This Post is So Meta

(There should totally be a rocking-out-style hand gesture for “meta.” Whoever creates cultural phenomena, I hope you’re getting on that.)

Part of the reason I don’t update this journal more frequently is that I’m still grappling with figuring out what kind of blog, exactly, this is. That it’s a writing blog means, to me, that it’s related to writing rather than to my life in general. But beyond that, what is it?

The writing-related blogs that I follow (to greater or lesser degrees) can probably best be separated in terms of their intended audience, which falls into one of two categories:

1. Writers

2. People who aren’t necessarily writers, though a lot of them are going to be anyway, as this is a writing-related blog

The first category is a larger one than some might think. Take a look at the comments section on, say, Nathan Bransford’s blog. Most of these people are writers. Indeed, if you aren’t a writer, or possibly a literary agent, his blog is not especially likely to interest you. It’s largely about the publishing industry and how writers might best go about appealing to agents (like, say, Nathan Bransford). Limyaael’s journal has a more specific appeal: it focuses on worldbuilding with an emphasis on fantasy.

Some blogs are, by their nature, particularly relevant to writers, but are entertaining enough to attract a more general readership. The Rejectionist, for example, offers publishing advice, but is also awesomely hilarious.

Some blogs have something specific that they do. They may run regular contests, or provide an esoteric service (see again Merit Badger).

There’s a whole set of blogs by published writers. Yet another snazzy bit of being published: you automatically have content that will, at the very least, interest other writers. (You know, providing that your presentation of this content isn’t miserably awful. Which, hopefully, if you’re a published writer, it won’t be.) Blogs like Kiersten Writes include wacky tales of book signings, descriptions of how the author got her book deal, and contests to win copies of the book. Scott Westerfeld’s blog includes this sort of content, too, plus fanart and features on steampunk creations, which are relevant to his recent work.

There’s also a sort of continuum of reviewing books. Many authors and agents review the odd book, whereas some bloggers do nothing else.

Presumably, nonfiction writers also sometimes blog about whatever their nonfiction books are about. Enviably simple, and rather difficult for anyone who’s writing alternate-world fantasy.

So I suppose my main angst here is content. This does, I believe, get much easier once one is published, because there are release dates and signings and (if you’re lucky/active) tours and conferences, and various announcements. Then, too, I feel like having a novel published would remove, or at least reduce, the slight insecurity I feel about posting my thoughts on writing experiences, techniques, etc.. It’s not as if I’d turn up my nose at the writing-related thoughts of anyone who hasn’t published a novel – far from it – but I do look at such people’s publication creds.

I don’t know how this will actually affect my continued posting. I suppose it’s largely a lame explanation for why I don’t post more often. Should I come up with an effective gimmick (and I don’t feel that’s necessarily a negative thing in a blogging context), then you might see more from me.

In the meantime, I’m gearing up to start querying The Dogwatchers. Wish me luck, and enjoy this excellent interview with a vampire . . . dater.

Surely You Qualify . . .

. . . for at least a few the marvelous creations of the Merit Badger. Why don’t you check and find out which ones?

In other news, blah blah back at school blah. Just got an internship at the Carrboro Branch Library! Which is a public library located inside a middle school! And which may or may not include use of my always-questionable and now extremely rusty Spanish skills! Will be starting on Wednesday.

Happy Birthday, DWJ!

Diana Wynne Jones is seventy-six today! Huzzah!

In honor of the occasion, and because at any rate People Should Know, I thought I’d point out that there is a YA Fantasy Showdown going on. DWJ is the only author who had two characters in the first round; they’re on the second round now, and one character (see my LJ icon) is still in the running. Go Howl!

I’m also pretty pleased with how most of the other fights are going, though – despite my love for Hermione – Christopher Chant should totally have won there.+ It is, as some have said, a bit of a popularity contest.

Of the first round of sixteen matches, only two were between characters of whose books I had read both. The other one – Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games) versus Tally Youngblood (Uglies) – brought to mind an interesting point about how most books work.

*Mild spoilers of the Uglies trilogy*

I like Katniss as a character more than I like Tally, and, while I rather enjoyed the Uglies trilogy, I like The Hunger Games much more. Thus, I wanted to vote for Katniss.

On the other hand, the match specified that it was using the Tally of Specials (the last book of the trilogy) – a Tally who has been genetically modified with reinforced bones and muscles, ludicrously enhanced senses, and a body full of self-repair nanos. She’s basically Wolverine. And Katniss is a sixteen-year-old with a bow.

I was torn. But then I asked myself: what do protagonists – especially YA protagonists – do? Do they wipe the floor with far weaker teenaged opponents? Or do they beat seemingly insurmountable odds?

The person who wrote the battle between the two may have had similar thoughts, because Katniss won the “possible outcome” battle. She also won my vote and, eventually, that round’s fight.

Of course, there’s a lot of interesting stuff to be said about crossover battles and what has to be true in whose world.

+Unless possibly Hermione found out beforehand about his weakness to silver. But that would involve, you know, research. What are the odds of that?

A Curious Case

I don’t think it’s going out on a limb to say that people are annoyed when protagonists, despite having the same information, fail to understand things that are obvious to readers. However, there’s a seeming exception to this that I’ve encountered frequently.

Protagonist: Gosh, Doc, I feel like I’m going crazy here. There’s this nice, attractive person with whom I’ve spent a lot of time lately, and now everybody is giving us knowing looks and making veiled comments and stuff. What could possibly cause them to do this?

Fictional Psychologist: Do you think they assume you and that nice, attractive person are romantically –

Protagonist: WHAT? I’M SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU.

Fictional Psychologist: Do you see the two of you as –

Protagonist: Absolutely not. There is no way that could possibly be the case. Maybe you should see a Fictional Psychologist, you crazy person.

Fictional Psychologist: Is there a reason you feel so –

Protagonist: DESPITE HAVING REASONABLE SELF-ESTEEM IN MOST WAYS, I AM UTTERLY CONVINCED THERE IS NO CHANCE THAT ANYONE IS ATTRACTED TO ME ROMANTICALLY. TO SUGGEST OTHERWISE IS MADNESS.

Fictional Psychologist: You don’t think that’s a little –

Protagonist: I’M LEAVING NOW.

I feel like I see this all the time, sometimes in awesome books, sometimes . . . less awesome.

Done carelessly, it can be ridiculous, but there are actual reasons to make your protagonist a little dense about these things. Many people can identify (up to a point) with someone who feels lost and confused when it comes to love, especially if the character is inexperienced with romance. You can also risk making your protagonist seem big-headed if s/he guesses too easily that s/he might be the object of someone’s affections. Then, there’s the fact that many stories require the protagonist and her/his romantic interest to hold off on their *gasp* WE ARE IN LOVE moment until the end.

When this doesn’t work, it’s often because the author seems not to have considered the protagonist’s personality when inserting this little blind spot. If a person has no serious self-esteem issues, and particularly if s/he has been in a romantic relationship before, the idea that another person finds her/him attractive should not be a huge shocker. Indeed, it may be that s/he should really catch on earlier rather than later, and that if you want to avert this, you’ll have to find another way to do it.

Be especially careful with excess modesty in more general areas. If a character believes s/he is not good-looking/smart/talented/capable, but actually distinctly is good-looking/smart/talented/capable/ESPECIALLY GOOD-LOOKING, proceed with caution. Yes, lots of people are modest. On some level, though, if they don’t have self-esteem problems, smart people know they are smart, and pretty people know they are pretty. There are exceptions, but think about it: if you’re truly beautiful, life tells you that. Same with intelligence. Refusing to believe it without good reason makes a character sound less modest and more like that skinny friend who whines about being so fat, or that straight-As top-of-the-class friend who is always sure that this test will come back with an F. You probably don’t want your protagonist to seem to be fishing for compliments.

It all comes down to that oh-so-common dilemna of how to do the things that you need for the plot in a way that works for the story.

And now, for something completely different: stop words!

Sometimes a Smeerp is Just a Smeerp

I recently ran up against an interesting worldbuilding issue: a reason for smeerps.

In case you’re not familiar with the convention of “calling a rabbit a smeerp”, it is when a writer of sci-fi or fantasy includes something that is clearly recognizable as an existing object, concept, or creature (e.g. clock, love, rabbit) in a non-human (or at least non-Earth) society, then refers to it using a made-up word in an attempt to make the society seem exotic. (The rabbit may also have some token alien characteristic, like different coloration.)

This ranges from being a bit silly (apparently parts of the Star Wars canon refer to dice as “chance cubes”) to being a good example of how a culture views things differently from ours. Perhaps your culture is full of tiny carrot-shaped people who are terrified of rabbits and refer to them as Hopping Death. What I ran into, though, was a totally different reason for . . . smeerping?

It stemmed from the type of clothing that the protagonist of my new novel wears. This is something between a sari and a toga – and therein lies the problem.

If I call it a sari, immediate reader assumptions could include:

  • This story is supposed to take place in India
  • This is a female-specific garment
  • This is a garment with Hindu significance

None of which are true in my story.

Similarly, “toga” calls immediately to mind Ancient Greece and Rome. Then, of course, there’s the fact that neither “sari” nor “toga” is an entirely accurate description of the garment (though saris can be worn so many ways that it’s hard to say that one couldn’t look like this).

In photos I’ve seen of garments that approximate what I want here, they tend to be described as “robes.” Unfortunately, the word “robe” carries a set of connotations in high fantasy. Connotations like sleeves. Again, not quite right.

So I smeerped it, using a made-up name and working in a brief description of how it’s worn. This works out well, because I can avoid using an approximate word that doesn’t quite describe what I mean. It occurred to me, though, that I might have used a made-up word even if the object I wanted looked EXACTLY like a sari, just to avoid the other associations. I don’t want someone thinking I’ve made a mistake when a male character appears wearing this garment, and I don’t want people pointing out that my characters aren’t good Hindus.

On a more basic level, though, I don’t want to use a word that seems out of place. Decades of frequent appearances of European objects in fantasy means that their use doesn’t make readers go, “Hey, how can there be a castle? This story must take place in actual medieval Europe, because that’s where castles exist.” I suspect, though, that a sari or a toga would, at the very least, throw people for a loop. Since my setting is based loosely on India, I don’t want readers thinking I’m doing things “wrong” when they see some variation. If I were basing it more closely on India, I’d still want to be careful of using a term which not only has Hindu significance, but could, again, cause readers to think the setting actually was India. (Many words have religious significances, of course, but I try to avoid that when I reasonably can.)

So! Smeerpage as a force for good! Huzzah.

Huzzah!

I have finished my current edit of The Dogwatchers!

I’ve put some thought into my next writing project, which I hope to start soon. I’m slightly intimidated, but excited, by a few differences I foresee between this story and those I’ve written already:

  1. It will, I think, be a young adult book, rather than a middle-grade one. Dragons Over London was maybe YA, but otherwise, my writing’s been pretty solidly MG.
  2. It will be set in a different continent of my world than the other stories, which were all set in different countries on the same continent. (Except for Dragons Over London, which is set mostly in contemporary Britain.)
  3. I’m more aware than I have been before starting any other project of the fact that this story will touch on some Issues. Not issues in the traditional YA sense of Abuse! Drugs! Pregnancy! Gangs!, but mostly in the sense of identity.

So yes, most exciting!

Writing and Werewolves! For Realz!

I’ve been rereading the Harry Potter series again. (After all, why would anyone not be rereading the Harry Potter books?) And added bonus: I learned something! Or rather, I got a good example of something I’d already begun to suspect.

On my very first reading of Prisoner of Azkaban, I never guessed that Professor Lupin was a werewolf. (GOSH, DID I GIVE IT AWAY?) Later, I would wonder how I didn’t put more thought into the silvery-white orb that was Lupin’s Boggart. Not that I would necessarily have guessed anything, but why didn’t I think more about it?

Why? Because Rowling DELIBERATELY AND BRILLIANTLY THREW ME OFF. I’d forgotten one line, right after the scene wherein Lupin’s Boggart appears: “‘I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?’ said Lavender thoughtfully.”

When writing a story with an element of mystery, or one that’s supposed to have a surprising twist, it can be helpful to employ what I suppose is just a special kind of red herring: making your characters work from flawed assumptions. Basically, if you leave something totally open – e.g. having Harry and friends wonder what that silvery-white orb could possibly be – then readers may solve the mystery before you want them to. If, on the other hand, you provide a plausible conclusion to which your characters can jump, then readers are less likely to poke around the clues too much and figure things out.

There are, of course, some caveats. Which means it is LIST TIME!

  1. Don’t feel like you have to clarify that there are other possibilities. (Imagine Hermione saying, “Crystal balls? Are you sure that’s what that was? Couldn’t it have been something else?”) The strength of this technique comes from the fact that it can prevent readers from thinking there are other possibilities. This can be hard, because you don’t want readers to think your characters are blinded or stupid. They won’t, though, if you . . .
  2. Make sure the assumption is plausible. This is key. It should seem perfectly natural for the characters to assume this – so natural that the reader assumes it, too, and spends her/his time wondering about other things. Of course, it helps if you . . .
  3. Downplay the whole thing. You don’t have to do this, but if your characters have a lot of conversations, plans, etc. based explicitly around their flawed assumption, readers may spot a possible alternative and become frustrated with the characters for not checking their facts when something important is at stake. If, on the other hand, you have characters just shrug something off with a wrong guess – no one besides Lavender ever mentions anything about Lupin being afraid of crystal balls – then the reader is likely not to think too much about it, either.

Mysteries and surprise twists are hard, because it’s difficult to know how much the average reader will have figured out at any point and what s/he will suspect or expect. Naturally, even if you have your average reader pegged pretty well, there will always be those freakish people who guess right based solely on reading Lupin’s name before he even wakes up on the train. Then, too, you’ll have people who don’t get it even after the characters finally do. I haven’t written a lot of mysteriousness, and suspect it gets easier with practice to guess what people will be thinking as they read. It also helps, as with other aspects of editing, to set the story aside for awhile and get fresher eyes.

In highly related news, I’m not too far from the end of this edit of The Dogwatchers! Soon, I will be ready to find out how successful the mystery/surprise elements are for some of my wonderful reader-friends!