Peg Kerr's Journal

I am still trying to come up with a proposal for Fantasy Matters.

Okay, for once I really am looking for advice. Amazing, Peg's actually asking for advice! I just have to get them 250 words of a proposal by Friday, something that looks half-baked enough that they might actually accept it.

Hearts of flesh and stone. Gee, I want to do something about this, because I've been chewing over it for so long, but right now whenever I attempt to corral my thoughts on this, they scatter unhelpfully in all directions like skittering mice, refusing to coalesce. Perhaps its the lingering effect of anaesthesia on the brain. I'd prefer to think it's that, rather than rank stupidity. However, whatever the cause, the problem remains the same: I need to come up with something!

Thinking about: The Snow Queen (the mirror cracks, a piece of glass lodges in Kay's heart, making it cold and frozen). I could re-visit A.S. Byatt's essay "Ice, Snow, Glass" in Mirror, Mirror on the Wall which I ran across while researching the ice palace book, and it really impressed me at the at time. But then I'm kinda pissed with A.S. Byatt at the moment (see "A.S. Byatt and the Goblet of Bile").

I've been thinking of my earlier essays on Heart of Flesh/Heart of Stone. I'm thinking about the afterward to Tam Lin, which started my whole obsession with this subject (although pameladean said the book was about the study of literature, and how that prevents the heart of stone, rather than about fantasy per se. But why did she choose a fantasy to tell the story? Other than the fact that, duh, she's a fantasy writer?) I've been thinking about George MacDonald's "The Light Princess," which is kinda getting at sort of the same stuff, sideways (using "gravity" and tears as the metaphor for the stamp of humanity, rather than the heart of flesh). Can people name other stories or tales which feature a heart of stone, or that explore this dichotomy? Esp. fantasy stories? Here is a pretty cool story that gets at what I'm struggling to articulate: "The Girl With the Heart of Stone." I've talked about seeing the theme in fiction in general (i.e., in Austen and Dickens) but what does fantasy in particular have to say about this theme?

Throw me a lifeline, anybody, help! Any thoughts that this sparks in you. I'll be ever so touchingly grateful.

Peg, hopefully

Thank you, Friendslist! You're the best! I knew you would come through!

I am now feeling much more confident.

Love and kisses,
Peg

dragonpaws remarked in a comment to yesterday's entry that she noticed the similarities between this proposed ice palace book and pameladean's Tam Lin. Here is part of my reply to her.

Anyway, the parallel you noticed between this new book of mine and Pamela's Tam Lin is not news to me at all; in fact, I can assure you that it was the primary thing on my mind yesterday as I was cleaning out the garage. I am also fretting about the similarities to Patricia Wrede and Caroline Stevermer's Sorcery and Cecelia, with the epicyclical spell. This, too, is probably not a coincidence; Pat is another one of my mentors. Yes, as in Pamela's book I'm planning to have the man get the woman pregnant (perhaps deliberately, using magic, despite her birth control?), and then have a magical use for the pregnancy. As in P&C's book, I'm planning to have the villain suck away the life force of someone to whom he is related, to extend his own life (although in my story, rather than finding someone to whom he is related, the villain makes a baby). As I said, I am a little worried about it but think it will be okay. Will have to think of how to spin it a little differently, emphasizing themes of emphemerality/immortality, and parenthood, both deliberately accepted and deliberately rejected.

This is getting back to something I spoke about in earlier entries: gravitational pulls of other stories. I do tend to think about this a lot. Of course, many stories have elements that other stories also use. Of course, the greatest writers did not hesitate to get ideas from others' works (i.e., Shakespeare). I have an extremely retentive memory for this sort of thing, which can be both a blessing and a curse for a working author. I have frequently astonished kijjohnson by referring in a conversation to a snippet from a book I haven't read for fifteen years. I'll go over to the shelf, page through it, and quickly find the thing I've remembered, frequently word-for-word. As I said, this can be very useful, but on the other hand, writing my own stuff continually sets off "echoes" of other stuff I've read. I'm continually thinking, as I write, about where to draw the line, so that if what I write reminds me of something I've read, I try to draw it out in a different direction, give it a different spin, etc. How different does it have to be? Depends on how common the idea is. This is an issue both at the micro-writing and macro-writing level. I've written a sentence and thought, "Ok, I know where I got that image or the combination of those particular three words together. It's from that scene in that book from ________. Is it okay to use it? Can I think of something different to say that will accomplish a similar effect, if that's the effect I want? Are three words acceptable but five unacceptable? I remember arguing with myself about this over three words in a short story: a woman is horribly embarrassed when confronted by a naked man, and says something in a "high, emaciated coloratura." I wrote that down, and remembered . . . oh . . . I remember where I read that. But it's the perfect phrase for what I'm trying to get across. What to do?

I used it. I'm still not sure whether it was the right thing to do, but over the years, I've come to think it was probably a mistake to do so. And so I've become even more conservative over this, the longer I've been writing. If I were writing that story today, I probably would have tried to think of a different three words instead.

Anyway, nobody's sued me yet.

P.

I did my new Firm tape this morning: Firm: Strong Heart. It has the toughest legs section I've ever seen.

I am going to have the legs of a goddess!

If they don't fall off first.

Peg

("I conjure you by Rosiland's quivering thigh/and the regions that there adjacent lie" Two points to the first person (except for pameladean, of course, who probably would know it immediately without even trying) to recognize the source of that quotation!)

Later: Corrected. I realize I didn't have the quotation quite right. Here it is again (sorry!):

" [I conjure you]. . .by her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh / And the demesnes that there adjacent lie . . . Boy, you better believe I thought about those quivering thighs this morning when I was doing the abductor lifts. Whew!

A new milestone today: another writer contacted me to ask whether I'd be willing to take a look at her novel manuscript and write a blurb for it for her editor. I sent off a message to say, sure, send it along and I'll take a look.

I was pleased to be asked, but also, admittedly, a little startled. kijjohnson and I laugh about it sometimes: it's hard to believe that people are turning to us to mentor them, because we still feel like neophytes, barely wet behind the ears, trying to figure things out ourselves. And then she'll mention another course she's going to teach on writing, and I mention a manuscript I'm vetting for someone else. Or else I'm at a convention, answering questions for people who want to write, and I look around and have to admit, okay, I probably do know more and have more experience than anyone else in the room. When on earth did that happen?

I feel very fortunate in that I've had some fantastic mentors at quite a few crucial stages of my career. Minneapolis is really a hotbed for nurturing writers, particularly sf/fantasy writers. Locals include (or have included in the past) Eleanor Arnason, Bruce Bethke, Joel Rosenberg, Ruth Berman, Patricia C. Wrede, Caroline Stevemer, Phil Jennings, Lois McMaster Bujold, Steven K. Brust, Emma Bull, Will Shetterly, Kara Dalkey, John M. Ford, Kij Johnson, Carolyn Ives Gilman, Terry Garey, Katya Reiman, Gordon Dickson, John Sladek (and there's also Laurie Winter, John Calvin Rezmerski, and Neil Gaiman who live in cities pretty close by). We have excellent genre bookstores and thriving fan community and conventions.

Kij and I vividly remember a lunch we had with Eleanor Arnason and Patricia C. Hodgell at a Minicon convention years ago. All four of us went to lunch, and Kij and I asked these two established pros anything we could think of that we wanted to know. We were both so touched by the generosity they showed to us by answering our questions. Both Kij and I had toyed with the idea of writing, but this was the first time that someone who knew the ropes took notice of us, treated us with serious consideration and let us know, by giving us their attention and answering questions: yes, this is possible, and you could do this if you want to do it.

I kept going to convention panels and buttonholing authors, asking questions. Tell me about how you first became published. Tell me about writing your first novel. And they kept answering. My questions became less naive as I learned more and more, but I was always astonished at how generous so many people were in answering questions that they must have heard many times before. Several of them spelled it out for me: "We're answering these questions for you because others answered them for us. Someday you'll mentor writers, too, and you'll do the same."

And you know? They're right: I am answering questions for writers now. I do enjoy it, not only because I'm very aware of my pay-it-forward debt, but because it's a great deal of fun--particularly when you're lucky enough to find a very good writer at the beginning of his or her career who's really starting to shine, and then you get to bask in the reflected glow of a new writer's accomplishments. (Say, for example, Lyda Morehouse).

I've gotten lots of bits of excellent advice from mentors over the years, but here are a few of the insights that really have made a difference for me, that I try to pass on myself to new writers now whenever I answer questions.

Tim Powers was one of my teachers at Clarion, and he told me:

"If one person tells you that a story doesn't work although you still believe in it, remember that this simply means it doesn't mean for that person. All you have to do is find the person it does work for, preferably an editor with a checkbook. Once you have the check in hand, the bank will cash it, even if the editor at a different magazine rejected the story. Be willing to take a second look at your work and maybe make revisions, but don't let one rejection make you give up on a story if you really believe in it."

Tim also told us:

"Remember to remain a decent human being as you try to learn to be a writer. Don't approach people with only the thought 'What good will knowing you do for my career?' Spend time with people, at conventions and anywhere else, because you enjoy their company, not because you want to make use of them. Don't snub people just because, say, they're unpublished writers and you want to be seen as a pro. And don't badmouth people--this field is too small, and it will always get back to the person."

Kim Stanley Robinson, also one of my Clarion teachers, told us something very simple, but this has always really stuck with me, too:

"How do you write? Learn about different techniques and then do whatever works for you. As a teacher, I can tell you what works for me, but you may have a totally different technique, and that's okay."

And now that I've given you those priceless pieces of wisdom that it's taken me years to cull, I'm off to work on Lois' manuscript a bit more and then to bed.

Cheers,
Peg

This morning, with much whispering and giggling, the girls came and rousted their Daddy out of bed. I barely registered this as unusual before drifting back to sleep (Sunday's Rob's designated day to sleep in) They all trooped back about fifteen minutes later proudly bearing a breakfast-in-bed tray for me (my usual breakfast cereal, garnished with strawberries). And then they all sat around on the bed and watched me eat it. They had brought the newspaper, but it felt too odd to read it, with two little girls staring at me, rather like cats staring up at someone opening a can of catfood.

I just finished (again) Juniper, Gentian and Rosemary by Pamela Dean. I was crossly wishing for an annotated version--and just found one on the Internet! Squee! There's an annotated Tam Lin, too. I also found the ballad the story is based upon ("Riddles Wisely Expounded").

Huh. Maybe I should try writing a book from a ballad. I've already written one from a fairy tale. Stealing somebody else's plot seems to help.

Pamela Dean is one of my favorite authors, and Tam Lin (especially) is one of my favorite books. I know that some readers may find the style unrealistic--and some find it downright annoying--all those quotations, all those allusions! Although ordinarily my taste runs to a much more transparent style, I adore Pamela's. It's the sort of writing I'm not too confident I can do myself, but I enjoy watching Pamela do it.

Another thing, rather odd: when I read Pamela's books, I hear Pamela's voice as the central character's voice. Perhaps that's because both Gentian (the protagonist of Juniper, Gentian and Rosemary) and Janet (the protagonist of Tam Lin) remind me a lot of Pamela--certainly they have her habit of sprinkling poetic allusions through their conversations. I was in a Shakespeare reading group with Pamela for over five years, and it was a feast of wild delight. Other members included Mike Ford (John M. Ford is his publishing name), Elise Matthesen, Patricia C. Wrede, Lois McMaster Bujold, and aside from the joys of Shakespeare, the conversations were fascinating, although I often felt totally intellectually outclassed. There aren't many groups where I'm aware that I'm less well-read than the people around me, and I think it was good for me.

But I was speaking of hearing the author's voice in one's head when reading certain books. Pamela is one, Eleanor Arnason is another (with that dry, drawling Icelandic wit). And Steve Brust.

Oddly enough, however, I never hear Lois' voice when I read any of her Miles Vorkosigan books. Miles has his own very distinctive voice, quite different from Lois's.

I wonder if people who know me hear my voice when they read my characters.