Three Recent Stories

Hope everyone who reads this is doing well. Since I last posted I've had a few stories appear. "Hausferatu" is a fantasy story at Beneath Ceaseless Skies, a reminiscence of my recurring character Imago Bone from the days before he met Persimmon Gaunt. "Nine Billion Turing Tests" is a near-future science fiction story about AI, cats, grief, and climate change. It's at Reactor (formerly Tor.com.) And back at Beneath Ceaseless Skies, "To Hunt the Grey Lady" is out today. It's a standalone fantasy set in Gaunt and Bone's world, a tale of memory, self-discovery, and magic sea battles. Hope you enjoy them, or anything else you're currently reading!

Lots of Good News

I'm delighted to announce that my story "The Odyssey Problem" from the June 2022 Clarkesworld has been selected by guest editor R.F. Kuang (author of The Poppy War, Babel, and Yellowface) for the anthology BEST AMERICAN SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY 2023. Series editor John Joseph Adams has posted the table of contents, and what a star-studded lineup it is, and though I got the news a while ago I'm still shocked and honored to be in this company. For that matter the list of notable stories for the year is also full of amazing work. I'm so over the moon I can see lunar farside from here. The book is available for pre-order and will be out October 17. I'm also excited to share that contracts are signed for two upcoming stories, but I will let all that percolate a bit before talking more about them. (Edited to italicize R.F. Kuang's book titles.)

New story and upcoming anthology

I'm thrilled to report the new issue of Asimov's Science Fiction containing my story "The Second Labyrinth" is out now! The issue has a great lineup and I'm looking forward to reading it all. I hope people enjoy my oddball story. Although it's in the same setting as most of my other fantasy stories, it's much more in the line of "weird fiction" than my usual work.

I'm also delighted to announce I've got a story in the upcoming fantasy anthology Tales from Stolki's Hall, edited by Lou Anders. The stories are all set in Lou's Scandinavia-inspired setting of Norrøngard, which he first explored in his "Thrones and Bones" children's fantasy trilogy from Penguin Random House, and then adapted into a roleplaying game setting from Lazy Wolf Studios. Although the Norrøngard novels are children's books, this anthology is aimed at adults. I had a great time working a new story into Lou's fascinating setting. The anthology has ten stories from eleven contributors. More info is here.

(Edited because it took me this long to see I typed "trilled" instead of "thrilled.")

Verisimilitude: Who and What Is It For?

(The above image is by Corey A. Potter and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 license.) A stray thought, and maybe this is the right place to put it.

I was recently looking up a detail on ships and boats for a story. I'm fascinated by things nautical, even though my actual experience is very minor (I was briefly a deckhand on a harbor cruise ship.) As is often the case when I'm researching something, I've really enjoyed learning some new facts and sharing them.

Grounding fiction in fact can make it more convincing. The fancy term for this is "verisimilitude," a semblance of reality, a different word than "realism." Why the distinction? "Verisimilitude" acknowledges that we're not reporters conveying real events; we're storytellers trying to hook readers into believing in a story, at least for the duration of reading it. So the goal isn't conveying real information but making the story seem real through careful use of detail.

As a side note, this is why science fiction writers often can't resist using numbers ("the alien ship's nine kilometers off our bow -- point blank range") even in situations where there's no need for numbers and they increase the chance of error (say if you've already specified that your heroes' ship's lasers have a maximum effective range of eight kilometers.) Numbers just sound authoritative. 73% of Americans can't resist making them up. (I made that up.)

So the goal of verisimilitude is to convince, not to report on the world, whether the fictional one or the real one. Excessive use of detail is, in fact, generally looked down upon in writing as overdone exposition, or "info-dumping." To convince readers is an important practical goal for writers -- a convinced reader is more likely to be an entertained reader, and an entertained reader is more likely to be a return customer. More detail can actually work against this goal, by taking a reader out of the story.

But should our investigation of the real world in fiction begin and end with verisimilitude? Should we only present facts as a kind of sweetener to make the reader swallow the medicine of our fine literature? And what is that medicine? Characterization? Philosophy? Social commentary? Pure entertainment?

Nothing wrong with any of the above. But something nags at me: the thought that maybe we shouldn't limit our use of facts to a kind of sales job. Because the real world is an interesting place! A science fiction writer can include concepts from real-world science; this indeed is part of the draw of science fiction. A fantasy writer can include realistic details drawn from history. A mystery writer can include slice-of-life detail from interesting professions or parts of the world. A thriller writer can include details of actual espionage. And so on.

The risk, if you want to call it that, of using more real-world detail in fiction is that it will de-rail the story you have in mind. Say you want to have a character cross a redwood forest and you have a great scene in mind where they climb a tree to escape wolves. But on learning more about redwood trees you realize the trees aren't all that easy to climb.

But if your story doesn't jibe well with your own observations of the world, maybe it's the story that should bend, not the facts?

I want to chew on this idea a bit, so I'm putting it here.

Ship of the Imagination, the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701: A “Star Trek” review series

 

Cover of the ninth set of "Star Trek" story adaptations by science fiction legend James Blish.

“We’re going to explore the cosmos in a ship of the imagination, unfettered by ordinary limits on speed and size, drawn by the music of cosmic harmonies …”

— Carl Sagan, “Cosmos: A Personal Voyage,” episode 1, “The Shores of the Cosmic Ocean”

This will be a quirky occasional series of “Star Trek” reviews/meditations/tangents. There are times when I need to write but circumstances are so distracting that I have trouble focusing on fiction — I can spin sentences out but I can’t enter “the fictiive dream” in the phrase of novelist John Gardner. But maybe at those times I can write about some of my favorite geeky subjects, like, say, “Star Trek.”

So, the high concept here is that I’m reconstructing the fictional history of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 — The Original Ship if you will. This is not authoritative and will include a lot of suppositions by me. It will also include a lot of digressions where I talk about other fictional works, history, science, pop culture and whatnot. Hope it’s fun.

If you know my fantasy writing it might surprise you how big a “Star Trek” nut I am. But I’m as fond of science fiction as I am of fantasy, and “Star Trek” has a lot of both elements. It tries to keep a toe-hold on science and rationality but quite often it’s as fantastical as anything in Tolkien.

I remember watching “Star Trek” reruns from such an early age that almost all of it went over my head. Originally I just liked seeing the spaceships. In fact I’d go off to play with blocks or something until a musical cue told me I’d see the Enterprise again. But in time the situations started blowing my mind. A disease that turns you into crystals! The ship trapped by an energy web! A monster that disguises itself as people you trust before sucking all the salt from your body! A war fought by computers where if you’re declared a casualty you have to step into a terrifying disintegration booth!

Gradually the characters starting seeming cool. I loved Uhura’s poise, Sulu’s eagerness, Spock’s calm, McCoy’s gruff compassion. I think later I learned to appreciate Scotty’s passion for his work and his ship, Chapel’s calm competence even as she pined for Spock, Chekov’s determination to do well despite making mistakes and getting clobbered by the universe again and again. Kirk seemed too perfect to relate to at first but I’ve warmed up to the character as I’ve gotten older and felt the weight of more responsibilities.

Why the narrow focus on the “first” U.S.S. Enterprise? Trek fans sometimes talk about “their” “Star Trek,” the series that first got them interested in the franchise. For me it’s actually a weird mix of The Original Series, The Animated Series, and some of the novels and lore that existed in the days between The Original Series and 1979’s Star Trek: The Motion Picture. I love a lot of what came afterward but the stuff of my personal “Golden Age of Science Fiction” was TOS and TAS and the apocrypha that accumulated around them.

By narrowing the discussion to a “history” of the NCC-1701 (“no bloody A, B, C, or D” as Scotty might say) I get to focus on a manageable but varied set of productions. These are: TOS, TAS, the first three original cast movies, and the new series “Strange New Worlds.” I’ll also consider “Star Trek: Discovery” season 2, as it gives the Enterprise a lot of screen time.  And I’ll refer a bit to the “reboot” movies because despite taking place in another timeline I think they can illuminate the original characters. I’ll also cover some related works but not in an exhaustive way.

Why focus on the ship? I think the Enterprise — all of them, but particularly the “classic” one — is emblematic of a particular kind of science fiction, the kind that tries to evoke a sense of wonder in the possibilities of the universe and of life and existence. For all I know a faster-than-light vessel like the Enterprise can never exist; there are plenty of physicists  who would say so, often with great regret. But that’s not really the point. It’s less a serious proposal for a vehicle and more a storytelling vehicle, a contrivance that can get our characters into new adventures and mysteries and wonders and terrors.

In this it’s akin to “Doctor Who’s” TARDIS or Carl Sagan’s (and later Neil deGrasse Tyson’s) Ships of the Imagination from the two “Cosmos” science popularization series. Indeed, trimmed to its essential function the Enterprise is like the mysterious doorway that accompanies Rod Serling’s narration in some episodes of the original “Twilight Zone” — it’s our ticket to wild speculations.

Warp drive, duotronic computers, transporters, vliewscreens, shuttlecrafts — as interesting as they can be in the end they’re just a kind of plating on a “ship of the imagination,” a ship whose real purpose is to give us wild tales of the wide universe.

Let’s see what’s out there.

Next: Enterprise predecessors Part 1 — Clark Ashton Smith’s tales of the starship Alcyone.

"The Second Labyrinth" appearing soon at Asimov's

I'm delighted to report that my story "The Second Labyrinth" is appearing in the next issue of Asimov's Science Fiction, which has a very cool-looking table of contents. "The Second Labyrinth" is an Eldshore story, though not connected to any previous tale. I hope people enjoy it.

The May/June Asimov's is on sale April 18.

Writing Thought

Years ago I had an experience where an editor I very much admire rejected a story but generously took time to give me detailed comments. I appreciated, and still appreciate, his time. When I was first starting out I probably would have immediately rewritten the story based on those comments. But by then I’d had enough experience to trust myself a little more, and to recognize that fiction is very, very subjective. 

Since this was the story’s first rejection, rather than immediately modify the story based on the comments I sent it unchanged to a second editor I very much admire. I got the wonderful news that he wanted to buy it but had rewrite suggestions of his own. 

Out of a desire to constantly learn new things, during the rewrite process I brought forward editor 1’s suggestions to editor 2 (I didn’t say where the comments came from, just that it was advice from someone I trusted.) Editor 2 was initially open to the ideas but after we’d played around with a couple of revisions he ultimately decided he didn’t care for editor 1’s suggestions.

My sense was, and is, that editor 1 and editor 2 both had valid approaches, but as editor 2 was the one who actually took the story, his approach was by definition the more valid one. I was happy with the results, and the published story got some nice reviews. I continue to admire both editors.

I’m sharing this, for what it’s worth, for two reasons.

The first thing is that self doubt can be really damaging for writers, and words from “on high” can land with a lot of weight, even if, as in this case, everyone involved was being kind. It’s not that editor 1 was “wrong” and editor 2 was “right,” it’s that there are multiple valid approaches for every story, and I’m glad I finally had the confidence to not immediately discard my original work when someone with serious credentials criticized it. (Note also that I was entirely open to learning; I just didn’t accept the first opinion automatically.)

The second thing is more subtle, but maybe I’m not the only writer this applies to. When I was starting out I kept being haunted by the notion of discovering the Platonic ideal of a given story. The universe had given me a cool story idea, I would think, and it was my job — no, my duty — to wrestle out of chaos the best possible implementation of that idea. This wasn’t about crafting a good story, this was about crafting the Ultimate Story for that given idea. Maybe that’s an honorable impulse in a way. But it’s self-defeating. Anyone who reads a lot will find multiple good takes on certain premises. Trying to do, say, the ultimate story of first contact with aliens is not just Quixotic, it’s basically missing the point — a big part of the wonder of the universe is its variety, and if there truly are intelligent aliens they will come in many forms, making each first contact scenario unique.

But I kept looking for perfection, thinking I needed a holy grail when a carpenter’s cup would do. I wish I remembered the name of the poet who said he’d hurt his work by constantly striving for “bulletproof” poems — poems that were so immaculate and gemlike that they were beyond criticism. I relate to that.

The better approach is to try a lot of things, learn as much as you can, and shrug off the success or failure of any given story — and to remember that no matter how good a job you do, some people will think the story succeeded and others will think it failed.