Card, Orson Scott: How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy
How to Write Science Fiction & Fantasy
Writer: Orson Scott Card
Genre: Writing Reference
Pages: 137
All right, this is one of those "biggies" as it's one of my required reads for Seton Hill. As mentioned in the user info, expect a long entry with emphasis on writing. I also discuss genre here, and pose questions about several aspects of it. Some of this might be of interest to you, so feel free to comment and discuss. Or skip if this is simply not your thing. :)
To make this easier for me, and to keep focused on certain points at hand rather than fly all over the map with various responses and thoughts, I’ll divide my responses up in the same manner the book is divided into.
I. The Infinite Boundary
For myself, boundaries are something I tend to avoid. Thinking about them seems restrictive, and I say this coming from a “literary” background where you’re pretty much told to write what you want unless it’s genre, and if it’s genre, you better hope you have a tolerant professor (which I had, so lucky me). But the point being that boundaries can limit the creative mind (and I’m speaking in the most general sense), and there are times that I believe it’s important just to spit it all out on paper, see what you have, and the critique and revise the mess into something stronger and that hopefully, fits into some part of the market. I hold on to this belief because I believe that no matter what a person writes, there is an audience for it. Granted, it may be harder to find that audience, but the audience is there.
That said, let’s focus on the plus-sides of boundaries. They can provide direction. They can, contradictorily to what I said earlier, provide many more creative opportunities.
In terms of publishing, I embrace as much as I resist the idea. I can understand the importance of grounding the reader in the beginning, and then slowly seducing them into something they didn’t expect but realize they love all the same. This is the ultimate goal for a writer. To take reader’s expectations and twist and mold them into saying, “Wow! That writer knows what he/she is doing!” This is what I want to achieve.
However, I worry. I guess it may be because I know too many genre readers who really, really nitpick genre sub-categories. Who get really, really upset and defensive when a writer doesn’t meet their standards of convention. However, this is a nebulous issue. Is the reader upset because the writer did his/her job poorly? Or is the reader over-sensitive and stuck on the so-called “rules” of genre? Chances are, there’s a solid mix of both, and the most any writer can do is write their very best, and in turn, hope for the best.
Card brings up an interesting point about books and writers transcending the genre. I’ve seen this discussion before, in forums and other internet boards, and am constantly amazed at the attitude that once something has become “literary” that it is no longer a genre work. Not that Card makes this assumption, but he does point out writers who’ve made the transcendence. Interestingly enough, the writers he points out are the very writers I turn to for inspiration and guidance, so to speak. At the very least, they form the pillars for which I view my writing and from what angles I try to approach it.
And of course, Card gives the wise, needed, but also age-old advice of reading within your genre. Knowing what’s been done, how it’s been done, so that you may not only know whose footsteps you’re following, but also know how to take convention and turn it on its head. His suggestion for particular anthologies is a great one, especially since this field is such a large one. This also segues well into “the literature of the strange” which gives the reader a good impression of what makes up speculative fiction and again stresses the need of being well-read so one doesn’t inadvertently do the exactly same thing that’s been done before and in an unoriginal way.
He also makes a great point about how there are many tales that are not defined as speculative by anyone, and what makes something speculative has more to do with its milieu than anything else. Granted, it’s an interesting statement in the growing world of fiction trends, especially as “literary” trends leak into genre writing. I think of character-driven fiction, and how that’s becoming more and more of a trend in workshops of even speculative fiction. Will this re-define the genre, and will this blur those boundaries? Only time and good books will tell.
Lastly, the final boundary, which is the one I have the joy of examining personally for my own work: that between science fiction and fantasy. And I must say, this is the most perplexing to me, mostly because of the bookstore shelving issue. Also, though, the fact that a writer can start out writing one thing, but the book itself morphs into the other genre. In the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing, this can be pure genius. In the hands of anyone else, it’s disaster. It seems to be this is a very fine line.
It also begs the question: just how much can a writer get away with? The immediate answer is: anything, as long as it’s done WELL, but then my brain starts dividing everything into mathematical properties. Can a book that starts out as science fiction be, say, sixty percent fantasy? Or what about a more disturbing flip: a book that starts out fantasy becoming more science fiction? A good writer knows to prepare his/her readers for the change, but still: I find the flip from SF to fantasy far less disturbing than the flip from fantasy to SF.
Science fiction also begs of much debate: there’s hard, there’s soft, there’s space opera, and so many more sub-categories. While Card indicates that in the past, hard SF has reigned the hearts of readers, at the time of this book’s publication, soft SF was more the mainstream. But what about now? My past workshops and discussions with other genre writers have led me to believe that in truth, while a book can be soft SF, it still has to be laid in actual science somehow.
For my work, I’ve been accused of writing SF that isn’t really SF because what makes the story science fictional could really be exchanged for something on earth (say a dying sun for a hurricane) and you’d have the exact same story. I think this is because I’m primarily a character writer, so my own goals for science fiction, no matter how hard or soft it is, is to make sure the science fictional aspects of the story are closely tied into the character conflict, so much so that you could not exchange a dying sun for a hurricane and have the same exact story.
But generally speaking, I’m curious about the general expectation of readers in the science fiction market. I’ve gotten the impression (and Card mentions this) that the soft sciences are considered a joke, and that space opera, which usually has very little basis in actual science, is scoffed at as a legitimate sub-genre in fiction. Aside from great writing, how does one overcome this? Can it be overcome? I’m an idealist and believe it can, but the pessimist in me often doubts that.
Of course, I could sit here and stew over questions all day and not get any answers. In this regard, I intend to exploit my own private resources from my undergrad and Odyssey careers to get a mini-consensus of reader expectations.
As for my writing, I’m still torn. While I know my fiction requirements this term will help guide and teach me who does what and how they get away with it, I plan to sit down and actually make a list of pros and cons. Story as SF (soft as it is)--advantages and disadvantages. Story as fantasy--advantages and disadvantages. I hope this will jog some locked up centers of my brain and help me decide which format will best serve the story I want to tell. I have, despite my readings in the genre, a certain bias against fantasy. I think it’s because I’ve read too much fantasy that’s derivative, and it’s harder to see how my own work could be taken seriously if it’s under that large label. Yes, there are great writers in the fantasy genre--Tolkien, LeGuin, and Carey are some of my favorites. Still, I look at my story and wonder if it’s even a fit that will suit the readers of the genre. More important, I wonder if the genre is one that will suit my own writing style.
But, this will be answered with work and time, so I’ll move onto the next section.
II. World Creation
World Creation aka World-Building, was a new term to me during the summer of 2005, when I sat at the Odyssey workshop and listened to Allen Steele talk about world-building in general and more notably how he went about creating the world for his Coyote series. Between this and Jeanne Cavelos’s fabulous lectures on setting, I thought I knew exactly what I needed to know. Then Tim Esaias’s module on world-building really gave me a different perspective, and reading Card’s book reinforced that perspective.
World-building and setting (as is physical description of place) have always been my weakest points as a writer. I think this is mostly in part to two things: 1) I think in narrative rather than pictures, whereas most writers see the scene in their heads and just write from that. 2) When reading, my visualization is rarely vivid, no matter how crafty a writer is. And, if the description tends to go on and on and on, I tend to skip it. So in both reading and visualizing scenes for my own work, I might see an immediate image, but everything is very vague, blurry, with lots of fog around the edges. In terms of physical description, this is not a good thing. It doesn’t help that I am of the mind that description should be tied to character, and that a character wouldn’t describe something in detail that they see on a daily basis. And while I know this is more of a POV issue than a world-building issue, it is something I’m very conscious of in my work and other peoples. The question I always ask myself is this: are we getting this because it’s important to the character and the story, or is the writer simply painting a pretty picture for the sake of doing so?
Obviously, these are two extreme sides of one issue.
However, culture fascinates me, and this is something I have worked on and am continuing to iron out in my own work. I understand and appreciate the point that physical setting often influences culture and character, and I realize this is probably the angle in which I’ll have to embrace physical setting. Finding the balance is the trick: I have no problem actually going overboard with culture, but I need to weave setting in such a way that it satisfies me and entertains me while writing, and also gives the reader the clues they need to visualize what’s going on.
Card’s book brought up very specific explanations and points that I feel are very helpful in this regard, and interestingly enough, in regard to figuring out if my work will be labeled as SF or fantasy.
Rules, which are also a kind of boundary, keep the writer (and me) from going overboard in any regard and from taking a well-known convention and using it incorrectly. The space-travel definitions were particularly useful (possibly for the novel but more so for short stories), and his commentary on evolution was especially eye-opening. When it comes to my ideas and characters, I’ve always been a “why?” person, and this nudges that line of thought into a new direction, and will hopefully ground my work deeper into realism than I originally planned. For me, this is a plus. Considering history and biography only enforces the lines of thought I’m already traveling.
His commentary on languages, time travel, and magic were less helpful, most because I’m already familiar with the conventions and the discussions. His discussion on ideas was also something I’m familiar with, because an idea is only a seed. To become a story--a good one at that--the idea must nurture and grow.
How do I plan to overcome my setting obstacles? Photography, for one. It helps to physically see clearly what I can’t see very well in my head. To keep true to my style and desire for minimalist description, I plan on writing slightly backwards--at least, for the first few chapters. Start with dialogue, and then feel my way incrementally. Characters, gestures, interactions, then scenery, but keeping it all focused on what’s going on in the moment. Highlighting something important that’s both symbolic and visual. I guess it’s a rather minimalist approach to description, but I feel that if I can get that much, revision will prove far easier.
III. Story Construction
Between Odyssey and Tim Esaias’s module on POV, I feel very grounded in this regard. Many of the rules and practices mentioned in Card’s book are rules and practices that I hold dear anyway.
Character and POV is something I give a lot of consideration to, especially in short-stories. Oftentimes, my most worn critique of anyone’s work is, “It needs to be in so-and-so’s perspective” (the second most worn is changing a story from first to third or vise-versa), because character and voice is so important in the seduction of the reader and the believability of the story. In terms of novels, I have a harder time seeing which POV is best for which scene, but I tend to follow the rule that if the main character is in the scene, then that’s the POV that’s used. Obviously, there are exceptions to this, but it’s a good starting point.
I also appreciated the reinforcement of all characters having a purpose; of not being stock-characters. Villains being villains just because there needs to be a villain rarely engages me, and the same is true for heroes. Flawed characters with motivations provide for more opportunities in story telling.
Now, Card’s explanation of the MICE quotient was very fascinating, and engaging. While I know I’m primarily a character writer, and I can easily see how other structures can take over and distract from the main tale being told. Looking back, I can see this as a key problem in my previous attempts to write my novel, because the story would flow from character to milieu to event to idea with no clear indication where the story would end up. Now, even though I’m in the pre-writing stage, I can see how this can still be a danger. I think it may be beneficial then to map out each quotient, and see how large it is and where it can take the story, that way, I have a better idea of the internal structures and layers that my story affords. This will also help me from getting too carried away with one or more aspects of the story.
IV. Writing Well
I think the best and most helpful part of this section for me was the use of Octavia Bulter’s opening to Wild Seed as a workshop for openings. This was an excellent reinforcement to what I learned in Tobias Buckell’s module at Seton Hill in terms of the importance and weight of openings. It also gave me a chance to examine exposition (which is another area I tend to neglect in writing) that doesn’t tell, but tells what it needs to and shows what’s going on. This was so helpful, in fact, that my interest in piqued in Bulter’s novel, and I intend to read it as soon as I’m able.
I was also very happy with the section of diction and profanity. Seeing the same scene written out three times, twice in opposite extremes, was very helpful, especially realizing that the first example (not extreme) of high-language isn’t so high that it alienates the reader.
The talk of vulgarity and profanity in writing was also helpful, because it is a touchy subject. I tend to use profanity in short stories as I hear it used in life. Granted, this is not everyone’s experience, and granted, such language can offend a number of people. The discussion listed here was a good note to file away and consider for my novel, because language is closely tied to character and reveals what kind of person they are. Profanity can easily deflate what I’m trying to create if I use it improperly or gratuitously.
V. The Life & Business of Writing
This section was probably the least useful for me at this time. Yes, it’s full of good information, but I’m obviously not at a point where I’m focusing on the business side of my work. Sure, I have a couple short stories that need to be revised and sent out, and Card’s advice will definitely be taken to heart. But for the moment, I’m focusing on my role as a creator, not a marketer or businesswoman. That side can come out later, perhaps after the first draft.
Overall, Orson Scott Card’s book was a quick but interesting read. Though, I must say, it was only quick because I was already familiar with many concepts. Newer conceptions or newer perspectives on familiar concepts made me slow down a bit and pay closer attention, and through-out, I had a notebook beside me to take notes for the novel, complete with avenues of thought I need to pursue that I hadn’t considered before.
Thanks to this book, I think I have a good handful of techniques and ideas for pre-writing, especially looking at my own faults and weaknesses as a writer and discovering how to work out the kinks. This is a book that will definitely stay in reaching distance, as I suspect I’ll consult it many times before my term at Seton Hill is up.