Showing posts with label Strange Writings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Strange Writings. Show all posts

June 20, 2020

POSSIBLY (REALLY) IRRITATING ESSAY: STUPEFYING STORIES – WHAT Are They Trying To Do?


NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Dublin, Ireland in August 2019 (to which I be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I would jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today. This explanation is reserved for when I dash “off topic”, sometimes reviewing movies, sometimes reviewing books, and other times taking up the spirit of a blog an old friend of mine used to keep called THE RANTING ROOM…

What brand is Stupefying Stories? Why have I come repeatedly to Stupefying Stories? Why do I write for Stupefying Stories? Why do I read (some REALLY AWFUL!) slush for Stupefying Stories?

A teensy bit of background.

I met Bruce Bethke, who is the owner, operator, and inventor of the website, some three decades ago because he’d run an ad looking for members to join a writing group that, at the time, was made up of himself, Phillip C. Jennings, and Gerri Balter. I joined and learned a lot; but ultimately I got married and focused, with my bride on building a relationship and a family. My writing fell to the wayside. Several years later, I saw Bruce in 2005 at the Minnesota Science Fiction Convention (MiniCon 40, I think; Terry Pratchett was the GOH (AMAZING speaker!), and Bruce and I reconnected. He was parenting a blog called The Ranting Room and I started following it and eventually writing for it. We corresponded more and rekindled the friendship we’d started in the 80’s; both of us had changed and in the early 2010’s our lives intersected in moments of terror…first Bruce’s wife, and around a year later, my wife received breast cancer diagnoses. Since then, I’ve been involved with Stupefying Stories pretty much since its inception in 2012. I still write for it occasionally, I’ve proofed some of the issues of the magazine, and was in the first one and then “collected” in FIVE STARS (https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1938834356/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i9) I continue to work with Bruce’s publishing company, RAMPANT LOON PRESS (https://www.amazon.com/Kindle-Store-Rampant-Loon-Press/s?i=digital-text&rh=n%3A133140011%2Cp_30%3ARampant+Loon+Press&qid=1592661624&ref=sr_pg_2) in the hope that they will publish my Young Adult SF series beginning with HEIRS OF THE SHATTERED SPHERES: Emerald of Earth…

At any rate, in an email, Bruce let me know he’d posted this: http://stupefyingstories.blogspot.com/2020/06/status-update-19-june-2020.html

It’s a loaded essay and guaranteed to draw ire and fire from people who don’t believe he’s correct enough, (though not in the way a LONG DISTANT PAST co-writer Bruce shared a project with ended up doing and sometimes still does). I’d have other comments on his essay, too, but my hide is far too thin to weather such I-n-F…

I wanted to touch on this: “…sharply defining the Stupefying Stories brand, making it clear what we hope to deliver to readers and what exactly our vision of science fiction is. I’ve always been too much of a literary omnivore to do that, but it’s finally time I did.”

I responded to him privately first, and I’m posting this now as an adaptation of my email:

While the stories in Stupefying Stories may deal with serious subjects and dark lives and even have grim endings (the story I know best leaps to mind: “Teaching Women To Fly” (If you’re interested, you can find it in FIVE STARS), and those who critiqued it consistently expected everything to come out “sweet” in the end. I didn't want it to come out sweet because LIFE ain’t sweet. Reflecting though, I realized that while it didn't come out all roses for Celia, her son would be integrated into a subjugated culture of indigenous people and that same culture got a bit of revenge by feeding off the hopes of the “superior” culture...hmmm...) -- it has NEVER taken itself too seriously.

Stupefying Stories and Bruce himself use humor to touch on difficult subjects. HEADCRASH is actually pretty dark. So is his novelization of the movie script of WILD, WILD WEST. I mentioned long ago that the novelization was funnier than the movie, but the theme of the movie (and the original) seemed to be looking at the impact of merging of the life of the old (Civil War) by the new (wildly...um...speculative technology. It was startling for me to realize then that the devices I use in my everyday life might be – nah, WOULD HAVE BEEN considered impossibly speculative (read WITCHCRAFT) in 1920).

In WILD, WILD WEST, the consequences inherent in that merger of stolid, dark past and wild, wild future should have precipitated clear conflict in the movie. But, because it was the result of a six writers independently creating (adding up the Story by/Screenplay by people who are all listed separately) mongrel of a script, it ended up not saying ANYTHING. I seem to recall Bruce saying he wrote the novel based on one of the original scripts…(but I’m retired now, so I’m not sure that’s true…)

The Stupefying Stories brand has appeared to me to intentionally look at serious solutions to serious problems – without taking itself too seriously.

While that is EXTREMELY too subtle for many, I think the people who read Stupefying Stories both as short story collections, in novel form, and on the webpage are looking for that kind of mental issue breaker.

The problem thus far, has been a perceived inconsistency of publication (of course the average consumer and writer is completely uninterested in the people behind the product. For them, life is “gimme, gimme, gimme, NOW!” When instant gratification of every whim isn’t granted, they CAN get all huffy and obnoxious and stomp off to find something “better”...which they won't...because most of what I see in the SF/F takes itself far too seriously.)

Just one example is SFWA. While the paucity of POC has existed oh, since Hugo Gernsback and Isaac Asimov and all the rest, the hue and cry to bring in writers of color has only reached a feverish pitch in the past two years. Prior to that, WOMEN had only barely been accepted into the hallowed halls of science fiction (they made better inroads in fantasy, but still…). Now that being friends and publishers of POC/GLBTQ/GQ is popular and our culture is attempting to make it NOT a crime to be associated with “them” by offering sweeping protection so everyone feels safe talking (some sincerely, some not-sincerely)...

The abrupt shift honestly, makes me feel ill. (Before you judge me, go to my FaceBook page and skim through my Friends…then pack your PNOC pre-judgement back up again). Don’t get me wrong, there were pioneer publishers and editors who, rather than jumping on the current band-surfboard, were trying to swim against the riptide of racist policy, and they cut the current for the rest who are now swimming in their wake. But the surfboard is crowded now with less-than-earnest-trend-followers. My biggest fear is that it will be a "thing" and once it's not trendy anymore, US and state congressfolk, various Departments, and society as a whole will ignore making real change -- the way they ignored the Emancipation Proclamation 157 years ago, the Civil Rights Act 56 years ago, and why nothing changed in Minneapolis, where I live, 53 years ago, and oddly enough, five years ago ago (https://www.startribune.com/north-minneapolis-echoes-of-the-unrest-in-1967/351540861/) -- back when a DFL controlled country and state -- cried out for change and that change STILL didn't happen...

Stupefying Stories has always been about making readers think – not with easy, obvious, symbolism, but really THINK about what a story means…and all the while, Stupefying Stories has never ONCE taken itself too seriously.

Try it out, sit back and mull, and I think you’ll see what I do.           

February 2, 2012

BEYONDARIES -- the ezine of port yonder press

I'm writing a blog for this website -- Port Yonder Press. It'll be out once every 3 months. Here's the FIRST entry! (BTW -- read the other entries, too! They're great!)

http://www.beyondaries.com/irregular-galaxy--sextans-a.html

Picture

October 29, 2010

EXPERIMENTAL WRITING: Can Reading A Story Be Enhanced By Listening To A Song?

I tried this once a year or so ago – and I sort of liked the effect. I thought I’d try it again and this time, tie the story closer to the lyrics. My hope is that the story will be enhanced by the music and the music will enhance the story. Your thoughts on the matter would be greatly appreciated!

1) In a second tab, go to this Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LartL77Nuqs&feature=related and queue it up.

2) Hit play on the Youtube, go to the story below and while listening to the music on low, read it.

The Story –

WHERE HEALING BEGINS

A bolt of actinic lighting slashed the sky, flooding an immense silver web of wires suspended from hot air balloons. Thunder growled faintly in the thin air of the gas giant, River.

Turin Beejis Ramone growled inside his spacesuit, “Give me what I want!” The spider WAS what he only dreamed of being: useful. Salt-ice lattice shell, a Faraday cage protected secret messages delivered by hand and small flyers. It gave the spider its purpose, so that gulping messages to protect them from the lightning, it took them out later, slotted them into a program that broadcast to moons above. Then messages flew to five million grenan, imp, mod, envadan, art, cold and virtual Humans. One chip held Turin’s deepest secret.

As he raged against that thought, the lattice of the envadan melted in his hot, gloved hands. Its death agony vibrated the carbon fibers of his suit like guitar strings. Jamming his hand into its stomach, he grabbed the treasured metal chips.

He dropped the body and it spun away in the thin arctic wind tugging at his glider. He looked wildly around but no one had seen. Floating through the frigid upper levels of Mekong Band, the antenna was one of a thousand joining data of hot and cold, hydrogen and helium, water and ammonia hurricane gas giant River stripes.

Lightning struck the web, sparking on silver antennae threads. Startled, Turin slipped and fell, wires slicing neatly through his glider cords. He fell screaming, onto a three-meter-long VHF prong. It punctured his self-sealing suit twice and hit neither vein nor artery. Staring up, his hand spasmed and the chips fell into the clouds. Freezing blood slick triggered an automated call to the nearest paramedic as Turin moaned, cursing everything inhuman.

Far below, Irog, an environmentally adapted Human manta ray with a five-kilometer wingspan heard the call and pitched himself into a steep dive, opening his maw to scream a stuka siren. Inside an oxygen-nitrogen bubble, rode gear and paramedics. The younger shouted, “I told you to warn us!”

Snickering, Irog the hūmbūlance leveled off. “It’s ten klicks straight up.”

“See anything?” asked an older paramedic.

“There’s a thunderhead between us and the accident.”

Gordon sighed and said, “You know what to do, bud?” He slapped the wall of flesh.

“Ouch!” Irog exclaimed, the floor rippled, “And yes, I do know what to do. ETA in five.” Spinning and twisting up through roiling storm clouds, he circled the antenna. “I have a read on his suit biosigns: stable but critical. Gordon, take the glider down. Rane prep the ER.” Rane hurried through a hall tube; Gordon up through a throat and mouth. With blue kit and a glider, outside, he leapt into a gale and dropped down beside Turin.

“Patch me into his comm.”

“Done.”

Turin?” A faint moan. “I’m a paramedic with a hūmbūlance and another paramedic. We’re here to…”

Turin struggled, gasping, “Not genetic freaks!”

Gordon scowled, “Purity League again?”

“Two in one month,” said Rane. “Ready here.”

Turin struggled on his antenna spit, “No!”

Gordon read the bioscan completely and said, “You’re not even Human, why scream at us?”

Turin wept, stopped moving and wheezed, “You’ll tell everyone…I’d rather die.”

With a metal cutter, Gordon clipped the antenna, squatted, put his arms under Turin and said, “I won’t tell anyone.” Gordon stood, disimpaling Turin as he screamed until he passed out.