A Moment with Hannah Adcock

When and why did you decide to pursue writing as more than a hobby?

I always wanted to write, or at least to make stories, since I was about six. Maybe even five. I was obsessed with rewriting fairy tales, and my own versions of them were, looking back, quite grisly. For example, Goldilocks would find Baby Bear lost in the woods and then raise him…only to have him turn around and eat her once he was big enough!

My first audience (who were my nan and mum) would read these stories and be going, “Why so gory? What did she do to deserve that?” - and laughing - and I’d say, “’Cause it’s funny.”

The urge to write came to light around the same time I got the urge to make people laugh. It was only when I started to read the Roald Dahl books, and the Beatrix Potter books, and then a little later the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis, that I began to get the idea you could actually do this for a living. It was like, “Hey - wait a minute. These people are adults…and they get paid to scribble down whatever they’re daydreaming about?…I want to do that!”

I wasn’t sure how. I still wrote, though. My first novel, aged seven, was a farcical story about a family of rabbits who constantly fell out and beat each other up. From then on I was known, by close relatives, as ‘Potty Beatrix’ until I abandoned that particular book. (If you can call all of fifteen pages a book.)

I didn’t try to write a proper book again until I was just finishing my GCSEs. I have to confess, whatever opportunity I had, I’d whip out my notebook and start scrawling when I should have been revising…not in ALL my lessons, of course…how the teacher never noticed I’ll never know. But the fact is, I wanted to write more than anything else, and this was because it was about the only thing I could do well, (apart from wonky comic strips which haven’t seen the light of day). It was like swimming, or flying. Brilliant.

So, I typed up the novel, which was going to be a fantasy novel for older children - dead chuffed, had it all set up in my head - and, aged sixteen, I posted it to a publisher. And I had no idea what I was doing. No idea of how the publishing side of things worked. I was flying, yes - but by the seat of my pants.

They were very nice about it. I got a long letter back giving me words of encouragement and some suggestions about what I should try first before actually spitting out a book. Still kept the letter. I have it lurking somewhere in a frightening corner of my drawers. (Chest of drawers, in case you were wondering.)

After that I left it again for another couple of years. Did my A-levels, reasonably well, but by that time I’d decided I didn’t want Higher Education. I wanted to get off the treadmill and just get on with work. I thought I’d be a pre-school teacher and went on a childcare course for all of six months, and thought, “These people are all right, but I don’t belong here. This isn’t for me.”

So, I set out to learn a bit more - finally. I did a short course in creative writing with the Open University, read An Author’s Guide To Publishing by Michael Legat (written in the days when they still used typewriters, but still interesting), got the Writers and Artists’ Yearbook, and it was like, “Oh!” (slaps forehead) “That’s how it works! You send shorter stuff to magazines!”

I’ve been doing just that (as well as poetry) for almost a year now, and I’m overjoyed to say it’s working.

Hannah Adcock is a writer of fantasy, sci-fi and poetry (often with a humorous bent)living in a strange corner of Lincolnshire, England. Her work has appeared in Poetic Diversity, Clockwise Cat and Penumbra. She posts poetry, artwork and other oddments over at inspirationandlaughs.wordpress.com.

Learn more about Hannah Adcock her Facebook author page.

Roger Rabbit at Comic-Con 2013!

Comic-Con 2013 took place this past weekend in San Diego, and included a panel on the making of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?. The beloved animated movie based on the work of author Gary K. Wolf is celebrating its 25th anniversary this year, and the panel was led by a world class group of animators including producer Don Hahn, animation masters Andreas Deja and James Baxter, writer Tom Sito, special effects guru Dave Bossert, and a special appearance by the voice of Roger Rabbit himself, Charles Fleisher!

There is an audible buzz of excitement throughout the audience for the entirety of the panel, and served to be a great opportunity for fans wanting to discover the ins, outs, trials, tribulations and accomplishments of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, both during its making and afterwards.

The panel begins by paying homage to Gary K. Wolf, who of course without his novel Who Censored Roger Rabbit?, there would be no script for the movie. The panelists then discuss how Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was one of the first movies to be a hybrid, which combines live action with animated character. At the time (1986), digital technology hadn’t progressed to the point of being even half as fast as it is now, so the movie shines as a “hand painted” work, where every facet of the animation is pure hand creation.

Charles Fleisher, the voice of Roger (as well as Benny The Cab, Greasy, and Psycho), seems very Roger-esque to this day. He hops around on the panel—alternating between sitting, standing, and cracking jokes. He also performs his Roger Rabbit voice after an audience member requests it at the drop of a hat, and it is still flawless, twenty-five years later!

Jessica Rabbit. You knew we were headed there, right? The panelists discuss how Rita Hayworth and various supermodels were inspiration for her. In fact, the animators would have supermodels come into the studio to walk and pose in order to capture an essence of Jessica on paper. Her main animator, Russell Hall, was very quiet and shy according to the panelists, and had a very hard time with her character at first. That is to say, he couldn’t quite bring her to life until he ultimately “exaggerated certain parts of the anatomy” (panelists words!). His routine was to smoke incessantly, get up and move about rather sensually around his office, then get back to his drawing board, never breaking focus. And for this quiet, chain-smoking man who danced solo around his office, we thank you for Jessica Rabbit!

The panel concludes with questions asked by audience members (one woman dressed in impeccable Jessica garb!). The best answer comes from Charles Fleisher, who when asked “How would Roger Rabbit react with current video game characters like Sonic the Hedgehog, Mario, or Optimus Prime?” responds with “He would destroy them all by making them laugh, and then stealing their batteries.”

Well said.

To watch the You Tube video of the Who Framed Roger Rabbit 25th Anniversary at San Diego Comic Con please click HERE.

Remember to be on the lookout for Gary K. Wolf’s new novel in the Roger Rabbit series, Who Wacked Roger Rabbit? available for pre-order by Musa Publishing on October 22nd, and for release on November 22nd! And be sure to check back here for any Roger related news!

TIME TRAVEL

Sci-Fi Deak Style
by John Deakins

Fictional Time Travel is so universal that every SF writer feels obliged to write a Time Travel story. “Our heroine’s time machine leaves 2013 Chicago and emerges in . . .” 1913 Chicago, future Chicago, Jurassic Chicago, Native American Chicago; etc. What wonderful possibilities! Unfortunately, Time Travel carries the worst scientific flaws of any major SF idea.

We live in an Einsteinian universe. Newton’s laws also work pretty well. Time Travel requires a Ptolemaic, geocentric universe, of which this ain’t one.

If you travel in Time from a particular spatial location, you should emerge in that same location: Right? As the Earth rotates, Chicago is rolling eastward at 1600 km/hr. In the next second, your position will separate from your original by over 400 meters. Five minutes in Time is over 130 kilometers in space. The spinning Earth just won’t hold still!

Unless you repeal Conservation of Momentum, when you arrive with a twelve clock-hours difference than the time of day you left, you’ll exit onto an Earth in which everything on the rotational counter-side will be slamming into you at 3200 km/hr.

Just make sure that you travel exactly multiples of one day. Chicago will have rotated to the same spot . . . except that the Earth is revolving around the Sun at 30 km/sec more. Five minutes is almost 9000 km away. Even a quick jaunt leaves you breathing vacuum.

Don’t forget the Sun’s orbit around the Milky Way’s core (Add hundreds of km/hr more.) and the motion of the galaxy relative to the space-time continuum. Unless your time machine is also a sealed space craft, you won’t survive to appreciate just how much airless space the universe contains.

What about reentry? When you reach a new space-time locus, will you simply push the air aside as you expand from an infinitesimally small point? That would produce a whopper of a thunderclap. Arriving secretly would be impossible. If your machine were too flimsy, the rebounding shock wave would crush it.

Will you and the local molecules simply become one? Writers agree that arriving inside a solid, regardless of method, would be a poor survival idea. With untold trillions of molecules present, some of yours would arrive inside other molecules. You might blow up like a balloon, or simply blow up. If your atomic nuclei appeared in the same space as local atomic nuclei, and the strong nuclear force would fuse them, with fatal radiation and energy release. Nuclei that were close, but not close enough, would be repelled at particle-collider speeds. You’d create thousands of fast particles that would shred your cells like a radioactive shotgun blast.

We don’t want to give up Time Travel, but what can be done? You can always Ignore It. Your readers are also geocentric. They won’t notice that you can’t travel from now-Chicago to then-Chicago without cheating on the universe’s rules. Have fun.

That’s a solution? We’re Science fiction purists. There has to be a better way. More next time.

John Deakins, B.A., M.S.T. is a four-decade veteran of the science classroom and author of his own fantasy series Barrow.

To read an excerpt from Barrow book one, please click HERE.

Sure Fire Ways to Procrastinate

by Kendra Leigh Speedling

Writers write every day, they say. It makes sense; the thing that separates writers from People Who Have Ideas is actually writing, and it's easier to keep at it when it's part of a routine. Writing every day not only helps you improve the writing itself, but means that you finish things. It's the advice that comes up in every book, blog, or interview about writing. Write every day.

I would like to extol the virtues of writing every day, but since the most I've done this week is open a Word document before launching myself away from my computer with a wail akin to that of an injured baby manatee,* that would make me a hypocrite.

The usual excuses apply—day job, other obligations, frustration with everything I'm attempting to work on at the moment—but writers work past these things, I've been told. Writers power through scenes even when they feel like they'd get a better result letting the cat walk over the keyboard.

In this particular climate, write every day starts to feel less like advice and more like a rebuke. Where's your discipline? the malicious brain imps will whisper. Don't you know that real writers write every day? The subsequent spiral of guilt and recriminations generally culminates in a realization that I've spent the last three hours alphabetizing my bookshelves so I don't have to acknowledge the fact that I have a manuscript I haven't touched in two weeks.** It eventually evens out again, but I could do without the 3-4 day period where I feel like I'm the laziest person in the entire universe. I used to keep a spreadsheet to enter my word count for each day, but had to stop when each 0 started feeling like a reflection of my worth as a person.

So absolutely, make time for your writing. Try to write every day, or as often as you can. Enjoy those days when it's easy; sit down to write even when it feels your plotline and your life are having a contest to see who can collapse into a gooey mess first. If you really, really can't bear to look at your manuscript on a particular day, write something else: something short, something silly, something about your world, something you don't intend to ever see print. But if you, like me, find yourself sacrificing your sanity for the sake of a word count, don't beat yourself up if a few days pass without anything resembling productivity. You've had a break, and now you can get back to writing.

In the end, it doesn't matter if you write 2000 words a day or 100, write every day, every other, on weekends, in the mornings or evenings or under the light of a full moon. What matters is that you write, and keep writing, and remember why you wanted to write things in the first place.

*I don't actually know if manatees wail, so this may be horridly inaccurate. If you have identified it as such, you clearly know far more about zoology than I do, and can feel free to imagine the animal of your choice.

**The fact that there is an entire website dedicated to the concept of cat vacuuming assures me that I'm not entirely alone in this regard.

Kendra Leigh Speedling's short story "They Shall Know Us At the End" appears in the July issue of Penumbra. She graduated from the University of Minnesota with a major in English and a minor in Asian Languages and Literatures. She is a 2011 Dell Awards finalist, and will someday master the art of productivity.

Live With It

Sci-Fi Deak Style
by John Deakins

In the case of faster-than-light travel, we’re stuck with Ignore It or Unexplained Science. It’s possible to Live With It. If you can’t go faster than light, go slower than light. We can add Bussard Ram Jets or light sails, gradually accelerating to a useful fraction of light-speed. We won’t even try for trans-light speed, heading outward at a relative crawl. That’ll require decades or centuries of travel. That could work, but those solutions arrive with their own new problems.

We’ll need a “generation” ship even for the close stars. Youthful astronauts launch for Proxima Centauri; their grandchildren arrive to send back data. That involves maintaining a closed ecosystem for decades and shielding passengers and plants from a universe awash with cosmic rays. Otherwise, Generation 1 dies from lack of oxygen or fails to reproduce after being sterilized. Everybody dies of cancer, or the crew can’t control the ship because of accumulated brain damage. Social problems aboard would be huge.

A well-shielded craft would solve some problems, but its mass would reduce it to even slower crawl-speed, no matter what was pushing it. The crew would go from “generation” to generations. Could we maintain a viable social system and a closed ecosystem that long? I doubt it.

A round trip? You’re kidding, right? Slower-than-light flights are all one-way. Earth wouldn’t be your Earth anymore if you ever returned. The big problems rise from keeping a crew awake for an incredibly long time. So, put ‘em to sleep. We don’t have “cold sleep” or suspended animation for humans, but those are the kind of reasonable future developments that Science Fiction thrives on. Don’t wake up the crew, unless you can put them back to sleep. Machines don’t have to worry about century-long flights. Let a super-computer oversee all the sleepers. We could call him “Hal.”

Maybe you could wake the crew periodically. That leads to social complications. What if something goes wrong with the rotation? What if an active crew member goes bonkers?

You’ll need a ship that cosmic rays can’t reach the crew or the frozen passengers. A shaped asteroid would be the logical vessel. You’d have to postulate controlled fusion for energy, a perfectly recycling closed ecosystem, frozen sleep, and solutions to a myriad of social problems, but those are difficult. Trans-light speeds are impossible.

With so many scientific mountains to climb, why would we go there in the first place? Maybe we have to. Has the Earth become uninhabitable? Is the Sun about to explode? Have aliens driven us from our home? The writer can shine with new ideas there. Maybe we just want to go to the stars. Could interstellar travel become a religious quest? Could a star trip become the ultimate “high” for the enormously rich? Perhaps, for certain pre-disposed humans, the stars will become the ultimate Mt. Everest. Each new reason is the parent of another story.

Past writers have found a dozen exits bypassing the “No FTL” roadblock. Try out a few yourself.

John Deakins, B.A., M.S.T. is a four-decade veteran of the science classroom and author of his own fantasy series Barrow.

To read an excerpt from Barrow book one, please click HERE.

IGNORE IT

Sci-Fi Deak Style
by John Deakins

Nothing goes faster than light; no matter in our universe can reach light-speed. We can’t get around that fact. First, there’s presently no easy way to accelerate to anywhere close to light speed. To leave Earth requires roughly 11,000 m/s. Our fastest spacecraft might have reached 20,000 m/s. The speed of light is 300,000,000 m/s. We’re not even close (.7%). At conventional rocket velocities, the nearest star is over sixty thousand years away. No one is going to survive even the shortest interstellar trip using current technology.

We are Science Fiction! We have to go to the stars! For that, we need trans-light speeds. The first approach we must be Ignore It. An FTL ship takes off from Earth, and after plot-development (days; weeks) reaches Proxima Centauri. Or Hans Solo zooms the Millennium Falcon toward Cloud City. No one asks how his FTL drive works.

Many readers are completely unfamiliar with interstellar distances. They have a feeling that if you go fast enough, you’ll get there in a reasonable time. The trouble is that you can’t go fast enough. The closest star is over four years away at light speed. We don’t produce anything even close to light speed. We’d have trouble keeping interest in a voyage lasting even four years, and no one is projecting any planets orbiting Proxima Centauri. Every reasonable solar system is much farther. A thousand-year star voyage is almost beyond fiction. It rapidly drops off into silly science contrivance. Ignore It burns out its batteries trying to fix too many scientific contradictions. Nevertheless, Ignore It may be the only solution. Hopefully, our plotting will be so good that readership won’t notice when we travel at speeds that simply aren’t possible, never mind the rest of the impossibilities involved.

The second approach is Unexplained Science. No one has to explain how a “warp drive” works on Star Trek; they only have to name it. Some works hint at “wormholes” or “hyper space,” but the smart author will slide around the hard science. If you find a golden egg in your basket, don’t be dumb enough to ask how it arrived. If you postulate a ship with FTL drive, don’t be dumb enough to tinker with explanations. Unfortunately, that makes Unexplained Science just a subset of Ignore It.

How do we make this all work? Ignore It works well in Space Opera. (Have you ever wondered why ships that have anti-gravity and FTL drives still need fuel?) Let’s leave the “how” of FTL and impossible speeds entirely alone and concentrate on the action and the human interplay. Throw in a little Unexplained Science if you think the audience is getting restless.

Limit your FTL Unexplained Science to names only, hopefully a single pseudo-science title: maybe Space-time Folding or Worm-hole generator. Otherwise, you’ll end up looking like the Hollywood pimps are running you, too. (That would make you a . . . Never mind.)

There is another way out, but not this week.

John Deakins, B.A., M.S.T. is a four-decade veteran of the science classroom and author of his own fantasy series Barrow.

To read an excerpt from Barrow book one, please click HERE.

Write What You Love

by Shannon Fay

The one piece of advice I would give new writers is to not just to write what you know but to write what you love. Maybe you love astronomy and have a head full of constellations, or you have a gift for languages, or you’re an expert in some field or hobby. These things that interest you, that take up your idle time, use these things in your stories. Your knowledge on the subject will give your story more credibility and your passion will give it life.

And the things you love don’t always have to be so specific. Maybe you love unconventional narratives and finding new ways to tell a story. Maybe you love rousing adventures that make the reader forget their troubles here on the ground. Or maybe you think often about how men and women relate to one another, or how parents and children relate to each other, or how people in general relate to each other. Figure out what interests you and cultivate it.

There have been times when I’ve grown stuck while writing, working myself deeper and deeper into a rut the like a wheel spinning in the mud. The most frustrating thing was that there was nothing technically wrong with the stories I was working on: the plotting was sound, the words at the very least in the right order, but there was something missing. I didn’t care. And why didn’t I care? Because I just didn’t care. There was nothing I loved in the story. Usually this happens because I’m so focused on writing something technically good that I stop writing about things I care about. Instead of following my passions I end up following trends, tapping into the popular consciousness rather than my own. And that’s when I get stuck.

There are stories only you can write. They might end up being very weird and/or personal stories, and they’ll probably be rejected a lot. But that just means that when they do connect with someone, the connection is all the stronger.

Write what you love sounds like obvious advice, and it is. In fact, new writers usually have a better handle on it than writers further along the path (in which case maybe this post should be about advice I’d give to ‘old writers’ instead of advice I’d give to new writers, not that I feel overly qualified giving advice to anyone). But it’s something that’s easy to lose sight of. So, even after you’ve written thousands upon ten thousands of words, remember what you love.

Shannon Fay is a freelance writer/assistant bookstore manager living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She has recently won the James White Award and has had several short stories published in a variety of genres.

Learn more about Shannon Fay on her website.

Are You a Science Fiction Writer?

by John Deakins

Never mind what you write: what do you read? Scientists and technologists who never write SF themselves, read it continually. They may not always recognize bad writing, but they’ll immediately spot a scientific or logical blunder. Science fiction has a better educated readership than that of bodice ripper romances. Listen as your SF-reading friends rip into some recently released SF film. Want more readers? Your current readers can make your book by word of mouth, but those readers can kill your book the same way. The Ignore It approach to scientific road-blocks may not be enough.

Live With It

Science is cold, hard, and unyielding, but it won’t let you down on consistency. If you’re stymied by missing FTL drives, write a story with slower-than-light interstellar transport. If it’s too dangerous to land on an alien planet, create a way to make contact without landing. If you can’t use your time machine for time travel, use it for space travel. Real science happens all the time. Most of what happens within our solar system follows fairly simple Newtonian physics, never mind Einstein. That’s a huge canvas on which to paint your word pictures.

You have before you enormous possibilities within Science. Mars doesn’t have multiply armed green Martians, but what it does have is fascinating, even if it is hard, cold, and unyielding.

Unexplained Science.

You don’t have to explain how your SF technology works; you only have to name it. In fact, the more you explain it, the sillier your explanations will sound to anyone who actually knows science. Some stories need controlled time travel, faster-than-light speed, and the ability to smooze with aliens, but the smart author will tiptoe around hard-science details of exactly how those things are accomplished.

The biggest danger of unexplained science lies inside the writer. We know our science. “Unexplained” makes us itch. It’ll be hard not to yield to the pressure to throw in “subspace” devices or “tachyon pulses.” Hollywood pimps are eager for more “drama” in their SF. They know no science, but they’re full of hackneyed “science fiction” ideas. (Well . . . they’re full of something.) Their “science” explanations stink up the genre; flawed logic flows from mainstream media as from a ruptured sewer line. How easily unexplained science crosses over into partially explained fantasy! On the west coast, that’s a mighty thin line. Nevertheless, it’s a line that we shouldn’t cross.

It’s time now to take on the behemoths of science fiction. We’ll beat them into submission, and then harness them to pull our stories. The blogs that follow are full of story “hooks.” If one snags you, go with it If you get that literary gestalt, when a story leaps full-blown into your mind, quit reading this and write that story. When you do, you’ve made this work a success.

John Deakins, B.A., M.S.T. is a four-decade veteran of the science classroom and author of his own fantasy series Barrow.

To read an excerpt from Barrow book one, please click HERE.

On Writing Advice

by Michael Hodges

Writing advice all tends to blend into wallpaper. And soon it becomes like that old peeling stuff in your kitchen you pretend isn’t there as you glance back down at your coffee cup. I could write about using too many “ly” adverbs, or not to use “and” too often in one sentence (Mr. McCarthy would disagree), or even suggest copies of On Writing or The Elements of Style. I could say “find your voice”…something I think is more about writing a lot and consuming stimulants than performing Jedi mind tricks. These are all fine things. But you probably know them.

Discussing one aspect of writing will almost certainly segue to others. There’s an ecosystem here, an unavoidable connection. We void these connections at our own peril.

In our daily paths, we try to make that separation. We are closer to the plump raccoon that sneaks onto our porch at night than we like to think. There are things out there—living, breathing things that share our space in this world. The raccoons, the bats, the geese, the frogs, this frenetic symphony amongst the soggy parks and brown rivers that we pass on our way to Costco or whatever the next big box store is. If we are holding coffee, perhaps we can avert our gaze once more.

We are slaves to the sun. We are forced to wake and sleep, wake and sleep in the rhythms that have brushed this planet for billions of years. But today, and maybe just today, you are free. The world is more than credit and bills and our paths amongst the strip malls.

What is real? What is important?

Writing is one of them. You know this or you wouldn’t be here. And I guess this leads me to pluck a single focal point for this piece:

Awareness.

It’s the writer’s best friend. Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips, in their classic song “Do You Realize” asked, Do you realize, we’re floating in space?

No shit. We’re floating in space. Once you are aware of this truism, you are already ahead of the game. The writer, at his or her desk is at that moment, floating in space. Your mind is the sun, your hands the rain, your writing software the caked plains of Northern Africa.

What is important? What moves you? Can you feel all of this about you? The violence and the love and the dying and birthing? There are few things we have control over. Writing is one of them.

So go. Create your own universes within universes. Today, you are the creator, and the characters in your stories will wake and rest to the sun of your mind.

Michael Hodges resides in Chicagoland, but often dreams of the Northern Rockies. His work has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. He is represented by FinePrint literary, and hard at work on a new novel. You can find out more on his website.

Is Truth Stranger than Fiction?

by Elizabeth Porter Birdsall

It's been said often enough to become cliché: truth is stranger than fiction. But when we write about aliens and magic and strange creatures from beyond the abyss, it's sometimes easy to doubt that. Of course, fiction has to follow an internal story-logic in a way real life doesn't, but surely the real world – this boring, everyday world where we go to school and pay our bills and trudge along the same streets day in and day out – doesn't have a patch on what we can come up with in our flights of imagination.

The human imagination is a wonderful, expansive, glorious thing. I mean no insult to it at all when I say that I respectfully disagree with the notion that we can come up with things stranger than the universe already has. What is imagination, after all, but another way to look at the world around us? A way to reshape the world, to draw one thing out of focus so we can get a different, better view on something else? And that world is full of bizarre marvels.

When I'm looking for ideas for a story, one of the first things I do is look to nature. It's probably obvious that I did that for my story "Convergent Motion," which takes place among sea slugs at the bottom of the sea. (And all the weirdest bits, except the starting conceit of bodiless spirits, come straight from fact.) But a story doesn't have to be set among hydrothermal vents to draw on the strangeness of the world. Speculative fiction explores the corners of the universe, and the what-ifs that might live there. That can mean the edges of the galaxy, or your own backyard; it can mean the crushing depths of the sea, or the overlooked cracks in the sidewalk. Writers and artists are among the people who stop, and look closer, and look again. We study, and we dream, and then we transform what we've studied into what we've dreamed about.

Of course, that doesn't mean that the job of speculative fiction (or any fiction) is simply to talk about the strange bits of the world exactly as they are. That wouldn't be much speculation, for one thing, but more importantly it wouldn't be much fiction. One of the important jobs of fiction, in my opinion, is to take something outside the reader – whether it's the bottom of the sea or the thoughts in their next-door neighbor's head – and make that something seem close and comprehensible and important. Speculative fiction tries to look to farther shores and wider vistas, but the principle is the same.

Truth is stranger than fiction? All right, sure. But that's the beauty of it. Because fiction arises from truth, and opens a window onto it; that's the whole point of speculation.

IMPOSSIBILITIES

by John Deakins

We’re going to take on some Science Fiction favorites: Time travel, Faster-Than-Light, alien planet landings. It’s not that those haven’t happened yet; they can’t happen. Think how bleak Science Fiction would be if those mechanisms were missing. We’ll beat them mercilessly, proving that they absolutely cannot work scientifically. Then, we’re going to rescue each concept. They’re too important to Science Fiction to let ugly Science kill them. We’ll nurture them before they depart down bright new pathways.

Erk! Touchy-feely exposition isn’t the answer here. Gritty, bottom-line repair work is There are three ways to get around a real-science roadblock. Here’s the first one - Ignore It.

Pretend the gorilla isn’t in the room. Throw an afghan over him, and call him an armchair. Stick to your plot’s logical development. Sweep your readers along so beautifully that they’ll suspend disbelief in that flawed area. Hollywood SF runs on the “Queen of Hearts Principle.” Viewers are expected to believe six impossible things before breakfast. Since Star Wars, some studios believe that with enough special effects no one will notice how scientifically ridiculous and logically impossible their plots are. The Core and 2012 are first-line examples. Anyone who knew science or logic ran from the theater screaming. Their science was ludicrous, their logic was M.I.A., but they had great special effects. Each also probably made enough money to pay for itself, which is all that Hollywood wanted anyway. Science fiction is expected to have higher standards.

Each of us is often expecting our readership to fork over more than a $10 “ticket.” Readers have no “Now Showing“ deadlines. They don’t have to either open your creation when the lights go down or close it when the credits roll. They have plenty of time to catch you with your scientific knickers around your knees. Each additional scientific impossibility means that suspension of disbelief has to jump a higher hurdle. Once a movie hits disk, the same rule applies. That audience has all the time they need to autopsy that film.

Can you get away with ignoring science anyway? Yes: You just have to be a terrific creative liar. Remember those first three seasons of Star Trek? Seasons two and three were written by Hollywood hacks. They almost got away with swiss-cheese science (more holes than curds) and lousy logic, because the series was ground-breaking in so many other ways. Trekkies are still a force, but some of those later episodes were pure twaddle.

Perhaps you’ll get lucky. Perhaps many of your audience will be unaware of the particular science that you’re violating. You and they can skip along together, blissfully pretending. Some will always be carried along by the spectacle, whether written or cinematic. I wouldn’t count on that, though. Remember how Star Trek’s five-year mission fizzled out after three years? Even for SF fans, bad writing and spotty logic begin to smell funny after a while.

There has to be a better way, and we need to find it.

John Deakins, B.A., M.S.T. is a four-decade veteran of the science classroom and author of his own fantasy series Barrow.

To read an excerpt from Barrow book one, please click HERE.

Living in the Moment

by Laura Hardgrave

I don’t care what anyone says—writing awesome, short speculative fiction stories is hard. Writing short fiction is a challenge in itself, but when you add in that lonesome planet out in the middle of nowhere, that new tech that needs thorough descriptions, or that cool fantasy race that popped into your dreams one night that’s when the real fun begins. Every word in a short story must be carefully crafted and have a purpose. If there’s no purpose for a line of dialog or that interesting description, both are best left on the chopping block. That’s tough when you’re describing things no one’s ever read about.

That’s also one of the reasons why science fiction and fantasy short stories are so fun to write (and read!). That challenge kind of calls to us and chants an eerie tune, daring us to fully flesh out new worlds, characters, plots, conflicts, emotions, and deeper, resonating meanings that shine in as little words as possible. We have to be extremely delicate when choosing what we say and how we say it. It’s all in the details. When readers are able to read a paragraph and get a true sense of where the main character is, what he/she is feeling, and where the risks of the story lie, that’s more than just great storytelling—that’s magic.

I think that’s why I tend to write my short fiction in what I call moments. We all have our own methods, of course, but I like to guide my short fiction using character snapshots that are made of emotions. One scene may be driven by my main character’s intense curiosity. I’ll allow that character to have a moment with his/her sense of curiosity, then I’ll take the emotion one step further and move the plot forward while keeping my character’s frame of mind as the driving force. If a word, description, or line of dialog doesn’t make sense for that emotional snapshot, it will generally get omitted or saved for another moment.

Once the plot’s moved forward enough to force a change in the emotional snapshot, I’ll shift gears and form a new moment in my mind. These moments usually surface as full-scale images that will also provide the details of what imagery and scenery I describe. Since speculative fiction short story descriptions need to especially be tight, I find this method also helps keep my tendency to go overboard with descriptions down (what can I say—I like the shinies).

I may want to describe how gorgeous that duo-moon sunrise looks, but my main character? Oh, no. She’s far too busy running from a herd of police droids. She may notice the way a single ray of sun reflects off her shuttle in the distance, but that’s about it. And that’ll be the line of description that gets mentioned. If I’m ever in doubt of what to say, I stare into the eyes of my character’s emotional moment and instantly find my answer. It works well. When my characters cooperate, that is. Some characters are prone to harebrained ideas more than others. Gotta keep an eye on those!

Laura Hardgrave is an MMORPG video game journalist by day and a LGBT speculative fiction author by night. She kind of frantically dives back and forth between writing short stories and novel-length fiction. She’s currently working on a series of fantasy novels with a huge host of characters and a bit of inter-dimensional travel.

Learn more about Laura on her blog or follow her on Twitter.

A Moment with Beth Cato

If you could give an aspiring writer any one piece of advice, what would it be and why?

Find your tribe.

Writing is a lonely art, and one that's often discouraging. There are endless revisions, plot dead ends that you can't figure out how to fix, and rejections. Always rejections. Even if you have a supportive family, unless they are writers, they can't completely get it.

Writers understand.

See, when I started out writing, I was so afraid of being judged that I tried to muck through on my own. The result was a torrent of rejections that I couldn't quite process. I was terrified that I was a bad writer. I had to realize it wasn't about being a good writer NOW. It was about the determination to become a better writer, constantly. Every story and poem is different. I have to strive to be better every time.

To do this, I learned to make myself vulnerable. I joined a critique group. The feedback hurt, but I balanced that by providing painful feedback to others. It taught me tact, and that other people had just as many faults and foibles in their writing as I did. That actually surprised me. I had this stupid idea in my head that really good writers didn't have to revise. They wrote. It was good. The end. Instead, I discovered that people I respect immensely could write stories that were riveting yet at the same time deeply flawed. This made me feel better--normal!

Beyond the critique cycle, writers need other writers for information and support. We need to know about the wait times for markets, and which editors are awesome or awful, and which places are open for submissions. Also, we need other writers to commiserate with on those days when five rejections flood in at once, and to cheer us on when we get a long-sought acceptance.

Never underestimate the power of a group hug, even if it's typed over the internet!

Beth Cato's stories can be found in Nature, Flash Fiction Online, Daily Science Fiction, and many other publications. She's originally from Hanford, California, but now resides in Arizona with her husband and son.

Learn more about Beth’s fiction, poetry, and tasty cookie recipes on her website.

One Writer's Reading

by Helen Jackson

I'm just back from Eastercon, the UK's annual National Science Fiction Convention. It reminded me that there's often no clear line between writer and reader, particularly in speculative fiction. John Scalzi's explanation for this is: "people start writing science fiction ... roughly ten seconds after they set down The Star Beast or Ender’s Game or Snow Crash because they get done with the book and think, holy crap, I want to do that."

What better way to figure out how to start doing that than by reading more books and considering what other writers do?

The second thing I rediscovered at Eastercon: speculative fiction fans are incredibly well read. As a group, we know our stuff. As a writer, I need to remember that readers come to my work familiar with the tropes, precedents and latest developments in the genre.

It's important for me keep up to date. All speculative fiction fans grew up reading the same classic writers (Le Guin and Heinlein were the two I discovered first, gateway drugs into other worlds). But, it's not enough to read the classics and stop there. Society has changed; writing styles have changed; things that were fresh and new half-way through the twentieth century may be tired old clichés now.

My top ways of adding to my "to read" bookshelf are:

* Recommendations. My friends and I swap books incessantly, and I love BookCrossing and Goodreads. I kept a list of suggestions from people I met at Eastercon, including tips from a panel discussing the top books of 2012 chaired by Chris Hill. (See Eastercon newsletter 6 for the panel's recommendations.)

* Proper old-fashioned bookshops. I advise making friends with your local independent bookseller -- I get great personalized recommendations from Mike Calder at Edinburgh's brilliant Transreal Fiction.

* Awards shortlists. Speculative fiction is particularly interesting because some awards are judged by a panel (e.g. the Clarke awards) and some are judged by readers (e.g. the Hugos). The critics and the fans often don't agree.

It's good for me to read what I'm writing -- not just the genre, but the form. My story in Penumbra's May issue is a piece of flash fiction; if I stuck to novels I'd have no grasp of what's possible in a thousand words. Fortunately, speculative flash arrives in my inbox every morning -- free! -- thanks to Daily Science Fiction. For short stories, I read magazines such as Penumbra, Interzone, F&SF and Asimov's, or I read online at Strange Horizons or Clarkesworld.

As a writer, reading is research and inspiration, occasionally a source of extreme envy (some writers are so good it hurts), and -- more than anything -- fun. When I put down a book I've loved I can't help thinking "holy crap, I want to do that."

Helen Jackson likes making stuff up and eating cake. She's lucky enough to live in Edinburgh, her favorite city. Her stories have recently been published in Interzone and Daily Science Fiction, and in the anthology Rocket Science.

Learn more about Helen on her website or find her on Goodreads.

SCI-FI DEAK STYLE

Science That Doesn’t Work In Science Fiction. . . But Has To

by John Deakins

The first word in “Science Fiction” is “Science.” “SF” includes Speculative Fantasy, but Science Fiction is supposed to remain pristine. The Science has to work. Readers expect the paranormal in fantasy, but Science Fiction must stick to the rules of the universe. Certainly, every hard SF story springs from some scientific aspects that have fictionally altered. When we adventure in the Asteroid Belt, both writer and reader are aware no humans have yet reached the Asteroid Belt. That’s why they call it fiction. We’re all in on the inside joke: We all know we’re lying. The object is to make the lies entertaining.

Once we’re committed to the Asteroid Belt, however, writing rules change. The remaining science must be correct; the logic must be consistent. Our flights among the orbiting rocks must obey the Newton’s laws. Our spacecraft can’t be towed by a dragon flapping its wings. A wizard can’t wave his wand and transport us instantly to the next rock. An Elf isn’t going to lead us down tunnels inside magically orbiting mountains. We’re obliged to stick to scientific facts. Our fiction is like an exotic SF game, but we’re only allowed playing pieces that actually function in this universe. We must follow if>>>then logic: If certain current scientific knowledge has been altered, then a story follows thus…

Some of the greatest fun of SF writing is the amount of mayhem we can create from behind our keyboard. We can destroy the world with an asteroid impact, nuclear war, or plague. We can suffocate our astronauts in unforgiving vacuum. We can kill space colonists with unnamed pestilence or human-devouring monsters. We can deliver supernovas, rampaging aliens, and fatal time paradoxes. We can alter history or bring humans to extinction. It’d be a shame to see our reign of terror end just because we’re shackled by science’s rock-hard rules.

The trouble is that scientific laws are hard, cold and unyielding. There is nothing sadder than a beautiful theory killed by an ugly fact. For the Science Fiction writer, that sadness occurs when a beautiful story idea is gored by an ugly scientific principle. For example, Burroughs’ Mars and Venus just aren’t there. We’d like to ride a thoat across the lichen-covered plains or explore the steaming Venusian swamps, but we simply can’t do that in Science Fiction. Alas, the Mars of red princesses is fantasy only.

Science is supposed to be the mainstay of Science Fiction. What happens when Science gets in the way of Science Fiction? Sometimes the story-telling urge is so powerful that it makes us willing to slide around our own dogma. To get that story written, we are (shudder!) willing to commit adultery on science. The result is often an offspring that really needed an abortion.

What are we going to do, then? (Funny you should ask that, since that’s what this blog’s about.) Over the next weeks, we will push Science Fiction into several deep science pits and try to rescue it. Stick around.

John Deakins, B.A., M.S.T. is a four-decade veteran of the science classroom and author of his own fantasy series Barrow.

To read an excerpt from Barrow book one, please click HERE.

Consider Iain

by B. Morris Allen

Penumbra asked me to write a blog post on the same day I heard that Iain Banks had only a few months to live. So, in honor of Mr. Banks, I've taken him as the seed for this post.

I've been reading Banks (mostly Iain M. Banks, but I expect both of him are leaving us) since Consider Phlebas, back in the 80s. Happily, a lot of others have too, and he prospered.

Banks is good at a lot of things, but he's an expert at space opera. It's true that Banks' Culture and Smith's Lensmen are parsecs apart, but they both deal with grand themes, vast distances, and big decisions. Both succeed by personalizing those larger than life issues, and bringing them down to a human (or alien) scale.

That's what speculative fiction is all about. Sometimes (Asimov's The Gods Themselves) it's nominally about exploring some new dimension of science. Sometimes (Le Guin's The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas or Tepper's The Gate to Women's Country) it's doing the same with social constructs. But even when it's just Tumithak wandering the corridors, or Durzo Blint training a new apprentice, it's all about people. How do they react to the kind of situations that only speculative fiction can put them in? What do they do, and when they do it, what kind of people do they become?

Of course, not all speculative fiction is quite so contemplative, and I originally came to science fiction and fantasy for Barsoom-type adventure, as I suspect many do. If you'd talked to me about people and character all those years ago, I would have waved it off. Sure, yes, all fiction is really about people. Blah, blah, blah. It wasn't until I read Arthur C. Clarke's Imperial Earth that I realized SF heroes did not have to be John Carter hero types, no mean swordsman on any number of worlds. But even John Carter had Dejah Thoris to bring out a meaningful human side. But I want excitement and imagination too. Speculative fiction's strength is that it takes regular people (plus some steel-thewed heroes and beautiful geniuses), and puts them in situations that make you think.

The good thing about writing speculative fiction is that you can start from either end. In my case, I sometimes have what I think is a neat idea. For example, my novella The Speed of Winter started from the chance conjugation of an idea (what would it be like to be the last child on an arkship gone wrong?) and a line from the UN Human Development Report for Mongolia ("the speed of winter"). I took the scenario that suggested, and imagined what people would do (and what it would do to people). The answer I came up with was grim (that's artistic license at work, not innate pessimism). Just as often, though, I start with characters and see where they take me. I know a little about them when we start, and I get to know them better as we go. As authors have been saying since they first told stories, sometimes the characters surprise me. That's true even when I writing about myself (in my one semi-autobiographical story, "Spring and the Arachnodactylist").

I don't know Iain Banks, and clearly now I never will. But I know his books. He's a master of the technical, both hardware and sociocultural. But his strength is that he never neglects his characters; I know them too. They're complex and finicky, and sometimes they surprise me. Here's hoping they keep doing that in re-read after re-read for many decades to come.

B. Morris Allen grew up in a house full of books that traveled the world, and was initially a fan of Gogol and Dickens. Then, one cool night, he saw the light of Barsoom...

B. Morris has been a biochemist, an activist, and a lawyer. He pauses from time to time on the Oregon coast to recharge, but now he's back on the move, and the books are multiplying like mad. When he can, he works on his own contributions to speculative fiction.

What’s in a Name?

by Rie Sheridan Rose

“Tyrone, Tyrone…wherefore art thou, Tyrone?”

Doesn’t have the same ring, does it? Of course, in the 1560’s in England, Tyrone wouldn’t have been a very likely name any way, but suppose Shakespeare had gone with something more recognizable to his audience—like William, or Henry, or Robert. These names still wouldn’t have conveyed the sense of place and status that naming his hero “Romeo” presented.

When creating your characters, their names are going to be the easiest, most convenient way for the reader to remember them. This is your chance to give your audience a cheat code, as it were, to have an instant recognition of who that person is and their place in the story.

Therefore, it is vital that you make sure your choice conveys the information you want to make sure is given. While it may be fine to give the characters in a short story the first name that comes to mind—after all, the reader won’t be spending too much time with them—when it comes to a longer work, like a novel or series, there needs to be something about that name that will help the reader remember who it belongs to.

For example, in Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, Jo (short for Josephine) is the tomboy. Her name is mannish by her own choice. She is a writer, who wants to succeed in a world where her sex is a limitation, and she does what she can to negate it by the nickname. Meg (short for Margaret) is practical, conforming, not a risk-taker. Her name reflects the practical, sensible side of her nature. Beth (short for Elizabeth) is the dreamy, musical child with a heart two sizes too big and a desire to help those in need. Her name reflects the softness of her character. Amy is the baby, the pretty one, the snob. She wants to be a painter, so she is also artistic, and her name is the most reflective of this, sounding almost exotic compared to the other girls.

Perhaps Louisa May didn’t put this much analysis into her name choices—but I wouldn’t bet on that.

In fact, when naming the characters for my new Steampunk series debuting in July, I downright stole Jo(sephine) as the name for my heroine because she shares characteristics with Jo March. The same reasoning went into her best friend Winifred, who goes by Fred because she wants to fit into a man’s world as a scientist.

There are certain other aspects to bear in mind when choosing a name that fits your character:

1) What is their location? Country of origin? (The characters in Romeo and Juliet were Italian, despite their English playwright, and needed Italian names.)

2) What is their profession? Many last names reflect the profession of the bearer or his ancestor.

3) What is their genre? Names like Stan and Pete may not adequately reflect your fantasy setting. Perhaps Bertram or Florescue are more appropriate.

4) Are they pronounceable? If you want to name your character Eeonathor, for example, provide an alternative, like Ravenwing, that he goes by so that the reader won’t just skip over it in their head…

These are some basic things to bear in mind as you write. Remember, however, that nothing about our profession is carved in stone. If they don’t work for you, feel free to ignore them. But you might find that “A rose by any other name” doesn’t smell as sweet.

Rie Sheridan Rose has pursued the dream of being a professional writer for the last ten years. She has had five novels, three short story collections, five poetry collections, and several stand-alone pieces published by over a dozen small presses in that decade.

Learn more about Rie Sheridan Rose on her website and blog. Stay connected with Facebook and Twitter.

Lost In the Age of Technology

by Kristin Saunders

The luxuries of the twenty-first century are not to be laughed at. In one day it is possible to talk with someone for hours half-way across the world, cook a meal in minutes when it used to take hours, and travel a hundred miles in relative ease. We have created such glorious things for ourselves. The futures we can imagine are just as grand. It would be possible to travel from New York to Tokyo in a few hours by vacuum-sealed bullet train or even farther via instantaneous teleportation. It is easy to see sterile work environments that gleam without the aid of a dirty mop, and machines tending our every need. It is so easy to imagine the next step, and the step beyond that. Every convenience easily imagined, then the device eventually engineered.

Stop. Think.

Is this the luxury you really want? I only ask because your microwave meal is currently lacking the flavor of the prepared food your mother made. That bullet train may get you where you are going, but you may miss the journey and the experiences a trip halfway around the world would give you now, or even one-hundred years ago when you would have had to cross the ocean by boat.

Face Time may try to replace face-to-face conversation, but you miss out on the small ticks like a person’s twitch or their general body language. Never mind glitch wireless or the overall warmth of a person’s actual presence. Nothing can replace that feeling of being in the moment with someone.

Technology has its place in our lives. It does afford us time, but it can also waste it both in quantity (Internet) and quality (traveling to the grocery store by bike versus driving a mile down the road.) If we really thought about every piece of technology we used, I’m certain many of us would go without some portion of it. I know given the chance I’d go without my cell phone and keep it to house service, because outside a car breakdown, I just don’t need or want that much connectivity in my life.

Recently, I’ve even taken yoga to tear myself away from the Internet and the television. The most relaxing moment being an instructed ujjayi breath or “yoga breath.” They are simple to do, draw a breath deep down into the core of your belly. While holding it, allow your mind to focus on your body. Exhale through your mouth and let the thoughts of the world fall away and exit with each breath.” This type of breathing requires focusing all your attention onto yourself. It is a meditative exercise and can bring a person to really respect the body they are using.

Technology is not an entirely bad thing, but I do think it comes with its demons. And expecting that we will have more technology in the near future I think it’s time we started asking questions like, “When was the last time I experienced the living world outside my door?” It may sound silly, but in an age where technology is carried with us in every moment of our lives it could be very easy to lose your sense of self. Something that should be precious. The future is waiting at our doorstep and I’m hoping we find a way to separate ourselves and know ourselves outside of the technologies and luxuries we create.

Kristen Saunders is an intern Penumbra EMag. She loves to write science fiction in her free time and recently started her own blog The Musings of a Growing Writer.

A Moment with Dantzel Cherry

Why did you choose to write speculative fiction instead of another genre?

I've always been drawn towards the 'what ifs?' that speculative fiction posits. As a kid these what ifs started with stories I read and watched – What if another world is hiding in my closet? I even found the more horrifying ideas fascinating: What if my dolls came to life? Would we be best friends or would I pay for the times that I squished them in a box or (accidentally) popped their heads off? What if a clown really could suck me through a pipe? (I have my older brothers and sisters to thank for all the nightmares after watching Stephen King's It when I was five.)

As I grew older, it became more obvious that many of these what-ifs were actually teaching me, like when Aslan taught Shasta (and Aravis, later on) in The Horse and His Boy:

I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.

This always sounded a lot like a lesson on gossip to me, and it was a great way to learn about minding my own business.

As a teenager, I was powerfully impacted by Kurt Vonnegut's Harrison Bergeron, the story of a young man in a future 'we must all be equal so no one feels bad' society who refused to hide his talents and intelligence. It was a society that made beautiful people wear uglifying masks, and distracted intelligent people from thinking too much by blasting periodic loud noises in their ears. A completely ridiculous society, and yet… it sounded an awful lot like some of my dance competitions, where we didn't receive 1st, 2nd, or 3rd anymore, just a somewhat arbitrary Gold, High Gold, or Platinum rating (this rating creeps a little higher every year, by the way. Bronze and silver are apparently too shameful to include in a scoring system.) The resounding impact of this tale probably had something to do with the fact that it involved a ballerina (which has always been an easy sell for me), but even though for years I couldn't remember the title or author, the message stuck.

Not all spec fic stories go in with intent to change one's perspective so profoundly, of course, and that doesn't decrease their reading value. Sometimes we just really need to read a story about green unicorns that shoot laser beams out of their horns. I can't immediately think of a specific lightning bolt moment I had while reading Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn or Isaac Asimov's Foundation series, even though the what-ifs these books sparked were seriously awesome. I assume they're there, but even if they aren't, the pure entertainment value in these series is worth the time spent reading. As a bullied kid I used many a fantasy book for therapy.

Which, in itself, served as a giant, profound what-if. Reading to escape from the troubles of reality was my way of asking "What if I lived here, where that jerk Kyle doesn't exist?" What a simple, safe way to recharge oneself! And after dousing myself with the worlds of Lewis Carroll, T.H. White, and Susan Cooper, I would come back to my life, renewed, willing to look for a little magic and goodness in the world around me.

And so as I got older, I naturally wanted to create my own what-ifs.

Speculative fiction lends itself very well to creation – I can write about as many new worlds, new technologies, and new creatures as my imagination can come up with. Each of these creations, whether produced by adding a little magic to our breakfast or moving forward 15 years with a burgeoning technology, takes us one step away from our current reality, and offers us a new magnifying glass with which we can view our own lives, relationships, and society. I love that we can take these shiny new lenses, examine the human condition with fresh eyes, and ultimately help us better understand ourselves.

Dantzel Cherry is a dance, yoga, and Pilates teacher living with her husband and cricket-eating cat in Texas. They welcomed their first child in June. Dantzel is a graduate of the Orson Scott Card Literary Boot Camp workshop and a member of Codex Writer's Group.

Leran more about Dantzel and her latest projects on her blog or on Twitter.

Map It Out for Your Reader

by Marina J. Lostetter

“Lost” is an interesting topic to pick for a theme issue, because the concept is truly universal. We’ve all been lost at some point in our lives. Perhaps it was at a shopping center as a small child, or during a road trip as an adult. Most people can remember getting physically lost at least once, but many of us get mentally lost on a much more regular basis. Every time we, as readers, open a book or start a new short story, we enter into a state of limbo--we don’t know where the writer has put us, and we don’t know where the writer intends for us to go. Essentially, we’re lost.

In most cases there are a few sign posts: genre indicates what literary continent we’re on, and the subgenre suggests climate; a blurb might hint at what kinds of potholes and roadblocks are ahead. But beyond that we’ve been dropped into the middle of nowhere with a blindfold on and a cell phone that only dials one number: the author’s.

The author’s job is to get the reader to understand their surroundings as soon as possible, so that they can navigate the story’s terrain without distraction. Grounding the reader, while inviting them to explore, is the key to a good opening in fiction. Conciseness, clarity, and balance are the cornerstones of writer-to-reader communication, and these are achieved through a synergy of reader-questions and author-answers.

When I write, I try to touch on the basic who, what, when, and where, within the first three to ten percent of the story. These are the first items of interest that pop into a reader’s mind. Who is this story about? What is happening (in particular, what is the conflict)? When is it happening? Where is it happening? Why and how usually rear their heads not long after, but they aren’t as crucial when first introducing a reader to a new piece.

Some authors find themselves getting bogged down in the where, which leads to the type of beginning that’s all about setting. In this instance, all the reader sees is scenery.

Some writers get stuck on the who, which often results in the author failing to acknowledge that there’s a world beyond the internal dialogue rolling around in a character’s head.

Writers who get consumed with the what have a tendency to open with The Epic Fight Scene, The Hunt, or The Scientific Conundrum without acknowledging that their characters are anything more than vehicles for the action.

The when focus becomes a trap with historical settings, as the author might have a tendency to try and over-authenticate.

Why and how-centric authors are all about back story--an aspect which is often irrelevant to an opening, even if it’s relevant to the greater plot.

And then there are writers who, instead of becoming hyper-focused on one question, purposely evade the four key questions. They believe that withholding information is how one creates mystery, but it doesn’t. It creates confusion.

The answers don’t have to be given in their entirety right out of the gate--that is where the author shows their skill in regulating the flow of information. The trick is achieving balance--making sure that one element doesn’t overshadow the others. It’s how these components work together that ensures the reader is secure enough in the basics to let the author lead them through the more abstract parts of storytelling--transforming a lost audience member into an engaged voyager. Other gratifications can be delayed if the four immediate questions of who, what, when, and where are answered as soon and as skillfully as possible.

Marina J. Lostetter’s short fiction has been accepted to venues such as Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show, Writers of the Future, and Penumbra. She currently lives in Arkansas with her husband, Alex.

To learn more about Marina, please visit her website and follow her on Twitter.