I didn’t need this comic as much today as I might have some other days, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t need it at all.
(Some cool Scott McCloud-style screen-as-infinite-page stuff going on too.)
I didn’t need this comic as much today as I might have some other days, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t need it at all.
(Some cool Scott McCloud-style screen-as-infinite-page stuff going on too.)
I don’t talk much about how I’m submitting stories to magazines here, because I don’t find it very interesting as a reader. I got a personal rejection letter this week which has rearranged how I am looking at the conventional arc plot, and plot in general, though, so I want to leave it here for further reflection.
The letter said, in part:
[The story] devoted much more time to explaining the worldbuilding than to constructing a conflict in which the characters had to make choices.
I had been thinking of plot in a sort of good-versus-evil, Hero’s Journey kind of context, which I don’t like, and feeling very bound by the idea that the character needs to change in some way. Saying that “the character needs to change” phrases it in the character’s passive voice, though — the author changes the character by manipulating them like a puppet through the action of the narrative, which as a reader I always find very flat.
Saying “the character needs to make choices” phrases it actively for the character, and makes it the author’s job to use the narrative to construct an environment in which the character needs to make choices, which I like. I think I know how to do that.
So that idea has reduced my anxiety about plotting, maybe enough that I know how one or two of these stories go.
It also idea lined up nicely with this bit, from Rules of Play (p. 33), a book of academic game design theory, which chapter I had just read a couple days before:
Playing a game means making choices and taking actions. All of this activity occurs within a game-system designed to support meaningful kinds of choice-making.
That is an interesting symmetry, which I had not noticed before.
At first I thought John Brunner’s The Squares of the City might be an example of that symmetry breaking down — or at least I didn’t care much for the book, whose action is based on a famous chess game, and which I found to be much more a narrative where the characters were acted-upon. But the Internet reminded me that Brunner’s main character explicitly represents a piece on the board, and it’s not the pieces whose choices are meaningful but the players’. So my reaction supports the thesis after all.
Anyhow, I don’t know what it means. But it will bear thinking on.
A short, informal note to the graduates of Viable Paradise 17.
It’s been a month since you stepped off the ferry from the island. (Or off the plane. Or out of the car, if you live on Martha’s Vineyard. It can happen.) You crossed the threshold of your home or your apartment, and you weren’t the same person who had crossed the other way a week and change before. Now you crossed it a fresh-faced and eager graduate of Viable Paradise — the seventeenth Viable Paradise, to be specific — inheritors of a long tradition, ready to go out and write and publish and change the world.
A month on, I bet that has faded some. The demands of your job, your partner(s), the kids, the pets, laundry and bills and video games… A lot of the leaf-litter out of which lives are made is still there. And that leaf-litter makes good and necessary soil, so don’t mind it too much. It feeds lives and stabilizes them, and when the rains come it stops them from washing everything away.
In the same way that in book series we look for our characters to learn and grow between volumes as well as during them, so the learning of Viable Paradise doesn’t end at the Oath. Here are three things I learned after Viable Paradise:
And that’s the secret fourth thing I learned after Viable Paradise. I still write stories one word at a time. Many doors are closed yet, and maybe they’ll open later once I’ve learned more, or maybe that means they’re not the right doors, and I need to go find the right doors first. The embarrassment of opportunities my life has provided me means I’m writing standalone prose fiction more slowly than I would like, which is not the same thing as not writing at all.
And so I put my head down and do the work, trying to nurture and grow the seeds that were planted on the island.
Toes in the soil, hands reaching upwards towards the sky.
While of course I hope for wild and quick success for all of you, Viable Paradise 17 grads, in the event that that doesn’t happen, I still hope that, whatever else is the case, a year from now you can say that too.
Toes in the soil, hands reaching upwards towards the sky.
The post image is ‘after the rain i’ by suttonhoo on Flickr, used under the terms of its Creative Commons 2.0 Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike license. The photo has a short accompanying microstory — go check it out!