It has been a crazy week full of eight million people wanting sixteen million things out of me at work, 3000 pages of reading for grad school, floating CSS columns, choosing between saving the galaxy and becoming the Dark Lord of the Sith, and working on the fifth draft of a novel I wrote a long time ago. Despite the fact that I have been constantly running, running, running with even fewer breaks and more threats to my creativity and mental energy these past few days, my mind has drifted to the past and the future.
You see, last Friday I saw my favorite band ever (Blindside) for the second time and met them for the first. I shouted until I lost my voice and bore a giant bruise on my shin from the exuberance of the crowd. It was glorious.
You see, I'm not one of those people who listens to music as I write. But way back when I was writing the first draft of this novel, I'd listen to them *before* writing, because as my story progressed I realized a couple of their songs resonated with the characters and the tone I wanted to evoke. Simply put, they inspired me.
And then my silly writer dreams come in, my fantasies of doing all the things that come last in the process, like writing the acknowledgment page. Because I love words in print, and I want to thank them in a unique way, because "I've been a fan for over ten years" and "your music means so much to me" just don't seem to be enough. Not when everybody at each of their shows is pouring their hearts out alongside them on the stage. They know we love them like that. Should I have the opportunity, I want to give back more.
So you see, though there are dozens of reasons I would choose this book if I could only have one published, but that's the one on my mind lately. They'll all wax and wane in relative importance as different things consume my life, but for now, in this era of craziness and not-having-time-for-anything, it's keeping me going.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Review: The Taker, by Alma Katsu
So, onward with the quest to review all the books I got at Comic-Con this year. This week it's THE TAKER, the debut novel by Alma Katsu.
THE TAKER is the tale of a young woman growing up in Puritan Maine, her love for the most beautiful man in the town, and the way it ruins both of them for eternity--literally, because through some sort of medical/supernatural happenstance that is not fully explained, they both are sucked into the scheme of a conniving alchemist and made immortal. It's a tale fraught with the dangers of obsession, lust, and greed, told in three time periods, including the present, in which Lanny must deal with the aftermath of all her life has wrought.
Katsu's prose is haunting and lyrical without being overwrought, and Lanny's narration feels consistent over the two centuries the story spans, despite her increasing boldness, freedom, guilt, and sorrow as she progresses through a life burdened by events she caused but never asked for. Though the plot seems fairly straightforward on the surface, Lanny's reflections made me consider often the difference between the author and the character. This book is an excellent reflection of the gulf that can span the two, and how authors can write situations and characters they don't necessarily condone, or write them as warnings without becoming preachy. For example, several scenes in the present seem to glorify drug use, with the characters finding relaxation and release in the action, but their despair at their lives is never veiled, and it's clear that the drugs are just a chance for them to escape, to live in oblivion and denial for a while, and that the whole situation is pitiable. (The drug in question is marijuana, though, which a good number of readers won't consider any big deal at all, but I think my interpretation still stands! They're only taking it to cope with the misery of their lives.) So, too, is the book sex-obsessed, but that action quickly loses much of its glamor as well, becoming something used far too often for power and escape but rarely for anything good.
There's an undercurrent of deep sadness to all of Lanny's actions as the timeline progresses, and she herself is not the most reliable narrator, seeming to have a clear perception of human nature and her own actions in some instances while remaining in perpetual denial about others. Throughout the book, she consistently condones the actions of Jonathan, the beautiful boy who causes her downfall, maintaining that it is just his nature to fool around with every girl, even committing adultery, and that women have no choice but to fall in love with him and fulfill his every desire. Despite the fact that this puts her--and others!--in an unacceptable situation in her society, she never considers the idea that he should take responsibility for his actions (unless it's convenient for her), or that he's in any way culpable for seducing women as they are for being seduced, or that anything is in any way his fault. I would have liked to see her grow that way, but as the story plays out it is a fascinating look at the blindness we sometimes impose on ourselves with obsession and idolization and the amount we are willing to accept in an unequal relationship when we believe ourselves to be in love.
THE TAKER is far from being the happiest book in the world, but it is lovely in its own way, and haunting. It's a meditation of obsession and misplaced love, and a chilling cautionary tale that avoids becoming didactic. Katsu's prose is fluid and gorgeous, despite its darkness, and I could see this being the beginning of a great career for her. Fans of books like Andrew Davidson's THE GARGOYLE would definitely enjoy this.
THE TAKER is the tale of a young woman growing up in Puritan Maine, her love for the most beautiful man in the town, and the way it ruins both of them for eternity--literally, because through some sort of medical/supernatural happenstance that is not fully explained, they both are sucked into the scheme of a conniving alchemist and made immortal. It's a tale fraught with the dangers of obsession, lust, and greed, told in three time periods, including the present, in which Lanny must deal with the aftermath of all her life has wrought.
Katsu's prose is haunting and lyrical without being overwrought, and Lanny's narration feels consistent over the two centuries the story spans, despite her increasing boldness, freedom, guilt, and sorrow as she progresses through a life burdened by events she caused but never asked for. Though the plot seems fairly straightforward on the surface, Lanny's reflections made me consider often the difference between the author and the character. This book is an excellent reflection of the gulf that can span the two, and how authors can write situations and characters they don't necessarily condone, or write them as warnings without becoming preachy. For example, several scenes in the present seem to glorify drug use, with the characters finding relaxation and release in the action, but their despair at their lives is never veiled, and it's clear that the drugs are just a chance for them to escape, to live in oblivion and denial for a while, and that the whole situation is pitiable. (The drug in question is marijuana, though, which a good number of readers won't consider any big deal at all, but I think my interpretation still stands! They're only taking it to cope with the misery of their lives.) So, too, is the book sex-obsessed, but that action quickly loses much of its glamor as well, becoming something used far too often for power and escape but rarely for anything good.
There's an undercurrent of deep sadness to all of Lanny's actions as the timeline progresses, and she herself is not the most reliable narrator, seeming to have a clear perception of human nature and her own actions in some instances while remaining in perpetual denial about others. Throughout the book, she consistently condones the actions of Jonathan, the beautiful boy who causes her downfall, maintaining that it is just his nature to fool around with every girl, even committing adultery, and that women have no choice but to fall in love with him and fulfill his every desire. Despite the fact that this puts her--and others!--in an unacceptable situation in her society, she never considers the idea that he should take responsibility for his actions (unless it's convenient for her), or that he's in any way culpable for seducing women as they are for being seduced, or that anything is in any way his fault. I would have liked to see her grow that way, but as the story plays out it is a fascinating look at the blindness we sometimes impose on ourselves with obsession and idolization and the amount we are willing to accept in an unequal relationship when we believe ourselves to be in love.
THE TAKER is far from being the happiest book in the world, but it is lovely in its own way, and haunting. It's a meditation of obsession and misplaced love, and a chilling cautionary tale that avoids becoming didactic. Katsu's prose is fluid and gorgeous, despite its darkness, and I could see this being the beginning of a great career for her. Fans of books like Andrew Davidson's THE GARGOYLE would definitely enjoy this.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Of writing and reasons
In case I haven't mentioned it already (nope, no way, hasn't happened), I am very busy with both work and grad school and it's causing me constant concern over my writing productivity this year. In short, I dread lacking the time and me
insert linkntal energy as time progresses, since all of these activitiehttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifs dip from the same energy pool. I'm gripped with a paralyzing fear of not getting much done, of crying from being unable to put words on the page or, worse, of being one of those phonies who only talks about writing.
Well. Things tend to come along when you need them, and yesterday I read two very inspiring posts about why people write. Here's Athol Dickson's post on Rachelle Gardner's blog about why he writes magical realism, and Therese Walsh's post on Writer Unboxed on why writers write/readers read.
Why do I write?
I write because, since childhood, I have been obsessed with stories. I told myself stories before I fell asleep each night. I couldn't fall asleep unless I made up some world, some new characters, and explored bits of their lives inside my head before drifting off to dreamland. It got to the point where I would fight off sleep to keep imagining.
When I was a kid, I didn't spend my recess playing tetherball or on the swingset. Or when I did, I was really a Pegasus, and whatever necklace I was wearing was a magical pendant, and somehow winning that tetherball game was crucial to saving the earth. Or, on the jungle gym, I was going for Olympic gold, though I wasn't all that graceful.
As I got older and more disciplined, I began seeking more structure in my creativity. I'm not an artist, I can't really sing, but I discovered I was decent with words. From that point on I knew language would be crucial in whatever I did. Real life brought different interests and hobbies, but one of my majors ended up being linguistics, and that passion for making my own fictions resurfaced. Only this time, I yearned to make some of those fictions tangible, giving them form in ink on paper and, later and inevitably, in computer pixels. (Although that's not really tangible either, is it?) I don't write everything; some things I keep private and some I decide are too short or weird. This would dismay China Miéville, whom I still remember saying to use every idea you have, no matter how bizarre. In my case, maybe those ideas are still cooking, and will emerge better-formed at some future point--
Why genre fiction?
Because science fiction and fantasy are about fantastic things. Improbable or impossible things. Symbolic things. And because I think symbols are one of the richest languages we have for examining the world and the human condition. When people see how worlds and characters move in a fictional realm, ostensibly not like ours, they come to realize that some things still look familiar, and that is because the world is just a veil. People are the same in California or Narnia or on the planet Equatoria, but sometimes we can't realize all our flaws and capabilities until we see them presented in some outstanding fashion. That gauzy veil of fantasy allows us more comfort in examining the world and human nature, but can also challenge us to a deeper analysis of something we might have otherwise overlooked. Symbols are merely another way of presenting reality, and in fiction, I find them more interesting than objective fact.
…I suppose that, as long as I have this passion and burning need, I'll be OK in the end, even if this year is not as fruitful as I would otherwise hope. I'm moving steadily through revisions still, so at least there's that. But Lord, I hope I can do something new, too.
insert linkntal energy as time progresses, since all of these activitiehttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifs dip from the same energy pool. I'm gripped with a paralyzing fear of not getting much done, of crying from being unable to put words on the page or, worse, of being one of those phonies who only talks about writing.
Well. Things tend to come along when you need them, and yesterday I read two very inspiring posts about why people write. Here's Athol Dickson's post on Rachelle Gardner's blog about why he writes magical realism, and Therese Walsh's post on Writer Unboxed on why writers write/readers read.
Why do I write?
I write because, since childhood, I have been obsessed with stories. I told myself stories before I fell asleep each night. I couldn't fall asleep unless I made up some world, some new characters, and explored bits of their lives inside my head before drifting off to dreamland. It got to the point where I would fight off sleep to keep imagining.
When I was a kid, I didn't spend my recess playing tetherball or on the swingset. Or when I did, I was really a Pegasus, and whatever necklace I was wearing was a magical pendant, and somehow winning that tetherball game was crucial to saving the earth. Or, on the jungle gym, I was going for Olympic gold, though I wasn't all that graceful.
As I got older and more disciplined, I began seeking more structure in my creativity. I'm not an artist, I can't really sing, but I discovered I was decent with words. From that point on I knew language would be crucial in whatever I did. Real life brought different interests and hobbies, but one of my majors ended up being linguistics, and that passion for making my own fictions resurfaced. Only this time, I yearned to make some of those fictions tangible, giving them form in ink on paper and, later and inevitably, in computer pixels. (Although that's not really tangible either, is it?) I don't write everything; some things I keep private and some I decide are too short or weird. This would dismay China Miéville, whom I still remember saying to use every idea you have, no matter how bizarre. In my case, maybe those ideas are still cooking, and will emerge better-formed at some future point--
Why genre fiction?
Because science fiction and fantasy are about fantastic things. Improbable or impossible things. Symbolic things. And because I think symbols are one of the richest languages we have for examining the world and the human condition. When people see how worlds and characters move in a fictional realm, ostensibly not like ours, they come to realize that some things still look familiar, and that is because the world is just a veil. People are the same in California or Narnia or on the planet Equatoria, but sometimes we can't realize all our flaws and capabilities until we see them presented in some outstanding fashion. That gauzy veil of fantasy allows us more comfort in examining the world and human nature, but can also challenge us to a deeper analysis of something we might have otherwise overlooked. Symbols are merely another way of presenting reality, and in fiction, I find them more interesting than objective fact.
…I suppose that, as long as I have this passion and burning need, I'll be OK in the end, even if this year is not as fruitful as I would otherwise hope. I'm moving steadily through revisions still, so at least there's that. But Lord, I hope I can do something new, too.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Revising old stuff is weird
I am on a revising roll and it's almost Friday.
So I'm revising a novel I wrote a few years ago, because I still think it's one of my best/favorites stories and I plan to query with it at some point (probably next year, after grad school's out of the way). And I still like it a lot! Nothing in it has made me cringe too hard, so I haven't melted with despair over my terrible lack of talent and futile quest toward publication.
But! Like with any manuscript from the past and growth over time, there are a few instances where I have been bewildered by some of my choices then. Like, though I wouldn't qualify it as abuse, I liked adverbs a lot more three years ago. And there were one or two instances where I head-jumped between characters for a paragraph, which doesn’t work with semi-limited third, even with dual MCs. And who knows what else I'll find as I continue through. I'll have to read through my first two chapters again once I reach the end to make sure the changes I've made work the way I think they do.
At least I'm still feeling pretty confident about the plot structure, character development, and important stuff like that, and still smiling at some of the lines I wrote. If I can forget I wrote this book and find myself just enjoying it, I will feel ready. Of course, at that point I'll realize that I wasn't revising anything and then conduct a frantic re-read--
But I'll take it as a good sign if I can get lost inside a story I wrote.
So I'm revising a novel I wrote a few years ago, because I still think it's one of my best/favorites stories and I plan to query with it at some point (probably next year, after grad school's out of the way). And I still like it a lot! Nothing in it has made me cringe too hard, so I haven't melted with despair over my terrible lack of talent and futile quest toward publication.
But! Like with any manuscript from the past and growth over time, there are a few instances where I have been bewildered by some of my choices then. Like, though I wouldn't qualify it as abuse, I liked adverbs a lot more three years ago. And there were one or two instances where I head-jumped between characters for a paragraph, which doesn’t work with semi-limited third, even with dual MCs. And who knows what else I'll find as I continue through. I'll have to read through my first two chapters again once I reach the end to make sure the changes I've made work the way I think they do.
At least I'm still feeling pretty confident about the plot structure, character development, and important stuff like that, and still smiling at some of the lines I wrote. If I can forget I wrote this book and find myself just enjoying it, I will feel ready. Of course, at that point I'll realize that I wasn't revising anything and then conduct a frantic re-read--
But I'll take it as a good sign if I can get lost inside a story I wrote.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
On the subjectivity of book reviews
I've been struggling lately with my goal to review all the free books I got at SDCC. Well, with one book in particular. The book had an interesting, gritty plot. The prose was lovely. It straddled well the line between YA and adult, and I could truly see it appealing to both groups.
The problem is me. Perhaps I didn't read the jacket copy close enough, or got the wrong impression from it, or put too much stock into the cover image. Despite the solidity of this book and the writing, I found myself disappointed and enjoyed it less than I should have because it was not the kind of book I expected. The jacket copy made me think of a much more post-apocalyptic world, and the society in the story had luxuries and technologies I didn't find believable. (Actually, I questioned them within the context of the story, too, so I guess that is a valid complaint.) The setting was more industrial than I expected, which made impossible the type of story I was expecting. The cover image also suggested a completely different climate to me, one I was excited to read about, and the orientation of that image made me think there'd be more fantastical elements, or just plain weirdness, to the setting the characters inhabited, and thus to their stories. Of course, the author isn't at fault for this, and who knows how much information the cover artist had to work from. The one critique of the author I mentioned above, though it occurred throughout the story, wasn't enough to detract from the plot, pacing, etc. The story was well-conceived; the nuances of the setting just required minor suspension of disbelief on my part. Other readers might not notice or care at all. In the end, though, I was dismayed that the story took place in a city at all, when I'd been expecting more of a forest. When I looked back, though, that was mentioned on the jacket copy, so it's my own fault for missing it. And it wouldn't be fair to dismiss the author for that.
And yeah, my disappointment is probably compounded a little by the fact that I thought it might be a good comp title for a manuscript I've finished the second draft of recently, but there's only one superficial similarity of the setting between them.
Book reviews are opinion pieces, and by nature they are subjective. There's just no working around that. Good reviewers will work to eliminate little biases like these, though, especially when it doesn't reflect on the quality of the work and they're not evaluating its themes and messages. So for right now, I don't feel comfortable reviewing this book, because my review wouldn't be fair, and I'll hope my disappointment will fade enough for me to provide a good evaluation someday.
The problem is me. Perhaps I didn't read the jacket copy close enough, or got the wrong impression from it, or put too much stock into the cover image. Despite the solidity of this book and the writing, I found myself disappointed and enjoyed it less than I should have because it was not the kind of book I expected. The jacket copy made me think of a much more post-apocalyptic world, and the society in the story had luxuries and technologies I didn't find believable. (Actually, I questioned them within the context of the story, too, so I guess that is a valid complaint.) The setting was more industrial than I expected, which made impossible the type of story I was expecting. The cover image also suggested a completely different climate to me, one I was excited to read about, and the orientation of that image made me think there'd be more fantastical elements, or just plain weirdness, to the setting the characters inhabited, and thus to their stories. Of course, the author isn't at fault for this, and who knows how much information the cover artist had to work from. The one critique of the author I mentioned above, though it occurred throughout the story, wasn't enough to detract from the plot, pacing, etc. The story was well-conceived; the nuances of the setting just required minor suspension of disbelief on my part. Other readers might not notice or care at all. In the end, though, I was dismayed that the story took place in a city at all, when I'd been expecting more of a forest. When I looked back, though, that was mentioned on the jacket copy, so it's my own fault for missing it. And it wouldn't be fair to dismiss the author for that.
And yeah, my disappointment is probably compounded a little by the fact that I thought it might be a good comp title for a manuscript I've finished the second draft of recently, but there's only one superficial similarity of the setting between them.
Book reviews are opinion pieces, and by nature they are subjective. There's just no working around that. Good reviewers will work to eliminate little biases like these, though, especially when it doesn't reflect on the quality of the work and they're not evaluating its themes and messages. So for right now, I don't feel comfortable reviewing this book, because my review wouldn't be fair, and I'll hope my disappointment will fade enough for me to provide a good evaluation someday.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Of Awards and Long Weekends
Hey all! How's it going? I totally lazed it up this past holiday weekend with a friend's birthday/Disneyland trip, movies, Doctor Who, and barbeques. It was so nice to relax, especially given how crazy grad school has been even in the first two weeks of the semester and how much I really need to finish those last couple revisions on one novel and then re-revise another and outline and outline and do more outlining and, ahh, at some point, decide on a novel and write a first draft...
In amusing news, Kris Atkins gave me an award over at her blog for coining the term "Sequelitis"! I am clearly the Shakespeare of my day. Images of bad Photoshops are springing into my head, as a result of an inside joke with other friends that has resulted in me producing way too many bad Photoshop jobs. In all seriousness, you should really check out Kris' blog if you like aspiring writer blogs. I'm assuming you do, or why else would you be here? She's witty and funny and I get the feeling that I'd really like her a lot in real life if we were ever to meet outside of the interwebs.
Also, like my fancy right-aligned picture? I totally did the code for that on my own instead of using WYSIWYG. No big deal, but it shows that I'm learning something in my non-crazy class!
So speaking of awards, do you use them much to judge the merits of a book? To decide which books to read? In the library field, they can be pretty important, if only for the fact that the public uses them to decide what to read, and so we're sure to get requests for award-winning or -nominated material. As a big SFF fan, I know anything that's won a Hugo or Nebula is likely to be good, although of course I've found exceptions according to taste. I listed quite a few when I lectured a few months ago, but personally, other SFF awards don't sway me too much either way, nor do most non-genre specific awards. I've liked quite a few Pulitzer winners, etc., but also found just as many pretentious. I'm more swayed by reviews, unless I know something of how an award is chosen. But what are your thoughts?
And speaking now of reviews, I'm hoping to throw up another SDCC book review this week. I need to work on wrapping up a few minor revisions on the most recent novel tonight so I can send it to my beta(s). Scary exciting!
And here is a picture of my cat, doing what I somehow did a lot of and not enough of this past weekend, but in a much more humorous position. He always steals my seat when I want to write, the little bugger...
In amusing news, Kris Atkins gave me an award over at her blog for coining the term "Sequelitis"! I am clearly the Shakespeare of my day. Images of bad Photoshops are springing into my head, as a result of an inside joke with other friends that has resulted in me producing way too many bad Photoshop jobs. In all seriousness, you should really check out Kris' blog if you like aspiring writer blogs. I'm assuming you do, or why else would you be here? She's witty and funny and I get the feeling that I'd really like her a lot in real life if we were ever to meet outside of the interwebs.Also, like my fancy right-aligned picture? I totally did the code for that on my own instead of using WYSIWYG. No big deal, but it shows that I'm learning something in my non-crazy class!
So speaking of awards, do you use them much to judge the merits of a book? To decide which books to read? In the library field, they can be pretty important, if only for the fact that the public uses them to decide what to read, and so we're sure to get requests for award-winning or -nominated material. As a big SFF fan, I know anything that's won a Hugo or Nebula is likely to be good, although of course I've found exceptions according to taste. I listed quite a few when I lectured a few months ago, but personally, other SFF awards don't sway me too much either way, nor do most non-genre specific awards. I've liked quite a few Pulitzer winners, etc., but also found just as many pretentious. I'm more swayed by reviews, unless I know something of how an award is chosen. But what are your thoughts?
And speaking now of reviews, I'm hoping to throw up another SDCC book review this week. I need to work on wrapping up a few minor revisions on the most recent novel tonight so I can send it to my beta(s). Scary exciting!
And here is a picture of my cat, doing what I somehow did a lot of and not enough of this past weekend, but in a much more humorous position. He always steals my seat when I want to write, the little bugger...
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