Too Hot to Think.

Readercon was a nice convention this year (and air-conditioned!), but now we are back home and it was hot enough today  that I count myself accomplished because I managed to get around to paying the electric bill.

That was about it for accomplishment, though.

We saw Pacific Rim while we were down in Massachusetts, and I’ve got some thoughts about it that relate to writing as well as to film . . . but I’ll blog about them tomorrow, maybe.

Tonight it is too hot.

I’d like to thank all the people who came to my 10:30 AM Sunday reading, and to Jim Macdonald’s 2:30 PM last-of-the-con reading. A good audience is always heartening.

For Those Who Might Have an Interest in Such Things

From the Twitter feed of Patrick Nielsen Hayden at Tor Books:

James Frenkel is no longer associated with Tor Books. We wish him the best. We’ll be contacting the authors and agents Mr. Frenkel worked with to discuss which editor here they’ll be working with going forward. This process will take some days or even weeks, so please be patient if you don’t hear from us instantly. Finally, if you had something on submission to Tor via Mr. Frenkel, you’ll need to resubmit it via some other Tor editor. If you don’t have a particular editor in mind, you can re-submit it via Diana Pho (diana.pho@tor.com) who will route it appropriately.

This has been, as they say, a public service announcement.

Meanwhile, I’m getting ready for this weekend’s Readercon (in a hotel! with air conditioning! never mind the literature — the air conditioning!)

A Surfeit of Good Advice

Aspiring and neophyte writers are always looking for advice (though sometimes, I suspect, it’s not so much advice that they’re looking for as company in their struggles, and a sign that somebody out there takes them seriously), and lots of people are happy to give it to them.

People tell them, “Avoid adverbs.”

People tell them, “Don’t use the passive voice.”

People tell them, “Make your prose lean and economical; eschew elegant writing and special effects.”

So they weed out adverbs assiduously from their final drafts, and turn every possible passive sentence into an active one, and put their prose on a fitness regimen guaranteed to take it down to zero per cent body fat.  All of this is hard work, and they are proud of it when they’re done.

And usually, their prose is the better for it, because they were, after all, neophyte writers, and stood to learn a lot from that much intense concentration on their texts.

But then they start hanging out with more rarefied givers of advice, who speak disparagingly of the elimination of nuance by the compulsive eradication of adverbs, and who point out that sometimes the passive voice is just what’s needed to convey the relationship between the subject of the sentence and the action of the verb, and who wax eloquent in their appreciation of leisurely, expansive prose.

And the neophyte writers bury their heads in their manuscripts and weep.   Will nobody, they say, will nobody tell them which side is right?

Alas, no.  Becoming a writer means learning to live with uncertainty.  All I can offer are some general guidelines:  don’t use too many adverbs; don’t overuse the passive voice; and try not to use more words than you need for whatever it is that you want to try.  But don’t stop trying.  It’s better to attempt something new and not have it work right the first time than it is to never try anything new at all.

We didn’t become writers because we were risk-averse.

O My Prophetic Soul!

I do in fact have the 10:30 AM Sunday reading slot at Readercon next weekend.

My full schedule, for those who may be interested:

Friday July 12
8:00 PM   Kaffeeklatsch. Debra Doyle, James D. Macdonald.

9:00 PM    Autographs. Debra Doyle, James D. Macdonald.

Saturday July 13
10:00 AM       Intellectually Rigorous Fictional Data: Making Up Facts That Are True. Debra Doyle, Alex Dally MacFarlane, Margaret Ronald, Ken Schneyer, Harold Vedeler, Henry Wessells (leader). How do you make up convincing fictional primary sources? No, not for purposes of seeking political office, but because you need to know the facts and how they underpin the world of your fiction and the lives of your characters. Imaginary books and letters are just the beginning, even if they never appear in the narrative. Which fictional data sources matter? How much is enough to make a narrative feel resilient and whole?

Sunday July 14
10:30 AM        Reading: Debra Doyle reads from a forthcoming work.

And my co-author’s schedule:

Friday July 12
8:00 PM        Kaffeeklatsch. Debra Doyle, James D. Macdonald.

9:00 PM        Autographs. Debra Doyle, James D. Macdonald.

Saturday July 13
8:00 PM        The Xanatos Gambit. Jim Freund (moderator), Yoon Ha Lee, Scott Lynch, James D. Macdonald. The tangled webs of schemers both good and bad have always had a presence in imaginative fiction. There are the wily king-killers, the intrigue-fomenting spinsters and widows, the bard who hides the knife beside the harp, the indispensable keeper of secrets, and more. What are the challenges in writing an especially clever character? How has the role of the schemer evolved, and what versions do we no longer see?

Sunday July 14
2:30 PM        Reading: James D. Macdonald reads from a forthcoming work.

Look! Over There!

Today’s Link of Interest:

An essay on how the invention of the typewriter changed how writers thought about revision.

More Thought for (Fictional) Food

Even in the midst of fantastic (or historical, or science-fictional) adventures, your characters are going to have to stop sometimes for a bite to eat.

The late Diana Wynne Jones, in her Tough Guide to Fantasyland, speaks eloquently of the Stew that appears to be the only menu item available in so many of the realm’s inns and taverns.  There’s a certain logic to the idea — if you’re going to be serving hot food at all hours of the day in pre-industrial conditions, a pot of something that can be kept at a low simmer over a slow fire makes a certain amount of sense.  So does going in the opposite direction, with things that can be deep-fried or stir-fried in a hurry when they’re ordered, but it’s not often that you get a party of hungry treasure-seekers settling down at the local tavern for a plate of assorted fried stuff.

(Not chicken, though.  Time was, when any chicken that made it to the dining table was likely to be a stewing hen, retired from the egg-producing game because of age and likely to be tough as an old boot unless given the slow-simmer Stew treatment.  Fried chicken was a luxury, since it required the sacrifice of a young hen still in her egg-producing years.  It’s only in the decades since the middle of the twentieth century that chicken has become cheap and mass-produced.)

But if your characters are going to sit down to a good bowl of Stew, take at least a minute or two to consider exactly what makes that particular stew different from another stew in another place and season.

If it’s a meat stew, what kind of meat is it?  Beef, from a superannuated dairy cow?  Beef, from cattle raised for meat?  Was it purchased from a butcher shop — are they in a town that has a butcher shop, then? — or was the animal raised by the innkeeper and then slaughtered?  Or are your characters travelling through wool-producing country, where the common meat is likely to be mutton or lamb?  Or are they on the edge of the wilderness, where wild game is the commonest meat?

Are your characters traveling through a dairying region, where butter is the common cooking fat?  Or are they in olive oil country?  Or do the local cooks use chicken fat, or lard?

And what time of year is it?  Is it winter?  Before canning (a 19th-century innovation) and before reliable refrigeration (the 20th century), there were no out-of-season vegetables to put into those stews.  Wintertime meals would feature the kind of root vegetables that could be kept in cool dark places until spring — turnips, hard squashes, yellow onions, potatoes — or vegetables that could be dried or salted or pickled (sauerkraut, kim chee, parched corn, dried beans.)  Fresh greens wouldn’t show up again until the coming of spring.

Research — here I am, beating that drum again! — can help you keep your travelers’ tavern meals from becoming bland and generic.

The Glorious Fourth

The hot and muggy Fourth, at any rate.  Our town has had its parade, and shot off its fireworks, and at midnight they will ring the bell in the Congregational Church (it being the oldest one in town) to proclaim liberty throughout the land.

Happy Independence Day to all my US readers — and for those of you from other parts, please take and hold these good wishes in reserve for your own national holidays, whenever they may be.

It All Counts for Research, Right?

Today’s entry in the “everything is grist for the writer’s mill” department:  a decidedly NSFW illustrated article on a 1680 sex manual that even shocked Samuel Pepys.  (But he read it anyway, the horndog.)

For the prurient or dedicated researcher — not that the two are necessarily mutually exclusive — the article includes a link to the full version of the text as digitized on Google Books.  Because you never can tell what you might need to know someday.

The Return of Mindless Cookery for Distracted Writers

Another dead-simple recipe for nights when your brain isn’t up to anything more elaborate.  This one has the advantage of being mostly made from pantry ingredients — you’ll need fresh milk, but chicken breasts are a freezer staple around our house, at least.

Chicken Breasts on Rice

Ingredients

  •         1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
  •         1 package dry onion soup mix
  •         1 can milk
  •         1 cup long grain rice
  •         4 chicken breast halves

Directions

  •     Preheat oven to 350 Fahrenheit.
  •     Mix together the soup and the milk.
  •     Stir together 1/2 of the soup/milk mix, the rice, and 1/2 of the package of onion soup mix.
  •     Pour soup/rice mixture into a 13×9 inch baking dish.
  •     Lay the chicken breasts on top.
  •     Pour the rest of the soup/milk mixture over the chicken and rice, and sprinkle the remaining 1/2 package of dry onion soup mix over the whole thing.
  •     Cover with aluminum foil (or a lid, if the baking dish has one) and bake at 350F for 1 hour.
  •     Uncover and bake an additional 15-30 minutes.

There you go.  Five ingredients, and nothing to worry about once you’ve got it going except remembering to take off the aluminum foil at the one-hour mark.