When the first reviews for my most recent novel (Great Sky Woman, Random House 2006) started coming in, my emotions went through the usual roller coaster. The first, from Publisher’s Weekly, was 90% positive, but mentioned that, in their opinion, it was slow in spots. My stomach sank. Slow? In spots? Oh my God—all is lost!
The second review came in two weeks later. This one, from “Booklist,” used words like “magnificent” and “engaging” and “adventure on a grand scale.”
I sighed. Boy, oh boy, did I need to hear that. Why? Because I am an insecure artist. Because I spend, on average, two years researching and one year writing my novels. Because I care so very much about each and every one of my literary children. Because I pour my life into every project I work on, break my head open, remove the protective walls from around my heart. I have to, because that is the only way to access my talent. I CAN’T do less than my very best—that would immediately devolve to hack work, and that I cannot do.
Some say to ignore reviews, that they are only the opinions of people who, often, are jealous of work they themselves could not create. I choose not to embrace that opinion. To me, reviews are the opinions of informed, professional readers. Such people are not necessarily any better informed than the average reader, but what they have to say is certainly worthy of attention.
To be absolutely frank, there have been times I curled up and cried because a reviewer I respected disliked my work. And other times when handsprings across the living room were the order of the day. Such violent ups and downs can hardly be good for your blood pressure (let alone the household pets) but for an artist who cares, really cares about reaching out to the world, about creating a dialogue with readers present and unborn, there seems little choice.
An artist needs feedback. We must know whether what we do communicates the message intended. That doesn’t mean all glory and complement. Harsh but honest criticism can help an artist understand what the public sees when they read the work, watch the film, view the dance. To the degree that such work is intended to make a statement, to communicate a state of emotion or elusive concept, we MUST know how the public reacts.
But there are times when the good review is more damaging than the bad one. It often seems that a large proportion of artists are people who crave a deeper, more fluid connection with the outside world. Who in early life felt their voice stifled, felt invisible in the middle of a crowd. So they learn to speak their truth in some other form, and a creative performer was born.
Deep within such an artist is a driving, gnawing, ravenous urge to be loved, respected, seen, heard. It is the stifled urge of a child dancing in the living room for the guests, saying “look at me! I’m special!”
Of course, attention isn’t always on the artist herself: sometimes we merely want to draw attention to some cause, or effect, or external reality or philosophy we consider important or of interest. At the heart of all of this, however, is the sense that our perceptions are worthy, our hearts strong, our song as valid as that of any other warbler in the forest.
And when those reviews come in, we can either read them at an emotional arm’s length, or we can take them to heart, suffer the slings and arrows—and rejoice in the victories.
Which are more important? I’m not certain. But when those positive reviews come, I notice that I don’t take them as seriously, as deeply, as the negative ones. I don’t dare. That little boy inside me wants too desperately to believe that he is loved and appreciated, that he has made something worthwhile. When the positive reviews come, it is easy to listen to the accolades, to glow in the applause…
But God help you if you ever need it. Then, with an exquisitely perverse precision, it will be withdrawn. Chasing after the approval makes it dissolve, and we become like a third-rate comic frantically mugging for a once-appreciative audience, begging them to laugh until they are embarrassed for him.
I love the process of writing. I love the books themselves. I love my audience. And I love those reviews, too much, it sometimes seems. And at those times, a little voice whispers in my ear: "The writing isn’t for them. Never for them. It was before they were. And if they turn their backs, you will write still. Don’t be lulled by the fact that today’s reviews are positive. Don’t be frustrated if tomorrow’s reviews are bad. Listen to the voice in your heart, the one that whispers of discipline, and pain, and creative ecstasy. That voice was there at the beginning, and will be there at the end."
That voice, and no other, can you trust
Showing posts with label creativity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creativity. Show all posts
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
It Was Good Enough For Shakespeare
One of the core conflicts for creative artists of all kinds is the tug-of-war between art and commerce. Frankly, an artist needs to make money, and it is preferable to make it from his craft.
A writer who must work a full-time job to support himself will struggle to find the time to work, and often eventually gives it up altogether. On the other hand, being able to write on any project at all can polish valuable skills, and teach one the rules of the publishing industry.
On the other hand, I’ve met writers who were clearly working on projects, or toiling away at a career, that was burning out their souls. I remember meeting one such writer. His business card read “freelance hack and literary mechanic.” Sadly, but not entirely unexpectedly, he was dead of alcoholism within a year.
How to avoid such burnout? Well, in my own career, in addition writing the books I cared about the most, I’ve written Batman comic books, a Star Trek novel, and a Star Wars tie-in. In my television career, in addition to writing for “Outer Limits” and “The Twilight Zone,” I also wrote four episodes of “Baywatch”(!)
And never for a moment did I feel that I was selling myself out. Let’s get something straight: Shakespeare wrote for money. One can keep a careful eye on the bank account, and still reach the heights of craft. But again, how?
In my own case, the answer is fairly simple. Envision the thought process like this: I draw two circles. In the first, is everything I would like to write (and there are always dozens of projects in the mental hopper!). In the second is everything someone else is willing to pay me for. Where the two circles overlap, I write. In other words, are there projects I’d love to write, but can’t get paid for? You bet, and I generally don’t write them unless they are quite short. And there are projects that producers or publishers might want me to do, but don’t touch my heart at all. Having learned through experience that there are limits to my creative flexibility, I turn those down.
But from time to time, an opportunity arises that is in the no-man’s-land between the circles. There is money, but the project isn’t exactly something you have ever considered writing. What then?
Then, you ask yourself if the project is something that you could be proud of. If you would read it, or respect someone who did. For instance, when my agent called and said that the producers of “Baywatch” wanted to talk to me, I had the office send over six hours of video on the show. I sat on the living room couch and watched them with my daughter, who was about six at the time. After a few episodes, I asked her what she thought. She liked it. I asked why. She said: “Because it’s about nice people working hard to make the beach safe for us.” I thought about it, and then replied, “you know? There are worse things than that in this world, by a long shot.” And decided to try writing for it.
Every show, every project has its limitations. You must use certain characters, must get them into certain kinds of situations, and must avoid certain topics. That can be restrictive, but you can also decide to take it as a challenge. After all, you could give Fred Astaire a stage of any kind, and props of any kind, and he would find a way to create dance. Should you be committed to a lesser level of skill and vision? No.
You must find ways to amuse yourself while writing, to stretch your skills by trying something you’ve never done before, by empathizing with a younger audience if necessary—never ever writing “down” to your audience. That is the death of art. But if you can be truly flexible, you’ll find that more doors are open to you, more opportunities arise, that brass ring comes around more often. A writer ready to leap at any opportunity to show his skill, and who finds it easy to fall in love with about a project will often out-perform a brittle “genius” who must have everything exactly his way in order to write.
And if that approach is good enough for the Bard, it’s good enough for me.
A writer who must work a full-time job to support himself will struggle to find the time to work, and often eventually gives it up altogether. On the other hand, being able to write on any project at all can polish valuable skills, and teach one the rules of the publishing industry.
On the other hand, I’ve met writers who were clearly working on projects, or toiling away at a career, that was burning out their souls. I remember meeting one such writer. His business card read “freelance hack and literary mechanic.” Sadly, but not entirely unexpectedly, he was dead of alcoholism within a year.
How to avoid such burnout? Well, in my own career, in addition writing the books I cared about the most, I’ve written Batman comic books, a Star Trek novel, and a Star Wars tie-in. In my television career, in addition to writing for “Outer Limits” and “The Twilight Zone,” I also wrote four episodes of “Baywatch”(!)
And never for a moment did I feel that I was selling myself out. Let’s get something straight: Shakespeare wrote for money. One can keep a careful eye on the bank account, and still reach the heights of craft. But again, how?
In my own case, the answer is fairly simple. Envision the thought process like this: I draw two circles. In the first, is everything I would like to write (and there are always dozens of projects in the mental hopper!). In the second is everything someone else is willing to pay me for. Where the two circles overlap, I write. In other words, are there projects I’d love to write, but can’t get paid for? You bet, and I generally don’t write them unless they are quite short. And there are projects that producers or publishers might want me to do, but don’t touch my heart at all. Having learned through experience that there are limits to my creative flexibility, I turn those down.
But from time to time, an opportunity arises that is in the no-man’s-land between the circles. There is money, but the project isn’t exactly something you have ever considered writing. What then?
Then, you ask yourself if the project is something that you could be proud of. If you would read it, or respect someone who did. For instance, when my agent called and said that the producers of “Baywatch” wanted to talk to me, I had the office send over six hours of video on the show. I sat on the living room couch and watched them with my daughter, who was about six at the time. After a few episodes, I asked her what she thought. She liked it. I asked why. She said: “Because it’s about nice people working hard to make the beach safe for us.” I thought about it, and then replied, “you know? There are worse things than that in this world, by a long shot.” And decided to try writing for it.
Every show, every project has its limitations. You must use certain characters, must get them into certain kinds of situations, and must avoid certain topics. That can be restrictive, but you can also decide to take it as a challenge. After all, you could give Fred Astaire a stage of any kind, and props of any kind, and he would find a way to create dance. Should you be committed to a lesser level of skill and vision? No.
You must find ways to amuse yourself while writing, to stretch your skills by trying something you’ve never done before, by empathizing with a younger audience if necessary—never ever writing “down” to your audience. That is the death of art. But if you can be truly flexible, you’ll find that more doors are open to you, more opportunities arise, that brass ring comes around more often. A writer ready to leap at any opportunity to show his skill, and who finds it easy to fall in love with about a project will often out-perform a brittle “genius” who must have everything exactly his way in order to write.
And if that approach is good enough for the Bard, it’s good enough for me.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Cassablanca Secret
Good writing is often designed around a character who has a distorted vision of himself or of the world. During the story, he is placed under sufficient pressure to force an epiphany, a moment of clarity in which, he sees the world as it is, not as he wished it to be.
A classic example is “Casablanca,” where Bogart’s immortal Rick has managed to create an insular world in which he can pretend to be utterly detached and uninvolved. He supposedly has no political beliefs, and no real human connections. But the reappearance of Ilsa forces a cascade of events that cause Rick to reexamine his attitudes about love, fate, patriotism, courage, fidelity, friendship, and life itself.
Rick begins as a damaged, closed off character, carrying wounds to his heart and ego. What he WANTS is to be left alone to his self-pity. What he NEEDS is to be re-awakened to a life of purpose. The writers, wisely, give Rick what he needs, not what he wants, and in that manner a classic was born.
In Lifewriting™ we trust that the quality of a writer’s skill will be heightened by his evolution as a human being—in other words, his ability to write people will be based on his capacity for honest observation of himself and others. His ability to turn a plot creatively will be based on his understanding of the world as it is—not as we often fantasize it to be. This ability to create moments of suspense, revelation, humor and horror often triggers an “ah! Life is just like that!” response from the audience, a recognition of universal humanity that can transcend culture and time.
The easiest way to learn this is to look at our own lives. None of us make it through our years without wounds, damage, pain. Just as physical scar tissue shortens muscles and limits mobility, emotional scar tissue creates “armoring” around our hearts. It also begins to warp our reality, as we create justifications for why THIS relationship self-destructed, or THAT job crashed and burned…once again. It’s never our fault, of course. The opposite, and even more damaging reaction is to take not just responsibility for our failures, but massive guilt as well. Our lives don’t work (so the reasoning goes) because we are bad, terrible, horrible people undeserving of healthy bodies or relationships or careers.
Either attitude clouds our vision, makes it difficult to see the world as it is. Those clouded inner eyes and warped “reality maps” make it very difficult to navigate a path to our chosen goals. Again and again we will bark our shins on invisible rocks, crashing into invisible walls, almost as if life is trying to teach us, to educate us, to enlighten us as to the realities of existence.
What we WANT is the comforting womb of our illusions. What we NEED is to be born into the world as it actually is.
Often, we are dragged kicking and screaming into clarity, forced ultimately to accept the ways we’ve been wrong. “Too soon old, too late smart” is one rather fatalistic way of speaking of this process. Too often, we must be old before we grasp that WE are the ones who sabotaged our dreams of success. We are the ones who refused to exercise and eat reasonably—that our bodies are more the result of our behaviors than our genetics. We are the ones who broke communication in our relationships, who lied and withheld and blamed, and thought that “the other person” was responsible for our misery. We are the ones who refused to grow up, to stop blaming our parents, or society, or racism, ageism, sexism or any other “ism” for our lack of happiness.
Too late, we are battered by one failure or disappointment after another, until the ego walls we created to protect our self-image are shattered, and we’re forced into contact with our true selves. The moment of death is supposed to be absolutely first rate at creating such clarity, a realization of our true values, and regret at the way we sold out our true potential.
But there are events that create clarity. The birth of a first child. A near-death experience. Accomplishing some worthy and transforming goal. The first deep and true moment of love or friendship. Transformation. In such moments, we see ourselves for the magnificent, wounded, earthy, spiritual beings that we are. We forgive ourselves, and our families, and the world around us, knowing that we have no right to expect more perfection from others than we ourselves possess. And as the saying goes, “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” No perfect people in this world. Accept it. And move on.
Stories that deal with these core stressors--life, death, birth, transformation, love—are always, and have always been the most popular stories in human history. Under this stress, your character, robbed of their self-justifying lies, must speak the truth. Under these stressors, they are revealed in their magnificence…or sometimes (especially if they refuse to acknowledge reality) revealed in their venality, cowardice, and dishonesty.
This is one of the functions of story. The writer must create story pressures beyond the capacity of the characters to maintain their illusions. Then, and only then, can you reveal their true natures. To do this, just look at the times in your own life that you awakened, transformed, grew, went kicking and screaming into the next level of your life. Then create dramatic exaggerations or simplifications of these passages, and create characters to experience them. Let them be as human—as flawed and magnificent—as you yourself are. As we all are. Heighten their qualities for the sake of drama, to be sure, but always, always, at their core, let them be human, whatever it is that you believe human beings to be.
Let them struggle. Let them learn. Let them love.
Let them live.
Do this, and it will mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship…between you, your muse, and a world audience starved for entertaining truth.
A classic example is “Casablanca,” where Bogart’s immortal Rick has managed to create an insular world in which he can pretend to be utterly detached and uninvolved. He supposedly has no political beliefs, and no real human connections. But the reappearance of Ilsa forces a cascade of events that cause Rick to reexamine his attitudes about love, fate, patriotism, courage, fidelity, friendship, and life itself.
Rick begins as a damaged, closed off character, carrying wounds to his heart and ego. What he WANTS is to be left alone to his self-pity. What he NEEDS is to be re-awakened to a life of purpose. The writers, wisely, give Rick what he needs, not what he wants, and in that manner a classic was born.
In Lifewriting™ we trust that the quality of a writer’s skill will be heightened by his evolution as a human being—in other words, his ability to write people will be based on his capacity for honest observation of himself and others. His ability to turn a plot creatively will be based on his understanding of the world as it is—not as we often fantasize it to be. This ability to create moments of suspense, revelation, humor and horror often triggers an “ah! Life is just like that!” response from the audience, a recognition of universal humanity that can transcend culture and time.
The easiest way to learn this is to look at our own lives. None of us make it through our years without wounds, damage, pain. Just as physical scar tissue shortens muscles and limits mobility, emotional scar tissue creates “armoring” around our hearts. It also begins to warp our reality, as we create justifications for why THIS relationship self-destructed, or THAT job crashed and burned…once again. It’s never our fault, of course. The opposite, and even more damaging reaction is to take not just responsibility for our failures, but massive guilt as well. Our lives don’t work (so the reasoning goes) because we are bad, terrible, horrible people undeserving of healthy bodies or relationships or careers.
Either attitude clouds our vision, makes it difficult to see the world as it is. Those clouded inner eyes and warped “reality maps” make it very difficult to navigate a path to our chosen goals. Again and again we will bark our shins on invisible rocks, crashing into invisible walls, almost as if life is trying to teach us, to educate us, to enlighten us as to the realities of existence.
What we WANT is the comforting womb of our illusions. What we NEED is to be born into the world as it actually is.
Often, we are dragged kicking and screaming into clarity, forced ultimately to accept the ways we’ve been wrong. “Too soon old, too late smart” is one rather fatalistic way of speaking of this process. Too often, we must be old before we grasp that WE are the ones who sabotaged our dreams of success. We are the ones who refused to exercise and eat reasonably—that our bodies are more the result of our behaviors than our genetics. We are the ones who broke communication in our relationships, who lied and withheld and blamed, and thought that “the other person” was responsible for our misery. We are the ones who refused to grow up, to stop blaming our parents, or society, or racism, ageism, sexism or any other “ism” for our lack of happiness.
Too late, we are battered by one failure or disappointment after another, until the ego walls we created to protect our self-image are shattered, and we’re forced into contact with our true selves. The moment of death is supposed to be absolutely first rate at creating such clarity, a realization of our true values, and regret at the way we sold out our true potential.
But there are events that create clarity. The birth of a first child. A near-death experience. Accomplishing some worthy and transforming goal. The first deep and true moment of love or friendship. Transformation. In such moments, we see ourselves for the magnificent, wounded, earthy, spiritual beings that we are. We forgive ourselves, and our families, and the world around us, knowing that we have no right to expect more perfection from others than we ourselves possess. And as the saying goes, “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” No perfect people in this world. Accept it. And move on.
Stories that deal with these core stressors--life, death, birth, transformation, love—are always, and have always been the most popular stories in human history. Under this stress, your character, robbed of their self-justifying lies, must speak the truth. Under these stressors, they are revealed in their magnificence…or sometimes (especially if they refuse to acknowledge reality) revealed in their venality, cowardice, and dishonesty.
This is one of the functions of story. The writer must create story pressures beyond the capacity of the characters to maintain their illusions. Then, and only then, can you reveal their true natures. To do this, just look at the times in your own life that you awakened, transformed, grew, went kicking and screaming into the next level of your life. Then create dramatic exaggerations or simplifications of these passages, and create characters to experience them. Let them be as human—as flawed and magnificent—as you yourself are. As we all are. Heighten their qualities for the sake of drama, to be sure, but always, always, at their core, let them be human, whatever it is that you believe human beings to be.
Let them struggle. Let them learn. Let them love.
Let them live.
Do this, and it will mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship…between you, your muse, and a world audience starved for entertaining truth.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Lazy Mans Guide To Great Characterization
One subject arising whenever writers gather to discuss their craft is the mining of life itself for story material. While a vital and important technique, it is important to remember that real human beings are impossibly complex, far too complicated to serve as story characters without major modification. The most complex character in all of western fiction (arguably), Hamlet, is still only 1% as complex as a real human being.
One must remember that there is a unity between character and plot: they are, in essence, two sides of a single coin. Plot is what a character does in a given situation. A plot must empty a character out, give us everything we need to know about the lead, or the story situation hasn't been thought through very well.
In life, it is reasonable to take the position that we are what we do. True, this is not ALL that we are, but what we do is closer to this essence than what we "think" we are, or what others define us as. Everyone knows that we judge each other on our actions, and it is childish to pretend otherwise.
We learn to characterize by formulating a theory of human nature, and then testing it against the people around us--our family and friends. You should be prepared to defend this theory in conversation and literary debate. After all, there are only two basic questions being addressed in all of fiction:
1) What is it to be human?
2) What is the ethical structure of the universe?
Whatever your own theory is, you should understand it from every direction, and be able to apply it to understand your own strengths and weaknesses.
Look at the three major areas of human life: body, mind, and spirit. What does your body say about you? Believe me, it says worlds about your values, discipline, emotional health, habit patterns and more. What does your career say about you? Are you operating at full efficiency there? Do you complain about money troubles, but not do anything about it? Do you dream, but not perform? Or are you working at a job that you would continue to do even if you won the lottery? To me, this is a major sign of an active, healthy intellect--the ability to do for a living that which you would do for free.
What about your relationship with your husband/wife/significant other? To me, this is where you reveal yourself most clearly. You ARE your partner, flipped upside-down and inside out. If you like what you see across the breakfast table from you, great. If not, you have work to do. Remember: whoever you see over there was the best you could do. If you could have gotten someone smarter, handsomer/prettier, emotionally healthier--you would have. So take a hard look. Often, you can learn more from a person's partner than you can from meeting the person.
Viewed in this way, there is a lifetime of study in understanding the people around us, and in understanding ourselves as well. And a lifetime of potential stories in examining how people's flaws and gaps keep them from achieving their full potential. It can be painful to look at this stuff, but the only thing even more painful is being terminally untrue to your own spirit. That, my friends, is a true tragedy. Better the pain of awareness than the agony of self-betrayal. By a long shot.
One must remember that there is a unity between character and plot: they are, in essence, two sides of a single coin. Plot is what a character does in a given situation. A plot must empty a character out, give us everything we need to know about the lead, or the story situation hasn't been thought through very well.
In life, it is reasonable to take the position that we are what we do. True, this is not ALL that we are, but what we do is closer to this essence than what we "think" we are, or what others define us as. Everyone knows that we judge each other on our actions, and it is childish to pretend otherwise.
We learn to characterize by formulating a theory of human nature, and then testing it against the people around us--our family and friends. You should be prepared to defend this theory in conversation and literary debate. After all, there are only two basic questions being addressed in all of fiction:
1) What is it to be human?
2) What is the ethical structure of the universe?
Whatever your own theory is, you should understand it from every direction, and be able to apply it to understand your own strengths and weaknesses.
Look at the three major areas of human life: body, mind, and spirit. What does your body say about you? Believe me, it says worlds about your values, discipline, emotional health, habit patterns and more. What does your career say about you? Are you operating at full efficiency there? Do you complain about money troubles, but not do anything about it? Do you dream, but not perform? Or are you working at a job that you would continue to do even if you won the lottery? To me, this is a major sign of an active, healthy intellect--the ability to do for a living that which you would do for free.
What about your relationship with your husband/wife/significant other? To me, this is where you reveal yourself most clearly. You ARE your partner, flipped upside-down and inside out. If you like what you see across the breakfast table from you, great. If not, you have work to do. Remember: whoever you see over there was the best you could do. If you could have gotten someone smarter, handsomer/prettier, emotionally healthier--you would have. So take a hard look. Often, you can learn more from a person's partner than you can from meeting the person.
Viewed in this way, there is a lifetime of study in understanding the people around us, and in understanding ourselves as well. And a lifetime of potential stories in examining how people's flaws and gaps keep them from achieving their full potential. It can be painful to look at this stuff, but the only thing even more painful is being terminally untrue to your own spirit. That, my friends, is a true tragedy. Better the pain of awareness than the agony of self-betrayal. By a long shot.
The Three Questions of Science Fiction
There is a great deal of misunderstanding about what that particular branch of literature called “Science Fiction” actually consists of. Is it space-ships and monsters? Time machines? Galactic empires? Well, its all of those things, and often none of them.
Science Fiction, broadly speaking, is story-telling that deals with the impact of organized knowledge on human beings. Usually, this means technology, and the way it changes us—and reveals about us. After all, most technology is an extension of our senses, attributes and desires: computers are brains, cell-phones are voices and ears, cars are legs, planes are the dream of flight.
Many classic S.F. films and books take place in worlds identical to ours, except for the creation of some new device, or the appearance of a new life-form. Others take place in worlds so apparently foreign that only the most dedicated and experienced reader can understand what is going on!
But at the core, there are three questions or musings most often asked or explored in any work with the “Science Fiction” label. Those three are:
1) What if?
2) If Only…
3) If This Goes On…
Although these three "questions" overlap considerably, the first, “What If?”, is the most essential of the three. “What If the Martians attacked?” “What If eternal life was available at a price?” “What If we knew an asteroid would hit Earth in a year?”
The second adds a bit of longing to the equation. “If Only President Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated…” is the kind of question that leads to sociological and historical speculation, or the “Alternate History” branch of S.F. which has become tremendously popular in the last decade. “If Only the gene for generosity (or anger, or bigotry) could be mapped…” “If Only we could selectively prune bad memories…”
There is an emotional quality to the “If Only” questions, and they often speak to a sense of missed opportunity, roads not taken.
The third question, “If This Goes On” is tailor-made for cautionary tales. “If we continue to pollute the environment…” “If one party continues to dominate American politics…” “If more women enter the management class…” “If the space program continues to Privatize” “If human beings become better at modifying their physical characteristics…”
These questions are starting places for speculation. While it is easy to use any of them for trivial or absurd (and entertaining!) questions like “What if a 300-foot radioactive lizard attacked Tokyo?” they can also address profound issues, as in “how would humanity change if we gained incontrovertible proof of intelligent alien life?”
By concentrating on the question, or proposition, at the core of your story, it becomes easier to keep it from becoming a CGI-fest. Ask yourself how YOU would react to a given situation. How your family would react—you know them well. Then friends. Political adversaries. Other nations, and people of other groups. Dig into the meat of it. Study history, and begin to grasp the way societies change in response to technology, for instance the Automobile, or Printing Press, or Computer.
The more deeply you delve, the more likely you will be to create a unique question with unique answers. Then people your world with breathing, believable characters responding as intelligent, feeling people have since the beginning of time. Your work will blossom and reach new levels…
Even if it IS about a 300-foot radioactive lizard!
Science Fiction, broadly speaking, is story-telling that deals with the impact of organized knowledge on human beings. Usually, this means technology, and the way it changes us—and reveals about us. After all, most technology is an extension of our senses, attributes and desires: computers are brains, cell-phones are voices and ears, cars are legs, planes are the dream of flight.
Many classic S.F. films and books take place in worlds identical to ours, except for the creation of some new device, or the appearance of a new life-form. Others take place in worlds so apparently foreign that only the most dedicated and experienced reader can understand what is going on!
But at the core, there are three questions or musings most often asked or explored in any work with the “Science Fiction” label. Those three are:
1) What if?
2) If Only…
3) If This Goes On…
Although these three "questions" overlap considerably, the first, “What If?”, is the most essential of the three. “What If the Martians attacked?” “What If eternal life was available at a price?” “What If we knew an asteroid would hit Earth in a year?”
The second adds a bit of longing to the equation. “If Only President Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated…” is the kind of question that leads to sociological and historical speculation, or the “Alternate History” branch of S.F. which has become tremendously popular in the last decade. “If Only the gene for generosity (or anger, or bigotry) could be mapped…” “If Only we could selectively prune bad memories…”
There is an emotional quality to the “If Only” questions, and they often speak to a sense of missed opportunity, roads not taken.
The third question, “If This Goes On” is tailor-made for cautionary tales. “If we continue to pollute the environment…” “If one party continues to dominate American politics…” “If more women enter the management class…” “If the space program continues to Privatize” “If human beings become better at modifying their physical characteristics…”
These questions are starting places for speculation. While it is easy to use any of them for trivial or absurd (and entertaining!) questions like “What if a 300-foot radioactive lizard attacked Tokyo?” they can also address profound issues, as in “how would humanity change if we gained incontrovertible proof of intelligent alien life?”
By concentrating on the question, or proposition, at the core of your story, it becomes easier to keep it from becoming a CGI-fest. Ask yourself how YOU would react to a given situation. How your family would react—you know them well. Then friends. Political adversaries. Other nations, and people of other groups. Dig into the meat of it. Study history, and begin to grasp the way societies change in response to technology, for instance the Automobile, or Printing Press, or Computer.
The more deeply you delve, the more likely you will be to create a unique question with unique answers. Then people your world with breathing, believable characters responding as intelligent, feeling people have since the beginning of time. Your work will blossom and reach new levels…
Even if it IS about a 300-foot radioactive lizard!
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