In September of 2007, I started this blog
with a bit of writing advice. A little over a year later, I discovered how
little I knew about writing after hearing children’s writer, In April of 2014, I
figured I’d gotten enough publications that I could share some of the things I
did “right”. I’ll keep that up, but I’m running out of pro-published stories. I
don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off
of it, but someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write.
Hemingway’s quote above will remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing
output and sales, but I’m adding this new series of posts because I want to
carefully look at what I’ve done WRONG and see if I can fix it. As always, your
comments are welcome!
ANALOG Tag Line:
Responsibility comes in many ways and at different costs.
Elevator Pitch (What Did I Think I Was Trying To Say?)
A Human and an intelligent,
mobile plant alien who share nothing but their desire to grow a relationship
are frustrated when they are forced to rescue orphans they’ve never met to an
orphanage on the plains and have to pass through feuding aliens, Human
soldiers, and a haunted village in order to discover that they both feel same
about each other…
Opening Line:
The two-meter tall, mobile saguaro cactus whistled and
clicked, “We need to get these orphans to Bewiah Bee’s quickly, Kahwoh!”
Onward:
From his boulder
perch overlooking the valley, eighteen-year-old Karl Clive made a raspberry of
disgust. In pidgin WheetWheet, with an angry gurgle, he said, “There is no ‘we’
here, Ohfei! ‘You’ said ‘you’ would take the orphans to Deliah’s orphanage. ‘I’
was drafted because ‘I’ am the only one who knows how to shoot this gun and
‘you’ need protection from ‘your’ crazy mountain cousins and your Vii friends.”
He hoisted the
blaster rifle. It was the only weapon the Sharer commune owned. It was made for
Humans and Karl was the only one who knew how to use it. Today, he was an armed
babysitter. Sliding down the rock’s slope, he said, “I don’t owe these kids
anything. ‘You’ do. So ‘you’ tell me what to do.”
What Was I Trying
To Say?
The same thing I’ve
been trying to say with all of the stories I’ve written in this world – which,
by the way, just came clear to me now – if Humans can learn to get along with __________ (in this case the alien plantimal WheetAh), then we can learn to get along with each other.
The Rest of the
Story:
Karl and Ohfei,
members of a radical cult of Humans and WheetAh that seeks to join the kingdoms
through the literal sharing of the body and blood are charged with transporting
a group of orphan WheetAh and ruuyAh (pygmy WheetAh) to an orphanage from the
mountains to the plains. Along the way, they encounter Human invaders, internecine
skirmishes, and a haunted village that Vii and Fei would as soon forget because
of a slaughter of innocents that took place there. Oh, and the Human wants to
get even with his dad for abandoning him and his now-dead mother…
End Analysis:
The problem again is
that I’m trying to jam too much into a single story
Why do I do that?
What happens is that
I create this place and I START with an interesting situation. Then I figure I
can say MORE, so I add layers. Then I keep adding layers until you can’t tell
the cake from the frosting and it’s all mushy:
)
I tried to model the
story on Lois McMaster Bujold’s Hugo, Nebula and SF Chronicles-winning novella
(and nominated for AnLab best, and Locus best), “The Mountains of Mourning”
(ANALOG, May 1989). If you haven’t read it, it’s easy to find as it’s been
collected in several places. At any rate, it’s one of those stories I reread
over and over again and it’s what I wanted to do with this.
But where the message
of “Mountains of Mourning” was clear: everyone deserves a voice, even if they
are tiny – and dead; my message is nowhere near as clear. It certainly wasn’t
as compelling. More specifically, in Bujold’s story, Miles is physically
handicapped and continues to conquer his world with his wits and an uncanny
ability to enlist the aid of incredibly powerful people – from cooks to kings
(or emperors as they case may be). After he gets them to help him, he releases
them to much greater callings.
Newborn Raina never
had that opportunity because she was murdered for her mutation much the same as
countless people – from his grandfather on up – have tried to murder Miles
(though his deformities are not a mutation). He meets his personal demons as
well as metes out justice in a unique and powerful way.
My story…clearly on
a Nebula or Hugo winner. In fact not even publishable at this point.
Oh, I just realized
that this story also has echoes of “Wings of Victory” (ANALOG, April 1973), in
particular with the kid rebelling against his dad to join a commune of
Ythrians, against whom Humanity is about to go to war…
Can This Story Be
Saved?
As I’ve done before,
I think it can and with even less work than usual. Karl Clive, my story’s hero,
is tilting far too many windmills however: finding a new way in a rapidly
changing world (he’s become a Sharer); making peace with an absentee father;
mourning the death of his Human mother at the hands of Human invasion fleet; facing
racism – the Vii hate the Fei who both hate the ruuyAh; and the secret shame of
both Vii and Fei because of a slaughter of innocents in the Vomir Mountains,
where the hills have been wounded by many things, no less than the attempts by
a crazed WheetAh ruler to supposedly create a device to make new land who
intends to use it as a weapon…
See what I mean?
What if I did this:
the haunted village is cool; so is the Sharer cult. Transporting orphans works
as a vehicle for the story. But I need to lose making peace with Dad, Mom’s
death, and the race war between the Vii and the Fei (or the Human invasion).
Stick with Karl and Ohfei moving the orphans and passing through the haunted
village. The “message” or take-away needs to be…Karl wants a new world – what
is he willing to sacrifice for it and will he allow OTHERS to sacrifice for
him? (Ohfei thinks Karl’s chances of making a difference are better than his
chances of making a difference…)
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