My goal is to write a science fiction novel, but I don’t have the skill or discipline to finish one now. I write scenes and chapters, and then rewrite them. I spend much of my time thinking about fiction and how it’s created. I also spend a lot of time thinking and reading about the past and how we learn about it in fiction and nonfiction, films and documentaries, television shows, and even poems and songs.
When we read science fiction we read it imagining the scenes are happening in the future.
All art is communication from the past. Even when artists are creating their artwork in the present, they are inspired by the past in creating their communiqué to the future. Yet, when we experience art, we experience it in the present. Writing science fiction is hard because I’m writing a message to the future, about the future, but it’s really about their past, and my past, but perceived in some future present.
Once you start thinking about artistic temporal POV it gets as twisted as a time travel paradox.
Most readers will be thinking I’m overthinking this and say, “Quit procrastinating and go write a story about spaceships and robots.” I can crank out bad fiction all day long. Fiction is like a stage magic – full of illusions and sleight of hand. It’s easy enough to fool readers with crude make believe, but it’s damn hard to create a slick piece of storytelling magic.
My retired life is divided into three modes. The first, I spend living in the present, cooking, cleaning, having friends over for dinner, getting the hot water heater replaced, shopping for books, paying bills, etc. The second, and what I spend most of my time doing, is decoding messages from the past. The second mode happens in the present, so reading a book – the act of sitting in a chair and looking at pages – I’m still living in the first mode. In my head though, I’m decoding messages from the past. Most people never think about this, and reading a book or watching a movie is the present. It’s only when you examine how art is created that you start decoding the message from the past. My third mode of existence, which I’m working to expand, is spent coding messages to the future.
This morning I woke up at 4:09 am. I sat in the dark (I sleep in a chair) thinking about all this.
I put on Crosby, Stills & Nash, CSN’s first album. Listening to an album on headphones in the dark before dawn is a great time to focus on music and stimulate thinking. I remember buying this album the week it was released in 1969 and how excited I was to discover it. The Byrds were my favorite group in the 1960s, and Buffalo Springfield was another favorite band, so the names David Crosby and Stephen Stills jumped out. The album blew me away back then. And as I listened to it now, I admire it greatly for its artistic construction, and find it beautiful to hear. However, the songs are fascinating. They are histories themselves, many about famous girlfriends. Or the songs have a history themselves, like “Wooden Ships” which months later appeared on the Jefferson Airplane’s Volunteers album.
Why am I talking about music when I promised to talk about science fiction? I’m working on a story that I want to be about legendary people. When you read it, these people will be from the future, but the narrative will make you feel they are from the past, but the scene will be set in their present. What details from fifty years ago about ordinary people living their present survive to make legends?
Like I said, all artwork is a communication from the past. But even my urge to hear this album this morning comes from an earlier communication.
The other night I watched Legends of the Canyon about many famous musicians, songwriters and groups that lived in Laurel Canyon in the 1960s, including The Mamas and the Papas, The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, Joni Mitchell, and Crosby, Stills & Nash. Because David Crosby, Stephen Stills, Graham Nash and Dallas Taylor were prominently interviewed, the film almost seemed to be about the birth of CSN. Now I want to find time to listen to Joni Mitchell and The Mamas and Papas albums. I don’t think I’m an old guy that dwells on the past, at least not my personal past, but much of my retired time is spent listening to music, reading books, watching television and going to the movies. These people who lived in Laurel Canyon lived lives that are still being written about again and again. Imagine writing about such people who live in the future. How do you capture their essence in the fewest words?
One thing that struck me was the memories of Crosby, Stills and Nash had of the first time they played together. Crosby and Nash insist it was at Joni Mitchell’s house, Stills adamantly insists it wasn’t. Reading science fiction often feels like science fiction writers are predicting the future, but they are not. They never try to predict the future. We remember the past imperfectly, but we constantly mine it for value. Don’t we also mine speculation about the future for value even though we know those stories are completely untrue? Doesn’t fiction create truth out of lies?
I’m consuming the past. Part of that is being in the present moment just enjoying the art, but more and more, I’m thinking about where and how the art was produced. I have read many books and articles about these bands, albums and songs. As interpreters of art we do not have to know the history connected to them. You can listen to “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” without ever knowing that Stephen Stills was writing about Judy Collins. However, if you do study it’s history, the nature of how you appreciate the song changes. The more you know how the song was recorded, and how the band was formed to record it, the more you realize the song is history, part of the past, and not part of the present. Won’t the same be true about science fiction? The more you know about science and the present will enhance the art of painting imaginary futures?
Am I studying art, or studying history? Yesterday I cooked lentil soup while listening to The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway Volume One. The stories are exquisite. They are wonderful read by Stacy Keach (who Judy Collins left Stephen Stills for) on the Audible edition, making them dramatic, and the intent of Hemingway’s writing clear and obvious.
For my retirement years my goal is to write a novel, and I’m working on it sporadically. I’m not a very good writer, so I’m spending part of my days studying fiction and writing styles. When I listen to Hemingway I realize two very important things. One, Hemingway wrote as if he witness these events first hand. Some of his stories, like the Nick Adams tales, are autobiographical, but others like “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” are obviously fiction, but the details are so vivid, that I believe many of them are autobiographical too. Second, Hemingway wrote in a style that describes much with few words. His scenes are vivid and dramatic, with dialog so pitch perfect that they feel ultra realistic, like everything he writes is a documentary film. It has tremendous impact.
For example, just a few lines of dialog paints a vivid picture of the mother in “Soldier’s Home.” How did Hemingway create her? Was she like his mother, or did one of his friends tell him a story about their mother, or did Hemingway make it up whole? Like a poet, Hemingway uses very few words to capture this woman. The scene reminded me of conflicts with my mother when I was young. No matter where Hemingway got his idea, it feels like it had actually happened.
Most fiction is made up in the head of the writer. It’s not based or inspired by anything that really happened. Great fiction either captures real events, or fakes them so well they feel real. Good writing is about pulling off this trick.
I spend my days experimenting with writing science fiction, but I want to use the Hemingway style. How do I write about a future that will never exist as if I’m chronicling something I experienced for real? It’s only possible if I can visualize it completely, as if each scene really happened. I’m working on a scene where a man and women meet for the first time – how can I convey it to readers who can’t see what I’m seeing in my mind, and for me to make them feel they are experiencing something that really happened?
After I cooked the soup, I went to see Philomena with my friends Janis and Anne. It’s a movie based on real life events, which was also published as a book, The Lost Child of Philomena Lee by Martin Sixsmith. We all loved this quiet little movie because it was so real. I spend a lot of time thinking about how real life is turned into fiction, or how completely fictional characters are made to seem real. It often seems to me that the fiction with the most impact is either based on real events, or at least written by people who have been to the times and places where the stories took place.
That means science fiction and fantasy have a very real handicap. If everything comes out of the author’s mind then the story is limited by the author’s imagination. That’s why the Harry Potter books are so impressive. J. K. Rowling spent years imagining her characters and scenes. She even drew detailed pictures of them. And that might be why movie science fiction and fantasy is so much more popular than book SF&F. Movies have to create all the visuals and that makes the stories more real.
Science fiction and fantasy stories must spend a lot of time painting the scenery and explaining the cultural background, but don’t you think the Harry Potter books feel like the events actually happened? Isn’t that why they succeeded and other books about schools for wizards don’t?
Sometimes history is so distant that we must recreate it from imagined details. After the movie last night, Janis and I watched Alpha House, and then I watched an episode of Lark Rise To Candleford. Flora Thompson wrote a trilogy of books that were autobiographical sketches of growing up in rural England in the late Victorian times. As much as I love the TV series, it’s full of anachronistic thinking. I’ve read a little bit of the original book and it’s absolutely wonderful in providing period details.
Writing science fiction is like producing a television show over a century after the events – only a strange stylized view comes through. I wished I had the skill to write about the future with the details of Flora Thompson’s written observations. Since that’s impossible, I’d have to make up the details with that level of realism. I don’t know if that’s possible.
I’m currently listening to Distrust That Particular Flavor, a nonfiction book by William Gibson, where he talks about learning to write science fiction, but also deals with understanding the past, present and future. Gibson also admits to not knowing how to write when he started writing but taught himself. Listening to his essays I get the feeling he’s also obsessed with time and science fiction too, but maybe in a different way. He talks about writing about the net before the net caught on, and writing about future technology that we have no words to describe, especially verbs that explain its impact.
I’ve also reading Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell. It is a book written in the late 1940s about 1984 but about a future that has never happened but is all too real, that is now part of our past. Nineteen Eighty-Four is a brilliant piece of science fiction, absolutely stunning, among the best examples of the literary technique ever produced.
So, what makes Orwell’s great novel great? To me it’s the temporal POV. It reads like the events have already taken place, like the details given were facts of memory, like the characters actually lived through these events. It feels like Orwell lived through this time like Hemingway lived through the events in his stories. That’s a neat trick for a science fiction book. It’s a trick of literature. It’s a writing trick that distinguishes literature from genre. And it’s one very hard act to pull off.
In struggling to write my scenes, which I do over and over again, at best I can produce pulp fiction. I’m not being critical. There’s nothing wrong with pulp fiction. Hell, my writing isn’t even good pulp fiction.
But what all of this exploration of time and science fiction has taught me is I want to write as if I’ve already experienced what I’m writing. In other words, I want to write about the future as if I’ve already lived it, instead of imagining a future I might could live in.
JWH – 12/18/13
Filed under: Science Fiction, Time, Writing | 5 Comments »