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Archive for March, 2014
Just a near-last-minute reminder that Hugo nominations are closing soon.
And that Welcome to Night Vale is eligible as a dramatic presentation short form.
And that The Sandstorm should have at least two nominations if you’re looking for an episode to back.
No no, not the new one. Look, I didn’t dislike the new one, but it’s the first shot of a troubling new trend in the film industry: remaking Paul Verhoeven movies that are still perfectly good on their own. We had a new Total Recall in 2012, a new Robocop a month ago, and there is fresh rumblings of a new attempt at Starship Troopers that hews a little more closely to the book.
I’m a huge fan of all three of these Verhoeven movies. They make for a fantastic triple feature if you want to just sit down and enjoy some fantastic satire connected through their jaded view of televised entertainment. But this isn’t about fawning over some of my favorite movies, it’s about taking one of them to task.
So what’s the big question at the center of Total Recall? The one question that people debate when they’re actually debating something so silly as 90s Schwarzenegger movies?
Does the movie happen or not?
Answer one: Yes. The movie is chronicling the actual events as Douglas Quaid learns that he is a secret agent who had his memory wiped and is living out a humdrum life on earth. Answer two: No. The movie is entirely the memory that Rekall has implanted into Quaid.
It’s a fun question. It’s at the heart of any unreliable narrator, just what parts can you believe or not? Unfortunately, and I hate to find such a glaring flaw in a Verhoeven movie, there’s only one possible correct answer. Douglas Quaid is, unambiguously, as the movie presents him. I will accept no other answer, because the movie makes it very clear in one important way.
Parts of the movie happen without Quaid on-screen.
If the movie was meant to be an implanted memory, these scenes wouldn’t exist. They couldn’t There is no way for Quaid to know what happens in these scenes, and thus no way for these scenes to otherwise exist. Sorry, the whole thing falls apart on that one moment, and any exploration about the nature of memory or reality is destroyed, leaving only a ridiculously fun story.
In the world of writing, this is what we call “head hopping.” That moment that a narrative jumps from one person’s point of view to another. On its own, head hopping is not a problem. Some stories (I’m looking at you, Frank Herbert) do it constantly. Some stories will switch between points of view at scene or chapter breaks. Some will stay firmly in a single point of view. Some will back off it all. The problem comes when head hopping happens accidentally. When that happens, it can feel like a cheat, pull the reader out of the story, or even destroy some of the potential drama.
So pick your point of view. If it’s not working, change it up. Just make sure it’s internally consistent.
G started writing Western shorts, but no markets. Change Old West to alien planet–it's science fiction! #awp14
— Nick Mamatas (@NMamatas) March 1, 2014
The G in question in that tweet is author Molly Gloss, and it came out of the guest of honor interview at the 2014 AWP Conference, held this past weekend in Seattle. The idea that westerns moved to space works in science fiction is hardly new. Gene Roddenberry famously pitched Star Trek as “Wagon Train to the stars.” Firefly was so thoroughly a western that it featured a train job episode in its short run.
However, I like the idea that intersecting the past and the future can make for compelling science fiction. It’s the genesis behind the space western. It’s the genesis behind steampunk.
Earlier this week a tweet led me to a Slate article about a 1940s French board game that taught players how best to thoroughly exploit the resources of a colony. It’s an interesting artifact from a specific point in history, sure. Maybe even a little chilling. It’s also a short step from that old game to the same game being played by kids in the 2140s.
It’s the cyclical view of history. The cynical view of history. Even those who do study it are doomed to repeat it, humanity comes to the same point, over and over again. There’s easily mined drama in the notion of our species just never learning a damned thing.
So many problems, in horror especially, can be solved by a copious application of fire. You know it, I know it, and readers know it. There needs to be a compelling reason that fire won’t work. It can’t just not occur to the characters.
I fell off the wagon a little near the end of February. February is a difficult month. It’s short, it’s cold, it’s dark. This isn’t the first time that the month has defeated me, and while I hope it will be the last…let’s be honest, it won’t be. I’m redoubling my efforts, however. Around mid-December I stopped keeping my Chain calendar. I was still keep the Chain, just not the calendar. I’ve printed out a 2014 calendar to restart the chain, and with a new month it’s time to get it going again.
Sometimes it’s important to have a visual.
Short story status: One out, one ready to go out, one being rough drafted, one running around my head to finalize a plot. I also started two new novel Scrivener files today. Not two new novels, but occasionally I get an idea that I like too much to forget about, and a new Scrivener file is the best place to put these thoughts. Doesn’t mean either will get written, but it does mean I don’t want them to go away. One is an alternate history set in the modern day, the other is a space opera. Both are of a scale that I haven’t tackled before.
State of the author’s bees: ALIVE! We had a mild weekend here in DC before getting socked by yet another snowfall, which meant the bees got out and about. My wife moved all the nice tasty reserves from the lost hive to the living one, so they have a good twenty pounds of tasty pollen and sugars to eat. If that’s not enough, I don’t know what is. That means we’ll be able to harvest some honey this year. Probably not enough to start mead making, but at least it’s a start.
March is in like a lion here in northern Virginia. Here’s hoping it goes out like a lamb. I know for a fact I’m not the only person sick of this winter.