A Case of the Tuesdays

As we (yes, we.  This whole Trader thing involves everyone kind enough to put up with it.  Fist bump.) near the completion of a pre-revision manuscript, I can barely restrain my excitement.  Apologies in advance as less and less narrative makes into the blog, but how else can I keep you guessing and interested?! 

Anywho, there’s a major minor plot point coming up that I’m debating on how to write.  So sometime here in the next week, I’m going to put up both versions and let you deal with it.  Lazy?  No.  AWESOME.

Like I said, the sooner I finish Trader, the sooner we all get to move on to other stories. 

That’s all you’re getting for preamble.  I’ve already written a pretty decent one for my next post, I just have to finish writing the accompanying chapter. 

My Jungle Love, Oheeoheeoh

Barbara Hambly wrote Children of the Jedi in 1995 and was my first exposure to a visceral writing style.  Though intended for a younger audience (considering I was 10 at the time, it may have actually been intended for an older audience) it has stuck with me as an striking example of how to make your reader feel just as miserable as the protagonist.  It came in short and broken bursts and the details are rather fuzzy, but the generalizations are still there.

Later in life, the same thing was accomplished by watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.  More than once I had to stop watching because I felt physically ill.  Great writers beget great writing, so I’ve always tried to emulate that response from readers in the same fashion.

Some of the criticism I’ve received or have seen tossed at other writers is the argument of ‘You’ve never ____ so how do you know that’s how it would be?’  Well, that’s a fair enough contention, and strong writers get to bypass that by virtue of being strong writers.  I, on the other hand, do not get that luxury. 

Trader, as it has been established, grew up in an unspecified coastal town.  Having done the same, one of the observations I’ve been able to make with a fair amount of consistency, is that kids who grow up at the beach move on to be adults that are both respectful and not scared of nature.  When you see the vastness of ocean and understand the terrors that it holds and then make the conscious decision to continue swimming despite them, there isn’t much left in the way of fearing wildlife. 

And you can put a shark juxtapose to an alligator or a giant venomous snake and it’s about the same thing.  Leave it alone, don’t show fear, move away, then congratulations you’re still alive.  The ocean also removes the fear of the unknown.  You know just past the breakers there’s SOMETHING lurking.  It isn’t that you’re unwary, it’s that at some point, you just don’t care.  The main difference between country/ocean folk and city folk is that the former generally fair much better lost in the jungle than the latter.  If you don’t believe me, ask anyone in the Army that’s done a land nav course at night.

Trader isn’t a violent man by nature (necessity, yes) but he is resilient.  I’ve been lost in the woods and in swamps and jungles and rainforests and scrub, covered in bees and spiders, I’ve seen the reflections of thousands of hungry eyes at night.  I’ve been afraid but like Trader, I’m resilient.  You hit a point, about 5 hours in or when exhaustion sets in, where spider webs are less an impromptu karate lesson and more annoying scenery.  Fortunately I’ve never been shot, unfortunately I know plenty of people that have.  So, I’m not a strong writer, but I do have a superb memory. 

Hopefully I’ll become a better writer, thus negating the need for blunt force experience.  I’m getting too old for that shit.

Infinite Hope

Who is John Galt?  

I think the more important question here is:  Who gives a shit?

Atlas Shrugged may or may not be a horrible book.  I’ve never read it based on what I assume to be completely objective reviews.  Something about a rich guy being a dick in such a disconnected way that there's no possible way to care about the story.  

Frank Fontaine on the other hand...

As polar opposites go; People like Andrew Ryan have complete faith in humanity.  People like Frank Fontaine have absolutely none (or, at the very least are the reason why some people have none).  Between them there is zero compromise, the result being utter collapse of utopian society.  Un/Fortunately, there will never be such a thing as Utopia because humanity is neither perfect nor is it broken.  It is, at its very core, humanity.  We need boundaries and constraints as much as we need freedom and room for personal growth.  Denying us any of those elements results in not just Atlas shrugging, but everyone collectively complaining to him to stop moving around so damned much.  I think that's why Ann Raynd is so difficult to swallow.  While Bioshock (and by extension the book Rapture) presents us with an easy suspension of disbelief scenario, Atlas Shrugged is uncompromising in its reality, forcing the reader into a unbelievable view of the world.

We are, as a society of imaginative thinkers, moving forward to the point where a man that begs you to bludgeon him to death whilst saying the trigger phrase 'Will you kindly?' is somehow more believable than a railroad magnate pretending at being a social messiah.  And that, my friends, speaks volumes about people.  That is why, despite everything we throw at ourselves, is why we will never fail in the long run.  Video games are slowly saving the world.

Spoiler Alert:

Bioshock Infinite had the most tear jerking ending of any story I've experienced (sans Toy Story 3 or the episode of Futurama with Fry’s dog).  Not because of the way it ended, but because of how it tied everything (I mean everything, all the way from Rapture) together AFTER the story had been told.  What’s more, as a stand alone narrative it works.  With the addition of continuity eclipsing that narrative, it works even better. 

That’s a poor segue into what’s coming next, but please bear with me.

I’ve been trying, since I started taking Trader seriously, to find a way to avoid the cliché of ‘man falls in love with ship.’  Frankly it’s been done in sci-fi, fan-fic, and it’s a tool of writers completely tapped for ideas.  However, for the story to continue, Lily had to be … more than what she was.  She needed to be alive.  Then I played Infinite.

The first thing I worried about when Infinite began was that ‘the girl’ was going to be more Zelda or Peach than anything else.  Let’s face it, 9 times out of 10, when you’re sent to rescue someone of the opposite sex, your archetypal tough guy is going to fall in love with her.  Imagine my surprise when, as Booker Dewitt, I was confronted for the first time with Elizabeth felt none of the expected tension. 

Instead, she’s this innocent, seemingly fragile person that you immediately care a great deal about and DON’T KNOW WHY.  As you play on, you watch her grow, become emotionally attached to her, look forward to her off colour comments, even feel guilty for making bad decisions when she’s around. 

It’s not until the very end of the story that you realize she’s your daughter, at which point you want to gouge your own face off while you bawl in a corner for being such a shit parent.  But it also puts the other games into perspective, making them slightly more depressing.  There’s always a man, always a lighthouse, always a Big Daddy and a Little Sister. 

I was jealous of how well they told this story until it occurred to me that they did it over the span of the ENTIRE game.  I wanted to do the same thing without knowing that’s exactly what I had been doing.  Not actually playing up the story to anything great but it really is a strange moment when you recognize your subconscious actively playing a part in your writing.  I wanted to build a relatable, beloved character, and wound up doing it accidentally.  Hopefully. 

Not sure if Infinite taught me how to spin or just what to look for in what was already there.  It helped though.  Also, science.

 Earlier, I mentioned something about the concept of a Cargo Cult.  The point was lost as the train wreck that is my attention decided to take it in a completely different direction of what I originally intended.  What I MEANT to conclude was that writing (as well as the internet) works in the same fashion, though not always how one would like it to.  

Someone (It was either Kurt Vonnegut or Justina Robson) said that writing often doesn't make you a better writer, it just conditions you to be ready when your muse finally shows up, letting you squeeze as much as you can from it before it runs off again.  I'm inclined to agree.  Hence this blog.  Last night I wrote (read: typed) with my eyes closed, fingers accidentally straying from the home keys and came up with this:

Mtbw ir for swlTWS.  OE Mtbw qw miaaws ir.  No, rhwewa no ion reILA, QWLL, RHWEW’A AOMW Ewllt ols onwa, ao R Lwar qw knoq rhr QW ew in rhw eifhr plXW.  HOQ TOU DIFUEW?

Which, what the hell?  Literally several thousand words of that and it'll take the work of Batman to decode, but as far as bamboo and palm fronds go?  About the same thing.  

Cargo Cults and Roses

Terry Pratchett described Cargo Cults (though I’m sure he wasn’t the first, he just happened to be the best) thusly paraphrased:  A ship gets blown off course circa 16^th century and finds itself, after the storm has passed, within sight of an island.  Upon landing, the crew is met by the locals who are more than happy to be of assistance by way of livestock, water, and fresh fruits in exchange for priceless baubles (priceless here being synonymous with worthless), alcohol, and shiny iron weapons. 

The ship then sails away, able to complete its journey, while the indigenous population gets drunk and kills each other over bright rocks.  Eventually though, the booze runs out, the baubles lose their shine, the iron dulls.  So, what are the people to do?  Far removed from regular shipping routes, how do they get more ships to come?

           

Well, what attracts ships?  More ships, obviously.  They start building, from bamboo and palm fronds, a false ship.  And they wait.  And, here’s the important part, it works.  Whether from weather or word of mouth from the last crew, another boat sails by.  This time, they see the false ship but assume it’s the real thing, and if there’s a ship there, it must be there for a reason.  Two ships attract even more ships and so on.

An easier way to understand this whole concept is; If you build it, they will come. 

Point being is that the internet works much the same way.  Padding your own stats will work quite effectively.  However, I’m either too lazy, or too honest (money on the former) to claim that I’ve had exactly 1,123,234 hits in the last two days.  Word of mouth…word of computer, whatever.  Spread it.

On roses:

What’s in a name?  Quite a bit apparently.  A rather fantastic point was brought up by my new (official) editor of Trader: “I’m waiting for the astronomer to come back, because I care about her…  But I think her name should be something else.  Her name doesn’t fit what I picture in my head [sic].” 

Adrienne Bottom, Bottom being her maiden name as I cannot spell her ridiculously complicated Polish looking married name, a long time friend with a penchant for technical writing and engineering has taken up the mantle.  Which isn’t to say I don’t appreciate the continuous stream of comments and corrections, she’s here for quality control.

What?  Where were we?  Oh right… 

It got me thinking about naming conventions.  Fox’s Firefly – the least subtle show when it came to naming its characters – had Mal the anti-hero, River the graceful kung-fu girl, Inara Serra the angelic space hooker, and Adam Baldwin. 

It begs the question of what a suitable name for a female astronomer that you want to come back should be.  I’m quite comfortable with Trader, Celeste, Keian, Jax, Lily, and Nala.  I was never any good at ancillary characters because if they weren’t coming back, I didn’t want to care about them.  But I suppose you should care about all of them, that’s what makes it a good story.

Whatever Juliet may have thought, names are, in fact, important.

Bet you weren’t expecting all that build up for just that.

Suck it.

A Leap Forward In Time

Almost completely forgot I had this page.  That's how things go though, isn't it?  Between a deployment and well, life, this was left to rot at the bottom of the internet.

One of my favorite bloggers of all time just made her...if not triumphant return...then at least her much anticipated comeback to the internet.  Allie Brosh is incredibly talented.  If you are not familiar with her work, GET familiar with it.  I think it's safe to say that we were legitmately worried about her (we being Allie's fans), and still are.  She's back though, in whatever capacity, broken but unbound as it were.  Allie's writing has gotten me through some insanely tough times, my hope is that we can do the same for her at some point.

Not going to tell everyone about the last few years in any great detail.  Love's labour was lost.  Lives were saved.  Helicopters were flown.  Comicon was discovered.  Dragon Con was rediscovered.  Hearts were broken.  Adventures were had.  I pulled a child out of a human-being, gross.  Met some awesome people.  In possession of incredible friends.  Long story short?  Life was lived with extreme prejudice.

Updates for writing?  I know it's been going on nigh 4 years-ish, BUT Trader is moving along swiftly now.  There's a light at the end of the tunnel and it has a page number in it.  57,000 words written for Trader, more and more every week.  Marcus and Marlin Mardis: Master Monster Murderers, of course Ariana, Pirated Gods (is never going to go away), and my latest with a wonderful new artist - Katherine O'Brien - My Name Is Not Alice; are all in the works.  Life isn't stopping me, I love what I do, but it's slowing me down... and somehow that isn't that much of a hinderance.

Before I get to the latest installment of Trader, check this out, Janice (pronounced Juh-neece) makes them herself like the beautiful badass that she is.