Ben Thomas, Mike Resnick and Vienna Teng

I've read some fine short fiction lately. My winter edition of Weird Tales arrived, and it's an excellent read. Tim Pratt and Kathe Koja have written compelling stories, but my favorite in this issue is Ben Thomas's "The Man With the Myriad Scars." Thomas, the lead editor of The Willows, has put the desired style of that magazine (the classic weird tale) to good work in this piece.

It succeeds on a couple levels, both as an homage to Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" and as an allegory on gluttony and consumption. Thomas's narrator, an art professor obsessed with a grotesque performance artist, is well drawn--alternately transfixed and repulsed by the things he's seen. The character effectively captures the duality of why we're attracted to the dark and bizarre.

Thomas then elevates the narrative by giving the artist himself a forum to discuss his craft. There is some chilling stuff in the second act of this tale, not the least of which is the trio of tall spectres who "were not anything like men; they were like towers composed of spiders, of anemones and worms, of millions of tiny crawling things" (90).

I won't spoil the third act, but I will say that I really liked this story--compelling content and strong writing.

I motored through Subterranean: Tales of Dark Fantasy last week. It's a good collection, with another fine piece by Champion Joe ("It Washed Up"). The best story in this batch was written by a writer whose work I hadn't encountered before in Mike Resnick. His Hugo-nominated novelette "Alastair Baffle's Emporium of Wonders" is a great story--tightly written, with compelling characters and a healthy dose of moral caution.

Go to the website to read the piece.

It reminds me of the 1962 Twilight Zone episode "The Trade-Ins" for its lesson: our nature is also our best compass.

And finally, if you're looking for something new to try on the ol' i-pod, give Vienna Teng a shot. As a huge fan of pianists such as Marc Cohn and Bruce Hornsby, I've found Teng's musicianship top notch, her music consistent and beautiful.

The Barricade Wars: An Ongoing Saga

By the light of day, this photo appears innocuous--even placid--but make no mistake, lives were lost on this field last night. Orange was smeared on these unfinished roads.

Slash, ranking field general for the eighth lit-barrier brigade, had suspected an ACME attack for some time. When a pair of delineators dropped down from the highway, feigning injury, Slash had his medical personnel see to the enemy.

Alas, it was all a ruse.

Three dozen target arrows, flanked by two full regimens of traffic cones, attacked from the south. The skirmish was long and costly--thirteen brave barricades lost their lives.

Nine sandbags, hard, dedicated little soldiers, were drained on the side of the road.

Slash called in a water-filled barrier wall to end the skirmish, an awesome display of military might. By dawn, the ground was littered with crushed ACME traffic cones. By rush hour, the field had been cleared--Bob's Barricades had held the line.

Our group continues its migration north; we hope to soon join our comrades at Mt. Pleasant Road...

James Lee Burke and Pegasus Descending

James Lee Burke can really write.

You have to believe in something. Everyone does. Even atheists believe in their unbelief. If they didn't, they'd go mad. The misanthrope believes in his hatred of his fellow man. The gambler believes he's omniscient and that his knowledge of the future is proof that he is loved by God. The middle-income person who spends enormous amounts of time window-shopping and sorting through used clothing at garage sales is indicating that our goods will never be ashes blowing across the grave. I suspect the drunkard believes his own self-destruction is the penance required for his acceptability in the eyes of his Creator. The adherents of Saint Francis see divinity in the faces of the poor and oppressed but take no notice of the Byzantine fire surrounding themselves. The commonality of all the aforementioned lies in the frailty of their moral vision. It is also what makes them human (294).

Burke's novel Pegasus Descending is peppered with snippets of clear, introspective prose such as this. It's one of his great strengths as a stylist, that ability to impart keen observations on the human condition through narrator Dave Robicheaux.

That old saw about there being a distinction between literary and genre writers falls apart in the wake of analysis of works by writers such as Burke, Randy Wayne White and Jeffrey Ford. Some critics draw the line between the fields by distinguishing between tone and style. Others look at subject and theme.

Well, there's plenty of style here, and more than enough in the way of meaty human issues (race and class struggles, guilt and gluttony, courage and morality) to fill a couple of novels.

Burke paints a vivid picture of New Iberia, Louisiana. His setting is textured and vibrant, his human characters as much a part of the way things have always been as the gators and coons of the low country. Like his Florida counterparts, Randy Wayne White and John D. MacDonald, Burke is interested in testing and measuring the boundaries of the human conscience. Robicheaux is no easy character to figure--even when he goes blind with anger and beats a man nearly to death we see shades of morality in his behaviour.

I only came to this writer's work after having looked at the excellent film In the Electric Mist. I highly recommend this novel, and I'm looking forward to working my way through the rest in the series in the months ahead.

Earth Hour

Kudos to the city of Jacksonville for its participation in Earth Hour. The city will turn off the lights on the bridges and at The Landing; it's one of over 300 major American cities that will take part in this pledge to conserve resources.

I know this type of thing is fashionable, and it's only a brief commitment, but it also sends a strong message to those who are thinking hard about issues like resource depletion and clean energy.

The world is trying.

By now, we know all the tips by rote (digital thermostats, compact-fluorescents, LEDs, energy-star appliances), so no need to get into them. But here's another thing we're doing. We're unplugging all of the appliances. When a toaster is plugged in, even if not in use it has completed the electrical circuit. Power is running to that socket, on standby for use.

We've unplugged a lot of those things. We haven't used the HVAC in about six weeks here in Florida--it's been great open-window weather--and we're hoping to see a steep decline in the energy bill this month from JEA.

At any rate, happy Earth Hour and, if you're looking to take out a feel-good comedy, you could definitely do much worse than Role Models...

A Formula for Rest

Ourl ittle girl is a week old today. While Jeanne and I are rookies at this, we seem to have stumbled upon a solid formula for getting Lyla to rest at night.

Babies love routine, and we've tried to create one that works. During the day, we try to keep her stimulated with songs, stories and play, hoping to keep her awake as much as she's comfortable. As the day nears its conclusion, Jeanne makes sure Lyla has a nice big meal. We then:

• wash our little one's face. In the future, this will be a full-fledged bath;
• read her a story. Last night was the excellent Guess How Much I Love You;
• give her a hands-free swaddle (bundling her arms has been problematic--she likes to feel herself);
• pop a cap on her head and a pacifier in her mouth (soothies, for those keeping score);
• turn on Pandora (classical music, Enya, Jim Brickman, etc.) and let it play.

That's worked well. Lyla's had plenty of rest over the last two nights and that's good for all of us.

A Brief Note on RaceFail '09...

The first quarter of 2009 has seen a passionate and often contentious debate on numerous subjects related to race, identity, cultural appropriation and the complexities of esoteric/exoteric social systems. Dubbed RaceFail '09, the debate has sprawled across the internet, pulling writers, editors and fans into a discourse that has generally been labeled either a boondoggle or a watershed.

In my examination of the discussion, I think it's more of the latter. While the discussion has derailed in places, a lot of it has, admirably, remained on task. At its core, it's an examination of institutional privilege, cultural representation (or lack thereof) and the status quo in the field of science fiction and fantasy.

I see RaceFail as a watershed moment because it opened the channels of communication to examine these topics. Cultural critic Sut Jhally (UMASS) has posed the theory that one of the ways the dominant, entrenched power structure remains ensconced is a direct result of a dearth of scrutiny. Silence, in that case, really is golden.

It makes sense. Generally speaking, a discussion of gender equality often gravitates to a look at feminism and women's rights (and not any meaningful discussion on the Good ol' Boys' Club). Discussions on sexuality tend to focus on the GBLTG community, not the prevailing attitudes of the heterosexual community about that community; racial discussions seldom shine the light on white privilege.

In the case of RaceFail, the discussion did lead many writers, readers and editors to reconsider their notions on what it means to inherit a place of prominence in American culture by virtue of race. That's no small feat. It takes a lot of energy to be honest with one's self.

In our literature classes at the college, I ask my students what they learned from the work. Many often reply, simply, "Life's not fair."

Well, right. We all understand that. As Moonrat outlines in the preceding post, luck plays a large role in seeing your work in print.

She outlines a number of ways in which writers can hedge their bets to mediate the influence of luck on the decisions that affect their work.

But what if you are a writer or artist of color, and the field you are trying to break into is, and historically has been, governed by a (generally) homogeneous power structure (gatekeepers, as many like to label them)? What if the characters you've created don't fall neatly into the traditional/profitable molds that you see within the greater field?

Sheesh. The odds just got a little longer, right?

That's why I think this discussion has been good.

If a number of editors and publishers and writers and fans have taken the last few months to honestly look at how they create characters and deal with each other, then that is good. If this discussion somehow catalyzes a movement toward fewer insulting and/or clumsy character representations and greater opportunities for artistic exposure well, then that's great.

Many of you who read this blog are students at the college. If you've got the time (and believe me, you'll need a lot of it), click on the first link to Ann Somerville's journal and take a look at the conversation.

Recognizing a Crossroads

A funny thing happened to me in the middle of 2006.

I learned how to tell a story on paper.

It wasn't that I couldn't write in the years prior to that revelation. To the contrary, I'd earned a master's degree in English and had become fairly proficient at composing the critical essays that are the life-blood of that academic pursuit.

I'd published fiction and non-fiction and spent better than a year writing sports for a couple of community newspapers in the Portland metropolitan area (I still miss covering the vaunted Greater Oregon League, let me tell you).

I'd written short stories at Linfield--most of them pretty marginal. I penned a 100-page horror novella based on the legend of the Stick People. My classmates seemed to enjoy it, but our instructor actually made the comment (disdainfully) that I was "writing for Hollywood."

Generally speaking, my stories at that time were ok--you could read them, and they had a few nice turns of phrase. But they didn't have much in the way of voice. Every writer needs to find his or hers, and mine was more than a little, well...bland.

Here's a great link to supplement this discussion, by the way.

I was reading all the authors I admired, and I was writing pretty frequently. Those are two of the old canards on getting there: write a lot and read a lot (huh, who would have thought?). Then one week, I felt a shift in my work. It felt more alive on the page--more energetic and vibrant. And, best of all, it felt more like me.

The results weren't immediate, but over time they became tangible. The form rejections have dissipated; I get fewer forms now than I do positive notes with feedback (and no, it's not an oxymoron--a "good" rejection is indeed a courtesy and a boon to the writer).

I probably wrote a million words before experiencing this shift, by the way. Like I said above, not all of those were invested in writing fiction, but I mention that only to underline the notion that this is all an immense process.

Now, when I sit down to write a tale, I'm fairly sure it'll have my signature on it. I can feel it there, and there's a measure of satisfaction in that.

I'm writing this because I'm going to retire a few stories that have been out on submission. These tales are ok--they're technically proficient, with a few nice turns of phrase. But they never get far in the editorial process, and I'm not sure I want them out there right now speaking for my abilities. I think there comes a time when you need to put some of these tales to bed, and I thought I'd gone through that stage with my Linfield stories, but it turns out that the personal validation I was looking for in my own work was still a ways down the road.

Will any of these tales ever see print? Who knows? Ray Carver once called his early work "awful," but when the stories were later collected and printed, audiences were much more charitable.

And I think that's what makes a life of writing such an illuminating experience. There are stories up the road, just around the corner. There are chances to take and places to explore that will stretch and redefine your voice as you blunder down that path.

Incidentally, I've spent the last two days working on the most bizarre thing I've ever attempted. It's going to be fun, and it's going to be long. I'm also working on edits for a pair of stories that have found, at least provisionally, solid homes.