago today, a group of Frenchmen landed on the northern shore of the Detroit River, and founded my hometown. Detroit has had many names: • The Paris of the West • The Arsenal of Democracy • Motown • Hockeytown • The D However, when it was founded it was called Fort Ponchartrain du Détroit – Fort Ponchartrain of the Narrows. You can learn more about how this came to be here. I've lived in metro Detroit for all but five years of my life, and as a writer I find the city makes a wonderful setting for my stories. Indeed, the vast majority of my stories are set here. This is not an accident. It is a conscious choice, but it was not my idea. I was inspired by the story of a young writer from England. This young writer from England once wrote a story, an homage to his favorite author H. P. Lovecraft, who was famous for his weird tales set in New England. The young writer showed his story to August Derleth, one of Lovecraft’s chief disciples and editors. The young writer so admired Lovecraft's work, he set his story in New England (where he had never been) rather than his native England. Derleth gave him some firm advice: Set the story in a place he knew. And so he did. Ramsey Campbell has gone on to write many weird tales and horror novels…set in his native England. This story of Derleth's advice to Campbell made a big impression on me. As Pablo Picasso once said, "Art is a lie that tells the truth." Stories have to have a certain level of authenticity to maintain the suspension of disbelief. I believe that if I wrote about a place that I had never been, that I did not know, the reader would feel this. The spell would be broken. When I started looking around Detroit for stories to set here, ideas seemed to jump out at me. I don't expect you to take my word for it. I'm going to prove it. Over the next 12 months, I will post 12 writing prompt/writing challenge for stories that are set somewhere in metropolitan Detroit. To link it up with Detroit's Birthday, I'll post the first writing challenge today. Since August is only a week away, I'll post the next writing challenge on the first Sunday in September. On the first Sunday in July 2012, I post the twelfth. I hope you will be inspired by these challenges and join me. If you don't know Detroit, look around your own hometown and come up with 12 challenges specific to it. Let's see what we can come up with! The Narrows Writing Challenge #1
When the French settled in Detroit they brought their folk beliefs with them and soon, storytellers were sitting by the fire telling tales of the lutin, fey creatures that were both good and evil. Some looked like creatures we would recognize as goblins. Others, took the form of black cats, who were considered the best protection a family could have. The storytellers also told tales of the Nain Rouge (the Red Dwarf), les dames blanches (will-o-the-wisps), and loup garou (werewolves). Many of these tales were collected by M.C.W. Hamlin in Legends of Le Détroit (1884) and retold for children in Were-Wolves and Will-o-the-Wisps by Dirk Gringhuis (1974). The Challenge: Write a short story that centers on one of these fey creatures and is set somewhere in metropolitan Detroit. Genre: Given the prompt, horror and urban fantasy would be the obvious choices. However, you could also write a children's story, an historical story, or use the fey creatures as metaphors and write a literary piece. Word count: Short stories are generally no more than a few thousand words, but the length is up to you. If your idea turns into a novel, post the first chapter. If you'd like me to give you a hard number, here you go: Write a story about 1000 words long. Accepting the challenge: Post your story on your blog. In your post, include a link to this post. Next, put a link to your story in the comments section below, and when I post the next challenge, I will post a list of all the stories. Finally, if you are on Twitter and tweet about your story, please include the hashtag #narrows. Let's share with the world what an excellent setting Detroit makes. At the beginning of the month, Sonia G Medeiros posted a cool writing challenge on her blog:
"Your challenge this month, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story that prominently features a moon (our moon, an alien moon, whatever)…" At least I think it's cool, but maybe that's because I'm always staring up at the moon. So I decided to take up the challenge. My plan was to set aside my current writing project and write a little stand-alone story. However, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum. After writing a few lines, my vague idea for a stand-alone story became the prologue for the novel I'm currently working on. I wrote it is one sitting. The Muses were truly with me. Without further ado, here is the prologue for Georgianna and the Dragon... * * * A gibbous moon hung in the east and illuminated a cloud that had drifted across it. In the west, the sun’s light was a mere line of orange on the horizon. Georgianna was concerned with neither the light of the moon nor of the sun. Her eyes were fixed on the ball of green light that floated in the blackness under the oak tree. She’s answered my call, Georgianna thought. She closed the book at her knees and slowly rose to her feet using the side of the stone fountain to steady herself. Her heart pounded, but without hesitation, she walked toward the light. When Georgianna was a couple yards away from it, she stopped. As in is the past, the ball of green light expanded into a cloud and then, as if being sculpted from luminescent clay, took the form of a tall woman with long black hair piled atop her head. Her skin was almost as white as her white gown. Something disturbed a nearby hedge. She had not come alone. Georgianna bowed her head and said, “Bon soir, Madame Blanc.” The White Lady had once spoken to one of her own kind in a language that sounded to Georgianna like the French she had learned from the nuns at school. So, Georgianna started to greet the White Lady in French. The fey creature seemed to appreciate it. “What great need do you have, my child? For it must be great to call me so urgently when the moon is not full.” Georgianna unconsciously took a step forward. “My lady, it’s my husband, Frederick. He is very ill. The doctors can’t help him.” Georgianna looked over her shoulder at the large house looming up in the darkness behind her. It’s that damn Jake’s fault, she thought. I knew those clams were off, and who knows where that bathtub gin came from. “I can’t lose him. We’ve only been married a few years.” The White Lady, at least two heads taller than the mortal woman, looked down at Georgianna for she was at-least two heads taller. “My dear girl. You have been a faithful servant since you were but seven summers old. Indeed, you have been very helpful to me in your own way. “And I have rewarded you. You have seen the things that compose the dreams of mortals. I even remember a draught slipped into a young man’s glass by a love-besotted maid.” “I know and I am thankful. But please, this one last favor.” The White Lady sighed and started to walk around the edge of Georgianna’s garden. Georgianna followed after her. “But what you ask.” She shook her head. “It is most perilous to deny the Fates. If the Fates are calling Frederick, who am I to deny them?” “But you could. I know you have done so in the past. I’ve heard the tale of Emile and Brendan.” The White Lady stopped and looked into Georgianna’s eyes, and Georgianna immediately looked at the ground. “One should not repeat what one hears from revelers who are full of wine.” “I am sorry, my lady.” The White Lady was silent for a moment and then continued to walk. “It is a beautiful night.” The last of the sunlight was gone, but it was still warm. Laughter and jazz floated to the two women from the neighboring mansion, and the moon’s reflection shimmered on the surface of Lake St. Clair. “Its beauty puts me into a bold mood.” “Thank you!” Georgianna surged forward and almost took hold of the White Lady’s hand. Something in the nearest bush moved violently. Georgianna checked herself. “I have done nothing yet,” the fey spirit said, as she held up her hand. “What? I thought…” “I may be able to help you, but I will need you to do something for me.” “Of course. Just tell me what it is.” Georgianna took another step closer, but then stepped back. “Someday I shall come to you and I will ask to take your eldest daughter.” Georgianna’s mouth fell opened, but the White Lady gently waved her hand. “It will please me to have her as a lady in my court. It will only be for a short while.” Georgianna bit her lip. She had read Lady Gregory’s book, and many others besides, about the good neighbors. They usually took human children without asking. Even if Georgianna refused, the White Lady could take the child whenever she pleased; and Georgianna would lose her Frederick. She would have nothing. Georgianna nodded. “I agree, please just help him.” The White Lady looked up at the moon and pointed. “Swear by the moon that you shall let me take your eldest daughter.” Georgianna looked at the moon and then back at the White Lady. “Didn’t Shakespeare say not to swear by the–” Georgianna silently cursed her own stupidity. “Inconstant moon? Ah, Master Shakespeare. Yes, he is well known to us.” The White Lady pressed her palms together. “First, Juliet said those words. Shakespeare might not agree with her. Second, the statement is clearly incorrect,” she said and waved her hand. “Every twenty-eight days, the moon travels through its cycle. Every fourteenth day it is half-bright and half-dark. Every seventh day and every twenty-first day it appears in the shape of the sacred horns of Cernunnos. What could be more constant?” Georgianna was silent. All she could do was shake her head. The White Lady continued. “As for the sun, on two different days the sun could shine equally bright. But on one of those days it provides no warmth at all, and on the other day–” “Too hot the eye of heaven shines,” Georgianna said. “Precisely. Now, if you want me to save Frederick, swear by the constant moon. But know this,” the White Lady paused and pointed an unnaturally long, thin finger at Georgianna’s abdomen. “If you refuse to give me the child when I ask, a shadow will follow your eldest daughter, and her eldest daughter, and so on. None shall die peacefully in their beds until one finally serves me in my realm.” Georgianna opened her mouth and then closed it. She glanced up at the moon and then opened her mouth again. This time the words came out. “I swear by the constant moon.” She took in a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Maybe it’s a boy. I might have all boys. The back door opened, a black silhouette blocked most of the light. “Mrs. Beaumont! Mrs. Beaumont!” Georgianna started violently. “I’m here. What is it?” The silhouette left the door and ran towards her. It was the housekeeper, Mary. “Mr. Beaumont’s fever,” Mary stopped before Georgianna sucking in breath. “Yes? What? What’s happened?” “Praised be to God, Mrs. Beaumont. It’s a miracle. The fever’s broken. I knew the Virgin Mary would answer my prayers.” The housekeeper took hold of Georgianna’s hand. “Come, Mrs. Beaumont, he’s asking for you.” Georgianna let herself be led away, but as she did so, she looked over her shoulder. The White Lady was still faintly visible, gesturing toward the house and nodding. Georgianna smiled and turned back to the house and her husband. The White Lady’s green eyes narrowed and a smile curled the corners of her red lips. She spoke some words that no human ear would recognize. The hedge rustled one last time, and then the White Lady was gone. I've been working my way through Lovecraft's The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath and came across a very nice bit of description: The ship was about to pass over the weedy walls and broken columns of a sunken city too old for memory. It made me think of all the sunken cities in literature and myth. In addition to the sunken city Randolf Carter sails over in Unknown Kadath, Lovecraft also created R'lyeh, an alien city submerged in the South Pacific, which is home of an ancient malevolent being. R'lyeh will someday rise to the surface and humanity will be doomed. Tolkien, inspired by the story of Atlantis, created the story of Numenor. The Numenorians were not satisfied with what they had; they wanted immortality too. The Valar punished them by drowning the island. Recently, I stumbled across another sunken city story: The Legend of Ys. It is a part of Breton folklore, and tells the tale of a sinful city swallowed by the sea. The king's daughter, Dahut, had engaged in orgies and murder. Lucifer appeared in the guise of a Red Knight and tricked Dahut into opening the dikes that held back the sea. Doesn't make much sense to me. Wouldn't Lucifer want the orgies and murder to continue? The legend we have today is probably a jumble of a pagan myth that was rewritten with an added Christian moral by some medieval monk. Since Ys is below sea level, Dahut may represents a chthonic goddess. I think the story needs a retelling to sort things out. Indeed, while I haven't read any of them, the legend has inspired stories by Robert W. Chambers, Poul Anderson, and Jack Vance. It even inspired Claude Debussy to write some music for piano (listen below). If you were to rewrite the Legend of Ys (or a new sunken city story), why did Ys really fall? Perhaps Dahut was really a hero. Would you write it from the perspective of someone who witnessed the city's fall, or would you write it from the perspective of someone finding the ruins years or ages after the fall? I love Gothic stories from the late-18th and early-19th century. I love the atmosphere of a classic Gothic tale: In a remote forest or a ruined castle – only illuminated by a flickering candle, or a cloud-obscured moon – a young protagonist is menaced by an evil count, bandits, some supernatural horror, or a combination of all three. I know for many this imagery has become overused and has lost its original power, but not for me. Even though it's difficult to follow for many modern readers, The Castle of Otranto: A Gothic Story by Horace Walpole is one of my favorites. It defined the genre, and it contains some wonderful imagery that is well worth the effort. Launceston Castle. Image by www.paulaguthat.com But it's not just about the atmospherics and the setting. In his introduction to The Oxford Book of Gothic Tales, Chris Baldick concludes that the Gothic is specifically about our fear that we have not "really escaped from the tyrannies of the past." That is, we fear a return to the despotic and arbitrary rule of the past, exemplified by the monarch of the Middle Ages. Many writers have generalized this fear and have focused on the theme of the past reaching forward into, and menacing, the present. By doing so, they have kept the Gothic genre fresh and relevant even today, when we may feel quite safe from autocratic power, bandits, and supernatural horrors. The most recent film version of Jane Eyre has faithfully capture the novel which includes both the early tropes of the dark and foreboding castle/manor house, as well as the past reaching forward to harm the present. It is a beautiful movie. If you have the chance, you should see it on the big screen. It is one of those movies that will lose something on the small screen. Are you a fan of the Gothic? Do you have a favorite Gothic novel or film? ...And since tomorrow is Bastille Day, I thought I'd mark the occasion with some appropriate French music. Vive La France! The more I think about it, the more I think that what separates a good writer from a great writer is how they put together a sentence. That is, it's not the story, but how they tell it. Many have argued that there are only so many story structures or patterns. Robert Heinlein wrote that there were three: 1) boy-meets-girl, 2) The Little Tailor (that is, the man who succeeds against great odds, or its converse, the great man brought low), and 3) the-man-who-learns-better. The blog Murderati has a different list - and a nice discussion on the structures of stories here. If there is only a limited number of story structures, then how the story is told is what makes each version of the story unique. With this in mind, I'm going to do something new. I'm going to pick out a specific passage by one of my favorite writers and talk about why it's an exceptional piece of writing. For me, these passages are inspirational. Hopefully they will be for you as well. First, I'm going to rewrite one of my favorite passages from Raymond Chandler. It's from The Long Goodbye. I'm going to strip it down to its essential content. I'll summarize what Chandler wrote in the plainest way I can. Then I'll show the original passage... The white-haired man told the girl he had sold his convertible. He explained he needed the money to eat. He didn't sound drunk. The girl moved away from him and grew distant. Then she became as cold as ice toward him. And now the Chandler: The white-haired lad said politely: "Awfully sorry, but I don't have it any more. I was compelled to sell it." From his voice and articulation you wouldn't have known he had anything stronger than orange juice to drink. "Sold it, darling? How do you mean?" She slid away from him along the seat but her voice slid away a lot farther than that. "I mean I had to," he said. "For eating money." "Oh, I see." A slice of spumoni wouldn't have melted on her now. Wow. This is something. Chandler packs a lot into a few sentences. It tells us what is happening: A date just hit a speed bump. It reveals something about each character: He is drunk and broke, and she is a lot more interested in his convertible (and his money) than she is in him. Chandler does this using very few adjectives. But that doesn't mean the writing is drab. Indeed, Chandler includes two very beautiful metaphors that are not hackneyed or well-worn. He takes the cliches "she became distant," and "she was as cold as ice," and makes them fresh. These metaphors make the passage lyrical without taking away from its hard-boiled, stacato rhythm. And that is why this bit of writing pops. Do you have a favorite passage or line from Chandler (or a top five)? Do you have a favorite fresh metaphor or piece of figurative language from another author? |
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