I'm Christopher Husberg, fantasy author (of the Chaos Queen Series), desultory blogger, and zombie apologist. Also Buffy fanatic. Ballroom danced a bit. Etc.
Next week I'll once again make the trek to Indianapolis, IN for Gen Con! Gen Con is one of the premier tabletop gaming conventions out there, but they also happen to have a superb writing track in the shape of their Writer's Symposium. Most of the Writer's Symposium events will take place at the Downtown Marriott, near the Indianapolis Convention Center, and that's where all of my panels will be. (My signings, on the other hand, will be in the massive dealer's room of the Convention Center.)
Check out my schedule, (mostly) complete with provided panel descriptions!
Thu 1 Aug
1:00 PM (Ballroom 3): What Are You Reading?
This one didn't have a description, but I assume it is The Panel in which we talk about what we're reading at the moment, and what we've read recently that is awesome!
4:00 PM (Ballroom 2): Who Said What? Clarifying Dialog
"He said, she said...does dialog always need tags? How can you keep readers from getting confused?"
Fri 2 Aug (Which is turning out to be an incredibly busy day for me)
10:00 AM (Ballroom 4): Scrivener Demystified
"So you've decided to ditch the notebook or Word to give this whole Scrivener program a whirl. Can this program make your process better? Come learn from LaShawn Wanak, A.E. Greenwood, Christopher Husberg, and more."
11:00 AM (Ballroom 1): Capturing the Creepy: Getting the Details Right
"Horror and suspense writers want to captivate their readers without grossing them out, or worse, boring them. Lucy Snyder, Richard Byers, Christopher Husberg, and others discuss how much detail is necessary."
12:00 PM (Ballroom 1): Business Plans for Writers
"Writing is a creative endeavor, but it's also a business. Which means...you need a business plan. Shanna Germain, Matt Forbeck, Christopher Husberg, and Keith Law discuss making one."
1:00 PM (Austin/Boston): Fractal Narrative: Understanding Story Structure
"Are you an outliner? then you need to understand story structure. A discovery writer? You need it, too. Archetypal structure is for everyone, and Christopher Husberg will tell you the basics." (This one's all me! It's also incidentally an adaptation of the presentation I gave in Brandon Sanderson's creative writing class earlier this year :-D.)
2:00 PM (Ballroom 4): Character Relationships in Stories
"Relationships are the backbone of your story. Our panelists Kristin McFarland and Christopher Husberg discuss writing realistic friendships, romantic partners, frenemies, and more."
3:00 PM (Atlanta): Midpoint: How to Get This Pivotal Moment Right
"Midpoint is considered one of the most important moments for character development in a story. Christopher Husberg, Kristen Britain, Bill Fawcett, and Elizabeth Vaughan tell you how to get it right."
While I'm hard at work finishing the Chaos Queen Quintet, I've also been making time to research my next (post Chaos Queen) project. For the most part, that means researching artificial intelligence, artificial super intelligence, nanotechnology, and so forth. Here's what I've read so far:
And here's what's coming up (as soon as I finish book 4):
Cool stuff! I'll probably go into more detail about this in the future, but I just wanted to share it for now. It's making me very excited about my next project...about which, for now, I will say nothing :-).
Technically my last 5-star read was Misery by Stephen King. It was actually even better than I expected it to be; with the exception of one uncomfortable description towards the end of the book, I thought it was not just a great yarn but also very well-written. But I've already talked about one of the things I enjoyed about Misery, so I'm going to take this time to give some shout-outs to some other recent 5-star books I've read.
The first is The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. I've been studying story structure recently, and one of the methods I've been studying is Shawn Coyne's Story Grid. Coyne gushes about how good The Silence of the Lambs is, so I finally got around to checking it out. I can certainly understand why it's help up as one of the finest thrillers of all time; it delivered on all fronts. I enjoyed it even more than the film (the same can be said for Misery--and neither is a small claim, they are both very good films.
The second is Mother's Milk by Rachel Hunt Steenblick. This was a more unconventional read for me--it is a book of poetry inspired by the author's ongoing relationship with deity, particularly a female, motherly deity. It was beautiful, and absolutely a five-star read.
The third book I'll recommend is Long Dark Night by Janci Patterson. This book has one of the best, most harrowing takes on vampirism I've ever seen packed into a fast-paced thriller. If you want the anti-Twilight (in every good sense of the phrase), check this one out for sure.
I've gone into detail here about why I love Alden Bell's The Reapers are the Angels so much. So, I won't bore you again with the details. But I love to spread the word about this book every chance I get, because I think it's brilliant and incredibly under appreciated. If you haven't read it, you absolutely need to do so.
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR GO BUY IT AND READ IT RIGHT NOW!
A couple months ago I had the pleasure of reading Witchy Eye by D.J. Butler, and I was blown away. To be fair, Dave is a good friend, and he's already written some good books, but this one was truly impressive, and a 5-star read any way you look at it. Here's the blurb:
Sarah Calhoun is the fifteen-year-old daughter of the Elector Andrew Calhoun, one of Appalachee’s military heroes and one of the electors who gets to decide who will next ascend as the Emperor of the New World. None of that matters to Sarah. She has a natural talent for hexing and one bad eye, and all she wants is to be left alone—especially by outsiders.
But Sarah’s world gets turned on its head at the Nashville Tobacco Fair when a Yankee wizard-priest tries to kidnap her. Sarah fights back with the aid of a mysterious monk named Thalanes, who is one of the not-quite-human Firstborn, the Moundbuilders of the Ohio. It is Thalanes who reveals to Sarah a secret heritage she never dreamed could be hers.
Now on a desperate quest with Thalanes to claim this heritage, she is hunted by the Emperor’s bodyguard of elite dragoons, as well as by darker things—shapeshifting Mockers and undead Lazars, and behind them a power more sinister still. If Sarah cannot claim her heritage, it may mean the end to her, her family—and to the world where she is just beginning to find her place.
Sounds amazing, right? Also, I have the pleasure of being one of the cover quotes for the book:
"Captivating characters. Superb world-building. Awesome magic. Butler fuses fantasy and history effortlessly, creating a fascinating new American epic. Not to be missed!"
And I mean every word of it. I was particularly impressed with Dave's world building: he transforms historical America into an epic fantasy world where the mythology runs deep and magic runs deeper. I was delighted with the world, the mythos, and the ease with which Dave presents both (not to mention some really phenomenal character work).
There's only one problem (more for you than for me): I read an advanced copy of this book, and it still technically doesn't come out for about another month. But, seriously, mark March 7th on your calendars, and prepare for the release of Witchy Eye. It's an incredible read. Five stars, hands down. Go pre-order it now on Amazon!
I enjoy a good scare. Theres something primal about the sensation that deepens--and connects--the human experience (and I've already talked about why I think horror as a genre has value). So if a book, movie, or any other medium can give me the wiggins or scare me so bad that my body threatens to leak one fluid or another, I'm totes on board.
Normally I take the month of October to read something that genuinely scares me, but given the tiny life I'm responsible for these days I didn't even think about it until today. So, instead, and in that same spirit, I'll tell you about some of my all-time favorite scary stories, in no particular order. Draculaby Bram Stoker
Vampires? Check. Blood and gore? Check. Thinly veiled exploration/critique of Victorian sexuality? Double check. Stoker didn't invent the vampire by any means, but he injected them into pop culture, and for that I can never thank him enough. Dracula is a great and genuinely scary read. Carrieby Stephen King
King's first novel, and one that has endured the test of time. I know I gush a lot about Stephen King, so I won't do that here, other than to say that Carrie is awesome. It's a short read, perfect for a weekend (and, incidentally, the second novel told in epistolary form on my list after Dracula). Oh, and if your kids are bullying others at school, drop Carrie on their lap. It just might change their tune. (Or just have a serious talk about how bullying is terrible, but that's a whole other thing.) The Graveyard Bookby Neil Gaiman
Neil Gaiman has written some phenomenal stuff, but my list needed something a bit more light-hearted and The Graveyard Book seemed a perfect fit. (Although for a light-hearted entry, this one still made me feel ALL the feels.) Plus its a retelling of The Jungle Book in a graveyard, so that's pretty cool. Let the Right One Inby John Ajvide Lindqvist
Stoker may have stoked (SEE WHAT I DID THERE) the vampire genre, but Lindqvist helped...lind..qvist...okay that bit won't work (NOTHING, I DID NOTHING THERE), let me start over. In the midst of Twilight-fever, Let the Right One In was both a harkening back to the terrifying nature of vampires and a fascinating twist on the genre. And, while this is a horror list so at least some scary content should be expected, some really messed up stuff happens in this book, so it comes with an extra warning. And it's really really good.
Inferno(Part I of La divina commedia)by Dante Alighieri
Yearning for some classic horror? Look no further than Inferno--definitely not talking about the Dan Brown book, by the way. I'm talking about the epic poem with demons and devils (and if you thought the movie Se7en owned the punishment-fits-the-crime trope, you've got another thing coming) that has influenced how we view hell for the last 700 years. 'Nuff said, right? (Note: I recommend the Mandelbaum translation I've linked above if you're looking for an entertaining read that still maintains the spirit of Dante's brilliant poetic structure.) House of Leavesby Mark Z. Danielewski
I read this one just last Halloween, and I can say hands down it's the most terrifying book I've ever read. Like, genuinely messed-with-my-head-and-gave-me-nightmares scary. I'll include a passage from the introduction at the bottom of this post just for good measure*, but trust me. If you really want your skin to crawl and to look-over-your-shoulder-terrified-of-what-you-might-see as you read, check out House of Leaves. Extra content warning for this one, too, by the way. The Reapers are the Angels by Alden Bell
I've said all I have to say about The Reapers are the Angels in a blog post from last year. It's a zombie novel, it's beautiful, and it's one of my all-time favorite books.
Check out any of these books this (or any subsequent) Halloween--you won't be disappointed. I love scary movies as much as the next guy, but there's something about reading a scary story that gets under my skin in ways the film medium can't do. I highly recommend it. Happy reading! Oh, and for good measure, some honorable mentions:
Looking for more of a classic approach? Try the works of Edgar Allen Poe or H.P. Lovecraft.
Looking for a more modern take on zombies? Try Feedby Mira Grant.
More ghosts and demons? Try The Keeperby Sarah Langan.
Want to experience a YA horror/thriller novel? Residueby Steve Diamond.
Horror in comic/graphic novel form? Try From Hellby Alan Moore or The Walking Dead by Robert Kirkman (which is actually quite different story-wise from the television series, and equally well-written).
*From House of Leaves xxii-xxiii:
This much I'm certain of: it doesn't happen immediately. You'll finish and that will be that, until a moment will come, maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe even several years. You'll be sick of feeling troubled or deeply in love or quietly uncertain or even content for the first time in your life. It won't matter. Out of the blue, beyond any cause you can trace, you'll suddenly realize things are not how you perceived them to be at all. For some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. You'll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you. Worse, you'll realize it's always been shifting, like a glimmer of sorts, a vast shimmer, only dark like a room. But you won't understand why or how. You'll have forgotten what granted you this awareness in the first place.
Old shelters--television, magazines, movies--won't protect you anymore. You might try scribbling in a journal, on a napkin, maybe even in the margins of this book. That's when you'll discover you no longer trust the very walls you always took for granted. Even the hallways you've walked a hundred times will feel longer, much longer, and the shadows, any shadow at all, will suddenly seem deeper, much, much, deeper.
You might try then, as I did, to find a sky so full of stars it will blind you again. Only no sky can blind you now. Even with all that iridescent magic up there, your eye will no longer linger on the light, it will no longer trace constellations. You'll care only about the darkness and you'll watch it for hours, for days, maybe even for years, trying in vain to believe you're some kind of indispensable, universe-appointed sentinel, as if just by looking you could actually keep it all at bay. It will get so bad you'll be afraid to look away, you'll be afraid to sleep.
Then no matter where you are, in a crowded restaurant or on some desolate street or even in the comforts of your own home, you'll watch yourself dismantle every assurance you ever lived by. You'll stand aside as a great complexity intrudes, tearing apart, piece by piece, all of your carefully conceived denials, whether deliberate or unconscious. and then for better or worse you'll turn, unable to resist, though try to resist you still will, fighting with everything you've got not to face the thing you most dread, what is now, what will be, what has always come before, the creature you truly are, the creature we all are, buried in the nameless black of a name.
And then the nightmares will begin.
Yeah...read that on a dark night around Halloween and try not totally having a freak-out.
You know what's even more awesome than that, though? I'll tell you what: his first book, Residue, came out a couple weeks ago! Here's the blurb:
RESIDUE follows 17-year-old Jack Bishop after his father is abducted and a monster is let loose in his small town. As he looks for his father, he begins to notice that he can see the psychic residue left behind by monsters and murder victims. Along with the mind-reading Alexandra (Alex) Courtney, Jack uses his growing ESP abilities to stop the deaths in the town, and find out why his father was taken.
Sick cover, right?
But you know what's even MORE AWESOME than a good friend debuting his first novel? I'll tell you what: reading that novel and realizing it is really freaking good.
If you're into YA thrillers, supernatural horror, shooting freaky monsters with guns, or all of the above, then you should definitely check out Residue by Steve Diamond.
Well, today I’d actually intended to write a post about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but I realized I needed some time to put that one together—turns out my feelings about BtVS can’t be fully explained with only a day’s notice. So I’m going to watch a few of my favorite episodes in the coming week, think about it a bit, and probably get that post up next Friday.
But, for today, I’m going to talk about the man behind Buffy—and Angel, and Dr. Horrible, and Firefly, and Serenity, and Cabin in the Woods, and The Avengers films—Joss Whedon.
If you know me, you know I’m a HUGE Joss Whedon fan. Like, enormous. And if you don’t know me, that might as well be one of the first things you find out about me. I’m all about the Whedonesque.
And, for me, it boils down to the fact that Joss Whedon is the type of writer I want to be. He has so many qualities that I want to hone for myself, and he has told story after story that have elicited ALL THE EMOTIONS from me. I could go on and on about why I think Whedon is amazing (musicals!) and his stories are the best thing since the wheel, but I’m going to focus on three or four things just to make this post manageable. So, without further ado, let me tell you about why I’m so freaking obsessed with Joss Whedon.
He’s a Shakespeare for our time.
Joss Whedon is known for his dialog. It’s quirky, quippy, fast-paced and intelligent, but also a bit more down-to-earth than many other dialog methods. He walks that line between “trying too hard to sound exactly like real conversation and sounding ridiculous” and “trying to hard to imitate dialog and sounding stilted” perfectly. Watch anything Joss is involved with and you’ll see (or rather hear) his brilliance with words. Nowhere is this more apparent than in The Avengers, where Whedon’s dialog meets Robert Downey Jr.’s acting, and real magic happens.
He’s also known for making up his own words and linguistic tics. Buffyspeak is totally a thing, a word coined to describe the style of speech within the Buffyverse, steeped in pop-culture idioms and obscure pronoun references, that demonstrates in a wonderful way the quirkiness of teenage/young adult language. And in the Firefly ‘Verse, Joss created a hybrid of English and Chinese that managed to sound wonderfully science-fictiony, westerny, and yet be understandable and relatable all at once.
Fox’s Jorge Saralegui compares Joss to a composer in the way that he can balance darkness with humor. ‘That’s really almost kind of like music, it’s a rhythm thing in your head,’ he says. ‘Most writers don’t have that. They’re more like a songwriter that knows how to put together a song: verse, verse, chorus, bridge, whatever. but they don’t hear everything in the way where one thing balances the other—counterpoint, in effect. I think you either hear it or you don’t. Joss is excellent at it.’ - (Joss Whedon: The Biography 186)
A large portion of that humor stems from his dialog. I’ve been saying it for years: Joss Whedon is a modern-day Shakespeare*, chiefly because of his dialog (although I could write an entire series of posts on the Shakespeare-Whedon comparison alone). If he’s remembered for one thing, it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s his way with words.
He writes emotional, iconic stories.
From the grand metaphor of “high school as a horror movie” that permeated the early seasons of Buffy (and the smaller, more poignant metaphors that I’ll get to in my later post on BtVS) to his delightful twist on the horror genre with Cabin in the Woods, Joss Whedon’s ability to connect with his audience through emotion is always clear and powerful. He makes the myth accessible. “You can’t write from a political agenda,” Whedon says,
and make stories that are in any way emotional or iconic. You have to write it from a place that’s a little dark, that has to do with passion and lust and things you don’t want to talk about. (Joss Whedon: The Biography 31)
Reading/watching Joss’s work, it becomes clear that he really isn’t afraid to go into the dark, to talk about uncomfortable, strange, awkward, horrible things in his stories.
He has an ability to combine all sorts of storytelling qualities into one wonderful package. His stories can be dark and horrifying, but also laced with humor, with compelling characters that grow and change, and carefully planned plots that twist and turn in all the right ways. I know I’m kind of just fanboying out about him right now, but all this stuff is totes the way it is, or at least it is for me. He’s my kind of storyteller.
Joss writes about loss. (Ha ha.)
You may have seen this floating around the interwebz:
It’s funny, but true. Joss Whedon is known for his tendency to kill off characters, whether in great sweeping heroic sacrifices or tragically sudden and completely-out-of-the-blue death scenes. That’s kind of a trendy thing, these days, as the graphic above suggests, but Joss’s death scenes are worth so much more than shock value.
…Tara’s death—and the deaths of Joyce Summers, Doyle, and quite a few other ill-fated characters over the course of Joss’s writing career—are not merely narrative necessities. They all speak to Joss’s need to ground his tales in truth and human experience….Joss designs each death in the Whedonverse to make viewers feel the despair and ache of loss—because he spent so much time creating an emotional connection that brought them joy and love in the first place. When Joss kills a character, it hurts because it is designed to hurt. (Joss Whedon: The Biography 195)
Some of the most glorious, wonderful deaths I’ve seen in fiction—as well as some of the most horrible and tragic—have taken place in the Whedonverse, but each and every one of them has meaning, and not only to the story. The loss Whedon portrays in his stories has meaning to me, too, and that is a really incredible thing.
He’s a feminist.
So am I, in case you haven’t noticed, so this one has particular meaning to me—namely that it is ok, and actually totally cool, to be a man and a feminist and write proverbial “strong female characters.” It seems that characteristic came chiefly from Joss’s mother, but was supported by just about every woman he’s associated with through life. And, looking at his work, you could take just about any female character and see depth, strength, and quality. (Although some come to mind specifically: Willow, Joyce, Anya, Glory, Faith, Kitty Pryde, Zoe, River, Echo, Black Widow, and—of course—Buffy.)
By the way, if you haven’t seen the following speech, you really should. I’ve posted it on my blog before, and for good reason: it pretty much embodies why I’m trying to write strong, real women characters in my fiction, too.
So, I don’t know, that’s kind of my spiel on Joss Whedon. Like I said, I could go on and on about how freaking awesome he is, but I’ll spare you; I’ve done enough fanboying.**
I’ll fade out with a reading suggestion: one of my favorite Joss Whedon stories is actually a comic, and not of the Buffy/Angel or Firefly continuation (although those are awesome). He did a run on the Astonishing X-Men series some years back, and it’s one of my favorite things. Period. Whedon tells a great story, even with characters who aren’t his own (as has been made abundantly clear with his work on the Avengers sequence). So, if you like comics—or even if you don’t—you should totally check out Whedon’s work there.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch some Buffy, and I think you’ll hear more about that from me next week!
* Which is only one of many reasons why his recent rendition of Much Ado About Nothing is so absolutely fantastic.
** Although I will say, if you ever really want to get on my good side, and Joss Whedon happens to owe you a favor, the best thing in the world you could do is get me some kind of headshot photo of Joss Whedon, signed with something overly motivational, like “Believe in your dreams, Chris! Love, Joss.” Yeah. That would be the best gift I could ever receive.
Back when I first started this blog, I did a series of posts on nonfiction. I was about to start my MFA program and knew I’d be taking a creative nonfiction class that fall, and I was kind of freaking out about it, so I decided to write about it on my blog in the hopes that I’d learn something along the way.*
I’m not sure why, but I’ve been thinking about creative nonfiction lately, and it reminded me of these posts. So, without further ado, here is a (belated, hence the #TBT) round-up of my old posts on nonfiction!
I mention two important books in my musings, John D’Agata’s The Next American Essay and Phillip Lopate’s The Art of the Personal Essay, both of which are phenomenal resources for learning about nonfiction. But I’ve read a number of nonfiction collections since then that I’ve found really interesting, so if YOU are interested in reading more/learning more about nonfiction, I highly recommend the following:
If you’re interested in nonfiction as it relates to blogs and the internet (and in reading some generally awesome pieces), check out Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded by John Scalzi.
If you’d like to read something experimental, try Reality Hunger: A Manifesto by David Shields.
If something intensely, almost painfully personal strikes your fancy, I highly recommend The Journals of John Cheever.
If quirkiness is more your thing, you might like Vanishing Point by Ander Monson.
If you’re looking for a good laugh, you should definitely read Me talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris.
And if you just want to read something fascinating, disturbing, hilarious, introspective, and more, then read Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace. (In fact, if you haven’t read DFW, you need to immediately. Like now.)
So there you have it, a retroactive look at nonfiction. While the genre still interests me a great deal, I unfortunately do not have as much time as I’d like to read the fiction that I’d like, so nonfiction just inherently takes a back seat. I suppose I’ll get back around to it one day, but until then, this will have to do!
* Full disclosure: I was also hoping that as I wrote about nonfiction I’d somehow vomit up something I could use as one of my required essays for the class—writer’s laziness at its best! I did not end up doing that, but I do think I learned quite a bit as I wrote these posts, which ended up informing the pieces I actually did write for the class. Full circle type-stuff, I guess.
Yeah, I've been gone for a couple weeks. Because we've been here:
That's the Pantheon. In Rome. In Italy. My wife and I just spent 2+ weeks there and it was amaaaaziiiing. I'll tell you all about it in the near future.
I've got a whole bunch of other things to say, too. I still have one or two more posts queued up for my series on The Hero's Journey/The Virgin's Promise/Story Structure. I've got some updates regarding what I'm currently working on and a visit with my agent in NYC. And, if I get around to it, I might offer some thoughts on where the TV series Glee has been going recently.
So, you have all that to look forward to! In the meantime, rest assured that I am not dead.
The Things They Carriedby Tim O'Brien is brilliant. For me, it is the pinnacle combination of sharp, beautiful prose, and engaging, meaningful stories. Characters are vivid--helped by the fact that TTTC could also be read as a novel, as many of the same characters are recurring with there own vague character arcs, and there are some definite recurring themes.
But I prefer to think of it as a set of short stories. Each piece feels more powerful to me that way; they enhance each other but do not depend on one another.
I normally rate stories in collections I read on a 5-star system. Most collections, even by my favorite authors, have two, maybe three stories if they're incredibly saturated with talent, that merit five stars. The Things They Carried has nine*. Nine five-star stories, on my admittedly subjective scale, and not a single story with less than three (which is also a common occurrence--at least two or three stories are below three stars--in single-author collections). In fact, TTTC was the first collection I read where I had to modify my 5-star system simply because a few stories stood out even more than the nine that already achieved 5-star status. While the titular story is phenomenal, and many others are beautifully told, my three favorites in the collection are "On the Rainy River" (filled with brutal honesty, I feel like I'm genuinely in the narrator's shoes, in his head, experiencing things as he experienced them), "Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong" (fascinating character study, a change in structure, and perhaps one of the most haunting stories in the collection), and "The Lives of the Dead" (a non-war story that is still very much a war story, a story that manages to displayreal, tangible, genuine emotions, a story that deals with death, coping, and stories themselves).
But I'm not doing the collection justice. There is so much to say about it that I don't know how to say.
Here's maybe the general thing I'm getting at: Tim O'Brien is a brilliant writer. If I could aspire to write like anyone, O'Brien just might be at the top of my list. (Fortunately, as I writer, I've decided not to aspire to "write like" anyone, mainly because I honestly don't think it can be done, so there isn't much pressure where that is concerned.)
I'm particularly fascinated by his treatment of the concept of writing stories in the stories he's written (Tim O'Brien was meta before it was cool). He'll say things like
By telling stories, you objectify your own experience. You separate it from yourself. You pin down certain truths. You make up others. You start sometimes with an incident that truly happened [...], and you carry it forward by inventing incidents that did not in fact occur but that nonetheless help to clarify and explain. ("Notes")
Or
For more than twenty years I've had to live with it, feeling the shame, trying to push it away, and so by this act of remembrance, by putting the facts down on paper, I'm hoping to relieve at least some of the pressure on my dreams. ("On the Rainy River")
And
Story-truth is sometimes truer than happening truth. ("Good Form" - actually, I could quote this entire story [it's only two pages long], because it gets at the heart of why his stories are so meaningful to me.)
Each one of those ideas cuts to the heart of me, of why I write in the first place. I tell stories to separate the truth of what I've experienced from what I've experienced--because, in my mind, there is a difference. I tell stories to "relieve at least some of the pressure on my dreams," because if I don't, they begin to overwhelm me. I tell stories because they are emotionally more true than the factual world I see around me. That doesn't mean I tell stories for the happy endings; sort of the opposite, actually. I tell stories for the true endings. The one's that are meaningful, that have been worked for, that the story deserves.
Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried speaks to me because almost every single one of the stories penetrates deep down to the very reason I write in the first place. And I love that, because stories are meaningful. Stories are beautiful, and they are true, even (and sometimes especially) when they're not. And, most of all, because
This too is true: stories can save us. ("The Lives of the Dead")
* Those nine stories, in the order they appear in my collection, are as follows: "The Things They Carried," "On the Rainy River," "How to Tell a True War Story," "Sweetheart of the Song Tra Bong," "Stockings," "The Man I Killed," "Notes," "Good Form," and "The Lives of the Dead." Each one is amazing.
If I had to choose an all-time favorite novel, Alden Bell's The Reapers are the Angels just might be it. Really, that's all that needs to be said.*
But I'll say more anyway.
I mentioned The Reapers are the Angels (we'll call it TRATA for short) in a post a couple years ago in which I geeked out a bit over everything zombie. If anything, my feelings for the book have only grown since then. I've actually been meaning to do a reread of it, but I've been so busy reading and writing other things that I haven't gotten around to it. (Which, incidentally, is another testament to the awesomeness of this book. I rarely, if ever, reread anything. There is so much out there I want to yet read, it is impossible to justify. But there are a few exceptions, and TRATA is one of them.)
The narrative centers around a young girl, Temple. In a lot of ways, TRATA is your typical zombie post-apocalypse story: Temple fends off the dead. She also fends off humans, and one who is hunting her in particular. But it's a coming of age type story, too. And it's about miracles. And the language. You'd never think a zombie apocalypse novel could be beautiful, but guys...The Reapers are the Angels is beautiful.
On something of a side note, I recently played The Last of Us, a PS3 game that takes place in a post-apocalyptic, zombie-like world. And that game is surprisingly similar in tone to TRATA. If you liked one, I think you'll like the other. The Last of Us deserves a post unto itself, so hopefully I'll get around to that--in fact, an update on my zombie post from a couple years ago might be due. Zombie media has changed significantly even in just the past few years, and it might be interesting to talk about how.
The Reapers are the Angels is exactly the kind of story I love to read, and it's exactly he kind of story I want to write. I mean, I like zombies, so it's cool that this book has zombies in it. But what I love most is that it's about a character, and it examines closely that character and her role in the world around her. It presents a fascinating setting, but manages to make me truly care for Temple. And it makes me feel things. Like, emotions and stuff. Books that do that, at least for me, are kind of few and far between. Zombie books (or TV shows, or movies, for that matter) are even more rare. So, seriously...this one's a keeper.
Ok, and want to know the best part about writing this post? In checking out Alden Bell's website, I've just discovered that there's a sequel to TRATA. Exit Kingdom. Guys. This is amazing. AND I'M GOING TO GO BUY IT AND READ IT IMMEDIATELY.
You should, too.
* Because picking a favorite author, let alone a favorite book, is nigh impossible for just about any writer. Seriously, ask one. It really is. But, gun to my head, TRATA just might be the title I whisper. Definitely makes my top 5 favorite novels, in any case.
First of all, as you can probably tell, I'm trying out a new format. No big changes, but I've added a picture to the banner (that really has nothing to do with anything except the fact that I enjoy being outdoors and if you use your imagination I could totally be shooting a bow in that picture), and done some color scheme tweaks. I can't say I love the blue, but the red was starting to grate. For now, I think it's a good change. We'll see what I think in a couple weeks.
Secondly, today shall henceforth be known as the day in which I began the weekly FORMATIVE INFLUENCE FRIDAY! I know, I know, could I think of a more boring name for anything ever? Probably not. That's why from here on out I'll pretty much always refer to it as FIF. Maybe even #FIF, because #hashtags are #awesome and #totallynotoutofstyleyet. But here's the thing: I've been meaning to talk about books, movies, and other media that I've always thought were awesome and have shaped me as a writer for some time, now, and what better way than this? Basically I'll just jump around the list on my Formative Influences page, eventually talking about each entry. Also, it'll be motivation for me to blog a bit more consistently, which is a good thing. I think. And, hey, maybe you'll learn something. Maybe I'll learn something, for that matter.
Basically, he's the man. As in he is really cool and if you haven't read any of his books, you should immediately because (1) they're children's books so they won't take much time, (2) they're beautifully illustrated, and (3) they are fascinating and creepy and even dark sometimes and I love them.
Believe it or not, many of you have probably already been introduced to Mr. Allsburg's work through the feature film Jumanji. Behold the trailer:
Yeesh. Were all trailers so long back then? Also, that was twenty years ago, almost. Weird. Also, yes, that is Kirsten Dunst. Anyway, the movie isn't awful, but Allsburg's book is better. If you don't recognize Jumanji, you'll almost certainly recognize The Polar Express, also based on an Allsburg book. And while both Jumanji and The Polar Express were solid Allsburg books, neither were my favorites. I preferred books like
The Garden of Abdul Gasazi, about a boy who stumbles into massive garden of eerily sculpted topiary trees--a garden with a dark secret. Or
The Sweetest Fig, about a man who discovers figs that make dreams come true. He spends months studying dreams in an attempt to eat one of the figs on the perfect night, only to have his plans go tragically wrong. But then there's
The Wretched Stone, in which a ship finds a strange glowing stone on a remote island, a stone that the crew obsesses over, staring at it day in and day out (a thinly veiled but accurate metaphor for children watching television all the time).
And that's just naming a few. What I love most about Allsburg's work was the creepiness of it all. They were all children's stories, so nothing too crazy, but he still managed to create this eerie sense of worlds in which anything could happen. He paints fantastical places with both words and pictures. And, perhaps most of all, I loved how each of his stories made me think afterwards. There was always a mystery not quite answered, another hinted question behind the conclusion, that kept me thinking for days and weeks on end. For a little boy who loved imagining, there was hardly anything better. Allsburg's stories aren't hopeless, but they're certainly cautionary; and while perhaps not quite grotesque, they have their fair share of the absurd. Looking back, Allsburg's stories seems a strange precognitive echo of the effects Kafka would have on me much later.
So, if you haven't read Chris Van Allsburg, go read him. Now. Immediately. Read him to your kids, especially if you want them to just shut up and think for a few minutes (which is, I'm now realizing, a large reason my parents probably gave/read them to me...). Basically, Chris Van Allsburg is Kafka for kids. And that is freaking awesome.
The book is honest. That's really what it comes down to. What makes it even more applicable to me is that, well, it is so freaking applicable to me. If I read an honest book on Islamic culture, I'm sure I would appreciate the sincerity there, but there's just not much for me to relate to, for obvious reasons (I'm not a Muslim). I am, however, a Mormon. In fact, I'm a liberal, progressive, feminist* Mormon, which seemed to be a key demographic of the book's audience. The Book of Mormon Girl was particularly refreshing to me because it was being so honest about things that I craved to discuss honestly. Making sense, much?
The book essentially chronicles Ms. Brooks' childhood as a "root beer" in a land of "cokes"--an adequate metaphor for growing up as a Mormon in a land of people who aren't Mormon--and then goes on to relate her experience with the LDS church as a feminist, intellectual, and progressive liberal. Her assessment of the culture and overall feel of "growing up Mormon," with CTR rings and pioneer ancestors and relatives in Utah and the Osmonds and everything is uncannily accurate. She gives special attention to her own faith throughout the book, talking about doubt, about how her faith was sometimes shaken or undermined, and about how, despite all of these things, she never quite lost faith in and love for Mormonism.
And she went through some pretty trying times. As a middle-class white Mormon guy, just the perspective of growing up female in the LDS Church was eye-opening. There were issues I never considered, growing up, that all of my Mormon friends-who-were-girls had to deal with. I like to think that I've begun to be more aware of those issues in the last few years, and hopefully in many ways I have, but this book proved that I (and the LDS membership as a whole) still have a great deal to learn in that arena.
It was fascinating to read about her perspective on the "September Six" and the events surrounding that little controversy. In the early 1990s, BYU fired a handful of professors. Many of those professors, along with a few other liberal feminists in the Church, were also excommunicated. I remembered hearing about the infamous "purging of the English department" during my undergraduate and graduate degrees, in whispered corners from other students and off-hand allusions from professors, but was always very frustrated at everyone's (including my own) inability to talk about the controversy openly.
Hearing Ms. Brooks discuss her association with the experience was eye-opening and fascinating. She didn't receive any specific Church discipline for her progressive beliefs (at least not that she specifies in the book), but rather felt a constant worry that she might lose her membership in the Church she had grown up in, the religion she had loved, simply for voicing her own beliefs:
Mormons like me found ourselves in the grip of a terrible turn in Mormon history, in the grip of a fear provoked in part by the strength of our Mormon feminist vision: a fear of the full, glorious, strange, and difficult humanity of our Mormon past. . . . It took a decade to come to terms with the fact that the Church we loved had declared us its enemies.
She imposed on herself an exile of sorts, during which time she stayed away from the LDS Church, mostly, it seems, out of fear of being shunned (if not excommunicated) for her unorthodox beliefs.
Ms. Brooks doesn't pull any punches when it comes to discussing LDS history. Many Mormons might find the way she discusses Mormonism offensive; I don't believe that's true. She says it best herself:
These are the unspoken legacies we inherit when we belong to a people: not only luminous visions of eternal expanses of loving-kindness, but actual human histories of exclusion and rank prejudice. We inherit not only the glorious histories of our ancestors, but their human failings too, their kindness, their tenderness, and their satisfaction with easy contradictions. . . . We inherit all the ways in which our ancestors and parents and teachers were wrong, as well as the ways they were right: their sparkling differences, and their human failings. There is no unmixing the two.
The LDS Church is made up of people, and people, as a general rule, screw up. Often. All the time, in fact. Ms. Brooks is simply honest and up front about that fact. And as honest as she is about Mormonism's dark times, she's just as honest about it's bright points, both of history and of doctrine.
Lest I paint the book a little too brightly, let me be clear: I didn't think it was perfect. Her raw, unrefined but truthy writing style was certainly atypical. (Actually I really appreciated her writing style as well...again, refreshing.) Oh, here's a critique: I was never quite clear what the situation was with her exile. It seemed self-imposed, but I wasn't sure if there were other factors behind it (other than her association with some of the September Six and some of the LDS Church's declarations around that time period). I would have appreciated a bit more clarity on how she got to the point where she considered exile, as well as how she decided to come out of it.**
But really I don't have many bad things to say about this book. And I think, again, it comes back to honesty. "I grew up in a world," she says,
where all the stories I heard arrived at the same conclusions: the wayfarer restored, the sick healed, the lost keys found, a singular truth confirmed. And an orthodox Mormon story is the only kind of story I ever wanted to be able to tell.
But these are not the kinds of stories life has given me.
Every Mormon carries with them a bundle of stories like a suitcase of family secrets. . . . Sacrifices we refuse to believe God would ask of us. Stories of loss that do not end neatly with restoration and stories of leaving that do not conclude with the return home.
In the world I grew up in it was not okay to tell unorthodox stories. We did not hear them in church. We did not read them in scripture. But sooner or later they break through to the surface in every Mormon life, in every human life, in every life of faith. I am not afraid of them. Because this is the story life has given me to tell.
After two and a half decades of trying to decide what to do with these types of stories in my own life, I'm finally learning to not be afraid of them, either. That's one particular lesson I hope I never stop learning, and one that I pray the membership of the LDS Church picks up on, as well. We need those unconventional stories about Mormons. We need to hear that people aren't perfect, that they screw up, and that sometimes they come back from that, but sometimes they don't. Those stories are in our scripture, but they seem to have lost their way into our culture. But books like this one --and hopefully many more things like it--are helping to bring those stories back.
One final caveat: while this is a great book, I don't think its the most informative source to learn about mormonism. Mormon.org, or the Book of Mormon itself (the actual book, not the musical), would probably be the best references for something along those lines. But, if you're looking for one person's experience with the LDS religion and culture (especially if you're interested in how progressivism, liberalism, and feminism could possibly have a place in said culture), I highly recommend The Book of Mormon Girl.***
* Or pro-feminist, depending on your particular brand of feminism. ** Of course, some of these experiences of hers may be of a sort that she doesn't feel comfortable to share publicly (perhaps they're too sacred, perhaps they're too embarrassing, perhaps...who knows). But even if that's the case, I would have appreciated some hints in that direction. *** Also, if you're interested in more about Joanna Brooks, I recommend one of her sites, Ask Mormon Girl. It's a fascinating advice blog that attempts to answer some of those difficult questions--at least from one woman's perspective :-).
I finished reading A Memory of Lighton Saturday, 12 January, 2013. It was good. Like, really good. I know it was good, because I was depressed after I finished it. In fact, I'm still a bit depressed, when I think about it. And I couldn't be happier about that.
Let me explain.
The onset of a certain depression after finishing a book or TV series, or set of movies, is a sure sign that said media has cut me deep. I could almost count the number of times this has happened to me on one hand:(1) finishing the game Final Fantasy VII in middle school, (2) finishing The Lost Years of Merlin series in high school, (3) watching The Return of the King in the theater for the first time, (4) watching the last episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and (5) watching the last episode of Battlestar Galactica. There might be two or three other works that haven't come to mind yet that also deserve a place on this list, but really, that's about it.
The aforementioned media aren't necessarily my all-time favorites. Some of them are, others aren't quite. They don't all have the best writing I've ever scene, although some of them certainly do. Most of those works are actually very inconsistent in one way or another--the acting isn't always top notch, or there are some holes in the story, or parts that go on too long. None of these works are perfect*.
But they all seem to have effected me in this particular way. I love them, and then they end, and then I'm really, really sad. Actually, it's maybe more accurate to say that I love the characters, and then the story ends, and then I'm really, really sad. For me, it's all about characters. They're what really drive the stories I love. So when those stories end, and I suddenly lose all contact with these characters I've grown to love, it's actually quite upsetting for me. I come to the sudden realization that these characters will no longer be such an integral part of my life, and that is always a very sad time. Bittersweet, of course, because I love seeing these people characters live complete their lives arcs, but difficult because it is also a goodbye. I can return to these worlds and characters, of course, but I'll never live the experience like I did the first time around.
I can't quite pinpoint exactly what sets these works apart from the hundreds of other things I've read and watched, but there's something there. Of course, there's something to be said about the length of things. If you read 5+ books, or watch 5+ TV seasons, in any given series, you're bound to grow some kind of attachment to the characters. At least I am. But there's more than that. I loved Harry Potter, but I wasn't depressed when I finished reading those books. Same with the Ender series, Angel, Lost, and all sorts of other things.
There's some combination, something that tweaks me just so, and each work on the list I gave above has it, whatever it is.
And, having finished A Memory of Light, The Wheel of Time series now joins that elite company.
I will say, however, that The Wheel of Time has not been my favorite series by any means. The first 6 books were quite good. Books 7-11 were, for the most part, a real chore. And that's five books. For the most part I've been pleased with what Brandon Sanderson has done with the ending of the series, but these last few books have their flaws, too. Part of me sees some reason behind the decision to change what was supposed to be a 12-book series into a 14-book series, but part of me is also pretty annoyed. It feels a bit like a Peter Jackson maneuver, if you catch my meaning. And this last book...well. One battle takes up about 500 pages, one chapter covering 250 pages or so of said battle. The rest of the book is...other battles. There's lots and lots of battles and fighting.
Of course, what do I expect? It's the Last Battle, after all. But still...it seems things could have been trimmed down just a bit.
The POVs are pretty jumpy, too--more so in this last book than usual. It was very difficult (perhaps "annoying" is a better word, here) to keep track of who was fighting where and who was with whom and so forth.
Well, enough about the imperfections. There were others, but I don't want to dwell on them.
There were some really awesome things that happened in this last book, too.
Egwene.
Lan.
Giant deathgates.
And, of course, there was the ending. The ending really did make it all worth it. That's kind of cliche, I know. But in a series like this, a series that has had so many fantastic highs and almost as many dismal lows (in so many more ways than one), the ending really makes or breaks the thing. That last bite, the final taste, is what people take with them.
Mine was, I think, nearly perfect. I was delightfully depressed, and felt the missing-ness (as we say in Italian...) of the characters as soon as I finished the last word. It was lovely, and sad, and wonderful all at once.
So thank you, Robert Jordan, and thank you, Brandon Sanderson. It's been a long journey (even for me, and I entered the game late--right around when book 10 came out, I think), but it's been worth it. Like I said, there are very few works that have the power to depress me. But this was one of them, and I'm grateful for it. I look forward to the next, whatever that may be.
I've been reading the final book in The Wheel of Time series--A Memory of Light--on and off for the past day or so. Two thoughts: (1) I too often forget how slow of a reader I really am. I'm only on page 200 or so, and I've been reading for at least a 5 hour chunk of time, total. I don't know. That seems slow to me, anyway. (2) I forget how seriously epic this series really is. Honestly, it's never been my favorite set of books--it's never even been my favorite set of fantasy books--but, wow. As far as scope goes, and climactic battles between good and evil and all that, this one kind of takes the cake*.
Hopefully I'll finish the book in the next day or two--and I'm sure a review of the book/reflection on the series will follow shortly after that.
In the meantime, here are some interesting things. An overview video of The Wheel of Time . . .
. . . a brief thingy on Robert Jordan . . .
. . . and some thoughts from Brandon Sanderson, who has been finishing the series since Mr. Jordan passed away in 2007 (the linked post was written about a year after he was asked to finish WoT).
So far, I'm enjoying the book. But, well, more on that later :-).
* I've heard good things about the Malazan series, particularly in relation to its epic-ness, but I'm only partway through that one at the moment so I'll refrain from further comment.
So: here's some thoughts about John D'Agata's over-arching essay in his compilation The Next American Essay, which I found particularly interesting and insightful--specifically these quotes:
. . . despite the obvious abundance of documentation in nonfiction, some of the literature in this genre challenges that very presumption of fact.
This sums up exactly what I've been learning about nonfiction. Nonfiction may be a lot of things, but it is not always factual. It can be, of course, but the direction the essay is going right now is not towards the factual side of things--even though I think it is still an effective form of documentation. Where is it going? Well, he goes on to pose these questions:
What happens when an essayist starts imagining things, making things up, filling in blank spaces, or--worse yet--leaving the blanks blank? What happens when statistics, reportage, and observation in an essay are abandoned for image, emotion, expressive transformation?
So instead of going towards the factual side of things, the essay is going towards the imaginative, the emotional, the purely expressive.
And here we get to the creative process--one of the reasons I started creative writing in the first place, and one of the reasons I stayed away from nonfiction for so long. But now I'm realizing that nonfiction can be just as creative as fiction (if not more so, in some ways). It can be just as metaphorical, just as allegorical, just as exciting, just as lucid, just as stereotypical, just as boring, and just as emotional and crazy as fiction.
But, back to facts. Here's more D'Agata:
There are now questions being asked of facts that were never questions before. What, we ask, is a fact these days? What's a lie, for that matter? What constitutes an "essay," a "story," a "poem"? What, even, is "experience"?
Whatever a fact is, I don't think it is necessary for a piece of nonfiction. I think, instead, the only requirement is that--whatever it discusses, whether it is an emotion or an event or a lie or a misconception--it has to exist, or have existed. And even that connotation is ambiguous. Especially as nonfiction becomes more artistic, ethereal, and lyrical:
The lyric essay inherits from the principal strands of nonfiction the makings of its own hybrid version of the form. . . . Facts, in these essays, are not clear-cut things. What is a lyric essay? It's an oxymoron: an essay that's also a lyric; a kind of logic that wants to sing; an argument that has no chance of proving anything.
The essay (and by extension nonfiction) is the neglected step-child of the writing family. It doesn't prove anything with exactness, not like academic or scientific papers do. Nor does it create something as wholly and with such wild abandon as fiction or poetry does. But it does have one foot in each camp, and thus, in a lot of ways, the best of both worlds.
I found the following quote of interest because it was an afterward--despite discussing the title and, at least in my eyes, the overall significance and meaning of the compilation itself:
By "Next" is meant those essays that will be inspired by these. By "American," of course, I mean the nation. And by "Essay," I mean a verb.
The "next American attempt," or the "next American trial," or assay, or experiment, or conjecture. Nonfiction, I think, is all about attempting to convey the human experience, in whatever way possible. It is about trying to describe personal or terrible or terrific or ineffable things with a limited language--knowing that you'll fail, but succeeding just in the attempt. Thats a big appeal of nonfiction to me, and that is why I think it is something I'll keep turning to as the years go by.
, which I found particularly interesting and insightful--specifically these quotes:
, 
, 
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