Finding the balance

hi,

i read your book (solitaire, not dangerous space. apparently my city’s library does not possess copies of dangerous space?) a few months ago. and i thought it was amazing. i’m just letting you know that. i really did like it. now i am so scared of crocodiles, like terribly concerned about the prospect of their existence, in my mind and in the world. this is sad, because i have crocodiles painted on my bedroom walls. but i also thought it was one of the best ways to describe the voices in your mind that are always there ready to poison things. i could never figure out what was happening before.

i also really liked the concepts used. the descriptions were really vivid. you know this, i’m sure. it is, after all, your book. i thought it was really nice, by the way, that you had the relationship between snow and jackal without editorializing about the difficulties of samesex relationships, and focusing the relationship on the people, not how difficult coming out may be, or how prejudiced the surrounding culture was. i’m sure that there are probably many books like this in that respect (i hope) but solitaire was the first one i have read.

i’m fifteen. i guess that explains a lot? or maybe nothing at all.

i think i might be using run-on sentences. i’m sorry if this message is not quite clear. i write the way i talk and so….yes.

what i was actually wondering was what kind of degree and career training you would have to go through to become a facilitator or project manager? what things would be a good idea to major in?

okay, thank you even simply for reading this. i really did enjoy your book.

have a good day,

kelsey


Hi Kelsey,

I’m glad you liked Solitaire. Thanks for taking the time to find me and let me know.

You’ve caught me in a thinking/talking space, so this is a really long response. Hope that’s okay. Sometimes too long can be just as frustrating as too short.

I’m sorry your library doesn’t carry Dangerous Space, although I can understand it — the book is from an independent press, and sometimes either those books don’t come so easily to the attention of libraries, or the libraries choose to spend their budget on books from trade (major) publishers.

My library system has an online order form where I can request that they either buy a specific book, or get it for me on interlibrary loan from another system. Maybe yours will have that service available. If so, the publisher is Aqueduct Press and the publication date is June 2007.

Ah, the crocodiles. Here’s another conversation I had about them, if you’re interested. I’ve never met anyone who didn’t have that voice inside, which I believe is the voice of fear. Not fear of spiders or fear that the cop behind me is about to pull me over for speeding, but the Big Fears that we all carry… I think of them as fears about our own identity. The big insecurities we have about ourselves, the fears that we will be “not good enough” on some level. Some people are terrified of intimacy. Some people are terrified of showing how smart they are. Some people are terrified that they aren’t smart enough. And so on… everyone’s crocodiles are different, because they belong to us, you know? They are tailor-made for us.

But here’s the thing. Crocodiles are part of being human. We all carry them with us. Don’t be fooled by the people who seem like they’ve never had an insecure thought in their lives — they are either covering like mad (because they are afraid if people find out their insecurities, they will use them as weapons), or they are not yet self-aware enough to know that the crocodiles are there. That’s not about age, it’s about maturity. You know it at fifteen, but some people don’t know it at eighty-five. Not being aware doesn’t mean that we don’t have fears — it just means that we will never be able to see how they affect us, and we won’t be able to do as much to help ourselves.

Quieting those crocodile voices is a life-long process. Sometimes you shut them up for a while, and sometimes they come back and bite hard. I don’t think they ever go away completely.

There’s an idea I came across when I was learning about conflict resolution (as part of facilitation stuff, more about that later). The idea is that conflict makes us feel off-balance inside, and people avoid having conflict because we don’t like that feeling — which only means that we repress our disagreement or anger and it builds up and gets worse.

Peole are always looking for ways to not have these feelings. We think that if we feel knocked off-balance by someone’s anger or disagreement, it means we are weak. But that’s not how it works. The real trick is not to keep our balance — it’s to keep finding our balance again and again and again. All through life. Whether we are arguing about who’s turn it is to do the dishes, or listening to the crocodile tell us we will never be good enough writers to sell a book. It’s all about finding our way back to our own center, in small everyday ways and in big life-changing ones.

I have actually been thinking about this a lot lately. There are things happening for me right now that make me feel off-balance, and I’m coming back to center over and over. It’s a skill. It gets easier with practice, and I’m good at it. But even so, I still have to go through it. Being good at it only means that the curve is shorter.

I’m glad Jackal and Snow’s relationship in Solitaire works for you. I think it’s good and important that there are books about coming out, about dealing with cultural disapproval, yadda yadda, but I get tired of reading them. Revealing oneself to others is not the only part of being bisexual or gay or trans or polyamorous or BDSM or queer in any other way. There are all the other human experiences — falling in love, being loved back, not being loved back, discovering sex and finding people to have it with, negotiating relationships through our differences, making a long-term commitment, losing a lover…. All of it. We all have those experiences, regardless of our sexual or gender identity or class or race or religion. We’re all human beings.

There are definitely other books out there that show people just being human without the cultural hetero-normative baggage. You can try books by Nicola Griffith (here’s her website and her blog). I am biased because she’s my partner, but honestly, there is no better writer. She’s an awesome storyteller.

You can also look for Mary Renault’s books about Alexander the Great (seriously, really good stuff): Fire From Heaven, The Persian Boy, Funeral Games. Or anything by Renault. Melissa Scott writes queer science fiction (try Trouble and Her Friends). Emma Bull’s Bone Dance is a great book about identity in all kinds of ways (here are more of my thoughts about it). Tripping to Somewhere by Kristopher Reisz is about teenage lesbian/bisexual girls searching for the Witches’ Carnival — there’s a lot of angst about love, but not a lot about sexual expression.

Hmm. That’s just off the top of my head, on only one cup of tea. More caffeine would probably bring more titles to mind.

Okay, I went and made another cup of tea, and thought of some more. Elizabeth Lynn’s Watchtower series (start with Watchtower). Ellen Kushner’s Swordspoint, and The Privilege of the Sword. Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness.

On to facilitation and project management. I learned these things over a period of time in my 20’s and 30’s, mostly by teaching myself, watching other people, and reading. I did go to a couple of workshops — these sorts of things can be pretty interesting or really lame, and it’s hard to know which ahead of time.

In terms of majors, there are no “facilitation” majors that I’m aware of. Here are the things I think might have some relevance: psychology, organizational development (this is often a grad-level course of stufy, but not always), communication. I majored in theatre, which I’ve actually found quite useful in facilitating (grin). There are generally electives you can take in project management (you’ll sometimes find them in the engineering school or in the business school). You can major in business if it interests you, although honestly I don’t imagine you’ll get much in the way of communication, effective management, facilitation, etc. there. That’s one of the big problems with business education, in my opinion.

Facilitators have to understand about how communication works. Any books, online articles, workshops or electives that deal with topics like active listening, interpersonal communication or interpersonal dynamics, conflict management, negotiation, ladder of assumption, etc. might be interesting. Although personally I would stay away from pop-culture books like “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” Anything gender-based, anything that claims that men and women are separate creatures, is not useful right now. Focus on the things that are common to all of us as humans.

The best book I know about communication is Difficult Conversations: How to Discuss What Matters Most by Douglas Stone, Bruce Patton and Sheila Heen. This would be a great place to start. Your library should have this or be able to get interlibrary loan for you.

Wikepedia on facilitation and what facilitators do. Just a place to start getting an overview. There are links to books that you could request from the library if you were interested.

But many of those books will be pretty in-depth, so I also recommend you look for some basic books on facilitation skills. I actually suggest starting with your library for this — there are so many books out there on the subject, and no one book is necessarily better as an introduction. They’ll all give you a good overview. Same with project management. It may take a few tries to find something that gives you the big picture as well as some of the basic details.

Project management is a very dry thing to read about and study, but it can be a lot of fun to do. You need to truly enjoy managing details, organizing information, solving problems, and working with other people to find those solutions (that’s a big part of where the facilitation comes in, as well as in keeping the entire project moving forward). Facilitators and PMs don’t do the actual work of the project themselves — that’s what the experts in the group are for. The facilitator/PM is the person who organizes the process, keeps everyone headed toward the goals and deadlines, and has the big picture of the overall activity. So it’s like having a dual focus — on the one hand, you are the Big Picture person that everyone trusts to manage the overall process, and on the other hand you are constantly down in the weeds with all the minute details. That “balance” thing again… And having facilitation skills — communicating clearly, knowing how to have effective conflict (so it doesn’t get personal), making sure you get all the input you need, having good systems for making decisions, etc. — really helps when you are trying to keep everyone marching forward to a plan, because when a person or the project itself loses balance, you can help describe what’s happening and help people find the way to get back to center.

The best thing to do is to find a real live human being to sit down with and talk to about their work. You’ll find all different approaches to project management (some of it all based on schedules and checklists, some of it much more focused on “people management”) and different styles of facilitation (some of it focused on business meetings and activities, some on more personal coaching and interventions, etc.) If your parents have friends or business contacts that might do this work, that’s a place to start. Or if there are any teachers you think have good communication/classroom management skills, ask them for ideas about people to talk to.

Is any of this helpful? If not, or if you still want to talk about it, just say so. I will be happy to focus on whatever you think would be useful.

As for being fifteen, I think age has both everything and nothing to do with anything, if that even makes sense. We are where we are in life. We know what we know. We have the experiences that we have. That’s partly due to how long we’ve been on the planet, but also due to what we do with the experience we have so far. How we use our experiences and thoughts and feelings, our hopes and fears, our sense of joy, whether we are open or closed to the world and other people, all of that stuff. It all goes into making our “self.”

You’re in a stretch of time right now where your brain is madly hard-wiring all kinds of connections. You’re building yourself in very real ways. That self will keep changing and growing, but the actual biochemical and physical changes are pretty massive in one’s teen years and into the 20’s… I always felt like I was standing in the eye of a hurricane, and then bam! I would tumble out of my safe place and get swept up in the storm, and then have to find my balance again (see, it’s all connected…). I still get swept away sometimes (grin) but for different reasons now. And now, it’s more of a choice.

I hope you have a good day too. Write back anytime.

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You can start your own conversation now or anytime — just use the “Want to talk?” link on the sidebar or email me.

Law and story

Kelley,

Just wanted to let you know your posts on jury duty have hit the Washington Association Of Criminal Defense Attorneys listserve. You hit the nail on the head and accurately read the undercurrents. Having been a prosecuting attorney in King and Skagit County and a criminal defense attorney for the last long ten years, I am always glad to see how others, outside the system, see the players. I say players because in many ways trials are like plays. Reasonable doubt, preponderance of the evidence, clear and convincing evidence…..forget it! It all comes down to a good story, well told.

Oh, one of the defense attorneys recognized the case, admitted his involvement (stiffness and inexperience) and told us the rest of the story. Both defendants were found not guilty.

I personally would rather look foolish and win than poised and professional and lose. Please do not post or use my name but feel free to comment to your hearts content.


It’s fascinating to hear from you. I’ve always believed that the best attorneys are storytellers under the suits, but have never had someone from your side of the table talk about it.

I go on at (perhaps tedious) length about story in this blog because I’m a writer, but also because story is at the root of so much in the world: self-identity, our presentation in the world, the way we accuse others and defend ourselves (in court or in our living rooms), the way we organize our responses to things. I think people, consciously or unconsciously, look for stories to understand the world. If we’re hard-headed intellectuals, we talk about “making sense” or “clear thinking” — but really it’s all about a story that feels true to us.

It must sometimes be enormously frustrating to do your job. Because some things that are true do not make good stories. They don’t “make sense.” And how can you make the necessary human connection, tell a human story that a human jury can understand and respond to, if the truth doesn’t make a good story? That must be beyond frustrating, it must be frightening as well, given the potential outcome for the people at the table.

I am about to start making up theories about your work, and they may be totally wrong. No offense intended, and please feel free to point out my errors and educate me out of my ignorance if you’re so inclined. But now I’m imagining that it’s at those times — when the truth isn’t sexy, when it’s a story that doesn’t make sense or that people refuse to believe (an even greater obstacle sometimes) — that lawyers need to stop being professional and poised, and start being human. Maybe foolish, maybe awkward, maybe emotional, but necessarily real. To make the story more human because a human is telling it.

My best work comes from throwing myself out there, making story and writing choices that could easily make me look foolish (and sometimes do). It’s not that I win in spite of those risks — those risks are where the win comes from. Without being willing to look foolish, I can’t create that human connection: here I am, let me tell you a story. Does it sometimes work like that for you?

I know how many new writers come to the art thinking that the most important things are cool ideas and important themes and elegant phrases. I wonder how many lawyers come to their art thinking that the most important things are knowledge of the law and a certain scrappy attitude. When in the end, in both our worlds, expertise (although essential) is only part of the equation.

I’d be very interested in anything you have to say, if you’d like to continue the conversation.

Six minutes? Picnic!

Kelley,

I’m working on a class page for my high school physics students, and came across this quote. It made me think of you and Nicola…and your passion for life and writing.

If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn’™t brood. I’™d type a little faster. –ISAAC ASIMOV, Life, Jan. 1984

Janine


Hi Janine,

Thanks for thinking of us (grin).

There are some days where I just might keep typing. Maybe. If I was right at the end of the Best Kelley Eskridge Writing Ever. Otherwise, I would go find my sweetie and spend the six minutes with her.

And today, if we get the six-minute warning, we may very well be on a picnic. We both have much to do today, many responsibilities and goals and blah de fucking blah. But the weather forecast shows that today and tomorrow may very well be the last two days of summer in Seattle… and we decided that we don’t want to miss them.

So today, instead of doing everything I am supposed to, I will be cooking potato salad and ginger-lemon scones, buying fried chicken and paté, chilling champagne, and spreading a blanket out in the back yard. Where I sincerely hope to be spending more than six minutes (grin).

I hope you enjoy your day as much as I hope to enjoy mine!

Friday pint

Every Friday I transfer posts here from the Virtual Pint archives.

Yikes, Friday again! It feels like I blinked and missed the week. Except that I’ve had so many nice moments — discovering True Blood, some sun-and-reading time, a nice evening with our good friend at our neighborhood joint, working on the screenplay. Enough nice moments to fill up a week. But I’m still surprised.

Here’s the weekly serving:

And cheers to you. Enjoy your Friday.

Connections

Many thanks to you and Nicola for signing several books for me in the past few months. I gave them to my partner, Lisa, as a wedding present. We will be getting married next Tuesday, September 2nd, in San Francisco. She was terribly surprised and especially happy to receive a copy of Dangerous Space, a book she’d wanted since she found out it had been published.

I really appreciate you both going to such trouble to accommodate your readers. After Lisa told me how much she loved The Blue Place, I read it and the two other books within the span of a week. I just read your short story, “Strings,” that you mentioned in the past day or so on your blog, and I enjoyed it very much. I will read the rest of the stories after Lisa finishes the book, as well as your novel Solitaire.

Please pass my thanks along to Nicola. Very best wishes to you both.

Patti Weltler


And our best wishes to you! My apologies for taking so long with this — you’re practically an old married couple already (grin). I’m delighted for you and Lisa, and hope your wedding was absolutely splendid.

And you may have squeaked in under the wire on this incarnation of personalized books. I think we’re going to have to find a better system for the future. Since we moved, it’s very tough to get to University Books to sign things — we end traveling anywhere from 25 to 45 minutes each way, plus the time it takes to park and get into the store and sign, and then we get distracted by all the pretty books… It is a much larger cost in energy and time than it used to be. We may have to get people to start sending books to our post office box or something instead. We’ll see.

Because it pleases me to accommodate readers when I can. It’s a relationship, after all, albeit a distant and single-stranded one. It may only be a few words written on the title page, but I value it as the often most direct and personal connection between artist and art and audience.

And on the practical side, I think artists can no longer afford to ignore the importance — the imperative — of the direct and the personal. I imagine it’s a huge challenge for A-list actors and rock stars and mega-popular authors like Stephen King. There’s always been a cultural tension between privacy and access: the assumption that it’s okay to insert oneself into the private experience of famous people in a way that one would never do to some random stranger on the street. That’s been exploded by the internet — the ability to keep tabs on people anywhere in the world, to monitor everything they say and do in public, to “stay close” in a way that (I worry) feels “real” to people because it’s happening in real time. And I think the end result is that famous people no longer feel like strangers to us. We confuse (or choose to ignore) the difference between our personal connection to their work, which may be very deep, and our personal connection to them, which is usually none.

I certainly wish for personal connection with artists whose work touches me. But my mom and dad raised me right, so I don’t march up to celebrities in the middle of their dinner and demand an autograph. And it wouldn’t satisfy me anyway: that moment of interaction does not constitute a real relationship. It’s not a connection, it’s an encounter. It’s one of the unexpected consequences of art, I think, this blurring of the lines between art and self that translates into a desire to blur the lines with the artist. I don’t know what everyone else seeks when they approach an artist: I seek to touch them in an instant as deeply as they have touched me in hours or years. I seek to matter to them as much as their work matters to me.

Which is a fool’s game, of course. There is no way to re-balance the scales in an instant, unless you pull someone out of the way of a speeding bus or something. The truth is, I cannot have “a relationship” with these people. They are for the most part beyond the reach of the small-crowd appearance where everyone in the room is real to everyone else, the random-but-real moments of encounter, the situational golden moment.

But I’m not famous. I am a common artist, and it is both professionally important and personally rewarding to me to read for people, to sign books, to have the occasional beer, to have conversations here in my little corner of the internet about things that interest me. I’m glad I like it: not all artists do, and I think those who are not willing to create some space for connection with audience will find they have less audience as time goes by. This is the world we live in. And I’m glad to be in this world, Patti, to sign books for you and Lisa, and to wish you both a marriage full of joy and love.

Story people

Writers are the people who tell stories. Who do you think readers are?

Barbara Sanchez


Hi Barbara,

I think we are all story people.

I think we — writers and readers and those of us who are both — are all people who want stories. I think we respond so strongly to certain stories because in some way we are those stories; or we want to become them; or we fear becoming them. They speak to us of our own hopes, joys, risks, griefs, our compromises and our stubborness, our will and our failures of will. Or they show people just like us being heroes, larger than life, bigger and brighter, burning in ways we would like to burn if only we could.

And some of us are moved to make our own stories. I don’t know about other writers, but I write the stories that in some way I want to live, or hope to never live. I bring up stories from places of great yearning and ecstasy and fear. Sometimes those things are expressed quietly, sometimes at full volume, but even the gentle stories come from places that are full of storms.

Is it better to make one’s own stories? Nope, just a different way to live in the heart of one’s own imagination. Because whether we write our own work or read someone else’s, that’s what we’re doing — living the story, bringing it inside us and making it our particular and individual own. The act of reading is an act of creation, as surely as writing is. In the end, we are all telling the story to ourselves.

—————
You can start your own conversation now or anytime — just use the “Want to talk?” link on the sidebar.

SF/not follow-up

[Here’s a follow up to the original question from Barbara, no longer anonymous…]

P.S. I have read a good deal of your speculative fiction and was excited, moved and intrigued. I want you to know that I have read sf, horror and fantasy since I was a child, and I did not mean to imply in any way that science fiction is lesser fiction.

Barbara Sanchez


Gosh, no, I didn’t take it that way at all, and I hope my answer didn’t sound as though I did. I thought you were asking what we call in our house a “real question,” meaning one with no implied judgment or agenda. If I’d thought you were being snarky about science fiction, I would probably have answered very differently (smile), and you wouldn’t have got to see any work in progress, for sure.

It’s interesting putting up work that isn’t “finished”… A few years ago, I wouldn’t have: too much pride. That’s been pretty much hammered out of me (well, okay, not completely) by the screenwriting process, in which total strangers read work that I do in days and treat it exactly the same as work done in weeks or months. No quarter given. A real learning experience in very many ways.

When I was a beginning writer, I wanted everyone to love everything I did, because if they loved it, it must be good. And so the response became what I worked for, which is backwards and bullshit, but I didn’t have anyone to tell me that the point is to do the work so well, with such skill and focus and intention, that it will speak clearly to those who read it. And then they can judge for themselves whether it’s good for them or not.

The best thing a new writer can learn to do is open wide and take the criticism in. Learn to listen through the embarrassment, the anger and the defensiveness. Try to hear beyond what people say (because sometimes it’s badly expressed, or focused in the wrong place) and work instead to understand what they mean. Suffer and rage and bang your head against it long enough to finally learn a) how to write better and b) how to filter good criticism from crap criticism (because not everyone can actually help you make your work better, and some criticism really is crap).

Genuine, thought-out criticism is a gift, even when I decide that it’s not for me. It’s hard in this culture to criticize someone’s work. Criticism basically says that the artist has failed to achieve her goals (or to achieve the goals of the person offering the criticism, which may or may not be something I need to listen to…), and we don’t like hurting people’s feelings with the word failure. I have found this to be true even in Hollywood, where I had expected criticism delivered with little attention to the niceties… instead, I’ve found people being so careful of my feelings that I’ve started being explicit about the fact that I don’t take their comments personally unless they become personal. I will say, You can hurt my feelings by telling me I’m a crap writer. You won’t hurt my feelings by telling me that something in the script isn’t working for you.

Of course, sometimes that’s a lie. Every once in a while, I do get my feelings hurt or I do get pissed off. I do it in private and keep it to myself. Becoming defensive just doesn’t move things forward…

I am not a new writer by any stretch, but I’ve been a new screenwriter for a couple of years now, and have been crawling through this particular mud again, and so I’m very glad that I have already learned some of these lessons in fiction, where there aren’t so many people stirring the pot. If I’d gone through this screenplay thing for the first time in my 20’s, I probably would have run screaming. Now I just hang up the phone, give the entire state of California the finger if I need to, and get back to work.

And (trying now to return to some semblance of connection to the topic at hand) that’s why it’s okay now to share more of myself and my fiction at a less-than-seamless stage. I wouldn’t do it for something I was actively working on right now — but this is more a maybe-someday work, and I find that acknowledging its flaws doesn’t make me feel any less like a real writer. In fact, it makes me feel more like one.

SF/not

Congratulations on your anniversary. Twenty years is some kind of record in this age of planned obsolescence and instant gratification.

Will you ever consider writing anything besides sf?

Anonymous


Thanks very much for your good wishes, and your patience waiting for this response. I’ve been trying to answer your question, only to find that it’s a very slippery one indeed… so here we go down the slide.

I call my published work speculative fiction: I need a broad category, because the stories wander in the spaces between science fiction and fantasy and horror. I’ve had people over my career question (sometimes heatedly) that what I write is sf of any kind, at all. And I never identify myself as an “sf writer” — I call myself a writer, and when people ask What do you write?, I tell them that I write fiction and screenplays, as opposed to saying I write science fiction

Am I trying to repudiate speculative fiction? Absolutely not. I’m proud of my work and proud to be in a field that so many extraordinary writers call home. But is it my home? I dunno, I think I’m with Nicola and William Gibson on this one. I come from sf, but am I really sf? I don’t think so. Maybe it’s only that I don’t like being categorized, but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s about my concerns as a writer.

To me, sf writers have sf-nal concerns. For science fiction writers, creating alternate realities or new technology or building worlds is part of the point, part of the jazz. For me, it’s just part of the work, and I do it only as much as I need to in service of the characters and the story that wants to be told. Speculative fiction (science fiction, fantasy, horror, what have you) is a wonderful shortcut — I can create whatever paradigm I want in order to turn the characters loose. I can be extreme. I can create a character whose sexuality is tied into violence (“Eye of the Storm”) without having to explain it in terms of twenty-first century psychological models; I can make a whole city fall down just because it’s right for the story (“City Life”).

But really, when I take a closer look, my work is grounded in the real, in the now — music, martial arts, how the el trains work — and, most importantly for me, in real-world human feelings and experiences. That’s where I always start and end as a writer. That’s my jazz.

I have written non-sf. I just haven’t published any. After Solitaire came out, I began work on two different mainstream novels. I wrote 17,000 words of one and 45,000 words of the other — finished words, proposal-to-my-publisher quality. I wrote detailed outlines. And I was pleased with them both.

I showed them to Nicola. She thought they were pretty good, but slow. In-dwelling, she said. Not enough narrative drive. I showed them to my agent. She thought one was pretty good and hated the other. Practically spit on it. Said my protagonist was “whiny and pathetic,” which I suspected was her version of “in-dwelling.”

I sent the non-spat-upon proposal package to my editor at HarperCollins, who liked it but thought it needed work. And she was right. And I tried to work on it, but I didn’t at that time have the absolute burning passion that I do now for work, and I had no internal compass to tell me what was wrong or where to go from there. I lost my way, and I lost my heart for both novels.

It’s been years since I put them away. And for a long time after that, in terms of writing, I just kicked a metaphorical tin can up and down the sidewalk, until I told Nicola one day that I thought maybe I wasn’t really meant to be a writer after all.

But you know what? I was wrong about that. How I reconnected with my writing soul is another topic for another day, but I am definitely a writer.

But am I definitely an sf writer? (Hah, bet you thought I’d completely lost the thread…) Nope. I’m a writer. I’ll write whatever I write, and I’m making no plans about whether that should or will be speculative fiction or not.

And so the answer to your question is not just I don’t know, it’s I don’t need to know. It’s a huge fucking triumph for me to be a writer. And I’m very clear now on what kind of writer I want to be — as I said in the recent interview at Enter the Octopus:

What are your longterm career goals?

 

To write fiction and screenplays and essays that make me and you feel bigger inside, that make us dream and burn and bring us closer to ourselves. The rest — the big money, the glam, the pretty prizes — either comes or it doesn’t. I can’t control who buys my books or my scripts, but I am totally in charge of what I write and how I feel about myself as a writer. That’s the career I want.

And if this screenwriting thing works out, I might even be a consistently-earning writer, which would be pretty cool too.

And — thinking about your question has made me look at those novels again. The one that went to my editor, nah, I think that’s a goner. It just doesn’t speak to me anymore. But the one my agent hated, well, there’s something there. Not in its current form, but… I read it and I can see the people in my head, hear them, feel their connections and their longings. If Jane feels whiny, well, that’s because I haven’t given her enough to do yet. But there’s something there that makes me sit up and pay attention, and I just might have to go find out what it is one of these days.

In the meantime, if you’d like to judge for yourself, take a look.

If I do ever take it up again, the funny thing is that at least one path could be a ghost story, in which case I would still be writing sf after all. And here I go again, with answers that only expand the questions. Ah, that’s life.


If you’d like to ask a question or start a conversation, please do what this person did — use the talk to me link (also on the sidebar) anytime.

Where are the plumbers in SF?

Kelley,

I just wanted to say I enjoyed Solitaire. It was gripping reading. It annoyed me that I had to put it down to deal with the plumber 😉

Astrid


 

I’m glad you enjoyed it. Heck, maybe the plumber would like it too. Except she wouldn’t find herself very well represented…

Have you ever wondered why there aren’t more skilled tradespeople in science fiction? You can find a fair number of blacksmiths, etc. in fantasy if you poke around the spaces between the royal folks and the peasants, but there just aren’t that many plumbers and electricians in science fiction.

Okay, I’m being a bit disingenuous, I know — but really, science fiction is all about the übercompetent spacefaring folk, or the übercompetent computer folk, or the übercompetent military folk…. either the on-the-outside individual or someone who is part of a large system. There’s not much middle class on any level of SF these days. I suppose the Fringe or the Sprawl or the Hegemony are much more science fiction’s natural turf, at last in novels — all that irresistible world-building. Short fiction is much more of a playground for other kinds of jobs/competencies/categories…

Solitaire isn’t much of an exception, although at the time it was published there wasn’t a lot of SF out there that posited corporate expertise as the core competency of the hero. Still, Jackal is one of the übercompetent, and she goes from high to low with nary a pause in the middle. So there I am, smack in the mainstream of SF in one way, at least (grin).