Fifty Ways to Write a Fight Scene

For those of you not familiar with the work of Paul Simon, sorry, you’ll just have to guess at the tune.  For the rest of you, here it is:

Fifty Ways to Write a Fight Scene

The problem’s all in point of view as like as not,
She said if exposition isn’t slowing down your plot.
I’d like to help you now we’ve found the trouble spot
There must be fifty ways to write a fight scene.

She said, It’s really not my habit to critique
Furthermore I hope you know that I don’t think your prose is weak.
But I’ll repeat myself at the risk of seeming geek:
There must be fifty ways to write a fight scene.
Fifty ways to write a fight scene.

Use summary, Lee
Focus on the skill, Jill
Consciousness stream, Liam,
Move the story along.

Talk about the pain, Jane
Just say who was slain plain
Dwell on blood, Bud
You can’t go wrong.

She said it grieves me so to see a story fail.
I wish there was a way to help you get it back on trail.
I said I appreciate that, and could you speak in some detail
About the fifty ways.

She said why don’t we both just focus on the text,
And I believe after an edit you will be less perplexed.
Then she red-penned me and I realized that she was quite correct
There must be fifty ways to write a fight scene.
Fifty ways to write a fight scene.

Use summary, Lee
Focus on the skill, Jill
Consciousness stream, Liam,
Move the story along.

Talk about the pain, Jane
Just say who slain plain
Dwell on blood, Bud
You can’t go wrong.

The Fantasy World called “Practical Politics”

One of the most important things to a writer of fantasy is to know how to make a magical, impossible world seem real to the reader. This is one of the skills we share with capitalist politicians. There is a conversation many of us have heard over and over, which, distilled to its essence, goes something like this:

“There is actually no way forward for the oppressed unless the working people unite and challenge the two parties of big business.”

“Agreed. But in practice, that’s never going to happen, or at least not for a long, long time. So, in the meantime, wouldn’t you rather vote for someone who is at least going to support <insert favorite liberal hobby-horse>? That’s something that affects real people, you know, and until this magic day (in which I don’t truly believe), we should do the best we can.”  This is often found in neat, succinct form in such phrases as, “Who is your viable alternative?”

This is, by the way, closely related to the “lesser evil” theory. One difference between the usual fantasy setting and the Land Of Practical Politics is that, in the latter, the protagonist is recognized as evil, which is something I find potentially interesting in fiction, but rather frightening in reality.

In constructing a fantasy world, one of the key elements is misdirection–“Hey, reader, look over here, at the wonderful meal, or the explosive magic, or the sword fight, or the witty dialogue–nothing to see over there.” Or, “Hey, reader, look over here at the dangers of terrorism, or how jobs are going overseas, or how despicable our enemies are, or our inane dialogue–nothing to see over there.”

At this point, I must tip my hat to Bernie “As Trustworthy as Syriza” Sanders, who has mastered what is, for fantasy novelists, a key technique: injecting just enough reality to be convincing. If I have roses in my novel, and I can manage to describe the sight, smell, and texture well enough that the reader fully identifies this with his or her own experience, the reader will then be that much more likely to believe my wizardry and sorcery and witchcraft. In Sanders’ case, he talks about actual problems that no other bourgeois politician is addressing, which makes the reader think that he’s going to do something about them. Then, when he bows out of the race and throws his support to Hilary Clinton, you won’t notice him smiling and muttering, “gotcha” under his breath. (Of course, if he were somehow elected, it wouldn’t be any different–he remains a capitalist politician).

Point being, for a fantasist, there are things one doesn’t want the reader to think about: Magic isn’t real; in many cases, the economy simply doesn’t make sense; sometimes, for the story to work, the author must introduce basic errors in biology or geology or even metallurgy. If the author is doing things right, the reader will never notice. For a capitalist politician, the big thing the reader’s attention must be directed away from, at all costs, is history, but pretty much every other realm of social science can also break the “willing suspension of disbelief” that leads to electoral victories.

History teaches us that, when reform is possible, it is accomplished not by “kinder, gentler” politicians, but by the ruling class’s fear of the movement of the masses. Just in this country we saw the women’s suffrage movement emerge from the Civil War, and become a powerhouse with the 1909 New York garment workers strike;  the mass movements of the ’30s in the wake of the Bolshevik revolution that led to the rise of the CIO and produced the New Deal;  the mass movements and riots of the 60s that resulted in Medicaire and Medicaid; and the mass movement against racial inequality that led to the end of Jim Crow segregation. Can someone show me a serious step forward in equality that was not accomplished by mass action on such a scale that the ruling class felt threatened? They don’t give away their power because they want to have less–they give away some of their power when they fear they have no other choice except to lose it all–again, assuming there remains the possibility of reform.

Short version: when reform is possible, it is only the threat of revolution that produces it.  When reform is impossible–in my opinion, that is the case today–a reformist party will inevitably betray those who trust it into the hands of the most reactionary, right-wing elements. We saw that in Hungary in 1921, in Italy in 1922, in Germany in 1933,  in Spain in 1936, and on and on–until the latest example, Syrzia (not even really a reform party,  they just like to sound like one) that has opened the door of Greece to the Golden Dawn.

Of course, the question “is reform possible” never comes up, because in the Land of Practical Politics, reform is always possible–the fascist dictatorships that arose were simply errors made by bad people, having nothing to do with intolerable social crisis.

And in the Land of Practical Politics, capitalism is permanent; it is the economic system that is the final culmination of human wisdom. The fact that no other economic system has been permanent in history, and that it has inevitably required revolution to replace it, is simply not the case in this fantasy world.

In the Land of Practical Politics there is no history–the past is gone.

In the Land of Practical Politics people have opposing viewpoints just because.

In the Land of Practical Politics there is no possibility of understanding economics–things cost what they cost, and we can never understand why.

In the Land of Practical Politics there are no social classes–political parties just represent folks who kind of think  alike.

In the Land of Practical Politics racism and sexism are sins in the hearts of individuals, not products of definite economic and social relations.

In the Land of Practical Politics the masses can do nothing for themselves, and it is up to the Enlightened Middle Class to ease their sufferering a bit when their attention can be spared from improving the condition of the Enlightened Middle Class.

In the Land of Practical Politics nothing ever changes in a fundamental way, because things have always been the way they are.

In the Land of Practical Politics we are helpless.

In our world, revolution happens when intolerable conditions produced by an economic system meet the end of that system’s flexibility. Sometimes the revolution is successful, sometimes it is not. One of the factors that determines its success–the key factor–is how ready the revolutionary class is to take and hold power. In modern society, preparing the revolutionary class is the task of the vanguard party. Preventing the revolutionary class from being prepared is the task of the authors and distributors of stories set in the fantasy world called Practical Politics.

Scrivener: Truth is counter-intuitive, software shouldn’t be

Yeah, that title sounds like a snark, but I’m sure a lot of the problem is me. I’m playing with Scrivener mostly because it will make life easier next time I do a collaboration with Skyler. I’m going to keep track of how things go as I learn this thing, and add to this post as I do so. I’m used to the Unix world in general and emacs in particular, and for me, what I loved was how intuitive everything was. The first time I created my first emacs file, back in the Dawn of Time, I was doing useful work within five minutes, and looking up what I needed to know as I went; in general, I’ve found that true of Unix stuff and DEC software, and almost nowhere else. Obviously, this may say more about me than about any particular software package.

The first annoyance I came across is author name–it appears at the top of every compiled page, just like it should.  The name of the author is $surname.  As some of you know, that isn’t actually my name. If I were to publish as $surname, many of my fans wouldn’t find the book. I would think there has to be a way to set scrivener so that when I start a new project it automagically plugs my name in. It has to exist. Why am I having so much trouble finding it?

As those of you who read the Vlad novels know, I write with a lot of dialog, a lot of italics, and a lot of lines with both.  “I know what you mean, Boss.” “Shut up.” One thing I can do in emacs (thank you, DDB!) is that I can just hit a button that defines Start Italics Here and Stop Italics Here and puts the cursor in the middle. Sweet. I’d actually be okay with a Start Italics button and a Stop Italics button. So far, however, the only way I’ve found to do italics is to write the passage, then select the text, then click on the italicize button. This slows me down and makes me think about things other than the next sentence, and that is exactly what I don’t want to be doing.

On the other hand, Scrivener gets serious props for a neat little switch that goes, “convert italics to underlining.”

Also, there’s the word count issue. My version (Windows) permits me to count characters or words. The thing is, I was taught that what editors actually want is the One True Word Count, which has the same relationship to actual number of words that a New York Times article has to an international news event: some, but never as much as you’d like. There might be a way to fake this thing into giving me the One True Word Count, or at least information to make it easier to calculate, but so far I haven’t seen it.

Anyway, gonna keep playing with it.

Fantasy Series: Keeping the Big Secret

I’ve mentioned before that one of the things I do when I’m struggling with a book is read nice things people have said about my stuff–it helps me get cocky, and that helps me write. This often leads me to reread Jo Walton’s stuff on Tor.com because, well, it says nice things. Today I noticed the following thing she said: “I think Brust must be the best person at keeping a secret in the world. There are revelations late in the series that it’s quite clear, on re-reading, that he knew about and was hinting at all the time.”

This gave me to think. At the time, I never considered it as, “I have to find the right moment to reveal this thing.” In fact, I don’t ever remember thinking that. For one thing, it contradicts the “burn story” rule that I have at least tried to keep as a guideline. So, how, in a long series, do you keep the Big Secret until the right moment for the reveal while simultaneously burning as much story as you have wood for? Well, here’s the thing: You don’t. It’s never about keeping anything secret, exactly. It’s simply an extreme case of that other rule, the one about the writer knowing more than the reader.

****** Spoiler for Orca ******

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, certainly, I knew all along that Kiera was one of Sethra’s disguises; it was a necessary and not terribly brilliant part of defining Sethra’s character that she would want to keep informed of what the Jhereg were up to, and, if she were to be a thief, obviously she’d be a very good one. But I never said to myself, “I will save this revelation until the right book.” For one thing, when I wrote Jhereg, I had no idea there would be any others.  What I told myself was, “This will probably never emerge, but it will have a huge effect on the relationship between Vlad and Sethra, and thus on Vlad’s entire career and development.” No one was more surprised than me when I suddenly came to a moment when it seemed right, necessary, and cool to let the reader in on that–in fact, the only thing I had to do was go back and plant a couple little things to explain how Vlad figured it out.

 

 

****** End Spoiler ******

 

 

 

James D. MacDonald, in his lecture at Viable Paradise, displays a miniature house he built and talks about how he constructed it. There is a room where there is a figure of a guy that you can’t see because it is fully enclosed. But, Jim says, he knows it is there, and that knowledge informs how he constructed the house. This is a perfect metaphor. There are many things I know about the world I’m building, and the relationships among the characters, that never make it into the stories, but that, simply because I’m aware of them, have an effect, greater or lesser, on what happens. So, then, the “reveal the big secret” moment never, to me, feels like, “Now I can finally reveal that,” but rather, “Oh, the story would be really cool if this happened right here, and, hey, look, I just happen to have that all set up; ain’t I clever?”

My point is not, in fact, that I’m especially clever. My point is that the old chestnut that speaks of knowing things about your world that you do not reveal not only gives your world additional depth, but can sometimes pay off in other ways. As long as you aren’t so cryptic about so many things that the reader is left in a fog (or you, as a writer, get so wrapped up in inventing things that you never write the story), there is no downside to knowing things you don’t reveal.

Reviews and Criticism: Some Things to Think About

This post is aimed at writers.  As we in the science fiction community deal with some ugliness that has taken a quasi-political form and had a powerful negative effect on many writers, here are some things you may want to consider.

I will sometimes read reviews of my work. I will go to Amazon and click the 5-star ones, and read others that are full of lavish praise. I do this because sometimes I need cheering up–I need to remind myself, “Yeah, I can do this.”  I mean, in my more cynical moments I believe that the way to tell if you’re a “real writer” is that you sometimes think you’re not a real writer.  It’s good to have ways of pulling yourself out of that, especially if it has a bad effect on the quantity or quality of your work; if you’re lucky enough to have reviews out there that will help you do that, hey, what the hell.

With a few exceptions, I do not read negative reviews of my work, or even pay attention to the negative comments (“My only complaint is….”) within a positive review.  The book is done.  Moreover, if there is something someone hates about it, it is a gimme that it is the same thing that someone else likes, so I’m not “learning” anything from it.  I have a list of people for whom I have a great deal of respect, and to whom I listen when they speak about what needs improvement, either in a particular work or in my writing in general; nothing good can come of listening to anyone else.  The exceptions, with reviewers, are people who, over the years, I have determined are smart, perceptive, know what I’m trying to do, and can articulate where I failed to do it (yes, Jo, I’m looking at you).  These reviews can, in fact, give me useful information.

I can see you nodding along with me.  Good.  We agree.  I’m glad to hear it.

Now consider, for a moment, reviews or criticism that call you, for example,  a racist, because you didn’t include anyone of some particular race, or you did but someone thinks you were stereotyping, or being insensitive, or whatever.  These comments are every bit as legitimate, in my opinion, as any other sort of criticism, and deserve exactly the same consideration.  To wit: if you’re getting the comment from someone you know and trust, take it the way you would any other comment, give it due consideration, and decide.

I mention this because one of the things I see going on around me, is that reviews and criticism that focus on these things are treated as if these comments are special–particularly if aspects of the personal identity of the reviewer (race, sex, disability, sexual preference, &c) is a factor in the review.

I beg to submit that these sorts of reviews are no different from others, and deserve no special status.  If it is coming from a reviewer or critic you trust, then it should get the same consideration as any other sort of criticism; and if it is not, by making an exception, you are, in my opinion, doing yourself and your writing no good whatsoever, and are granting people you have no reason to trust, far, far too much power over the work you produce.