The Mythogenetic Grove

Thoughts on Writing

Tell It To Me, Baby: A Reprinted Process Post

by on Oct.22, 2017, under The Escritoire, Thoughts on Writing

Note: This is a post from the old Growing Fins blog, back in June 18 2009. It’s still relevant to my process so I thought I would share!

 

The problem with the generic, technical “Show, don’t tell” based advice dished out by writing workshops and writing books is this: it assumes all writing and storytelling must conform to one fictive model and one alone. Some of my best-loved storytellers are those who Tell, Tell, and Tell me some more. And I say yes, please Tell me more. And I say yes, dish me that info-feed, baby, if you’re dishing it the right way. Lay it on me.

It is within the resonance of their strong, individual voices that the “Show” element slowly resolves, without actually “Show”ing too much, just the faintest outline of a scene, letting the listener or individual flesh it out with their own minds. To me, this is the difference between technical aptitude as a writer and being a writer who allows a reader to dream. It’s the spaces in the mind. The Brontes understood this well, so did Tolkien. And so did other writers from non-canonical traditions. I think of the sparseness and the simplicity of Japanese verse, of the Malay pantun. I think of the storytellers of the old epics who gave us dizzying detail, but also a strong, resonant voice.

If I have to err on the technical nitty-gritty of my stories, I would. If my grammar falls by the wayside, if my pacing is not the best in the world. If, in starting my narrative in media res I have somehow disoriented my reader; if, I use run-on sentences in ways that dislocate them. If, I annoy you with a hanging participle. IF. I unforgivably dump an info feed halfway in my story. IF. I annoyingly, do not reveal what the story is about in my opening paragraphs because I am listening to the voice in my head that says Setting IS Character.

If, I do not write character-driven fiction that is obviously character driven because I am just that postmodern or capricious enough to want to hide my narrators in strange places. If I lay on too much philosophy that hurts your head. If. I commit unspeakable textual, grammatical errors but in doing so, still retain my voice. Would that make me a bad storyteller? Perhaps. But if I find my voice, who is to say? Even if it is buried, unheard. It is still a voice. Is a voice lost in a forest of slush still a voice or just unread text? Who is to say?

This is the battle I am fighting right now. And, I suspect, this is the battle I have been fighting all along.

Being the narratology geek that I am, I have my favorite storytellers. I also have, within that list, my favorite implied narrators, first or third person. I must admit to have inherited a narratological quirk or two from my days of writing my M.A. thesis on Angela Carter, but that is meant for another writerly wank. One of these days.

Angela Carter, Michael Ende, Italo Calvino, Umberto Eco, Boccaccio, Dante, various unnamed and anonymous writers of ancient epics and fairytales, Wole Soyinka, Guy Gavriel Kay, Anais Nin, Virginia Woolf, James Joyce, Sir Walter Scott, George Eliot, Isabel Allende, Gabriel García Márquez and I’m sure I’m forgetting half a dozen more. These are my mentors. These are my muses. And it’s been established that most of this would be casualties of the slush pile today. Which is not to say I have reached their level of narrative yet.

I’m just saying.

I’m tired of rules, period. I just want to write recklessly like I mean it. I want to write like it’s that fling with the guy you really shouldn’t be out with but here you are, at 5am, talking at breakneck speed and doing unwise things instead of keeping within the prescribed margins. Which, I never could stop myself from writing or drawing outside of the margins in school, either. Could you?

And now I go back to fighting with MY narrative.

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A Brief Personal Review of My Year in Writing

by on Dec.09, 2016, under The Escritoire, Thoughts on Writing

This year for me as an author has been quite a whirlwind. Publications nearly every month, reviews every now and then. I do miss being reviewed on Locus (I vastly enjoyed Lois Tilton’s reviews of my works even when she didn’t like it — I have a fondness for cantankerous readers) but my stories have been mentioned on Strange Horizons reviews twice. All in all, 2016 gave me decent amount of reviews, in particular the wonderfully thoughtful and literate reviews by Charles Payseur which serves as a panacea for certain places we shall not mention.

Books I have been in have also been reviewed in newspapers, even mentioned on BoingBoing but since I was not mentioned in those pieces I don’t feel I have any right to lay claim to those successes.

For me personally, it feels like 2015-2016 have been gamechanger years for me. Which leads to more, not less pressure as being me I have set the bar even higher for myself. But. Finish that novel and that historical fantasy novella first, I guess.

I don’t really feel sad that my Campbell eligibility period is drawing to a close. Instead I feel a sense of relief, and pride. I think I did well by my own standards this year and that is a rare thing indeed. I love the stories that were published. They were perhaps not as wildly popular as other authors in my position would hope but I am a bit of an elitist bastard so the idea that I am an acquired taste appeals to me. More importantly, I am really looking forward to the next stage of being a pro writer. If there are any more left for me, that is!

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