by Dianna L. Gunn
Have you heard of Tangent Online? They are the ultimate review magazine for fans of speculative fiction, critiquing everything SF/F they can acquire. Tangent Online is also one of the few publications to review both electronic and print magazines. We are fortunate that they have reviewed several issues of Penumbra.
Even though I love this issue of Penumbra, I was blown away by Tangent Online's stellar review of our January Ray Bradbury issue. It's one thing to gush about a magazine I've actually worked on, but it's more thrilling to see a third party reviewer with no obligation enjoy Penumbra, too.
So if you've considered the Ray Bradbury issue but want to know more about it, check out this review--and if you're already decided, you can purchase a copy here.
Thursday, 31 January 2013
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
A Moment with Samuel Marzioli
Do you write a story before you find a market, or do you find a market before you write the story? Why do you work this way?
I’m more of an “and” rather than an “or” sort of writer. I do everything I can to maximize my creativity. For the most part, I believe it pays to find and research a market before bothering to write for them. Editors are readers first, and every reader has a preference for what they want to read. Obviously, you don’t want to send an erotic story to a children’s magazine, or a western to a mystery journal. And you don’t want to send stories that don’t incorporate the themes of markets that require them. It’s just common sense. It may seem daunting, and may take a lot of extra work, but that’s the business we’re in. Putting text into word documents is only the first step.
However, the process may not be as difficult as some newer writers imagine. Recently I corresponded with a man who was struggling to publish his first story. We discussed NY Times best-selling author Joe Hill, and whether or not he had an easier time breaking into the business because he was Stephen King’s son. The man reasoned that anyone with a family member so closely connected to the industry had access to every editor’s preferences. All Mr. Hill had to do was pick his father’s brain and, viola, instant sales, instant success. While I disagreed with the main thrust of his argument, he certainly had a point. Knowledge is power! However, I countered that every writer is on equal grounds, because every single issue and anthology an editor works on is stamped with their particular tastes--everything from POV, to prose style, to subject matter. In other words, you don’t need to be blessed with the genetic lottery. All you have to do is follow the suggestion that is present on most every writer’s guidelines: “Read an issue.”
On the other hand, trying to conform to a single market’s preferences can be limiting. It can kill the mood, staunch the flow of creative waters like a tampon in the pipeline. As such, sometimes I write a story first and then find the best match. Research always plays a part, of course, but not necessarily in the beginning. It all depends on where the muse leads.
Samuel Marzioli lives in Oregon, and often writes outside in the rain under an umbrella. His fiction has appeared in Stupefying Stories 1.8 and the January 2013 issue of Penumbra. Several other stories are forthcoming in Stupefying Stories, Space & Time Magazine and the "A Darke Phantastique" anthology by Cycatrix Press.
Learn more about Samuel Marzioli his blog.
However, the process may not be as difficult as some newer writers imagine. Recently I corresponded with a man who was struggling to publish his first story. We discussed NY Times best-selling author Joe Hill, and whether or not he had an easier time breaking into the business because he was Stephen King’s son. The man reasoned that anyone with a family member so closely connected to the industry had access to every editor’s preferences. All Mr. Hill had to do was pick his father’s brain and, viola, instant sales, instant success. While I disagreed with the main thrust of his argument, he certainly had a point. Knowledge is power! However, I countered that every writer is on equal grounds, because every single issue and anthology an editor works on is stamped with their particular tastes--everything from POV, to prose style, to subject matter. In other words, you don’t need to be blessed with the genetic lottery. All you have to do is follow the suggestion that is present on most every writer’s guidelines: “Read an issue.”
On the other hand, trying to conform to a single market’s preferences can be limiting. It can kill the mood, staunch the flow of creative waters like a tampon in the pipeline. As such, sometimes I write a story first and then find the best match. Research always plays a part, of course, but not necessarily in the beginning. It all depends on where the muse leads.
Samuel Marzioli lives in Oregon, and often writes outside in the rain under an umbrella. His fiction has appeared in Stupefying Stories 1.8 and the January 2013 issue of Penumbra. Several other stories are forthcoming in Stupefying Stories, Space & Time Magazine and the "A Darke Phantastique" anthology by Cycatrix Press.
Learn more about Samuel Marzioli his blog.
Thursday, 24 January 2013
How I Turn an Idea into a Publishable Story
by Barbara A. Barnett
Easy. Bunny wrangling.
If you're a writer, you've likely encountered the term "plot bunnies"—those pesky little story ideas that suddenly spring up and nibble at your brain until you finally write them. I find the bunny metaphor apt. My ideas certainly reproduce like bunnies. That's where the wrangling comes in.
For much of what I write, going from idea to story is a fairly straightforward process. First, I spew out words and see what happens. I try not to overthink things at that stage; the first draft is playtime, when I can let the plot bunny run wild. Then, once I have a crappy first draft, I put on my editorial hat and try to figure out where the story is. Revision is when I consider voice, structure, characterization, style, and all of those other elements that will help turn my crappy first draft into something potentially publishable. Of course, that's assuming there's a story there worth telling. Not all plot bunnies are created equal. Some are worth prettying up to send hopping through editors' slush piles; others are better off staying home in their burrows. How one tells the difference between the idea worth pursuing and the one best left in the trunk is tricky business that I have no good answer for other than this: go with what feels right. If still in doubt, talk it out with other writers, then go with what feels right.
That's my usual process, but some plot bunnies are more easily wrangled than others. Sometimes I need to set the bunny aside and let my subconscious figure out what the heck to do with it. Days, weeks, or even months later, I'll be doing something inane like brushing my teeth when poof! There's the bunny again, letting me know which direction he wants to go hopping in.
Some plot bunnies require research. And often, a cool detail uncovered in that research will help me figure out what the story is. For "Ghost Writer to the Dead" (Penumbra, October 2012), I knew I wanted to set a story at the Edgar Allan Poe house in Philadelphia, but that was all I had: the setting. So I researched. A lot of tidbits from my research ended up in the story, but one particular detail—that a woman named Lizzie Doten had published what she claimed were new works channeled to her by Poe's spirit—led to my plot in which Poe's ghost tries to dictate a new story to a psychic.
Finally, there are the plot bunnies that go hopping in so many directions that I become overwhelmed trying to catch the little buggers. Or, the bunny just kind of sits there, threatening to do something interesting, but mostly it just nibbles at the grass. That's when I find brainstorming with other bunny wranglers (aka writers) helpful. It's not their bunny, so they can look at it a bit more objectively, or at least from a different angle that I hadn't considered.
Barbara A. Barnett is an avid rejection letter collector, musician, MLIS student, Odyssey Writing Workshop graduate, coffee addict, wine lover, bad movie mocker, and all-around geek. Her fiction has appeared in publications such as Fantasy Magazine, Shimmer, Daily Science Fiction, Black Static, and Wilde Stories 2011: The Year's Best Gay Speculative Fiction. In addition to writing, she has worked in the performing arts world for several years.
Learn more about Barbara on her website.
If you're a writer, you've likely encountered the term "plot bunnies"—those pesky little story ideas that suddenly spring up and nibble at your brain until you finally write them. I find the bunny metaphor apt. My ideas certainly reproduce like bunnies. That's where the wrangling comes in.
For much of what I write, going from idea to story is a fairly straightforward process. First, I spew out words and see what happens. I try not to overthink things at that stage; the first draft is playtime, when I can let the plot bunny run wild. Then, once I have a crappy first draft, I put on my editorial hat and try to figure out where the story is. Revision is when I consider voice, structure, characterization, style, and all of those other elements that will help turn my crappy first draft into something potentially publishable. Of course, that's assuming there's a story there worth telling. Not all plot bunnies are created equal. Some are worth prettying up to send hopping through editors' slush piles; others are better off staying home in their burrows. How one tells the difference between the idea worth pursuing and the one best left in the trunk is tricky business that I have no good answer for other than this: go with what feels right. If still in doubt, talk it out with other writers, then go with what feels right.
That's my usual process, but some plot bunnies are more easily wrangled than others. Sometimes I need to set the bunny aside and let my subconscious figure out what the heck to do with it. Days, weeks, or even months later, I'll be doing something inane like brushing my teeth when poof! There's the bunny again, letting me know which direction he wants to go hopping in.
Some plot bunnies require research. And often, a cool detail uncovered in that research will help me figure out what the story is. For "Ghost Writer to the Dead" (Penumbra, October 2012), I knew I wanted to set a story at the Edgar Allan Poe house in Philadelphia, but that was all I had: the setting. So I researched. A lot of tidbits from my research ended up in the story, but one particular detail—that a woman named Lizzie Doten had published what she claimed were new works channeled to her by Poe's spirit—led to my plot in which Poe's ghost tries to dictate a new story to a psychic.
Finally, there are the plot bunnies that go hopping in so many directions that I become overwhelmed trying to catch the little buggers. Or, the bunny just kind of sits there, threatening to do something interesting, but mostly it just nibbles at the grass. That's when I find brainstorming with other bunny wranglers (aka writers) helpful. It's not their bunny, so they can look at it a bit more objectively, or at least from a different angle that I hadn't considered.
Barbara A. Barnett is an avid rejection letter collector, musician, MLIS student, Odyssey Writing Workshop graduate, coffee addict, wine lover, bad movie mocker, and all-around geek. Her fiction has appeared in publications such as Fantasy Magazine, Shimmer, Daily Science Fiction, Black Static, and Wilde Stories 2011: The Year's Best Gay Speculative Fiction. In addition to writing, she has worked in the performing arts world for several years.
Learn more about Barbara on her website.
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
A Moment with Steve Chapman
Do you write a story before you find a market for it, or do you find the market before you write the story? Why does this method work with you?
At the risk of appearing to dodge the question, my honest answer is that I write stories both for particular markets and without the hope of a market. As a matter of practicality, my writing gets divided into two separate workflows, each following a different method.
In the first, I focus on the submission deadlines for the likely markets, magazines or editors whom I’ve sold to before or who regularly publish short fiction that feels copacetic with my own. These markets represent a better probability of a sale, or at least suggest that I’ve a good feel for what their editors are seeking, so from a business perspective it only makes sense to pay close attention to them and to try to write to their themes and specifications. So this is what I do. This is my responsible workflow.
But it doesn’t always work for me, because this isn’t the way I like to write.
I come up with many more ideas than I’m ever going to have the time to execute, and I know from experience that I do my best work when an idea I’m excited about resolves itself into a workable structure. I do my least-inspired writing when I’m stuck with a topic/deadline that isn’t striking any imaginative sparks.
So I maintain a second (irresponsible?) workflow that’s all about whatever idea or character or situation I’m most excited to flesh out. This can end up being nothing more than mental doodling, but sometimes these sketches cohere into the fundamentals of a story. When this happens I’ll happily put other projects aside to work on the story that wants to be written.
In the past this approach has generated some of my favorite stories--which is not always the same thing as producing stories that have sold. While this approach is fun and rewarding for the writing itself, it can often result in a story without likely markets, which has to be put aside until a new market presents itself.
But there’s an extra benefit to this juggling of methods. One of the ways I generate and maintain enthusiasm for writing through long weeks of day jobbing, where little writing gets done, is to keep a rolling task list. That way I can see at a glance that I have to carve out seven hours of writing time from the coming weekend or else potentially world-bothering stories A, B, and C are never going to get outlined/written/revised. A trick that has proven endlessly helpful is to put the story I desperately want to write on the list behind the story that I should write, so that working on the new, shiny idea becomes the reward for responsibly working my way through the previously scheduled tasks, the literary equivalent of a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie.
It can be difficult to shift focus between multiple projects, but I’ve learned over time that it pays to follow my muse unless I’m up against a hard and fast deadline. At least for the moment this dual approach is working reasonably well as a method of balancing inspiration and perspiration.
A lapsed musician and engineer, Steve Chapman lives with his wife and daughter at the New Jersey shore. Though he spends most days high above Times Square, in the evenings he can hear the ocean. Recent stories can be round in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword & Sorceress 27, the Harrow Press anthology Mortis Operandi, and the January 2013 issue of Penumbra.
In the first, I focus on the submission deadlines for the likely markets, magazines or editors whom I’ve sold to before or who regularly publish short fiction that feels copacetic with my own. These markets represent a better probability of a sale, or at least suggest that I’ve a good feel for what their editors are seeking, so from a business perspective it only makes sense to pay close attention to them and to try to write to their themes and specifications. So this is what I do. This is my responsible workflow.
But it doesn’t always work for me, because this isn’t the way I like to write.
I come up with many more ideas than I’m ever going to have the time to execute, and I know from experience that I do my best work when an idea I’m excited about resolves itself into a workable structure. I do my least-inspired writing when I’m stuck with a topic/deadline that isn’t striking any imaginative sparks.
So I maintain a second (irresponsible?) workflow that’s all about whatever idea or character or situation I’m most excited to flesh out. This can end up being nothing more than mental doodling, but sometimes these sketches cohere into the fundamentals of a story. When this happens I’ll happily put other projects aside to work on the story that wants to be written.
In the past this approach has generated some of my favorite stories--which is not always the same thing as producing stories that have sold. While this approach is fun and rewarding for the writing itself, it can often result in a story without likely markets, which has to be put aside until a new market presents itself.
But there’s an extra benefit to this juggling of methods. One of the ways I generate and maintain enthusiasm for writing through long weeks of day jobbing, where little writing gets done, is to keep a rolling task list. That way I can see at a glance that I have to carve out seven hours of writing time from the coming weekend or else potentially world-bothering stories A, B, and C are never going to get outlined/written/revised. A trick that has proven endlessly helpful is to put the story I desperately want to write on the list behind the story that I should write, so that working on the new, shiny idea becomes the reward for responsibly working my way through the previously scheduled tasks, the literary equivalent of a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie.
It can be difficult to shift focus between multiple projects, but I’ve learned over time that it pays to follow my muse unless I’m up against a hard and fast deadline. At least for the moment this dual approach is working reasonably well as a method of balancing inspiration and perspiration.
A lapsed musician and engineer, Steve Chapman lives with his wife and daughter at the New Jersey shore. Though he spends most days high above Times Square, in the evenings he can hear the ocean. Recent stories can be round in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword & Sorceress 27, the Harrow Press anthology Mortis Operandi, and the January 2013 issue of Penumbra.
Thursday, 17 January 2013
Philosophy and Fiction
by Samuel Marzioli
Philosophy is given a bad rap. It’s often considered an outdated approach to finding truth that was made obsolete by the scientific method. But, in fact, philosophy is still an integral part of the human experience. Whenever someone probes the questions of life, the universe and--oh, why not--everything, they’ve entered the domain of the philosopher. It underlies every important field of inquiry and creative endeavor, from science, to art, to education, and even fiction.
As far as fiction goes, a healthy dose of philosophy can often separate the forgettable fluff from a true masterpiece. While we may be fascinated by scenes of blazing guns and magnificent explosions, set in far-flung worlds or distant times, in the end it may just be mindless entertainment. But who can forget, say, Phillip K. Dick’s “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” and its treatment of what it means to be human, or “Minority Report” and the nature of free will? Or, more popularly, the Matrix and the nature of reality itself. We remember stories like these--often despite their flaws--because they alter or heighten the way we perceive ourselves and our place in the natural order. In effect, they don’t simply regurgitate the human experience; they clarify it.
The good news is one need not be formally trained in order to write a philosophically sound piece of fiction, any more than one needs to have a degree in science to write science fiction. It’s all a matter of approach and subject matter. In my own experience, my story in the January 2013 issue of Penumbra started off as a fanciful yarn about a man and an unusual house. [Vague spoilers to follow] In the first draft, I went through the motions and banged out a working plot, but in the end I found it was ultimately missing something. It had no depth or relevance. In other words, it lacked philosophical weight.
It wasn’t until I started thinking more about the protagonist that I realized he had no significant problems. He was just an average man who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But what if he were an older gent that, at the end of his life, was forced to reevaluate the world view he had taken for granted for so many years? That, I believed, was something that spoke to our own experience: the comfort we find in the harmonization of our beliefs, and the tenuousness of things we hold as “knowledge.” And that, for better or for worse, became the foundation of my final draft for, “A House in the Woods.”
We all know, or at least should learn, the fundamentals of good fiction writing. Things like: write a compelling first sentence or paragraph, create a goal or desire for your protagonist, introduce conflict that keeps the character from his/her goal/desire, and deliver a satisfying resolution. But might I add, at least some of the time, incorporate a philosophical theme? It may not always fit, but sometimes, sometimes, it could make all the difference.
Samuel Marzioli lives in Oregon, and often writes outside in the rain under an umbrella. His fiction has appeared in Stupefying Stories 1.8 and the January 2013 issue of Penumbra. Several other stories are forthcoming in Stupefying Stories, Space & Time Magazine and the "A Darke Phantastique" anthology by Cycatrix Press.
Learn more about Samuel Marzioli his blog.
Philosophy is given a bad rap. It’s often considered an outdated approach to finding truth that was made obsolete by the scientific method. But, in fact, philosophy is still an integral part of the human experience. Whenever someone probes the questions of life, the universe and--oh, why not--everything, they’ve entered the domain of the philosopher. It underlies every important field of inquiry and creative endeavor, from science, to art, to education, and even fiction.
As far as fiction goes, a healthy dose of philosophy can often separate the forgettable fluff from a true masterpiece. While we may be fascinated by scenes of blazing guns and magnificent explosions, set in far-flung worlds or distant times, in the end it may just be mindless entertainment. But who can forget, say, Phillip K. Dick’s “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” and its treatment of what it means to be human, or “Minority Report” and the nature of free will? Or, more popularly, the Matrix and the nature of reality itself. We remember stories like these--often despite their flaws--because they alter or heighten the way we perceive ourselves and our place in the natural order. In effect, they don’t simply regurgitate the human experience; they clarify it.
The good news is one need not be formally trained in order to write a philosophically sound piece of fiction, any more than one needs to have a degree in science to write science fiction. It’s all a matter of approach and subject matter. In my own experience, my story in the January 2013 issue of Penumbra started off as a fanciful yarn about a man and an unusual house. [Vague spoilers to follow] In the first draft, I went through the motions and banged out a working plot, but in the end I found it was ultimately missing something. It had no depth or relevance. In other words, it lacked philosophical weight.
It wasn’t until I started thinking more about the protagonist that I realized he had no significant problems. He was just an average man who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But what if he were an older gent that, at the end of his life, was forced to reevaluate the world view he had taken for granted for so many years? That, I believed, was something that spoke to our own experience: the comfort we find in the harmonization of our beliefs, and the tenuousness of things we hold as “knowledge.” And that, for better or for worse, became the foundation of my final draft for, “A House in the Woods.”
We all know, or at least should learn, the fundamentals of good fiction writing. Things like: write a compelling first sentence or paragraph, create a goal or desire for your protagonist, introduce conflict that keeps the character from his/her goal/desire, and deliver a satisfying resolution. But might I add, at least some of the time, incorporate a philosophical theme? It may not always fit, but sometimes, sometimes, it could make all the difference.
Samuel Marzioli lives in Oregon, and often writes outside in the rain under an umbrella. His fiction has appeared in Stupefying Stories 1.8 and the January 2013 issue of Penumbra. Several other stories are forthcoming in Stupefying Stories, Space & Time Magazine and the "A Darke Phantastique" anthology by Cycatrix Press.
Learn more about Samuel Marzioli his blog.
Tuesday, 15 January 2013
Introduction to the Godfathers of Science Fiction
by Kristen Saunders
You must forgive me for what I’m about to write, but I’ve committed a most grave sin among passionate science fiction readers. I have been enjoying the genre for years without reading any of the stories from the godfathers of science fiction. I had never heard of Arthur C. Clark or William Gibson until today. Until yesterday I had not touched Orson Scott Card, only a week ago did I touch Ray Bradbury, and I’ve never touched H.G. Wells. My familiarity with Isaac Asimov is limited to one short story called, Liar.
I read Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in the sixth grade and horribly failed the accelerated reading test. That particular AR test was set up to fail; it revolved around what bodies of water the Nautilus was in and when. Heinlein and Herbert were introduced to me last year, and I’ve only read one of each of their books. Neither being their most popular pieces. I guess I developed a tendency for fantasy without realizing it.
I haven’t been completely separated from the genre of sci-fi. I’ve watched science fiction movies and television shows for years. Sitting on the couch nestled under warm blankets watching Star Trek with my mom was a regular weekend ritual. I absorbed the story lines with relish and as a child would regularly take my hair band and put it over my eyes to mimic Geordi La Forge. I’ve always been a bit of a nerd and enjoyed reading, but I never really pursued science fiction in the written form.
The realization that I had not read these masters of the page came to me when we started putting together the Ray Bradbury issue of Penumbra. The first time I encountered Bradbury’s work I wasn’t even aware of it. I was at home sitting on the basement couch watching the movie version of Fahrenheit 451. As a high school student I finally understood why everyone had been so obsessed with the book. It was a terrifying prospect to me to go without books or reading, to become a drone that does nothing but watch television, and to watch those thoughts and words burn! I watched the film all the way through. Yet, I still chose not to pick up the book. I didn’t know who the author was, and I didn’t look for other works by the author of the story. At that time I didn’t see the point in reading a book I’d already watched. My mentality since then has changed, but by the time college came around Fahrenheit 451 was something that was in the recesses of my memory.
I wanted to understand Bradbury before I started work on his homage, so I sat on my very comfortable and thoroughly used couch to read his short biography and an excerpt from The Martian Chronicles. The enlightenment I obtained from this molder of sci-fi made me realize what I had been missing. For now, I have a lot of catch up reading to do to repent for my past reading sins.
Kristen Saunders is an intern Penumbra EMag. She loves to write science fiction in her free time and recently started her blog The Musings of a Growing Writer.
I read Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in the sixth grade and horribly failed the accelerated reading test. That particular AR test was set up to fail; it revolved around what bodies of water the Nautilus was in and when. Heinlein and Herbert were introduced to me last year, and I’ve only read one of each of their books. Neither being their most popular pieces. I guess I developed a tendency for fantasy without realizing it.
I haven’t been completely separated from the genre of sci-fi. I’ve watched science fiction movies and television shows for years. Sitting on the couch nestled under warm blankets watching Star Trek with my mom was a regular weekend ritual. I absorbed the story lines with relish and as a child would regularly take my hair band and put it over my eyes to mimic Geordi La Forge. I’ve always been a bit of a nerd and enjoyed reading, but I never really pursued science fiction in the written form.
The realization that I had not read these masters of the page came to me when we started putting together the Ray Bradbury issue of Penumbra. The first time I encountered Bradbury’s work I wasn’t even aware of it. I was at home sitting on the basement couch watching the movie version of Fahrenheit 451. As a high school student I finally understood why everyone had been so obsessed with the book. It was a terrifying prospect to me to go without books or reading, to become a drone that does nothing but watch television, and to watch those thoughts and words burn! I watched the film all the way through. Yet, I still chose not to pick up the book. I didn’t know who the author was, and I didn’t look for other works by the author of the story. At that time I didn’t see the point in reading a book I’d already watched. My mentality since then has changed, but by the time college came around Fahrenheit 451 was something that was in the recesses of my memory.
I wanted to understand Bradbury before I started work on his homage, so I sat on my very comfortable and thoroughly used couch to read his short biography and an excerpt from The Martian Chronicles. The enlightenment I obtained from this molder of sci-fi made me realize what I had been missing. For now, I have a lot of catch up reading to do to repent for my past reading sins.
Kristen Saunders is an intern Penumbra EMag. She loves to write science fiction in her free time and recently started her blog The Musings of a Growing Writer.
Thursday, 10 January 2013
Word Association and Ray Bradbury
by Sean Houlihan
In his essay Run Fast, Stand Still, or, the Thing at the Top of the Stairs, or, New Ghosts from Old Minds (Zen in the Art of Writing, Joshua Odell Editions,1994), Ray Bradbury makes a case for word association as a tool for writers: “It was only when I began to discover the treats and tricks that came with word association that I began to find some true way through the minefields of imitation. I finally figured out that if you are going to step on a live mine, make it your own. Be blown up, as it were, by your own delights and despairs.”
What Bradbury would do is create one to two word lists of nouns- recurring images that reflected loves and hates. An early list would run something like this: The Lake, The Night, The Crickets, The Ravine, The Attic, The Basement, The Trap-door, The Baby, The Crowd, The Night Train, The Fog Horn, The Scythe, The Carnival, The Carousel, The Dwarf, The Mirror Maze, and The Skeleton.
Anyone familiar with Bradbury’s work will recognize familiar motifs: a drowned girl who builds a sandcastle on the shore of the lake she died in years ago; an ancient sea creature, the last, that mistakes the horn of a lighthouse for another of its kind; a midget, who, everyday, longingly stares into a fun house mirror; an illustrated man, who’s tattoos are precursors of horrors yet committed...
A few years ago, I tried to put Bradbury’s word association technique into practice. I wrote down a list of recurring images I’d been having: The Actor, The Rocket Man, The Terminal Ward, The Mentor, The Unrequited Love... And then I started writing, with no direction other than that list of nouns. The story I wrote was called Arcadia, and it was about a man on his deathbed who keeps slipping out of consciousness, and flashing back to a cheesy B-movie he had starred in when he was a young man- which also happened to star the only woman he ever loved.
It was the first story I sold to a professional publication.
Afterwards, I started to piece together where the list had come from. I was a huge science fiction fan, and Leslie Nielsen and Anne Francis, the stars of the seminal sci-fi film Forbidden Planet, had died relatively close to one another during the time of my writing Arcadia (Nielsen died the 28th of November, 2010; Francis on January 2, 2011); also, at this time, I was dealing with death in my personal life: a beloved grandfather and a college professor I was close with, had also passed.
The only addendum I’d put to Bradbury’s usage of word association as a tool for writers, is that I don’t agree that the nouns need necessarily reflect such extremes as loves and hates; they can be any recurring image, whether you know why it’s there or not. If an image is rattling around in your brain, even if you don’t know why, it’s got to be there for a reason, and perhaps, through your writing, you’ll discover why.
The idea of just generating a random list from one’s subconscious and then writing scattershot, may seem ungainly to writers who like to compose detailed outlines before committing anything to paper. That’s a perfectly natural reaction, this technique is not for everyone.
But, let’s face it, if we only wrote when we were truly inspired, and had a thorough plan of attack, we wouldn’t do much writing.
That’s why writing through word association is a great writer’s technique, it lets us sidestep the writer’s outline, while allowing us an opportunity to find inspiration through the exploration of our own subconscious.
Sean Houlihan lives in the northeastern United States, and is not so much a writer, but rather a cipher for a battle-scarred bicolor cat who dictates her stories to him between the hours of 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning.
He is a lifelong fan of Ray Bradbury and considers Fahrenheit 451 one of the greatest novels ever written.
What Bradbury would do is create one to two word lists of nouns- recurring images that reflected loves and hates. An early list would run something like this: The Lake, The Night, The Crickets, The Ravine, The Attic, The Basement, The Trap-door, The Baby, The Crowd, The Night Train, The Fog Horn, The Scythe, The Carnival, The Carousel, The Dwarf, The Mirror Maze, and The Skeleton.
Anyone familiar with Bradbury’s work will recognize familiar motifs: a drowned girl who builds a sandcastle on the shore of the lake she died in years ago; an ancient sea creature, the last, that mistakes the horn of a lighthouse for another of its kind; a midget, who, everyday, longingly stares into a fun house mirror; an illustrated man, who’s tattoos are precursors of horrors yet committed...
A few years ago, I tried to put Bradbury’s word association technique into practice. I wrote down a list of recurring images I’d been having: The Actor, The Rocket Man, The Terminal Ward, The Mentor, The Unrequited Love... And then I started writing, with no direction other than that list of nouns. The story I wrote was called Arcadia, and it was about a man on his deathbed who keeps slipping out of consciousness, and flashing back to a cheesy B-movie he had starred in when he was a young man- which also happened to star the only woman he ever loved.
It was the first story I sold to a professional publication.
Afterwards, I started to piece together where the list had come from. I was a huge science fiction fan, and Leslie Nielsen and Anne Francis, the stars of the seminal sci-fi film Forbidden Planet, had died relatively close to one another during the time of my writing Arcadia (Nielsen died the 28th of November, 2010; Francis on January 2, 2011); also, at this time, I was dealing with death in my personal life: a beloved grandfather and a college professor I was close with, had also passed.
The only addendum I’d put to Bradbury’s usage of word association as a tool for writers, is that I don’t agree that the nouns need necessarily reflect such extremes as loves and hates; they can be any recurring image, whether you know why it’s there or not. If an image is rattling around in your brain, even if you don’t know why, it’s got to be there for a reason, and perhaps, through your writing, you’ll discover why.
The idea of just generating a random list from one’s subconscious and then writing scattershot, may seem ungainly to writers who like to compose detailed outlines before committing anything to paper. That’s a perfectly natural reaction, this technique is not for everyone.
But, let’s face it, if we only wrote when we were truly inspired, and had a thorough plan of attack, we wouldn’t do much writing.
That’s why writing through word association is a great writer’s technique, it lets us sidestep the writer’s outline, while allowing us an opportunity to find inspiration through the exploration of our own subconscious.
Sean Houlihan lives in the northeastern United States, and is not so much a writer, but rather a cipher for a battle-scarred bicolor cat who dictates her stories to him between the hours of 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning.
He is a lifelong fan of Ray Bradbury and considers Fahrenheit 451 one of the greatest novels ever written.
Tuesday, 8 January 2013
The Legacy of a Writer
by Dianna L. Gunn
Ordinary people will be lucky to be remembered by their grandchildren and great-grandchildren after they die. Great artists and writers, who often began as ordinary people, are luckier: they will be remembered by their fans and their fans' children. Some are even remembered by the whole world—I mean, who hasn't heard of Tolkien or Da Vinci?
One writer likely to be remembered for generations—and who has already touched lives in multiple generations—is Ray Bradbury. Even I, who have read only a small portion of his large body of work, will remember him until the day I die. Every member of my family loves books, and both my grandmother and my mother have greatly enjoyed Ray Bradbury's fiction.
There is a long tradition among writers of honouring our greats by writing stories inspired by them and articles about them. The honours bestowed upon these masters of our craft can take many forms. Some are honoured with books of essays about their work. Others are honoured by a commemorative edition of their book with an intro by a current writer. Some have contests run in their name. Others are honoured by a themed issue of a magazine, such as this issue of Penumbra. The greatest authors get several of these honours.
This is the writer's dream: to be remembered, to make their mark on the world, to inspire others. The loss of Ray Bradbury in June of last year was enormously sad to all fans of speculative fiction, but his work shall live on, keeping his memory alive. So it is that no great writer truly dies: they live on in the hearts of others for hundreds of years. While it can be said that our lost loved ones live on in our hearts, when we die, their memories are usually gone for good—but great writers and artists live much longer in just the same way.
As a writer myself, I can only hope to be remembered half so well, that one day I will be honoured as I honour Ray Bradbury today.
Dianna L. Gunn is a young Canadian fiction writer who specializes in dark fantasy. She also writes poetry, generally dark, which is her way of dealing with life. This insightful author hosts a website covering every aspect of fiction writing and interviews with noted guest authors.
Learn more about Dianna L. Gunn on her website and follow her on Twitter.
One writer likely to be remembered for generations—and who has already touched lives in multiple generations—is Ray Bradbury. Even I, who have read only a small portion of his large body of work, will remember him until the day I die. Every member of my family loves books, and both my grandmother and my mother have greatly enjoyed Ray Bradbury's fiction.
There is a long tradition among writers of honouring our greats by writing stories inspired by them and articles about them. The honours bestowed upon these masters of our craft can take many forms. Some are honoured with books of essays about their work. Others are honoured by a commemorative edition of their book with an intro by a current writer. Some have contests run in their name. Others are honoured by a themed issue of a magazine, such as this issue of Penumbra. The greatest authors get several of these honours.
This is the writer's dream: to be remembered, to make their mark on the world, to inspire others. The loss of Ray Bradbury in June of last year was enormously sad to all fans of speculative fiction, but his work shall live on, keeping his memory alive. So it is that no great writer truly dies: they live on in the hearts of others for hundreds of years. While it can be said that our lost loved ones live on in our hearts, when we die, their memories are usually gone for good—but great writers and artists live much longer in just the same way.
As a writer myself, I can only hope to be remembered half so well, that one day I will be honoured as I honour Ray Bradbury today.
Dianna L. Gunn is a young Canadian fiction writer who specializes in dark fantasy. She also writes poetry, generally dark, which is her way of dealing with life. This insightful author hosts a website covering every aspect of fiction writing and interviews with noted guest authors.
Learn more about Dianna L. Gunn on her website and follow her on Twitter.
Thursday, 3 January 2013
WRITE MORE
by Ken Liu
Aspiring writers often get this bit of advice from pros: "write more." In this post I want to explain, based on my own experience, why there is real wisdom in this simple suggestion.
First, writing more allows you to find out if you actually like writing.
A lot of people like the idea of writing. Many of us probably have had the experience of being inspired, feeling the flow, and banging out a bit of prose that we're proud of. And we think: I can do this. Being a writer is easy.
Unfortunately, being a writer means that you have to write whether you're feeling inspired or not. A pro has to produce under tight deadlines (such as when an editor suddenly expresses interest). To make a living, a writer sometimes (often) has to force herself to sit in a chair and put words on screen even when she'd rather do anything else.
Writing more is the only way to find out if you can write away from your muse.
Second, writing more is the only way to get better.
There are no magic books you can buy, no prestigious workshops you can attend, no writing groups you can join, no secret tricks from experts that you can copy, that will short-cut this process. All of these things will help, to various degrees, but nothing will be a substitute for putting in the hours and pounding out the words.
Writing is a skill that requires your brain to be rewired in certain ways. Persistent practice is the only way to discover your voice, to hone it, to learn how to wield it to say what you want to say.
Finally, writing more also starts a positive feedback cycle that makes more writing easier.
I think writing is really a way of thinking in slow motion. It is how I work out the implications of the fictional world, to get to know the characters and to experience their feelings. When I write, I must fill out the details that had only been hazy shadows in my mind.
So as I write, I tend to discover new things about my world, about the ramifications of the speculative "what if" question I asked, about the characters I put on stage. New ideas take shape, sparks created by the chiseling of words onto page. Sometimes these lead to new scenes, new plot twists, but sometimes they become the seeds of new stories, entire new worlds that I long to set the next story in.
Writing more is the best antidote for writer's block. It is when I'm writing consistently and regularly that I find myself constantly bombarded with new ideas, kernels for fresh tales. The more you write, the more likely it is that you'll be inspired, that you'll feel again the mythical flow.
If you want to become better as a writer, begin by writing more.
Ken Liu’s fiction has appeared in F&SF, Asimov’s, Analog, Strange Horizons, Lightspeed, and Clarkesworld, among other places. He has won a Nebula, a Hugo, a World Fantasy Award, and a Science Fiction & Fantasy Translation Award, and been nominated for the Sturgeon and the Locus Awards. He lives near Boston with his family.
Learn more about Ken Liu on his website and blog. Stay connected on Twitter.
First, writing more allows you to find out if you actually like writing.
A lot of people like the idea of writing. Many of us probably have had the experience of being inspired, feeling the flow, and banging out a bit of prose that we're proud of. And we think: I can do this. Being a writer is easy.
Unfortunately, being a writer means that you have to write whether you're feeling inspired or not. A pro has to produce under tight deadlines (such as when an editor suddenly expresses interest). To make a living, a writer sometimes (often) has to force herself to sit in a chair and put words on screen even when she'd rather do anything else.
Writing more is the only way to find out if you can write away from your muse.
Second, writing more is the only way to get better.
There are no magic books you can buy, no prestigious workshops you can attend, no writing groups you can join, no secret tricks from experts that you can copy, that will short-cut this process. All of these things will help, to various degrees, but nothing will be a substitute for putting in the hours and pounding out the words.
Writing is a skill that requires your brain to be rewired in certain ways. Persistent practice is the only way to discover your voice, to hone it, to learn how to wield it to say what you want to say.
Finally, writing more also starts a positive feedback cycle that makes more writing easier.
I think writing is really a way of thinking in slow motion. It is how I work out the implications of the fictional world, to get to know the characters and to experience their feelings. When I write, I must fill out the details that had only been hazy shadows in my mind.
So as I write, I tend to discover new things about my world, about the ramifications of the speculative "what if" question I asked, about the characters I put on stage. New ideas take shape, sparks created by the chiseling of words onto page. Sometimes these lead to new scenes, new plot twists, but sometimes they become the seeds of new stories, entire new worlds that I long to set the next story in.
Writing more is the best antidote for writer's block. It is when I'm writing consistently and regularly that I find myself constantly bombarded with new ideas, kernels for fresh tales. The more you write, the more likely it is that you'll be inspired, that you'll feel again the mythical flow.
If you want to become better as a writer, begin by writing more.
Ken Liu’s fiction has appeared in F&SF, Asimov’s, Analog, Strange Horizons, Lightspeed, and Clarkesworld, among other places. He has won a Nebula, a Hugo, a World Fantasy Award, and a Science Fiction & Fantasy Translation Award, and been nominated for the Sturgeon and the Locus Awards. He lives near Boston with his family.
Learn more about Ken Liu on his website and blog. Stay connected on Twitter.
Tuesday, 1 January 2013
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