Harrison Bergeron: 2081

A friend drew my attention to a wonderful thing. The story "Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut has been made into a short film. The story is one that haunted me (and certainly many others) when I read it years ago. The film looks just as haunting.

2081 depicts a dystopian future in which, thanks to the 212th Amendment to the Constitution and the unceasing vigilance of the United States Handicapper General, everyone is finally equal... The strong wear weights, the beautiful wear masks and the intelligent wear earpieces that fire off loud noises to keep them from taking unfair advantage of their brains. It is a poetic tale of triumph and tragedy about a broken family, a brutal government, and an act of defiance that changes everything.

More info at the film website. Vonnegut's story can be read here.

My Writers' Guild

The writers meet in the back of a coffee shop. A corner beside the milk cooler, in behind the bookcase where Readers Digest Condensed Editions battle with Star Trek paperbacks for category of "Least Relevant to Modern Fiction." There is more than one Scrabble set, but only one has all its letters. Regulars know which one. A low coffee table, two couches, and a few other tables and chairs that can be pulled around depending on how many people show up.

Sometimes it isn't many. In Summer, when day lasts well into the evening and the hot sun can't quite reach that back corner of the shop. In Winter, when the snow shuts down roads and freezes pipes. There's always something else to do, some other club or chore or family event. But the writers that come regularly know they're on to something great. They make the time, arrive a dozen minutes early to stand in line for Grande Mochas or leftover lunch salads.

It begins with chat. A little "What have you been up to?" and "How did it go?" Slowly the chat turns to the craft. Latecomers arrive and reset the conversation to its beginning, but eventually someone gets to business, or typed itineraries are handed around. A topic of discussion, an inspirational quote. News and new markets. Accomplishments are compared to the lofty goals of last month, and someone asks to read a few pages of an epic Fantasy novel from handwritten sheets. Someone brings a poem they pretend they don't want to read. Someone has a story in the newest Chicken Soup.

A writing exercise silences the corner for a few minutes. They take turns reading and listening to the result, one prompt inspiring a dozen different tales. Someone is too shy to read. Someone else won't stop.

And it peters out to chat, two hours later, when inspirational reserves are filled up and they've remembered why they ducked out of the sun or shuffled through snow. They're not alone on their quests, whether they want to be the next Stephen King, or just hand around Chapbooks of poetry and gorgeous, quirky photo collages. Goals are set for next month. Someone gives someone a ride, someone writes out an email address, hoping for a critique. The other people who've come into the shop just for coffee give the writers curious glances as they flood and then abandon the shop at the very last minute, the staff already putting chairs up on tables, sweeping the floor. The very last minute.

As they gathered, so they drift apart, to fulfil the prophecy that that writing is a lonely art. But for a few hours they understood that while writing is lonely, the writing life can be a crowded place, with a lot to discuss and much to cherish.

3rd Annual Terrace Writers' Guild Fiction Contest

If you live in Northern British Columbia, this one's for you. The Terrace Writers' Guild is putting on their Fiction Writing Contest for the third year in a row. Winners get cash prizes and their names in Northword Magazine, and the first prize is cash and paid publication in the same. Best of all, there's no entry fee. Submissions must be between 1500 and 3000 words and postmarked by Tuesday, October 27th. More info including further submission guidelines is available at the TWG website.

I used to be a part of the Terrace Writers' Guild. It's a good group and their judges are brilliant. I know this because I won two years ago. My winning entry can be read at the Northword Magazine website.

Kate Atkinson at the Kensington Central Library

Kate Atkinson, author of Behind the Scenes at the Museum, Human Croquet, and half a dozen more, read from her newest novel When Will There Be Good News? at the Kensington Central Library last night. She had a short question/answer session with her publicist, and then they opened the floor to questions from the crowd.

The library put on a lovely night. The tube strike meant that my short hop-skip-jump to Kensington turned into a marathon bus & walking event, but when I walked through the library doors a friendly woman directed me downstairs, where a comfortable auditorium was filling up, and another room held a table with wine, juice, water, and more friendly librarians. After the event, Kate signed copies of her books at a table outside the auditorium.



Her stories are described as a mix of crime and literary fiction, and that intrigues me. She said she doesn't mind writing crime, but she doesn't like being labelled as if that's all she could do. She talked about a few of the projects she'd like to write, including a tale about World War II, although she noted that it was "easy to plan things, difficult to write them."

Her publicist mentioned that although Kate's a visual writer, she rarely describes her characters, their hair colour and the like. Kate agreed and said it was easier not to describe them because their minds are much more interesting. And since every reader has their own idea of what a character looks like, setting it in stone just upsets that process.

She also mentioned that she writes best anywhere in her home, depending on the weather, and her favourite spot to write is in bed (though she made her publicist aware, not for the first time, that if they set her up in a swank hotel she'd be able to write much more quickly.) She's a morning writer, and doesn't have a daily word-count goal because it would be depressing - she said she'd never reach it.

I liked that she read from printed pages, not the book itself. It reminded me that published authors print their words out on their home printers, too, and go through the same routines that aspiring writers have. Altogether it was an interesting and relaxing event, and on the marathon way home I took a walk by Holland Park, which was not terrible to look at.



The library is putting on a series of this type of event. Their next guest is Peter James, who will be talking about his latest work on June 23rd at 7pm. The library's description of the event is here.

Writing winter on a summer day

Although it's June and things are growing and stretching out and warming up, I'm editing my manuscript into a winter setting. This makes for some strange days, describing cold and wet and white and closed when outside things are exactly the opposite. But it's a good exercise, to remind myself of what it is that speaks Winter. It isn't just the words "snow" and "ice," it's the scrunch-squeak of a boot into snow, the smell of woodsmoke and something else undefined that means cold cold air, a tiny crack of ice, and the silence the descends on everything when it begins to snow and cover up all the wet autumn debris. Winter. There's good reason it's not just about death, but also rebirth.

My favourite description of a winter scene is from Gabriel King's The Wild Road. Ragnar Gustaffson, Coeur de Lion (a Norwegian Forest Cat of great enthusiasm) has just found himself out in the snow on his own for the very first time. His joy is so well described by this scene, it makes me smile every time.

As for Ragnar Gustaffson -

It was one of the days in his life. He had been given, at last, the opportunity to test every aspect of the sturdy, good-looking Norsk Skaukatt design! Comfort. Durability. Practicality. The paw-tufts for warmth and grip. The ear tufts for insulation. The stylish double coat with its high-speed drying characteristics. The versatile all-leg drive he had so often tried to demonstrate to his good friend Mousebreath.

Snow!

He chose a steepish slope; stood for a prolonged, delicious moment at the top; then charged joyfully down it, sliding, rolling, bounding and panting until he tumbled head over heels into the fat white drift at the bottom. Snow! He rolled on to his front and went through the drift like a mechanical shovel, tossing clouds of it into the air with his head and then batting out right and left at them like a kitten. Snow, snow snow snow: SNOW! Suddenly, remembering that he must also test one of the least known but perhaps the most interesting features of the Troll Cat breed, he rushed into a plantation of young conifers and dashed up the trunk of the nearest tree. His heart was an engine. His powerful claws, adapted for rock and ice, gripped the resinous bark. He was a feline machine. Turning round carefully at his high point, he was easily able to descend head first and in a spiral. Then he leapt to his feet and sprinted - eyes bulging, ears back, tail curled over - through the plantation, his passage dislodging explosions of powder from the feathery lower branches where they swept the ground. Snow flew up into the sunbeams like spray from a torrent! Snow! He swam in the snow. He breathed up snow and sneezed it out. It was Norway, larch and pine. It was -

Well - of course - it was snow.

Snow.

The Structure of a story

I used to get ideas for stories like, What if the internet was completely erased? or What if medicine was only available to people less than thirty years old? But I'd try to write those scenarios and the story would fall to dust. I'd have half a page of description and a headache.

They sound like story ideas, but really they're just settings. The world the story lives in: a world that has lost its internet, or a world where medical care is ageist. It's not the whole story, it's just a place for Point A. For a story, there needs to be at least a Point B. There can be A, B, C, D, on to Z, but certainly more than one. It must be dynamic, it must go somewhere.

Point Z could be a lot of things. It could be a world that has regained its internet, or a world where medicare has been transformed. The journey from A to Z requires change. The change comes from events, and the events need perspective. And this is where characters come in.

What if medicine was only available to people less than thirty years old (Setting), but a twenty-three year old medical student (Character) is sneaking his research home to treat his sixty-five year old Grandfather? He discovers a treatment that would stop ageing entirely (Point B) thereby disrupting the management of the entire human race (Point C!) and is chased around by government henchmen (D, E, F...) until he finally gains enough attention that medicare is transformed... (Z.)

Point Z doesn't have to completely change the original setting or scenario. The whole story could take place in the world with ageist medicare and no reform, but something else changes, like the medical student's personal ethics. And if you want to break apart story structure and have a story where nothing happens (Let's go. We can't go. Why not? We're waiting for Godot!) that's great. But you have to know what you're doing, and what conventions you're playing with, or it won't make sense to your audience. They'll get bored, like I got bored trying to write a setting without characters or a plot.

Understanding story structure is a tremendous help if you're serious about your writing. It seems elementary, but there are lot of people who seem to want to write and don't consider the basic elements, like they're hoping if they stare at the kitchen long enough dinner will appear.

Then again, I do that sometimes, too. Is that my stomach growling?

Simile, metaphor

Okay, today I'll try to write a post that isn't a review of anything.

My own writing is going very well. Time spent in the story and concentrating on what I want the book to be is paying off. I love the direction the rewrite is taking.

When I got my feedback from my first reader on an earlier draft, her comments supported what I'd felt about the story. It was good, but I hadn't done it justice. There was something missing or written badly or not explored to the depths it should have been.

Books aren't like children. Or, if they are, they're like children with honest parents, who admit that yes, some are just better than others. You can tell when the right elements have been chosen and put in the right places. The story works on a superficial level, and it works right down to its core. The characters live, they can't just be rearranged into whatever suits the plot best.

If you study two books you might be able to say precisely why one works and one doesn't. Without study, the difference is still obvious, the same way you can tell the difference between a designer jacket and an off-the-hanger copy. There's something in the stitches and the cut that makes itself known even as you grumble that it shouldn't matter because it's still just a jacket and they're probably made in the same warehouse and blah blah blah. It's no good.

Though I'm happy wearing whatever, I want to write designer jacket books, that people adore and love to put on. My work in progress in its initial incarnation was a off-the-hanger book with trailing threads and dropped stitches and probably the buttons didn't quite match up to the buttonholes just right, and they were cheap buttons, and the paint would rub away too quickly and leave you embarrassed because they were the wrong colour, like really the wrong colour: green buttons on a pale orange coat. Err.

I've been remaking the book from new elements, completely re-imagining the thing, restitching every line. It's time consuming but worthwhile. I ran through what I had left to write and realized I was starting in on the final rush of events and revelations: the most fun part to write. And that's what I should be doing now.