Apple-Obsessed Author Fella

Author: terribleminds (page 383 of 464)

WORDMONKEY

Craig Morrison: The Terribleminds Interview

So, this is an exciting flip here — the storyteller in today’s interview is none other than Funcom Montreal’s creative director, Craig Morrison. Surely by now you’ve heard of a not-so-little MMO called The Secret World? Anyway, he logged into the Giant Hallucinogenic MMO that is the terribleminds interview experience, and answered some question for us. Oh, and while you’re at it, check out this Gamasutra article where Craig talks about why MMO designers should be more concerned about the ‘why’ rather than the ‘what.’ Let the interview commence.

This is a blog about writing and storytelling. So, tell us a story. As short or long as you care to make it. As true or false as you see it.

Storytelling has always been inspiring for me because it is one of the most important things a culture can do, any culture …

***

Fireside

Vishna stared into the flames, the embers drifted upwards at irregular speeds, like all the voices of the stories, and he knew more than most. Arcing and twisting, changing pace suddenly, taking new shapes and forming new tapestries, albeit far less lucidly than they once had. Some of their subtleties escaped him these days, a plot-point could burn out before he had committed it to memory, a side character may flash too quickly to be sufficiently defined for inclusion.

That came with age.

As he tried to untangle the similar, yet distinct, voices of two of the more capricious ancient sea-song merchants, another voice interrupted, one that should not be there, a younger voice.

Loud, wanting attention, using his name, not an ember voice …

Vishna turned from the flames and allowed his eyes to focus.

“Sar Vishan, would you tell me a story?”

The boy was clearly not yet of Ember, from one of the rising castes no doubt, those with aspirations above their station. Daring to approach the fireside of a Sar. The boldness of youth. The idea of it brought a smile to Vishan’s mind.

“I suppose it would be redundant to remark that you are not supposed to be here young emberling. These flames are not for those of your cycle.”

“I know,” head bowed, “but my caste came far for this telling, and then I wanted to hear more than the tales from the blue flame. I wanted to hear your tales.”

Vishan held his stern demeanor, “Lucius and Amanda are fine tellers, and the blue flames tell the stories for your cycle for a reason emberling.”

“… but Sar,” Vishan could tell the boy wanted to reply passionately, yet hesitated. Respecting the elder. Good. His youthful enthusiasm was at least tempered with some teaching it seemed.

“Speak freely emberling. You are, after all, already here. In the circle of flame no words should be resisted.”

“I do not offer offense,” the youth replied, eyes still to the floor, “it’s just I have heard all the blue flame tales, and most of their variants.”

“No two tellings are ever identical emberling.”

“I know Sar.” The boy nodded, recounting the same line taught to every emberling, “The voice of the tale forever flows.”

“So emberling, you claim you have heard every tale?”

“Yes Sar,” The boy looked up, forgetting, his pride empowering a little impertinence, “all three hundred and sixty two tellings across all three canon, and the five hundred titled lesser verse, with countless local variants and a few regional interpretations my kin deemed sufficiently neutral.”

“Impressive for an emberling of your years. No doubt …” Vishan had to admit, the boy reminded him more than a little of a certain emberling who had impertinently followed voices many year before, “however, you disrespect Lucius and Amanda. They are my voice in the circle of blue flame, and are fine tellers.”

“No Sar,” head bowed again, “I have already attended all their tellings.”

Vishan raised an eyebrow, “Already? This telling is but only three days old.”

“I slept only when they did. Now they repeat this cycle’s cannon, and I heard all their tellings.”

“So you come here. This circle is not usually for those of your cycle, as well you know.”

“I know Sar, but I can understand these tales, I really can, and I shall seek to learn the meaning of those I cannot not.”

Vishan laughed quietly, “You understand eh emberling? You will have to forgive an old Sar. The arrogance of youth may be but a long passed memory, but I vaguely recall what it was like to have no fear of that which you cannot yet appreciate. Still your tongue, this is not a rebuke. Just promise me that if I relate a telling, to you, when I should be resting no less, that you shall never close your mind to meaning. The tales relate meaning and perspective even to those of my cycle, or even when told by a different voice.”

“I promise Sar,” The boys eyes burnt almost as brightly as the embers from the flame.

“Then we have a story to tell, sit down and we shall begin …”

Why do you tell stories?

Because I am pretty sure they would find another, less enjoyable way to get out, if I didn’t. A way that would almost certainly involve mental health professionals.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

Find someone to trust for feedback and advice. On one level writing is one of the most inherently insular things you can do. Those are your words, your thoughts, your stories coming to life on the page, but you can usually take things to another level, one you may have thought you weren’t capable of, if you can find it in yourself to share some of the creation process. It’s the hardest thing in the world to do, but one of the most rewarding once you find the right person, or people, to be able to bounce things off, or get feedback from.

I guess you could argue that it is natural for someone like me to feel that way, as I come from an inherently collaborative creative medium. Very little ends up in our games that isn’t a team effort, into which many wonderfully creative people have had input … so you get very used to bouncing ideas around, and letting them grow based on that back and forth.

Oh … and read your work aloud whenever you can … I always find it incredibly beneficial to read my work aloud. That’s usually some really useful self editing right there!

What’s the worst piece of writing/storytelling advice you’ve ever received?

That I should check my imagination, and that somehow writing ‘serious’ literature would make me a ‘better’ writer. I don’t feel you should ever try and dictate to anyone that they are writing the ‘wrong’ types of stories. There is of course much to be said for broadening your scope as a writer, but for me, I would hate to ever push people away from what they enjoy writing. You can develop and improve as a writer, or as a storyteller, in many different ways.

What goes into writing a strong character? Bonus round: give an example of a strong character.

For me it comes back to the old adage of ‘Show don’t tell’. If a writer feels the need to tell me every waking thought of a central character, or constantly ensure I know their opinions on the events of a tale, I feel that you miss out on part of the experience with a good character. The truly great characters for me are those that can draw you into a story, and create empathy, if not always sympathy, without the author having to force feed you their inner monologue.

A good character is an audiences bridge into settings that might not be familiar to you, allowing you to identify with characters that might otherwise have been totally alien to you. The readers imagination and life experience will always influence, even if it is subtly, their relationship with your characters. You need to give that room to flourish. You almost have to leave room for me, as your reader, to create an ever so slightly different version of your character than you did when writing it.

Strong characters? Wow, so many to chose from, so many have resonated down the years, for many different reasons. Then I also like to ask an awkward question – does a character have to be an actual person? Let me explain … when asked that question its hard for me not to jump straight to those characters that first inspired me to want to create real characters myself. For me that was those found in Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, although with hindsight and re-reading I often feel the strongest character there is the setting and the atmosphere that he created so brilliantly for that hot summer of 1922. It was a world I had no relation to, and no knowledge of, yet I was immediately drawn in, and fell in love with those characters almost by proxy.

My father read me The Hobbit aloud when I was a child, and that imprinted the power of storytelling upon me, but it was Fitzgerald that made me think about characters and creating them for the first time.

More recently, Aomame, the central female character of Murakami’s 1Q84, was a wonderful character. She had me in the first chapter and never let go.

How does storytelling in games differ from more conventional types?

First and foremost it is an interactive medium. That in and of itself is a huge difference. The player generally gets to be involved in the storytelling, often making choices, or branching the narrative in different ways based upon how they want to play the game. In many genres of game that means that you are often writing or creating many, many different stories, or variations on a story, to account for the possible outcomes of the scenarios in the games. Now of course some games don’t provide any real choices at all, yet still benefit from the interactivity. A game like Journey is a great example there. It is completely linear, and in game-play terms, rather straight forward, yet the storytelling is still spectacular due to the atmosphere that the designers created, and then combine with what the audience bring to the experience. So games can have all kinds of different narratives, it is really no different than there being different styles and genres of literature. Games are like that as well, the type of game defines the type of narrative you might see … even when you don’t expect it. Some would argue that even a game like Angry Birds has a narrative, of sorts at least, that plays into the appeal. Just why are those birds so angry at the poor pigs? Ok, I’m not sure many would claim it is a serious narrative, and many within games would hurl rocks at me for suggesting it, but it fascinates me as a designer. There is often narrative where you least expect it.

What’s the trick then to carrying good story across to a massive multiplayer audience? What are the pitfalls?

That’s another hurdle altogether and really comes in two important parts. With our style of games, massively multi-player online games (which all the cool kids like to refer to as ‘MMO’), it is often more important to create a believable world, so you have these two very different pressures. The first regular one of having a narrative to your game-play, and then the second of having a believable and compelling world.

In narrative terms MMOs have struggled somewhat with the traditional ‘hero’s story’ as it were because, put simply, we create a world which thousands, often hundreds of thousands or millions, of players populate. Thus it’s hard for everyone to be ‘The Chosen One’. To be honest we probably haven’t yet found the best solution as a genre for that one, and different games try to handle it in different ways. A game like World of Warcraft or Star Wars: The Old Republic simply kind of ignore it and let everyone be the hero and have a world where all those players are simultaneously having the same experience. The next generation of tittles like our own The Secret World and Guild Wars 2 are trying some variations to try and make it feel more like a shared world, even if the issue is still there.

The holy grail of virtual world design would one day to be able to support player stories all being unique in a shared space, but the sheer amount of work and technology before we get there is daunting, and we aren’t there yet by a long shot. The again … I am writing this on my iPad … a device strangely like those Star trek wanted to convince me was science fiction just a few decades ago … so who knows?

Then you have more sandbox worlds, like that of EVE Online, where players make their own story-lines, but that is not so much creating a narrative as creating a situation where your players can create one. I think people can, and often do, argue about whether that really is a ‘created’ game narrative or not, as it is certainly not written by the developers, but is often totally compelling. So in those cases the storytelling comes from the players, because the developers created the possibility for that to happen, which brings us to the second important element

World building on the other hand often becomes more important than it can be in traditional literature, because with a game people can see … with their own eyes … what you create. It sounds simple, but it has a huge influence on the creative process. With books the audience is often ‘filling in the blanks’ as to background and how a place looks or feels. A game, like in television or movies, has to actually show the world. What’s more, is that in our genre, the camera isn’t as controlled or scripted as it might be in a movie, or even a mainstream computer game. The players are generally free to poke around and look behind stuff. Look behind stuff. It’s the stuff of artists nightmares! No getting away with the equivalent of a dressed movie set. That means that said stuff actually has to have a behind.

That can be extended on a kind of meta level too, in that players find these worlds more engaging if they can relate to the world you have created in different ways, and actually learn about it if they want to. What culture does it come from? What are the rules of this place? It’s actually a lot of fun, and part of the process I enjoy the most. You have to ask yourself questions, to figure out what something would look like in your setting. What would it sound like? How big would it be? Where would it be? You end up having to answer those questions and many more that you couldn’t have imagined before starting out. You find that as you answer all those questions you are slowly building up the world that you are creating, slowly but surely crafting same texture into things, and then starting to cast some shadows into the contours of your setting.

Recommend a game with your idea of killer storytelling:

The aforementioned Journey will pull at your heart strings better than most. It is an experience better left unspoiled until you play it, so just go try it! The entire game can be played inside four hours … four well spent hours.

In terms of more traditional narratives I am a sucker for the two Portal games. Valve have always done a great job with their narrative design, even if the silent protagonist thing isn’t to everyone’s tastes, and for me they really nailed it with the Portal games. People usually jump to mention a Bioware title, or the Rockstar games, when asked that question, but for me Valve are all too often unfairly overlooked in that regard. Those two games have such great voice acting, wonderful dialog, a twist or two before then end, are perfectly paced, never outstaying their welcome. They really are wonderful experiences from a narrative point of view. The writing merges perfectly with the game-play and the world design, and that is where the true genius lies. Nothing feels forced, and it all flows beautifully from start to finish … and at its center it has a wonderfully unhinged robotic AI with a wicked sense of humor … can you ask for more than that? Wait, yup, they thought of that too. The second game then ups the ante by adding a liberal dose of JK Simmons, I have yet to watch or play anything that wasn’t improved by a liberal dose of JK Simmons.

Sell us on The Secret World. Hell, even better, sell us on the game’s story. Why should we play? What will we see?

The team behind the game, lead by Ragnar Tørnquist, who is probably one of the best writers working in games, and has an insanely talented writing team, have crafted a fantastic world and mythos. It weaves modern myths, legends, and conspiracies into this amazing canvass that they have painted with some really memorable characters, plots and story-lines. The tag line we used to sell the concept from an early stage was ‘everything is true’, so in The Secret World you’ll find ghosts, zombies, werewolves, vampires, conspiracy theories, and it’s bursting at the seams with ancient secrets waiting to be revealed. This is a modern game inspired by modern storytelling, you are more likely to see a nod to Neil Gaiman or Josh Whedon than you are Tolkien in this one.

I am however completely and unashamedly biased, so best let someone else tell you! My favorite review so far has to be from the guys at Rock, Paper, Shotgun (great site by the way, if you follow games and don’t read them, correct that right now!) who said in opening “The Secret World is an excellent, intelligent and literate pop song with a thudding, repetitive ear-worm of a chorus”

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

1Q84 that I just mentioned, is a great read. One of my favorites in recent memory, closely followed by China Miéville’s Embassytown. With both I think I am giving away the fact that I am drawn to narratives that don’t rely on constant exposition to craft their worlds. I kind of like having to piece together the details myself as I go along, or get dragged along by a masterfully crafted narrative, slowly having things revealed to me, or even those that rely on the reader to pull some of it together.

Also, if anyone still wants, or needs, evidence that comics can tell stories quite unlike any other medium, you simply have to pick up Daytripper by by Fábio Moon and Gabriel Bá. The most inventive piece of storytelling I have come across in some time. Even if you don’t ‘do’ comics, pick it up, trust me, you won’t regret it … not one little bit. Don’t read up on what it is about, just buy it, read it, treasure it, and you will, as I am doing here, evangelize the experience to others.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

Just one? Hmmm, for some reason the word ornery got stuck in my mind when my wife challenged me to use it during a writing challenge some time back. It’s a good word. I almost seek out opportunities to use it now. Curse words? I am fascinated by curse words in languages other than my own for some reason, I tend to find myself swearing to myself in French rather than English, no idea why, maybe that’s my minds way of censoring itself, in the same way your mother might use the word ‘sugar’ rather than ‘shit’ when you were a child … or maybe that was just my mother …

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

An Irish Whiskey that goes by the name of Middleton, sweet, and all kinds of awesome.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the war against the robots?

I don’t know, depending on what we did to cause it, as it would invariably be our fault! I might be tempted to try and reason with the robots, and find some kind of logical loophole that would grant some of us amnesty from whatever wrath we had invoked. If working with software all this time has taught me anything, it’s that if humans originally made the robots, then there WILL be a logical loophole somewhere in the code!

If there really wasn’t, then I guess I would most likely be the annoyingly optimistic one with a plan. You know, the one that is invariably going to come to a foul, yet noble, end sometime before the third act.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

The beauty of working with an online genre of games is that we are never done, and our medium is young! We get to create more stories, more characters, and even long term, more worlds. Ultimately I look forward to the next opportunity to create another world, and bring it to life for others to experience. With Age of Conan still rolling out new adventures, and The Secret World launching soon, we are also hard at work working on what kind of a world we create next. For me that is the best part of the process, creating game worlds. Whether it is deciding how to treat a license, as we do with Conan, or creating something from scratch, we get to build and create these incredibly visceral worlds. Worlds that hundreds of thousands (and occasionally millions if you are really lucky) of gamers get to experience, and they then bring their own stories to your world.

You almost feel a little like a proud parent in that regard. What we do is only part of the storytelling that takes place in these games, because each and every player is bringing in another chapter and character, anything from a would-be legend to a background character, they all contribute to the tapestry of stories that populate our worlds and make them unique. In many ways we provide an avenue through which others can tell stories, both intentionally and inadvertently.

I love the medium, and have faith that we have barely scratched the surface of its potential in terms of both telling stories, and empowering our players to tell theirs. It’s such a young medium, we still have much to learn.

Question: What’s Wrong With Fiction Today?

It’s a provocative question.

Probably not a fair one, either. It presupposes a lot —

— like, say, that there is anything at all wrong with fiction today.

Still.

Noodle it.

What’s wrong with fiction today?

What’s missing? What’s gone off the tracks, off the reservation?

Is it in the writers? The publishers? The audience? The culture?

If you’re a writer: how do you combat this… thing?

How do you fix what’s broken?

Again: provocative.

But put your mind to it.

And answer the question however you must. Even if it’s to tell me to go fuck myself.

I’ll hang up and wait for your answer.

*click*

25 Things You Should Know About Metaphor

1. Comparing Two Unlike Things

A metaphor is a little bit of writing magic that allows you, the writer, to draw an unexpected line between two unlike things. You are comparing and connecting things that have no business being compared or connected. How is a wasp like an auto mechanic? A banana like a storm cloud? How do you talk about a nuclear winter while evoking a beautiful symphony? The metaphor is the writer holding up one thing (“a double-headed dildo”) and asking — nay, demanding — that the reader think of something else (“a floppy slice of freshly-baked zucchini bread”). It is a subversion of expectation; a sabotage of imagery. Metaphor is metamorphosis. You can tell that’s true because they both have “meta” and “pho.” Or something.

2. Because Comparing Two Samey Things Is Silly

A metaphor fails if it’s obvious. Comparing two alike things is meaningless in terms of providing engagement and enlightenment to the audience. “That horse is like a donkey” simply isn’t meaningful. We already know that. We describe the things that need describing. You wouldn’t say, “This double-headed dildo is like a single-headed dildo” and call that a metaphor. All you’re doing there is thwacking the audience about the head and neck with your +5 Double-Headed Dildo of Obviousness.

3. Literarily, Not Literally

Further, a metaphor is not to be taken literally. “A snake is like a worm” is literally true, and thus fails as a metaphor. Metaphors operate best as purely figurative. Life is not literally a bowl of cherries. The power of metaphor is in its ability to transcend the real; in this way, metaphor is like an artsy-fartsy version of sarcasm. It is a beautiful lie. I say one thing, but I mean another.

4. Simile Versus Metaphor

A simile uses like or as to connect things; a metaphor eschews both words. Simile: “My love for you is like old lunchmeat. Still here, but way past its expiration date.” Metaphor: “My love for you is a zombie. Dead but still walking around.” The simile creates a little distance; this is like that. Not same, but similar. A metaphor undercuts that distance. This is that. Not just similar, but absolutely (though abstractly) the same.

5. A PhD in Symbology

Metaphors and symbols are not the same thing. A metaphor is stated outright. I say it. I write it. I don’t hide from it. When I say that “her vagina is like the blown-out elastic in a pair of old underpants,” or, “his dick is like soft serve,” I’m not trying to hide what I think or feel. I’m shoving the imagery right into your eyeholes. A symbol is far cagier, far more guarded. A character who symbolizes something (sin, colonialism, addiction, zoo-keepers, reality television) does so in an unspoken way. The author never takes the time to complete that picture. A metaphor draws the line between two unlike things. The symbol never draws the line — it just casually gestures in the direction of the other thing, hoping you’ll connect the dots yourself.

6. Take Literary Viagra To Extend Your Metaphors

A metaphor that kicks open the door to its cage and runs around a little before being put down is an extended metaphor, or a “conceit.” It refuses to be kept to a single iteration, and will get its roots and shoots all up into the paragraph where it initially appeared. The metaphor continues — it’s not enough to say that “urban development is like a cancer” and leave it at that. The metaphor grows and swells, blister-like, using the whole paragraph to explore the metaphor to its fullest: gentrification is metastasis, developers are like free radicals, rich guys like tumors, and so on and so forth.

7. Elegance In Simplicity

Err on the side of simplicity rather than complexity. The weightier and more Byzantine a metaphor becomes, the more likely that it becomes unstable, untenable, overwrought. When I say, “John’s a dinosaur,” the message is clear: he’s old-school, probably too old-school, and if he’s not careful he’s going to get face-punched by a fucking meteor. But I don’t need to say all those things. I don’t need to beat the metaphor into the ground until it’s a pulpy, shitty mess; it’s not a watermelon, and I’m not Gallagher. The audience wants to do work. They want to take the metaphor and help draw the line. Hand them a simple machine, not a Rube Goldberg device.

8. Wink, Wink, Nudge, Nudge

Some metaphors are implied. When you say, “Gary’s coming for you, Bill — that guy can smell blood in the water from a mile away,” we’re using a metaphor to imply that Gary is a shark, but without actually saying that he’s a shark. The power here is in letting the audience bring a little something to the table. The danger here is you reach too far and fail to make the implication click.

9. Broken Metaphors Are Brick Walls

Some metaphors just don’t work. You maybe think they do, because in your head you’ve drawn a line that makes sense to you and… well, nobody else, you fuckin’ goon. The reader’s sitting there, scratching his head, wondering just what the hell a blue heron has to do with a head cold and what happens is, it stops the reader dead. Every component of your writing is binary — it’s either a 1 or a 0, it’s either Go, Dog, Go, or Guy Running Full Speed Into A Tree. It’s lubricant (facilitates the reader reading), or a fist (forces the reader to stop). A broken metaphor asks the reader to stand over the confounding imagery, chewing on it the way one must jaw hard on a hunk of gristly steak. Make sure you’re not putting out metaphors that are clear to you and only you. Think of the reader, not of the writer.

10. Mixed Metaphors Make Us Throw Red Bull Cans At Your Head

If I wanted to mix metaphors, I might take that love/lunchmeat/zombie metaphor and smoosh those fuckers together: “My love is like a zombie — it’s dead and walking around long past its expiration date.” It’s mixed because it’s in effect creating a metaphor within a metaphor: love is like a zombie, and a zombie is kind of like lunchmeat in that it has an expiration date even though human bodies and zombies don’t usually have expiration dates and love isn’t really a zombie and besides, zombies aren’t real anyway. So, it’s asking the reader to draw the line and say “love = zombie, but zombie = lunchmeat.” It’s not the worst mixed metaphor ever (as one could suggest that a person’s date of death is his ‘expiration date’). You can, of course, get a whole lot worse — the worst ones build off cliches (“Don’t look in the mouth of a upset gift horse of another color before the apple cart or… s… something.”)

11. Cliches Make Me Kick-Stab You Through A Plate Glass Window

Let me define for you: “Kick-stab.” It means I duct tape a diver’s knife to the bottom of my boot, and then I focus all of my chi (or: “ki”) into my kick as I drive my knife-boot into your chest so hard it explodes your heart and fires your ragdoll body through a plate glass window that wasn’t even there before but the force of the kick was so profound it conjured the window from another universe. All this because you had to go and use a cliche. Cliches are lowest common denominator writing and serve as metaphors for unimaginative, unoriginal turd-witted slug-brains. KIYAAAKAPOW *kick* *stab* *krrsssh*

12. Show Us Your Brain

Ew, no, not like that. Put your scrotum back in your pants, you monster. No, what I mean is: metaphors represent an authorial stamp. They’re yours alone, offering us a peek inside your mind. When a reader says, “I would have never thought to compare a sea squirt to the economic revolution of Iceland,” that’s a golden moment. The metaphor is a signature, a stunt, a trick, a bit of your DNA spattered on the page.

13. They Are The Chemical Haze That Creates Unearthly Sunsets

Look at it another way: a sky is a sky is a sky. But when we cast against the sky a chemical haze or the ejecta from a volcanic eruption, it’s like a giant fucking Instagram filter — it changes the sky and gives us heavenward vistas and sunsets or sunrises that are cranked up on good drugs, revealing to us unearthly beauty we never expected to see. The haze or the ejecta are entirely artificial — applied to the sky, not part of the original equation — but it doesn’t matter. That’s metaphor. Metaphor is the filter; it’s a way to elevate the written word (and the world the word explores) to something unexpected, something unseen. Metaphors are always artificial. But that fails to diminish their magic.

14. Hot Mood Injectors

Metaphors do not merely carry tone; they can lend it to a story. The metaphors you choose can capably create mood out of the raw nothing of narrative — a metaphor can be icky, depressing, uplifting, funny, weird, all creating moods that are (wait for it, wait for it), icky, depressing, uplifting, funny, or weird. A metaphor is a mood stamp. A tonal injector. Consistency in the tone of your metaphors is therefore key.

15. Metaphor As Rib-Spreader To Show Us A Character’s True Heart

A metaphor used to describe a character tells us more about the character than a mere physical description — saying a character is gawky is one thing, but then saying he “walks like a chicken with a urinary tract infection” paints for us a far more distinctive and telling portrait. Evoking those things (the chicken, the yellow of urine), suggests cowardice. It also suggests that he probably puts his penis in places he shouldn’t. Like hamster cages and old Pringles cans. Or chickens. #dontfuckchickens

16. Fuck The Police

Metaphor is part of description and we use description when something in the story breaks the status quo — when it violates expectation and so the audience must have a clear picture of it. You don’t talk about every tree in the forest; you describe that one tree that looks different, the twisted old shillelagh where the character’s brother hanged himself. Metaphor operates the same way: you use a metaphor when you want us to know something new, something different. It’s you pointing us to a thing to say, this thing matters.

17. Metaphors Operate By A Beautiful Short Circuit Of The Brain, Part One

Metaphors aren’t just some shit writers invented so they can strut about like pretty purple peacocks. It’s not just a stunt. Metaphors are part of our brains — not just writer’s brains (which are basically rooms where armed chimpanzees force drunken dogs to chase meth-addled cats all day long), but the brains of all humans. Here’s the cool thing about metaphors: our minds know the difference between the real and the metaphorical, and yet, our brains respond to metaphors often the same way they would to reality. You call someone a “dirty bastard,” and our brain pulls the chemical triggers that make us think of, or even feel, a moment’s worth of uncleanliness. How fucking bad-ass is that? THE BRAIN BE STRAIGHT TRIPPIN’, BOO. (Article: “This Is Your Brain On Metaphors.”)

18. Metaphors Operate By A Beautiful Short Circuit Of The Brain, Part Two

Another awesome thing the brain does with metaphors? We’re sitting there, reading, right? And the part of our brain that’s active is the part associated with reading and language. Ahh, but when we encounter a metaphor, our brain short-circuits and leaves that area — it freaks out for a moment, and kung-fu kicks open the door and runs to the area of the brain more appropriate to the sense triggered in the metaphor. In describing a smell or a touch, the brain goes to those areas and highlights that part of your skull’s mental meatloaf. Example: words describing motion highlight your motor cortex. What this means is supremely bad-ass: it means that good description and powerful metaphor are real as real gets. They trick our brain into a reality response! Stupid brains! Ha ha ha, eat a dick, brain! I just fooled you with words! (Article: “The Neuroscience of Your Brain on Fiction.”)

19. The Sensory Playground

This tells us then that metaphors should use all senses, not just the visual. Mmkay? Mmkay.

20. Down In The Metaphor Mines

You can stimulate metaphorical thinking. At the simplest level, just make a concerted effort. Walk around, look at things, feel them, smell them, try to envision what those things remind you of — a summer’s day, a calculator watch, a used condom, a wicker basket heavy with roadkill, James Franco. Take one thing and then ask, how is it like another? Find the traits they share, both literal and abstract (hint: it’s the abstract ones that really matter). You can also force such stimulation: sleep or sensory deprivation will do it. So too will the right amount of al-kee-hol (not too much, but not too little, either). Probably the biggest category of “metaphorical stimulator” comes from hallucinogens, which are illegal and you should never do them. BUT IF YOU DO NEGLECT MY ADVICE AND WOLF DOWN A PALM FULL OF FUNNY MUSHROOMS AGAINST MY DOCTORIAL PROHIBITION, you’ll find that your brain makes crazy leaps between things — the very nature of hallucinations is due to the powerful tangling of sensory neurotransmitters (note: not a brainologist). Hallucination is metaphor; metaphor is hallucination.

21. Poe Tray

Another critical way to train your brain to love the metaphor: read poetry. Lots and lots of it. Old and new from every geographic region. Then: write it. Poetry is often a doorway to a metaphorical wonderland. You know what else is a doorway to a metaphorical wonderland? Churros. Mmm. Churros.

22. Profanity Is A Kind Of Metaphor

I want to point this out because, well, me and profanity? We’re buds. We’re bros. We’re in the Fuck Yeah Sisterhood. We went to space camp together and sold Girl Scout Cookies together and lost our virginities togeth… you know, we don’t need to keep talking about that. What I’m saying is, when I say, “Dave is a shithead,” I don’t mean he’s actually got a literal pile of feces roosting on his shoulders. When I say, “Fuck you” in anger, I don’t mean I actually want to fornicate with you. (I mean, probably.) Profanity is abstraction. It’s dirty, filthy, gooey abstraction. And it is wonderful.

23. Metaphor Is A Strong Spice

Don’t overuse metaphor. Every paragraph can’t be a metaphor for another thing — sometimes you just have to say the thing that you want to say without throwing heaps and mounds of abstraction on top of it.

24. Blood Makes The Grass Grow

No, wait, sorry, I mean, “Practice makes perfect.” Silly me! If you’re not particularly comfortable with metaphors, if they make your throat tight and your body tense and cause you to pee two, maybe three drops of scaredy-urine into your Supergirl underoos, you merely need to practice. Sit down. Write metaphors. Let your brain off its chain and see what it comes up with. Write a whole page — hell, a whole fucking book — of the damn things. Nobody’s reading these. No pressure. Care little. Just write.

25. Metaphors Are Part Of An Artistic Frequency

Narrative can, at the basic level, exist in a way where it tells us what has happened or is happening. Right? It serves as a simple explanation, the story being the literal actions taken and words spoken. John went to the grocery store. There he saw Mary. John and Mary kissed by the cantaloupes. John said, “I love you.” Mary Tasered him in the nipples. John died. Mary took his shoes. Whatever. But our storytelling can have levels that go above and below our words, that exist outside the literal flow of events and dialogue spoken. We have subtext. We have authorial intent. We have theme and symbol. And, drum roll please, we have metaphor. Metaphor elevates our narrative. Subtext is an invisible layer but metaphor is very visible, indeed: with metaphor we’re adding new colors to the sensory and experiential wavelength. This is why we use metaphor: to elevate storytelling to more than just the story told.

The Return Of Painting With Shotguns

It’s Monday, and Monday cares little for order. Monday is a child of chaos.

Monday is a typhoon. Monday is birdshot. Monday is broken glass.

Here, then, is just a crazy slapdash pile of things shoved into a cannon and shot into your midsection.

CHOOM.

Bait Dog: An Atlanta Burns Novel is available. Did I tell you that already? I did, I know. Shut up. No, you shut up. No, your blouse is ugly. Pssh. PFFT. Anyway. You can check out the buy links here, and the book will only be $2.99 until Wednesday, so, get it now. Or I’ll send Atlanta Burns to your door with her squirrel gun. Oh. Also. If you’re interested in a softcover copy of the book, lemme know in the comments, yeah?

• I made a “golden syrup” the other day. Two cups of sugar (good sugar, like demerera or turbinado) in one cup of water. Boil. Throw in the juice of one squozen lemon. Boil for five minutes. Then scrape into it the seedy figgy floral delight of one vanilla bean. Take the bean hull, shove it into a jar of sugar to make vanilla sugar. Pour over own hand. Eat own hand and revel in the delight. Or, y’know, waffles and ice cream instead. WHATEVS. I don’t own you.

This is a super-lovely review of the next Miriam Black book, Mockingbird. Graeme’s Fantasy Reviews gives the book 9.5/10 stars, and says of the book: “Wendig plumbs real depths of bleakness and horror to bring us the world that Miriam must negotiate. It’s a world that we all know is there and one we are secretly glad that we can put down when the book is done; no-one would want to live with what Miriam has to. The way Wendig presents it though makes for nothing short of compelling reading, a book that eclipses ‘Blackbirds’ in its determination to head to new depths for the sake of a good story. Wendig knows that his readers deserve nothing less. If you’re waiting for ‘Mockingbird’ then take it from me, you’re in for a bit of treat. If you’re not waiting for ‘Mockingbird’, well… you should be.”

• I’m closing in on the final third of Gods & Monsters: Unclean Spirits. I’ve since had one god lovingly describe the vagina of his goddess lover, and I’ve had another character describe the versatility of his penis. It’s now clear that something is wrong with me. Or oh-so-right. But probably really, really, wrong. Oh, the book’s up for pre-order and has a cover.

• The ever-lovely Dawn Nikithser of the Bookshelf Bombshells tackled the Double Dead sequel, Bad Blood, in this review, saying: “I am pretty sure that, if given the opportunity, Coburn would smack the shit out of Bill Compton with Eric Northman, puree them both into a nice slurpy snack, and then pick his teeth with the smoking shards of Edward Cullen.” Best description of Coburn ever.

• Updated Worldcon/Chicon schedule: Friday (31st), New Pulp panel at 10:30AM; Friday, a book signing at the Book Cellar with Gwenda Bond, Kim Curran, and Adam Christopher at 7pm; Sunday (2nd), a Mockingbird reading at 10AM, followed by a signing at 10:30 (lasts till noon). And for the rest of the time, I’ll be tottering around drunk and confused.

• I quite like this review of Blackbirds, in which Ivan Ewert says, “I found it to be a story of redemption, of the triumph of human effort; although that triumph is painful and hard-won.” And, “Wendig writes in car-crash prose, swift and sharp. The sentences hook you and pull you along at a breakneck clip.”

• Books I’ve read recently that you may want to read? Paul S. Kemp, The Hammer and the Blade (which made me want to run out and get wrapped up in a D&D game post-haste); Greg Rucka’s Alpha (uhh, hello, Die Hard at Disneyland?); am in the middle of the very delightful The Rook by Daniel O’Malley (supernatural spy happenings both very scary and quirkily funny). Oh, also, John Hornor’s This Dark Earth, a very literary zombie novel — though, still piled in heaps and bundles of delicious gore.

• Hey, Stephen Blackmoore’s Dead Things is up for pre-order. I read this book last year and it was one of my favorite reads. If you’re a fan of Jim Butcher — or, perhaps, of mine — then you want a copy of this book.

• New Mockingbird excerpts are releasing up at This Is How You Die, but I’ll pop the first week’s up here, below. Check ’em out, won’t you? (Features light Blackbirds spoilers.) Click to embiggenate!

• Aaaaand, finally, the Mockingbird fan-art contest has its first three entries. Remember: looking for anything at all. Fine art. Photography. Cooking. Music. Video. Craft. Graphic Design. The visuals:

 

 

Miriam Black, by Alan Smithee

 

by David Grigg

 

by Amber Love and Smash

Flash Fiction Challenge: “The Opening Lines, Revealed”

Ahem, ahem.

Hear ye, hear ye.

Here are the three opening lines I’ve chosen:

Brendan Gannon: “Everyone else remembers it as the day the saucers came, but I remember it as the day a man in a suit shot my father.”

Joe Parrino: “Three truths will I tell you and one lie.”

Delilah Dawson: “Thursday was out to get me.”

This was, as so many contests here are anymore, a tough one to pick. Nearly 200 entries (!) and many of them good. (Though, pro-tip: bad spelling and/or typos will never help you win here.)

Here’s roughly what I ended up looking for:

I wanted lines that told multiple potential stories. Meaning, a writer could read it and find a world of stories coming out of that one line — not just the one obvious one, say. Some lines were very specific to a genre or to an event and so I hesitated using them, despite their inherent awesomeness. The exception here might be the “saucer” one, but it was so cool I had to use it. Don’t judge me.

So, the three who won:

Contact me, I shall hook you up with a copy of Bait Dog.

(Bait Dog is now available, by the way. Just $2.99 until next Wednesday. Plug, plug, hint, hint.)

Everybody else:

You’ve got 1000 words.

Write a story using one of the above opening lines.

Due by Friday, Aug 17th, at noon EST. Post online, link in the comments.

You know the drill.

Andrew Shaffer: The Terribleminds Interview


He’s Andrew Shaffer. And he’s EvilWylie. And Emperor Franzen, and Fanny Merkin, and Keyser Soze, and also, a sentient cloud of hilarious nano-particles. Under the pen name “Fanny Merkin,” Shaffer’s the dude behind the smash 50 Shades of Grey parody, Fifty Shames of Earl Grey. Here he sits for an interview at Jolly Old Terribleminds. Find him at his website, evilreads.com, or at Twitter as @andrewtshaffer.

Why do you tell stories?

To entertain. I’ve always been more of a court jester than a troubadour.

Give the audience one piece of writing or storytelling advice:

I wrote for about ten years solid before I found my own voice. If I could go back in time, I might tell myself to stop pretending to be something I clearly wasn’t (a serious literary novelist), and write the kind of books I enjoyed reading (genre and nonfiction).

What’s the worst piece of writing/storytelling advice you’ve ever received?

“Write what you know.” I think this advice works on some levels—it’s difficult to write convincingly about a breakup or a family death if you’ve never gone through those situations—but I’ve too often heard it used to steer a writer into writing something “personal” to them. “If you’re a truck driver, write fiction about truck drivers! Look at what Grisham did with his experience as a lawyer!” I think that’s kind of shit advice, at least for me. I like to write about things I have no clue about, because I enjoy the research. Writing is a wonderful way to expand your own worldview and experience life through other sets of eyes.

What goes into writing a strong character?

For a long time, I was stuck on the idea that a “strong character” meant a “flawed character.” Thus, I wrote several novels (all unpublished) with protagonists who were fucking crippled by their vices, criminal behavior, self-loathing, etc. My writing was weak, because the “heroes” were weak. Now, I’m more inclined to say that a strong character is simply one who acts. I could care less about how three-dimensional a character is these days. God, I sound like a television producer…

Bonus round: give an example of a strong character.

Buck Schatz in Daniel Friedman’s “Don’t Ever Get Old.” Buck is a foul-mouthed, 87-year-old ex-detective. Would I want to spend time with him in real life? No. Do I want Dan to write another Buck Schatz book? Absolutely.

The Fifty Shames Of Earl Grey has a… rather curious (and quick) path into existence. Tell us about it, or I will break your legs.

While I was live-tweeting a review of “Fifty Shades of Grey,” I joked I would write a fanfic of the series. That turned into a parody that mashed up “Fifty Shades” and “Twilight.” At the time, “Fifty Shades” had only sold 100k copies–a nice number, but no one knew it would blow up to become the biggest book in the world. Still, after “Fifty Shades” sold to Random House, my agent asked if I could quickly finish the manuscript so she could shop it. I told her it was half finished, but I think I maybe only had 5k out of a proposed 40k words at that time. I told her I would have the entire thing in her inbox in a week. It was an ambitious schedule, but I was in the midst of a nonfiction book I’d been working on for over a year, so it was like a vacation of sorts. Fueled by Red Bull and angst, I wrote the book. My agent sold it. And then I spent two months editing it.

What’s the trick to writing satire/parody? (And, is there a difference between parody and satire as you see it?)

A parody (or spoof) usually lampoons a specific thing. The “Scary Movie” films mocking “Scream” and horror films are a great example. Satire, I think, uses humor to make constructive criticism of some aspect of society. Although “Fifty Shames of Earl Grey” is billed as a parody, it’s more like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Underneath the “Fifty Shades” and “Twilight” gags is a very serious critique of the culture that gave birth to a bestselling fanfic starring a rich CEO and a submissive virgin.

The “trick” to writing a parody is to have some level of respect or interest in the underlying material. Although I didn’t like “Fifty Shades of Grey,” I read a lot of romance and erotica, which is what drew me to “Fifty Shades” in the first place. There are some other “Fifty Shades” parodies out there that seem to come from a very negative place that indicts all “dirty books” in a very mean-spirited way, and (at least according to Amazon and Goodreads reviews), those other parodies miss the mark badly. Likewise, a satire is best written by someone who is optimistic that society can improve.

Any thoughts on the existence and success of Fifty Shades of Grey? Good? Bad? Indifferent? Eff that ess in the bee?

As a critic, I was not impressed with “Fifty Shades of Grey” — if only because there are some fantastic erotica writers out there that’s been ignored by the mainstream for years. Having said that, it’s been great for erotica so far. There are some filthy books trickling into places like Walmart and Target, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. People who haven’t read books in years have also been picking the “Fifty Shades” books up, so who am I to tell them they’re picking up the “wrong” ones? I was very cautious not to mock “Fifty Shades” fans or readers in my parody. In fact, one of the central questions in the book is, “Why be ashamed of what we like?”

Speaking of satire/parody, you are a many with a couple-few parody Twitter accounts. EvilWylie, Emperor Franzen. Any we’re missing? Where’d these come from? And why?

Eh, there’s a few more (@ZombieFreeMom), but I tend to stop using an account if it doesn’t take off. Parody Twitter accounts are just a way to flex my writing muscles. The @EvilWylie account as a parody of agent Andrew Wylie, but now it’s just a place for me to say all the terrible things I want and pass them off as jokes. I think of Evil Wylie as the Loki of the publishing world: an agent of mischief.

Recommend a book, comic book, film, or game: something with great story. Go!

Tiffany Reisz’s Original Sinners books (“The Siren” is out now) are ridiculously great. And I’m not just saying that because we’re dating. I recently finished reading the second book in her series, “The Angel,” and the way that she manipulates the reader is simply sadistic.

Favorite word? And then, the follow up: Favorite curse word?

I recently came across the word, “la foutromanie,” a French word coined in the 18th century that translates as, “fuckomania.” I don’t know if it’s my “favorite” word, but it’s one I made a mental note of and return to from time-to-time. As for curse words, “fuck” is probably still my favorite. I use it sparingly in my writing, though — in “Fifty Shames of Earl Grey,” for instance, I use it just twice. I like to treat it as a sacred word.

Favorite alcoholic beverage? (If cocktail: provide recipe. If you don’t drink alcohol, fine, fine, a non-alcoholic beverage will do.)

This would have been an easy question if you had asked me a couple of years ago! I would have told you about the latest beer I’d fallen in love with (always a microbrew; usually a stout). Sadly, I’ve had to scale back my alcoholic consumption immensely. I still enjoy a glass of fine absinthe now and then, mostly as an aesthetic pretension.

What skills do you bring to help the humans win the inevitable war against the robots?

I don’t know if I would necessarily side with humanity. My choice would depend on a number of factors. What’s the likelihood of robots winning this war? Does supporting the robot faction help avoid greater losses of life in the longrun? And how advanced and good-looking are female robots?

Regarding the Robot War, let’s assume that all robots hate all meatbags, and you are, unfortunately, a meatbag. Now what?

In the previous question about choosing sides, I was, of course, planning to defect to the side of humanity the entire time. My answer was part of a long con, but if you’re making me choose sides right now, you’ve ruined my status as a double-agent. If I was fighting on the sides of the meatbags, I could provide some comic relief in the trenches. “Q: Why did the robot cross the road? A: Because that’s how it was programmed.” Give me some time, I’ll come up with something better though.

What’s next for you as a storyteller? What does the future hold?

My next project is a nonfiction book called “Literary Rogues: A Scandalous History of Wayward Authors” (www.literaryrogues.com). It traces the drunken, drugged-out author myth from Lord Byron to Hemingway to Hunter S. Thompson. I started working on the book nearly two years ago, and it will be published in February 2013 by Harper Perennial. I have a few more projects in progress, both fiction and nonfiction. They’re all at the single-cell stage right now.