Yesterday I read an interview with Stephen Graham Jones, a writer who has been recommended to me, but I haven’t gotten to yet. He had an interesting observation about subverting genre:

“I’m always telling my students that the trick with exceeding expectations, it’s not to have, say, a hundred-foot tall robot zombie instead of a fifty-foot one, it’s to undercut the whole expectation of a robot zombie in the first place, make the reader think they’re not getting any undead cyborg at all, but then somehow do it anyway, through some side door only just now opening.”

He talks about doing this by keeping the reader so engaged with the characters that the plot elements, whatever they are, don’t matter. Which tends to be my thinking too. Mine isn’t the kind of writing style that is generally considered genre, but it has elements of genre (or elements of not-real).

One of the organic farmers who brings produce to the Yellow Springs farmer’s market has been reading my books, starting with Psychological Methods To Sell Should Be Destroyed. He checked out The Painting And The City from the library, and liked it a lot. But he didn’t understand why it was shelved in science fiction. The novel isn’t realism, but the fantastic elements are presented in a realistic way, and they emanate from character and setting. He didn’t realize he was getting the metaphoric undead cyborg. He had no preconceptions, and the writing kept him in the story, wherever it went.

I know that the publishing industry needs its categories, but I’m tired of them, tired of being told that my writing doesn’t fit them. I still believe that people who read want to read good fiction and don’t care what the label is.

I forgot to post that I finished a new piece last week, a 13,000 word novelette. It’s the first story I’ve finished in a long time. It still needs a title though.

The art comes from an article here about giant tree-size fungus from the Devonian. It’s “A rendering of Prototaxites as it may have looked during the early Devonian Period, approximately 400 million years ago. Painting by Mary Parrish, National Museum of Natural History.”

Giant fungus do appear in the story.

Here’s a piece of something I’ve been working on. Working title of “Mountain Story.”

Reports of the new mountain began to arrive late in the week, and were immediately discounted as fabrication or illusion, of the sort that often explodes into public consciousness and dominates conversation until another replaces it.  Last year, there was the story of a hidden community of log-dwellers in the municipal parklands, and others, many others.

Early the next week, a man came into the Ministry of Parks and Justice building, a man with mud-caked clothing and a gashed forehead, a man who claimed proof.  Park stewards brought him to the director’s office, and the rest of the staff assembled.

No resident of The Expanse has seen a mountain (several hills yes, and two shallow gorges).  The existence of mountains has been speculated, but not confirmed, in a land somewhere below the southern horizon.  No modern expedition has yet ventured far enough, though records exist, accounts from the great explorer-captains of many years past, from an age of enquiry.

Continue reading “Story Fragment” →

In an older post I wrote about the deterioration of the pen department at Pearl Paint in Manhattan, and speculated on the whereabouts of the beloved “Pen Guy” who worked there. Yesterday another former Pearl Paint Pen Guy commented. Which got me thinking about my pens, and writing.

I used to write at the computer (and before computers, at the typewriter). I learned to do this in my first journalism class in college. A journalist is supposed to interview, make notes, and sit down to write the news story. I hope that’s still true. At some point I stopped writing at the keyboard. I don’t remember when, exactly. During the year I spent in Great Barrington, MA, I lived alone and worked free-lance from my apartment. I started going to cafes to write, partly to have social interaction.

Now I mostly I write in a notebook, away from the house. Later, I type what I wrote, print it out, and take it with my notebook the next time I write. I know people who write an entire draft longhand, then type, but I’ve never tried it.

I use a fountain pen, although I can also use other pens without my words falling apart.

Non-computer user Howard Waldrop has an occasional blog on the Small Beer Press web site. Here he talks about the fountain pens he uses.

I have three fountain pens: Parker (top), Rotring—the fun one (left), and Waterman—the nice one (right). I rarely use the Waterman, which is a mistake because it wants to be used. It’s a nice pen, and I’m afraid of losing it if I take it out. I did lose my Parker but replaced it via eBay. I bought the original Parker from the Pen Guy for $10. It was a closeout that he thought I needed (and he was right). The last time I remember having it was at the Flight Path Cafe in Austin, a day after the 2006 World Fantasy Convention, and a day before meeting Howard for coffee.

A wine rep who sells to the Emporium in Yellow Springs is also a collector of vintage fountain pens. He is unimpressed by my modern pens, even the Waterman. I’m interested in the more finely-crafted vintage instruments and might like to own one some day, but I’m happy with what I have.