This one is going to be a bit different than the usual.

I want you to do the standard — write a story, keep it around 1000 words, post it at your blog, and link back here in the comments so we can all see it.

However, I want it to be a true story. Preferably, one that happened to you. Meaning, I’d like you to engage in a little creative non-fiction and write a story from your own life instead of something made up. The value of looking to our own experiences are myriad — while we should never ever feel trapped by the needless rigors of WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW, we should consider that advice as an occasional opportunity.

So, you have the rules.

Find a story from your life and write it. Keep it trim. Keep it vital. Make it awesome.

Go.

[edit: due in one week, as usual — by friday, oct 9th, noon est]

Usually, folks who want to do guest posts here are writers — but I wanted a perspective from an editor, so when I recently caught up with John (who is a friend and who is someone who has edited my work in the past), I thought, hey, maybe we can hear from a freelance editor, see what he has to say to all us ink-fingered word-fumblers. Here, then, is John Adamus —

* * *

One of my favorite things to do is talk about editing, and talk about how editing makes writing better, creating a mutually beneficial relationship between writer and editor that extends far beyond deadlines or paychecks. I’ve collected some thoughts below. In no way are these set in stone for all of time and space, and in no way am I the sole authority (I’m wearing a bathrobe and slippers as I write this parenthetical), but I am hopeful these paragraphs will be helpful to someone out there.

Like writing, editing is a job that comes with assumptions that seem to bubble up in conversation:

– That an editor just presses F7 and runs spellcheck on manuscripts

–  That other people could do what an editor does, because it’s just dealing with words like in school

– That editing is an unnecessary part of writing a book, because when an author gets an agent, they edit the manuscript, or the publisher has an editor, and they edit the work

– That whatever word processor being used highlights spelling and grammar as writing happens, so an editor is redundant

– That the editor is the writer’s enemy, or some kind of obstacle to proving their quality or validity as a writer, making interaction with the editor an unnecessary combative exercise

Many of these assumptions bubble up in conversations started with the dreaded, “So what do you do?” question. They seem to appear on the horizon right after a tight smile or some kind of look and a variation of “Oh, you’re an editor, really?”

Writers can claim membership in a tribe of storytellers, a lineage with roots as far back as cave walls and shamans. But there isn’t a record of some guy looking at the cave wall saying, “No Brandon, I think the mammoth had two tusks not three, and I think the pelt was more Pantone 167 not Pantone 166.”

Editorial lineage seems to stall out for people somewhere around English teachers they hated or crusty librarians and journalists, these great caricatures of hardasses, doryphores, and know-it-alls who cavil while they dispense lethal swaths of red ink to kill creativity, hopes and dreams. It’s seldom a flattering image.

Those previously mentioned assumptions are flummery and twaddle. They are as disparaging as they are unhelpful, and they’re the fuel for engines of unchallenged lack of growth or change.

Editors do more than press F7

Editors hear this a lot, often from people who have no interest in having their work edited, or have an overall sense that editing will somehow change their work irrevocably for the worse. It’s important to remember that writers don’t just cut and paste other people’s stories, and painters don’t just color within the lines, so it’s dismissive to sum up editing as some baleful ruiner of ideas. Change is part of evolution and an editor is critical in pushing that evolution forward.

There is more to editing than pressing a single key. There’s checking grammar and spelling, yes, but also there are checks on a manuscript’s plot, dialogue, word choice, pacing, character arcs, character names, expositive flow, and consistency in consequences. There isn’t one keystroke that checks, questions, and certifies all those elements.

Clear the static from your broadcast

When I summarize what I do, I use the phrase: I “clear the static from your broadcast”, because I can liken the relationship between writer and editor to tuning in a radio station. Your book, your story, your manuscript (whatever you want to call it) exists in some state where other people won’t always easily “get” it. Ideas may be poorly expressed, words may be incorrect, concepts may be redundant … any manner of structural or expressive problems can exist. What an editor does is help refine the message, and make sure the broadcast of your manuscript to whatever destination gets received the way you want.

Gain a cheerleader

Writing is a lonely task. It happens most often in a limited exchange: fingers on keyboards, supported by cups of coffee and stacks of notes and heaps of doubt. Days and nights can be consumed by the creative process, and just as easily, the doubts and worries that what you’re doing just won’t work can swallow you whole. It’s dangerous to go alone, so take this: gain an advocate for your work. Join up with someone who will accompany you to Mount Doom that you might deliver your one ring to the fiery volcano of production. Add a bard to your retinue, someone who will tout your efforts and do their best to help show you that all those mornings when you were up before the sun, and all those nights where you shut the door on your kids and spouse (or the barking dog, ringing phone, and text messages from your significant other), were worth it. Your goal is to have a book that gets published, right? So why not do all you can to make that happen?

It’s scary to write a thing then send it off in an email, armed only with a query letter for a shield or blanket. The unknowns of rejection loom large and far too many predators exist out there who live and breathe fear and persiflage, saying that you will likely try and fail at this, so don’t bother trying after rejection. They think that by keeping you out of the clubhouse, they’ll have a better shot at the “goodies” they perceive to be exclusive.

But they’re wrong.

The clubhouse isn’t exclusive. The “goodies” aren’t finite. You’re not racing to get them before they’re all gone, this isn’t slices of pizza when you’re late for dinner. Your quest, your mission should you choose to accept it, is to produce the best book you can. No matter how long that takes. No matter what software, what pen, what paper or what chair you use. No matter where or when you write. No matter how many people think your time would be better served by not writing. You may feel motivated to write just to spite them, just to prove them wrong, but that is temporary and leads to burnout.

Motivation must come from within. This is your work, it’s not getting out of your head without you doing something proactive about it. But that’s not to say it isn’t a comfort to have someone come along and recognize your hard work. The editor can be the roadside paper cup of Gatorade during your marathon. Let us be that for you.

The word plumber

In talking to a lot of people, I hear some version of this: “Well I’m a pretty good editor, so I do that myself.” It reminds me of a night when I was a kid, and the dishwasher stopped working. My dad has never been handy, but he has been epic levels of stubborn and cheap. He walked into the kitchen and started banging the pipes with wrenches of all sizes. After a few minutes, he emerged from beneath the sink and I asked “So, do you want me to tell Mom to get the plumber on the phone?” He said, “No, I can do this myself. It’s my dishwasher, I can handle it.”

Within the hour, there was an inch of two of brackish water in the kitchen. The plumber was called just after the puddle reached the back door of the house.

So yes, you can edit your own work to a degree. Plenty of books and resources exist for you to learn to do it yourself, and yes, you are perfectly capable of cleaning up your manuscript’s spelling or punctuation. But we’re all too close to our work and even while we’re our harshest critics, we can be surprisingly blind to errors we make time and again (I, for instance, often leave words out while typing because my inner monologue narrates them, and my fingers assume I’ve already typed them.)

Calling in a professional costs you money, but you’re exchanging that money for peace of mind that the job is done correctly and that when the job is done the problem(s) have been removed. If you’re willing to call in a plumber to fix your dishwasher, because you want the best dishwasher you can have so you can do dishes, why would you think twice about hiring a professional to help your words be the best words they can be?

Now, yes, the later stages of publishing will include editors after you’ve signed your contract (this is assuming you’re going with the traditional route of publishing), so yes, you may just leave all this for later, and then slog your way through it when you get there.

But if you’re not going traditional, and you have the ability to post a manuscript to a website with a click and upload of a file, isn’t in your best interest as someone who wants sales and good reviews (which breed more sales), that the file be in its best shape possible? Are you motivated by the idea that if someone can pay money for your book, then you must be a “legit” author? Don’t chase the validation, it will erode over time and you’ll need more and more of it to feel as good. Create the best work you can, avail yourself of all the possible resources to make that happen.

It’s your book, have it your way

Because one of our first experiences with editing comes from a school class where we’re told what’s right and what’s wrong with our work, editing becomes this combat or trial by fire, where writers have to test themselves in mortal combat against story ninjas shooting ice blasts or grappling hooks before someone loses a spine. There are, sadly, whole schools of thought and training where people are taught to turn the creative process into a steep uphill climb, where scarcity is the watchword and the only shibboleth comes by navigating the caprice of gatekeepers long out of touch. I was trained in that method, and it nearly cost me a career when I went toe-to-toe with a writer (who later went on to be a New York Times best-selling author) because I had to prove how smart I was. But the writer-editor relationship isn’t about how much smarter one person is than the other. The relationship is mutually supportive, collaborative and productive.

An editor’s mission is to educe the best story from within the writer. It’s the writer’s work. I don’t get hired so that someone brings me a manuscript and I shape it into what I want to see, I help the author see what they’ve always wanted to see (or something better that they couldn’t imagine). An editor who says “you write it, and I’ll cut out what I don’t like” is not an editor you need to stay within twenty feet of. I will ask you what the writer what they want to do, I will ask to see their blueprints and road map, and while I might disagree and even counsel them to walk a different route to their goal, all my work is a suggestion on some level, my experience guided by intelligence. I don’t have to agree with their choices, my job is to support the choice being made. Changes need not automatically be accepted (oh please no, don’t do that blindly), the alteration of a single word or punctuation doesn’t need to happen, but there is a courtesy in at least reading what commentary or changes I’ve given, and talking about it. It can be as simple as “I don’t like any of it, go soak your head” or “This is awesome, thanks” or a back-and-forth where one of us explains to the other their thinking, and compromise as necessary.

Make the best book you can

No one sets out to write the worst book ever. No one wakes up and commits to writing a book without having it read by someone else, often in exchange for currency or cupcakes or some kind of services. The process of writing is an exercise in decision-making and discipline. Growing the idea from something that rattles around in your head to something that exists somewhere concrete to something that exists in a state that someone else wants to read is a challenge to self-doubt and our habits. And it’s scary.

Part of making the best book you can is arming yourself with the best knowledge you can. The internet is packed with resources: books, blogs, classes and whatever else (eventually holograms, right? We need holograms) and they’re available to you, so use them.

Another part of that is surrounding yourself with people who can help make you better: editors, agents, copyeditors, proofreaders, beta readers, writing groups, writing partners, accountability buddies, sponsors, mentors, co-conspirators are all available to you, if you’re willing to be brave enough to step away from the fear and doubt and make the declaration that you’re going to make a thing. If you’re about to say you don’t have anyone you can think of, please count me. I got your back, and I’m one guy writing this guest blog post. Also, I wear bathrobes and comfy clothes and I play video games, and if you want, I’ll cook awesome food and we can hang out. I won’t even ask you for a ride to a doctor’s appointment or to borrow stuff from your garage without returning it.

The tricky part here is that you can surround yourself with people who say good things, but no growth happens. People can love what you do, but that’s not going to help make the book happen. That’s not going to get you to stop calling yourself an “aspiring” writer. Are you writing? Then you’re a writer.

Avoid the echo chamber

The internet is a huge place full of furious roads and dystopic wastelands. In order to cope with its expanse, we return to our roots as tribal primates and build communities. Over time, and given limited influx of new viewpoints, those communities can become echo chambers, whirlpools of masturbatory praise and flatulence sniffing where the status quo goes unchallenged and growth stalls.

And that growth is critical. It’s what pushes into new efforts, it’s how we get better and level up our skills (so presumably we get good enough to turn undead or have a honey badger for an animal companion. I would name mine Clyde.)

An editor, as a new entrant into your community of creativity, brings two assets with them: an ability to say “No”, and an ability to motivate. Nobody likes hearing “No”, but it’s the negative that can lead us to change, the same way rejection can prompt a new attempt. If a community is built out of people who only say “Yes” it’s much harder to develop. This is not to say your mom, your spouse, that nice coworker, and that friend you’ve made every morning when you wait for a latte can’t read your book and cheer you on, but they’re not going to be critical. I mean, these people love you on some level that will prevent them from saying that your plot is hollow and your character is as well-crafted as a sweatshop knockoff brand sneaker. They might just call the whole thing “interesting” and tell you they liked it, but they’re not going to get their hands dirty. That’s where an objective outside opinion can come in. Yes, that’s also a great way for you to insulate yourself (“The editor just didn’t get it.”), but that’s just cowardice, that’s fear talking. And you, creative person, are greater than your fears. You challenge them every time you put a word on a page.

You expected editing tips? Here you go

I’ve tried to write the preceding two thousand or so words without talking about myself, which has proven difficult, since I like talking about myself, and it gives me a chance to help people. If you follow me on Twitter (@awesome_john), I do a lot of “writing tweets”, which are digestible pieces of information about writing or publishing. Often they’re motivation, reminders not to give up or encouragement to write even when you would rather clean toilets after a Mexican lunch at an IBS symposium. So here, have some writing tips that run a little longer than 140 characters:

Mind your pronouns. When you have two characters of the same gender in a scene, and they’re interacting, it’s critical for the reader to keep them separate and distinct in their mind. Suppose you have two women, maybe they’re sisters, and they’re talking. Your exposition has this sentence: “When she came across her photo album, she froze.” Which “she” is which? Who did what action? Whose album is it?

Stop building “And” centipedes. How many and+verbs are you going to use in a single thought, let alone a single sentence? “I went to the store and I got eggs and they were out of milk and then I bought a candy bar and then I stared at that ugly baby and then I thought about why we call radishes radishes and I got lost in the frozen food aisle and then I ran into my friend Patrice.” Chaining all those actions together creates the idea that all those ideas are equal in weight and importance. Also it’s a slow read. When a person (who isn’t a cute child) speaks to us this way, we’re bored. And boredom makes readers leave books behind. Challenge yourself any time you want to trail a lot of and+verbs in a single sentence or idea.

Purge these words from your writing and watch your writing sharpen: that | really | just | very | kind of | a little | sort of | Like all those adverbs you’re already burning with fire, these words add qualifiers and description that could be better accomplished with stronger verbs or different sentences. Anyone can describe using clichés and tired expressions, but you’re you, and through your word choices (which are framed in your experiences as a reader and a liver of life), you can ditch the common expression for one unique to you.

I am ever so grateful, lucky, and privileged for the chance to write this guest blog post. I do my best to put material like this on my own blog (http://writernextdoor.com), in between all the life-stuff I talk about. Let me leave you with one last thought.

It is through words that we find ourselves. We use language as a tool of discovery, a tool of experience and as a tool of forging ourselves a path in life. We too often mark our lives by our hardships and failures, and sometimes we are hesitant to call attention to our successes out of fear we will be thought of as arrogant or selfish. But it is neither arrogant nor selfish to take a moment for positivity. It may feel foreign or hokey, I know it does for me, but it is okay to give yourself a gold star when something goes right. Consider this sentence your permission slip. Our ability to share stories and transcend boundaries through creativity elevate us from bipeds wearing pants to true wizards, Istari with adjectives and a burning passion engage other people with story paintings we can draw in their minds.

You may not always feel good enough to do be a writer. You may feel discouraged. You may look at your friends’ successes and wonder if you will ever come close to that. You may look at your life outside and beyond your creative projects and wonder if you have enough time. You may spend nights and days and afternoons angry or scared that precious time is wasting because you’re not writing that paragraph or that chapter or even that word. You may wish for a TARDIS, and mastery over chronology. You may wish for superpowers to write faster, or greater intelligence to conceive of better ideas. You’d not be able to even have those wishes without people creating TARDISes and superpowers so you could be aware of lacking them. The story you’re telling, the thing you’re making, it will be what inspires someone else down the road. You need only keep writing it and then make sure people know it exists.

Let’s all keep doing our best for as long as we can. Let’s believe in each other. Let’s support one another. Let’s tell the best stories we can.

I’M JOHN ADAMUS, I’m the Writer Next Door, and I help people make ideas turn into projects. Whether that’s a novel, novella, script, role-playing game, radio drama, ad copy, teleplay, anthology … I usually say, “If it has words, I can help you make something with them.”

I love synchronicity. When it crackles like lightning, a shuddering bolt of electricity connecting two things in an unexpected way. Example: I have two awesome authors doing guest posts. Both of those authors sent me posts that inadvertently speak to one another about similar topics. That’s awesome, and so I’m popping both posts up today, today, today. We’ve got Stina Leicht (whose newest, Cold Iron, is out now) and S.L. Huang, with Root of Unity out (which is the third book after Zero Sum Game and Half-Life). 

Here, then, is SL’s post. You can check out Stina’s post here.

* * *

There’s this argument that keeps popping up in genre lately, about “fiction as entertainment” versus “political message fiction.”

“We just want our space lasers and sword fights!” cry the fiction-as-entertainment people.

“Are you high? Politics is everywhere and in every character and worldbuilding decision,” cry those dirty Social Justice Warrior-types who like to shove rainbow gay unicorns down everyone’s face orifices.

Being one of those dirty rainbow unicorn types myself, I broadly agree with the idea that politics is everywhere, seeping into our perceptions like some horror-movie blob villain. After all, if a fictional world and its characters are contemporary, we’ll see the same crap the real world throws at its people — or we’ll judge its absence. And if we’re talking future or secondary world, we may think we can dodge . . . except that every reader is bringing context from our current world, and in the differences or similarities will be a Message. A glaring, honking Message that people will read into it whether the author wants them to or not. Men and women are entirely equal? It’s a Message. We see more men than women? It’s a different sort of Message.

And of course, it’s not as if messages are inherently bad, or preclude entertainment value. Some of the most engrossing classics of the SFF genre are bone-deep in message and politics, including books by Wells, Shelley, Le Guin, Butler, and Heinlein. Message fiction can be awesome! Bring on the brilliant message fiction!

But. But.

All too often, I feel like these very valid points end up going too far, and squashing the argument into something like, “All fiction is message fiction, so escapism is a myth, and what other people think of as escapism is just bad message fiction.” And that makes me sad, because I think it flattens out a vital facet of the importance of books and media. Namely:

– I believe it is possible to have media that is more about escapism than making a statement. Message is everywhere, but that message can be dialed up or down, and both have value.

– I believe such escapist fiction is hugely important. It’s as important as fiction that challenges and teaches us. Heck, it’s as important as fiction that is both escapist and challenging.

– I believe we can have awesome, escapist, action-adventure pulp that’s primarily about entertainment, and that we can do it without punching demographics in the face by erasing or misrepresenting them.

Let’s discuss!

1) Escapist fiction is possible.

As much as I agree that there is politics in everything . . . look, I’ve got to be honest; I know what I’m thinking when I write something. Sometimes I’m writing a story with a particular point in mind — I’ve got published shorts I will freely admit are the messagiest of the messagey — but sometimes my Very Serious Writer Focus is on whether one more explosion will be too gratuitous or whether I can squeeze in another Babylon 5 reference.

Yes, the things that are important to me are going to seep in around the edges; they can’t not. And my escapism isn’t everyone’s escapism — for instance, I can’t read books with crappy female representation anymore without being thrown out of the story, whereas others are able to overlook it. On the flip side, there are probably people who can’t stand all my female/POC/queer/disabled characters runnin’ around fuckin’ shit up because to them it means I have some sort of agenda (even though I would argue for the obviousness of female/POC/queer/disabled folk being able to have zany escapist adventures just as well as any other protagonists).

So maybe a book being escapist isn’t an intrinsic quality of the book — maybe it’s a function of both the book itself and the views of the person reading it. Which I think is neat! But the book and its writer do play some part. After all, two books can have the same basic worldview, but one might be deeply thought-provoking and the other may not . . . though either might take me on a ride I’ll never forget.

We’ll never be without message entirely, especially with a bunch of it coming from the reader’s perceptions. But we writers can twist that dial up or down, and aim as well as we can for a particular effect before we hope for the best and release it to the reader’s brain meats.

2) Escapist fiction is valuable.

Not only is escapist entertainment possible, it’s damn important. As much as I need and love the books that challenge me, it’s the ones that let me escape that have saved me.

The ones I could disappear into, when disappearing was all I had.

The ones I could read and reread and reread and know they’d be there for me.

The ones that kept me sane when real life was hell.

Entertainment is its own value, but escapism offers value beyond entertainment. It genuinely helps people. It grips their hands and makes them feel less alone. It gives them back spoons. It hits the right endorphins and makes everything just a little bit better. It lets that kid like me lock herself in a room and be somewhere else. It’s so goddamn important and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.

There is absolutely nothing wrong, or lesser, or shameful about either writing or reading books meant purely or primarily for escapist purposes. In my view, if all my books ever do is make someone feel better on a bad day, that is huge, and I have absolutely succeeded.

3) Escapist fiction is for everyone.

We need escapist books — and we all need them. There’s no literary law that underrepresented folk are somehow “permitted” in agenda-driven political message SFF but that the realm of pulpy action-adventure must contain only shitty women and zero nonwhite people. Frankly, I find such a notion ridiculous.

Here’s what I like to think will attract people to my most recent book, Root of Unity: explosions, car chases, gun fights, nerd jokes, and snarky go-to-the-ends-of-the-world-for-each-other character dynamics. Here’s what else it includes in the process of doing all that: Women. Nonwhite people. Disabled people. Women and nonwhite people and disabled people whose characters are affected by the politics of the world they live in, and women and nonwhite people and disabled people talking to each other and pushing their own agendas and doing math and trying to kill each other and blowing up lots of things.

Does one of these lists negate the other? Why should it?

Just because I’m a woman of color who writes about other women of color doesn’t mean I can’t write pulpy action-adventure SFF. Hell, just because I’m a woman of color who writes about other women of color doesn’t mean I can’t be proud to write pulpy action-adventure SFF!

Awesome escapist fiction doesn’t and shouldn’t belong to any particular group. And I will die on the hill saying we need it just as much as we need the deep, important classics, and that we don’t have to exclude anyone in creating it.

* * *

SL Huang justifies her MIT degree by using it to write eccentric mathematical superhero fiction. In real life, you can usually find her hanging upside down from the ceiling or stabbing people with swords. She is unhealthily opinionated at www.slhuang.com and on Twitter as @sl_huang. Her newest is Root of Unity:

Cas Russell has always used her superpowered mathematical skills to dodge snipers or take down enemies. Oh, yeah, and make as much money as possible on whatever unsavory gigs people will hire her for. But then one of her few friends asks a favor: help him track down a stolen math proof. One that, in the wrong hands, could crumble encryption protocols worldwide and utterly collapse global commerce.

Cas is immediately ducking car bombs and men with AKs — this is the type of math people are willing to kill for, and the U.S. government wants it as much as the bad guys do. But all that pales compared to what Cas learns from delving into the proof. Because the more she works on the case, the more she realizes something is very, very wrong . . . with her.

For the first time, Cas questions her own bizarre mathematical abilities. How far they reach. How they tie into the pieces of herself that are broken — or missing.

How the new proof might knit her brain back together . . . while making her more powerful than she’s ever imagined.

Desperate to fix her fractured self, Cas dives into the tangled layers of higher mathematics, frantic for numerical power that might not even be possible — and willing to do anything, betray anyone, to get it.

Root of Unity: Amazon

I love synchronicity. When it crackles like lightning, a shuddering bolt of electricity connecting two things in an unexpected way. Example: I have two awesome authors doing guest posts. Both of those authors sent me posts that inadvertently speak to one another about similar topics. That’s awesome, and so I’m popping both posts up today, today, today. We’ve got Stina Leicht (whose newest, Cold Iron, is out now) and S.L. Huang, with Root of Unity out (which is the third book after Zero Sum Game and Half-Life). 

Here, then, is Stina’s post. You can check out S.L.’s post here.

And also, Stina is doing a Cold Iron giveaway. Details at the bottom of this post.

* * *

What does the phrase ‘message fiction’ mean? I’ve been hearing it a lot lately. Most of the time it’s being implied that ‘message fiction’ is a new and dangerous trend. That this never happened in genre before. That isn’t true, and those throwing around the term can’t possibly be unaware of this. I’ll explain why soon, but for now I can’t help thinking what they’re truly saying is that Science Fiction and Fantasy is being taken away from its True Fans™. That these True Fans™ don’t wish to read any fiction that contains opinions or topics with which they disagree. That genre fans are delicate hot house flowers. That their constitutions are far too fragile to handle concepts they might dislike. I say, that’s their choice. They can live that way. However, they also claim that such things don’t belong in genre at all and should be edited out. There’s a word for this. It’s called censorship. Interestingly enough, they claim to be victims of censorship, and that this gives them the right to dole out the same in return. Because they are anti-censorship. This isn’t logical. Mind you, I’ve never been a big fan of ‘any means to an end’ as a strategy for anyone who claims to be a good person. That way leads, almost instantly, to becoming the thing you hate. And that’s why ultimately, this argument about message fiction boils down to just another round of “Fake Geek.”

But just for grins, let’s play along. Let’s pretend this isn’t what they mean. Let’s ask the question in earnest. What is message fiction?

As I understand it, message fiction is fiction that contains a theme. If you’ve taken an English literature class, you’re familiar with the concept. (See: http://www.roanestate.edu/owl/elementslit.html) A ’theme’ is but one of many tools of the professional writer trade. (See http://study.com/academy/lesson/what-is-theme-in-literature-definition-examples-quiz.html) All writers of fiction use these concepts whether they’re noticed by readers or not. Sometimes, they’re even used unconsciously by the writer. And that is why I say that if the concept of fiction with a theme is new to them, they haven’t been paying attention to our genre or literature in general. Ever.

So, does ‘Message Fiction’ have a place in Science Fiction and Fantasy?

Short version: yes.

Longer version: YES. Because Science Fiction is often defined as the fiction of ideas, and while I tend to lean more toward Science Fiction and Fantasy being the fiction of ideas and characters, I agree. I’d go so far as to say that without thoughtful, attention-grabbing concepts (and characters,) you’re left with a simple chronicle of events. That isn’t literature. It’s a diary entry. In that sense, all good fiction is message fiction. And I think we can all agree as SFF fans that our genre contains good, even great, fiction.[2]

Themes have been used in SFF since its inception. Let’s start with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein which is widely regarded as one of the first, if not, the first SFF novel. One of its main themes is the question of whether or not scientific knowledge can be/should be used ethically. This is a classic in our genre. It’s everywhere. It’s even present in Jurassic Park which I can’t imagine anyone labeling as anything but entertainment. Star Trek has successfully used social commentary as has Sir Terry Pratchett with his extremely popular Discworld series.

Mind you, literary devices, like any tool, can be inexpertly or incorrectly used. It’s called propaganda. (See: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/propaganda) What’s the difference between fiction containing a theme and propaganda? That’s easy.

It’s the distinction between a question and a statement.

Propaganda tells you how to think. Literary themes invite you, the reader, to come up with your own answers. Propaganda leaves no doubt whatsoever. It demands that you agree. It’s very obvious. No other interpretation is permitted. It’s a closed, authoritarian approach. Literary themes, on the other hand, invite the reader to explore the matter for themselves. They’re interactive. A theme can be something you disagree with. In fact, a theme can be extremely effective if it drives home uncomfortable concepts. A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess is a fine example. It illustrates the struggle between chaos and order, and in doing so, poses questions about the balance between individual freedom versus the establishment. How much of each is too much? It’s a difficult, uneasy read for all sorts of reasons. None of the characters are remotely admirable from what I remember. Nothing demonstrated in the novel is anything I agree with, either. Still, I felt it was a worthwhile read and an important contribution to the SFF genre because it exposed me to new ideas.

And that’s the thing. When it comes to venturing outside our comfort zone human beings tend to be well… fearful. Thus, if we’re not invited to explore, most of us don’t. There’s a danger in this. If anything proves that, it’s the phenomenon of the filter bubble. (See: http://www.ted.com/talks/eli_pariser_beware_online_filter_bubbles?language=en) It’s what ultimately happens when a search engine personalizes searches. The idea was that the data returned would guide the user to more information in which the user is specifically interested. Thus, causing them to increase interaction with the product. However, there was an unforeseen negative consequence to this kind of search engine behavior. Any information that challenges the user’s world view is edited out of their experience. Why is this bad?

Because human beings learn best through trial and error. Ask any teacher. It’s very difficult to learn anything if you don’t make any mistakes. The whole process of creativity and invention happens through trial and error.

If the world is tailored to only give feedback the user approves of, the whole world looks like it agrees with them. One stops questioning and learning. Not just that, one begins to miss out on factual events in other parts of the world.[2] It’s not only damaging to creativity, science, and engineering. It’s damaging to democracy. Linda Nagata’s The Red touches on this very subject. It’s well worth thinking about.

So, does ‘message fiction’ belong in SFF? I don’t think there’s a doubt that it does. It’s why I work with themes in Cold Iron — mostly around killing, death, racism, and vengeance among others. Can you have fun at the same time? I think you can. In fact, my favorite kinds of fiction are fun fiction that teaches me something. I find it more mentally engaging. I suspect I’m not alone in this.

—————————————

[1] Is it possible to write without a theme? One can experiment. However, I don’t believe it’s wise or actually possible. First, writing is about communication at its base, and communication is about conveying meaning. If there’s no substance behind what you habitually read… if it’s empty of thought… well, studies are showing that when it comes to a healthy brain, the phrase “use it or lose it” applies.

(See: http://education.jhu.edu/PD/newhorizons/Neurosciences/articles/The%20Brain…Use%20it%20or%20Lose%20It/

http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/02/080207091859.htm

http://www.brainhq.com/news/use-it-or-lose-it-principles-brain-plasticity)

I don’t know about you, but I worry about how my own brain is going to function thirty years down the road. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with escapism, but like anything, moderation is best. Second, how one might write without a theme? It would mean not venturing outside the defaults. Boring. But okay. Still, the message sent is that only the default matters. In addition, that stance ignores the writer’s subconscious, and the writer’s subconscious is inseparable from the writer’s imagination. Beliefs and ideas creep in, whether the writer is aware or not, and the writer will get tagged for that by critics. It’s just best do so consciously and have control rather than be caught unaware and well, don’t.

[2] See: http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2015/04/the-truth-about-black-twitter/390120/

* * *

Cold Iron Giveaway! My publisher is giving away ten copies of Cold Iron. If you’re interested in participating in the drawing, please state as much in the comments and leave your email address so that I can contact you if you’re a winner. Winners will be announced on Twitter and on my blog (csleicht.com) Thanks!

Stina Leicht is a two time Campbell Award nominee for Best New Writer and a Crawford Award finalist. The first novel in her new Flintlock Epic Fantasy series, Cold Iron, debuted July 2015 with Simon and Schuster’s Saga imprint:

Fraternal twins Nels and Suvi move beyond their royal heritage and into military and magical dominion in this flintlock epic fantasy debut from a two-time Campbell Award finalist.

Prince Nels is the scholarly runt of the ancient Kainen royal family of Eledore, disregarded as flawed by the king and many others. Only Suvi, his fraternal twin sister, supports him. When Nels is ambushed by an Acrasian scouting party, he does the forbidden for a member of the ruling family: He picks up a fallen sword and defends himself.

Disowned and dismissed to the military, Nels establishes himself as a leader as Eledore begins to shatter under the attack of the Acrasians, who the Kainen had previously dismissed as barbarians. But Nels knows differently, and with the aid of Suvi, who has allied with pirates, he mounts a military offensive with sword, canon, and what little magic is left in the world.

Cold Iron: Indiebound | B&N | Amazon

so is this cannon canon or what

For a great many years, I was rather enamored with the idea of canon in the pop culture feast that I consumed. This continued well into my 20s, maybe into my 30s, and even now I still feel its needle-stitch tug inside my heart. (For those who don’t know, the idea of “canon” originates with the notion that in a given topic, study or series, there exists a genuine, bona fide list of books that are considered sacred and original. In pop culture fandom, “canon” takes this idea to mean that some stories or ideas are “true” in the context of the internal history of that particular narrative.)

As by now all of you — except that guy who has been living in a nuclear bunker from the 1950s — have figured out that I wrote a Star Wars novel. *clears throat* I have not exactly been quiet about it. And this novel is the first “canon” novel to appear and start to build the bridge between Episode VI (aka Return of the Jedi) and Episode VII (aka The Force Awakens). It builds immediately off the events in VI, while planting seeds for what will eventually become the garden of new material that sprouts in VII. Again, it is to be considered “canon” — it is real and it is true in the context of the narrative story-world (“the galaxy far, far away”).

Ah, but, post-RotJ books already existed, and they were canon-ish. Zahn’s original trilogy (which I adored as a kid and which were held as sacred texts) launched a major mission into the unknown void beyond the borders of the galaxy we knew. Lucas said, “No new trilogy,” and that opened up the doors to dozens upon dozens of new books told in that space. These books were canon more by default than anything else (they were not to my knowledge explicitly made so, and as I understand it, Lucas always considered the books secondary to the visual media around the storyworld), but the books were close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades, as the saying goes. The Expanded Universe was as the name suggested: the galaxy became bigger, richer, wider, weirder.

Now, though, all that has gone. Those books have been re-classified as Legends.

See, Star Wars has always been more Tolkien than Marvel or DC. What I mean is this: the continuity of Star Wars has mostly remained a single, unbroken chain. Tolkien’s narrative storyworld is unified in the same way — whereas with the two major comic book houses, you get a massively fractured narrative. You get hundreds of chains, some broken, others soldered together, others still just random links floating in the void. The storyworlds of Star Wars and Middle-earth are histories beholden to isolated timelines; the storyworlds of DC and Marvel are shattered mirrors representing a variety of alternate dimensions or single-shot universes. Middle-earth has little variance in its historical thrust — no alternate histories. And, up until recently, that was somewhat true of Star Wars, too. (I say “somewhat” because how exactly do you classify the video games? The comics? The “Droids” cartoon? LUMPY AND ITCHY AND LIFE DAY?

That has now changed. Star Wars now has an entire outgrowth of its narrative universe moved to that “alternate timeline” category — the most robust branch of that tree has been suddenly wrenched sideways to make way for a graft from a new, different cultivar. It was bound to happen, of course. Once Episode VII was announced — hell, once it was even a glimmer in anybody’s eye — the historicity or “canon” qualifications of the Expanded Universe had to have felt a tectonic tremor in the Force. It would take back-breaking narrative calisthenics to maintain the Expanded Universe in a trilogy of new films. The age of the actors alone makes that tricky. And the Thrawn trilogy presents clones that do not operate well against the rigors of the prequel events. And of course once you step onto the path of the Expanded Universe, you have to play host to a wild array of story events that may not be easy to keep — Chewbacca’s death, for instance. Or the existence of zombie stormtroopers and space werewolves — er, sorry, “wyrwolves.”

So, the timeline had to snap in half.

Now, you have the galaxy far, far away.

And you have, separate from it, the Legends continuity. (This post, by the way, isn’t about the people who want to bring Legends/EU back. More power to them, and as I’ve noted, I’m sympathetic to those who feel like the storyworld they were following is no longer going to have new material. I have less sympathy for those who take that mission and make it a belligerent, negative one rather than one that is positive and constructive. Be a fountain, not a drain, folks.)

I get questions now about the canonization of things inside Aftermath — people excited or disappointed that X, Y, Z thing is now canon. (Some folks are upset because I canonized hamsters. As in, I mention something inside the book is “hamster-sized,” which now makes hamsters a real thing inside the Star Wars universe. There exists some pushback against Earth things intruding upon the SW universe, though as you’ll see, Earth references like “Falcon,” or “Hell,” or “hot chocolate” have long been a part of the galaxy.) And it’s curious, because I didn’t really think that way as I was writing the book. I mean, yes, I knew that what I was writing would have resonance and would be the first steps toward the larger bridge connecting the trilogies, but that was the 30,000-foot-view. I didn’t think about the nitty-gritty nuance of canonizing things.

(Sidenote: I also canonized “space diapers.” Hey, whatever, you mean to tell me some kooky smugglers don’t use ’em? NASA has garments that are referred to as “space diapers,” I’ll have you know. See? SEE? Boom. Space diapers. *drops mic into pile of space diapers, squish*)

And so, I’ve been thinking a whole lot recently about canon. What is it? How rigorous must it be? More importantly, why are we so beholden to it? Why do we care so much?

The answers to those last questions are many-faced.

First, I think it’s that we are beholden to viewing large narrative universes the same way we view things like memory, history and religion. We see things as sacred and true — which springs from the original usage of that word “canon.” Some books are canonized. Some are apocryphal. The apocryphal ones do not govern the larger history or the religion. They are somewhat… ancillary. And in our minds, lesser as a result.

Second, as geeky nerdy type folks, we love to become dogmatic about the things we love. It’s in our nature to be protective and knowledgeable — even hyper-knowledgeable — about the things we love. It’s a way to identify with our tribe. (Of course, that dogmatic adherence can also lead to fandom toxicity. Witness the dipshit fuckwhistle tradition of calling out “fake geek girls” or cosplayers, both of whom have a perfect right to engage with their fandoms as deeply, innately or intricately as they so choose.) We like rules. We like rulebooks. We are fans of data and detail.

Third, and connected to the last point, we love the things we love and want to know them through and through. Consider it a kind of rigorous exploration.

Fourth, and also connected to the second point, loving all the rules and the data and the details gives us a deeper reach into the worldbuilding aspect of the universe. It is a touchstone to the experiential — we perhaps more vividly connect with material that is continuous and true.

Fifth, the elegance of simplicity is not to be denied. If Gandalf acts one way here, then to have him act entirely different elsewhere feels abrasive and impossible. Keeping things together in a singular thrust of narrative consequence is, frankly, easier to keep track of in the long run.

And now, here’s why all that is a little bit bullshit.

History, religion and memory are fucked. History is often ret-conned because history is written by humans and humans are notoriously unreliable narrators. Much of our history is witnessed through secondary or tertiary resources — proxies who did not witness the events about which they are writing — and that makes it utterly shitty in terms of its factual dependability. Even primary sources must be viewed through the lens of perspective. As the saying goes, history is written by the weiners — sorry, winners. We are routinely given sanitized or spun versions of history, and that starts when we’re children. In the US, we’re shown these lovely images of pilgrims sitting down to Thanksgiving with the First People of America, but nobody tells you then about smallpox blankets or the Trail of Tears or how the Pilgrims were concerned about their religious freedom but not so much your religious freedom. Most people still don’t hear about how truly advanced the civilization was of the First People, or who Columbus was an asshole or —

Well, that list goes on and on.

And religion? C’mon. The Bible alone is not really one book but actually several books — you can watch the bone-breaking contortions or hamfisted cherry-pickings necessary to glean hard-and-fast moral life lessons from the Bible. Reading the Bible as a strict interpretation of fact is a pretty good way to miss what’s awesome about the Bible. By devoting yourself to those persnickety details, you lose what it means to be a good person and instead gain what it means to slavishly restrict your moral code to that of people who lived a long, long time ago and in a worldview far, far away. Once again, as children they’re taught the nice stories (“Noah got all the animals to save them from a flood!”) and later learn the whole story (“GOD DROWNED THE WORLD oh except for this Noah guy who has a thing for animals”).

Oh, and don’t get me started on the shame of losing a lot of the apocryphal books. You miss those, you miss Jesus’ teenage years. You also miss him being like, Harry Potter and shit. The Gospel of Mary Magdalene is a fascinating gnostic text concerned about the spiritual soul and actually talks a bit about some lofty things (“. . . Will matter then be destroyed or not? / The Savior said, All nature, all formations, all creatures exist in and with one another, and they will be resolved again into their own roots. / For the nature of matter is resolved into the roots of its own nature alone”).

Okay, how about memory? Also totally untrustworthy. We are all unreliable narrators.

Even science, which is by its definition devoted to the slavishness of data and detail, is wildly flexible — it has to be for it to work as designed. If science cannot evolve, our understanding of the world will fail to evolve, too.

In our narrative storyworlds — in our big spaceship galaxies and our fantasy kingdoms and our superhero cities and our SEX UNIVERSES WHERE I AM THE SEX KING — if we become too rigorous in our slavish devotion to canon, we lose the chance to tell stories. The more strict and detailed the canon becomes, the more reverence we devote to it. And the more it restricts the future of that narrative. The more it chokes off what can be told. Doors close. Windows slam shut and are boarded over. Options are lost. The more we care about what’s “true” — in a universe that has never been true and whose power lies in its fiction — we start denigrating those things that aren’t. We view alternate timelines as somehow inconsequential. We dismiss fan-fiction as just some wish fulfillment machine instead of what it often is: a way to tell cool new stories in a pre-existing pop culture framework that aren’t beholden to the canonical straitjacket.

The truth is, canon has never even been all that canonical. Even the canon of Tolkien is muddy. Which is true? The work of JRR? What about the added work of his son? What about the video games? The films? LEGO Dimensions posits a little LEGO Gandalf running around with Batman and Marty McFly. Which, by the way, is flarging awesome.

I think as trivia, it’s fine. Canon is cool when you view it as a puzzle to be put together. But when it becomes the point of our investment, when we become religious about its value — we lose something. We forget why stories are great in the first place. We fail to enjoy a story for being a story and instead try to view it as a series of binary data points. YES it exists. NO it doesn’t.

Does it really matter?

That’s not to say those interested in canon are wrong to like it — we like what we like for whatever reasons that please us the most. If you read or watch a thing and your interest is in piecing together the mystery of facts-within-the-fiction, then hey, you do you. But at the same time, if your love of canon gets you into fights online or limits what stories you’ll pick up in the future, it’s worth asking if you hold it in too high an esteem.

Maybe the best way forward is to view canon as a curiosity and not a set of slate tablets etched by God-lightning and brought down from the Holy Mountain. Maybe it’s time to enjoy the peculiarities intrinsic to a world where canon is flexible and uncertain, and where narrative apocrypha is allowed the precious room to stretch and breathe. Perhaps the joy in the broken mirrors of DC and Marvel is that I can have my Batman, you can have yours, and nobody has to arm-wrestle over which one is right, which one is true, which one belongs, which one does not.

* * *

ZER0ES.

An Anonymous-style rabble rouser, an Arab spring hactivist, a black-hat hacker, an old-school cipherpunk, and an online troll are each offered a choice: go to prison or help protect the United States, putting their brains and skills to work for the government for one year.

But being a white-hat doesn’t always mean you work for the good guys. The would-be cyberspies discover that behind the scenes lurks a sinister NSA program, an artificial intelligence code-named Typhon, that has origins and an evolution both dangerous and disturbing. And if it’s not brought down, will soon be uncontrollable.

Out now from Harper Voyager.

Doylestown Bookshop| WORD| Joseph-Beth Booksellers| Murder by the Book

Powells | Indiebound | Amazon| B&N| iBooks| Google Play| Books-a-Million

The elevator pitch.

The logline.

The query letter.

The back-of-the-book marketing copy.

One of the skills of the author, regardless of publishing format, is pitching your book in a way that is both concise and exciting to people who might be editors, agents, booksellers or readers.

So, it’s time to practice those skills here and now, in Ye Olde Comments Section.

You’ve got a WIP (work-in-progress), yeah? Then I want you to go to the comments section and give us the shortest possible pitch you can give for the book while still maintaining maximum engagement. You want to hook us with this pitch — not necessarily reel us in. Meaning, the pitch isn’t used to describe the entire novel. Just the most exciting part — the promise of the premise. A glimpse into the protagonist, the conflict, the stakes. Why do we care? Why would that pitch make us salivate? What is it really about and why will that grab us?

It’s a tricky skill.

As I say with a query letter, it’s like taking a 500 lb. pig and putting it into a 5 lb. bucket. Except with a logline, it’s more like shoving a 500 lb. pig in a fanny pack. Epic rendering necessary.

Keep your pitch between one and three sentences.

That’s the only restriction right now.

The other thing, though, is that once you post it?

Expect people to comment upon it. The goal here is to refine your pitches, not put them up for museum display. And if you post a pitch, please make a comment on someone else’s pitch, too.

Now, step up to the pitcher’s mound and let fly.