About a week ago, I finished a new novel, the first in a potentially new series of fantasy adventures geared toward readers of all ages (which includes middle-graders, the audience it will surely be targeted for). Since then, I copyedited it, applied some rewrites, and began submitting it to agents. I intend to start documenting some of what went on in the course of both writing it and attempting to bring it to publication over the next few blogs (or perhaps just on YouTube, where I have begun a podcast of sorts; see first installment below), but I just wanted to take the time to introduce it to you in this blog, as I have not been posting here lately, and to announce the current title (which can change, of course): The Fate of Olympus. I'll try not to be a stranger from here on.
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It is no longer tolerated by the masses when a story (on film or on paper) comes out with all-white, all-straight characters. Diversity must be respected, and paid homage to, and it is up to the writer to come to terms with it. This is not to say that history must be reimagined; period pieces should still be true to the time being depicted, and perhaps this is the only time it would be allowable to present a cast of such homogenous characters. But even then, minorities and homosexual have always existed somewhere (they didn't emerge from a vaccuum), and if your story allows, it would be a good idea to touch on them.
And whereas characters of different colors/creeds/countries/religions/cultures SHOULD be presented according to their respective places of origin, writers need to take a different approach when writing characters of homosexual persuasions--the OPPOSITE approach, in fact! Writers should write them as they would write any other characters. That is the secret. For as long as there have been written stories, writers have told tales from the point of view of a member of the opposite sex, so there should be no difficulty based on that fact alone. When a straight male author writes from the perspective of a woman falling in love with a man, it doesn't take much to replace the female character with a male one. To be able to do one should allow for the ability to the other. Unless there is some mental block that must be overcome. And let's face it, writers are people, no different from anyone else, and come with their own sets of hang-ups and deep-rooted prejudices or phobias. It may not be possible for some to put aside these issues in order to write from that mind-set, especially when it takes a strong commitment and desire to walk around inside your main character's psyche, to deliver a persona that is real and true and reaches readers from the page. That doesn't mean such writers should be hated outright, especially when pity and/or understanding may be more called for. Each writer must decide for him- or herself whether they can write homosexual characters and write them in a way that is honest and believable. If unable to, there is the chance that the resulting work will be singled out for its insensitivity and inability to offer a realistic contemporary cast of characters. And no writer would want that. There is enough stacked up against writers to have one more obstacle to a work's success. So unless the character and story calls for a particular stereotypical representation of a homosexual character, the character should be written no differently from any other. I would like to end this with an explanation (and apology) regarding the lack of homosexual characters in my first novel, Canis Sapiens: The Dingo Factor. One of the characters makes a claim that there are no gay Canis sapiens (shapeshifters), implying that such would not fit with their lifestyle of abiding with the laws of nature (which was not really intended to be accepted as fact anyway). If the sequel is ever picked up, we will learn just how true (or rather untrue) this statement actually is. We will also be introduced to a Canis sapien of a different color (in human form I mean, of course). As they try to fit in among humanity, it made perfect sense that they would take the form of those that are the majority, those that they are exposed to the most. This standard is becoming less and less the case, and will be addressed as well. I just wanted to make it clear that I am aware of my own possible indiscretion and have made efforts to prevent repeating it. In bocca al lupo! In addition to joining the ranks of the many who've contributed to the legendary Arthurian mythos, the upcoming publication of my Lady and the Lake piece, "The Duty," will be another first for me: my first published poem.
I am always reading through submission calls, and a while back I came across one whose King Arthur aspect caught my eye. I then immediately dismissed it once I realized it was a call for poetry and not short stories, but throughout the rest of the day I couldn't get it out of my mind, until finally I had an idea for one. I wrote a poem--something I hadn't done for decades--and submitted it. It made it through to final selections, and then it fell just short of getting in, and I received the nicest, most flattering rejection letter any writer could ever hope for. It described the piece's "powerful vision . . . beautifully rendered in formal verse," and it warmed my heart to hear the editor say that "It will always be a part of the issue in my mind." She would be glad to know that "The Duty" has received a home elsewhere, and in June of this year it will appear alongside other poets' contributions in Dragon Soul Press's Organic Ink, Volume 1. I will update my website's newly named "Short Stories & Poetry" page with more information as I receive it, including the cover art and how the book (which is supposed to be available in hardcover, paperback, and e-book formats) may be obtained. And yes, it rhymes. I'm not that type of poet. I am thrilled to see my horror story, "The Mystified Morpheus," accepted for publication in the Millhaven Press anthology Fierce Tales: Shadow Realms, especially due to the fact that selling horror has become about as difficult as writing comedy in today's offense-sensitive times. Just as comedians have to deal with worrying about their material being declared "offensive" to certain groups or individuals (or the fame-seeking wannabes who simply want to be heard and look for any excuse to achieve it), horror writers are finding their hands tied in a similar vein.
I can't tell you how many times I was unable to submit this story in the past because the publishers announcing their call for horror stories have posted their "automatic rejection" list, detailing story elements that would exempt a piece from consideration. And sure enough, there would be something there that would eliminate my tale in their eyes. I began to feel that horror in literary form had devolved into "horror-LITE," a weaker, safer, more audience-friendly form of horror that is nothing but a pale shadow of its former self. Funny how televised horror is the exact opposite. Perhaps it is a backlash to TV, or to the previous decades of horror fiction that had little to no boundaries and took things to outrageous extremes, that resulted in this, but I still contend that horror is supposed to be horrible. If it's restricted from being too horrible, it's only hurting itself and the genre these publishers purport to publish. And I do get it. I was recently reading a slew of old horror anthologies I had collected in the nineties and never got around to reading, and I personally found them to be gross and over-the-top, but I was more offended by the poor stories than any specific plot element in them. And it was just that--a specific plot element--that was mostly hindering my attempts to get this story before an editorial submissions board. It got so that I finally caved in and allowed myself to make one change--a slight one--just so I could submit it to even more publishers and improve my chances. (I guess I will always wonder if this change was even needed after all, and if this piece would have been accepted in its original, unaltered form.) Fortunately, there are still a few publishers out there who actually ask for extreme horror and don't shackle writers' creativity by putting limitations on what they are allowed to include in their tales. This one was actually the only horror piece I currently have for submission calls, the rest being mostly science-fiction, with some fantasy and even comedy, so I probably won't have to worry about this again for a while. But I still commiserate with my fellow horror writers who must struggle to get their vision before an audience. With the already-challenging task of competing against seemingly more writers than ever before (let's face it, the Internet has made it easy for anyone and everyone to find and submit to a call for stories), we don't need additional reasons for our stories to be culled. So that's why I am even more thrilled that this story is the one that has found a home. I can't wait to see what will be its neighbors. I am constantly checking for when magazines and anthologies post their call for stories. For those familiar with this process, the term "simultaneous submission" should be all-too-familiar. It's one of the most important aspects in the submission process, as well as the most dreaded. It refers to whether an editor will accept a story submission from you when it is "simultaneously" being submitted to other markets as well. Some refuse to accept anything that has already been sent elsewhere, while (and this next trend fortunately is showing up more and more) others understand the need to send to as many publishers as possible and will accept simultaneous submissions. Why is this so important?
An editor preparing for an upcoming issue or anthology will set a reply date (or, if not an actual date, then the number of days or months that it will take for you to get your response). This is not set in stone, however, and editors may stray from this time depending on how overwhelmed they are with submissions. Sometimes they will let you know; oftentimes they will not. And some publishers do not even give you a hint at how long it will take right from the start. I also can't tell you (well, I actually can since I keep detailed records of all my submissions) how many times an editor will not even let you know if your story has been rejected and only contact the ones whom they will be purchasing stories from. So just how long can a story be held in limbo like this until it can safely, and in good conscience, be submitted to one of those publishers that will not accept simultaneous submissions? I wish I had an answer for this. All I can do is post this in hopes that publishers will be aware of this situation (that not all editors reply according to such regulated schedules--if they reply at all!) and perhaps adjust their policies to be more lenient and accommodating to their submitting authors. After a writer painstakingly crafts his work with sentences that best exhibit the notions that crept from his or her mind, the next step is to go back and reevaluate them. The obvious reason for this is the hunting down of any typos or mistakes—both grammatical and plot-related—that are apparently unavoidable no matter how practiced or experienced you are. But this also is the time when certain sentences may come off sounding awkward and in need of reworking.
One of the things I have to watch for is sentence length. I do not like simple sentences. (Except, apparently, to make a grand statement like the previous one.) Compound sentences, complex sentences, compound-complex sentences… These are the types I prefer, and I frankly don’t see the reason for writing an adult-targeted story as if it were written for grade-school students who are just learning to read. Say it simply. Why? So it can sound dull? Are we really encouraging writers to simplify their text just so less-learned readers can avoid the experience of having to look up and learn a new word? What would be terrible about that? In high school I went through a period where I started riddling my speech with “fifty-cent words” (perhaps a result of all my late night reading). When this of course did not go over well, I did a complete one-eighty in college just to fit in better. But in my writing… there I stayed true to my nature. It is no surprise that writing teachers would occasionally comment on my long sentences. They were grammatically correct—in fact, I think one of the joys I take from writing in this way comes from composing a perfect sentence that links all my related thoughts together in an interesting manner while remaining 100% accurate from a grammatical standpoint. But even I will admit when a sentence gets away from me and is in need of reshaping. I just object to the notion of simplifying for no reason, when the sentence successfully does its job and conveys my idea flawlessly but is simply longer than the average reader is used to. I never emulated Hemingway. Known for simple sentences, his writing style is exemplified in classrooms as the ideal to strive for. (I am only learning now that his style changed depending on the particular book, and that he even crafted a sentence that was well over four hundred words!) It has also been argued that it wasn’t his sentences that were simple as much as his choice of wording. That’s even worse! Could you imagine how dull it would be if we were to go through life only hearing and using the same boring words? Well guess what; it’s already been imagined. In George Orwell’s 1984, which I am currently halfway through reading for the very first time, Big Brother’s society uses a technique whereby the language is being eroded away so that all concepts are represented by a few simple words. This is done in accordance with a belief that eliminating certain words altogether from a language will eliminate the possibility that its members will even be able to conceive of the notions behind them. If there are no words to convey the concepts of freedom or rebellion, how can one consider them? I don’t know if there have ever been any studies to justify this idea—or how one could even be accomplished!—but it still stands as one of the elements in the novel that one would want to avoid in real life. What a colorless world we would live in if our speech—and more so our reading material—were dumbed down to the point of lacking any interest altogether. The story alone cannot cut it; even the most engaging tale requires flavor to bring it to life. Which brings me back to the editing process, and the tightrope we walk when trying to conform to certain accepted notions of how a sentence should be while still allowing our personal flair to show through. It is perhaps the least pleasurable part of the writing process for an author, but it is also one of the most important steps, as how your narrative sounds to the reader’s ear may win or lose your audience. Is it any wonder that this topic weighs heavily on my mind? Is exposition “old-fashioned”? Why is it hated so much? I personally have no problem with it – enjoy it even – which is probably why it creeps up so much in my writing. Internal monologs that reveal motives and intentions; anecdotes about characters’ past incidents; in-depth explorations of alien societies. Often my favorite parts of books would be those sections that told us things that were not part of the story itself but were part of the world in which the story plays out. And since most of the books I read took place in imaginary realms of science fiction or fantasy, they often relied on such devices.
Descriptive text bores me. I don’t care what color the walls are. I don’t want to read an entire page about the weather. “Show, don’t tell?” What is this, a movie? Even movies lately suffer from an overabundance of showing without telling, as filmmakers imitate Ridley Scott and treat their films as paintings that need no explanation. I’m sorry, but a story is not a painting. A painting may speak a thousand words, but the words are different for each viewer. A story – and movies are stories just as much as books are – should show things in a definitive manner, not just leave it to the viewer to interpret what he or she wants. That is not how you tell a story. That may work for music videos, but not for narrative fiction. Back to exposition. I had heard so many complaints against expository writing that I’m constantly paranoid and forced to second-guess my own writing because of my predilection to incorporate exposition on a regular basis. And yet as I read older books – and yes, I do still find myself often reading books from the early half of the twentieth century – I am made very much aware of all the exposition involved. How can teachers rail against such writing and then include classics on their students’ “summer reading lists” that are perfect examples of them? “Like what?” you ask. Well, I had never read George Orwell’s 1984 in high school, opting instead to read Anthony Burgess’s A Clockwork Orange. I had recently become curious about the other classic that I had neglected, and so I requested it from my library. Eighty pages in, and it dawned on me. Hardly anything has happened so far, and most of the book is exposition. I’m not complaining! It is exactly the type of situation that calls for it. How else can you plumb the depths of a fanciful society that exists only in the author’s imagination than through constant asides and historical footnotes about fictional events that make up the backstory of its world? I am beginning to come to the conclusion that teachers – and readers as well – who complain so much about exposition do not readily read fanciful fiction and instead prefer reading stories that take place in more reality-inspired settings (what to me would be “the boring real world”). Not that I do not occasionally read books of that nature. I have enjoyed Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, and (another high school reading list classic) Pat Conroy’s The Lords of Discipline. And I am a huge fan of Ian Fleming’s series of 007 adventures. But rarely do I place my own stories in such a “normal” realm. Is my writing in an “old-fashioned” style? Does that make it outdated, or just different? I could accept the latter, especially since it is the secret goal of all writers to have their work stand out from the masses. As I struggle to stay true to my vision of how my stories should be, I pray that my audience will also share my taste for the anecdotal text that works to enhance the setting while it attempts to complement the narrative storyline. It is my hope that I am not alone in this appreciation of a style that seems to have worked so well for authors in the past who are universally revered as literary geniuses. I’m not looking to be counted among them; I simply don’t want to be ostracized for not playing by modern rules. |
AuthorCreator of the Canis Sapiens series, Anthony Regolino created this blog to discuss his work, upcoming projects, and writing in general. Archives
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