Clarkesworld Anthology 2012 (54 page)

As to the craft of writing, a great deal has changed. He who does not evolve dies, or at least he should. I’m always working on becoming a better writer. While it’s true that my entire series was written at once, the books still took me four and a half years. From what I can see, my voice and style has definitely improved over time. I hope I never get to a stage with my writing where I become too arrogant or inflexible not to continue to push for constant, incremental improvement. I do believe that writing is a craft, and it takes years to move from apprentice to master. Where on the scale am I? I’m not sure, but it’s a muscle that I’ll continue to strengthen the more I use it.

As to professionally, I guess the first thing that has changed is this: I now feel like I can say that I have one—a profession, that is. When you self-publish, even if you make significant money, there is still doubt in the back of your mind whether you’ll be chastised for applying the label “professional writer” to yourself. There is no doubt that I’m taken much more seriously now that I have the traditional stamp of approval. It’s manifested in all kinds of ways: requests to blurb other authors’ books, speaking engagement requests (I recently did a talk at the Library of Congress), the way my online interactions are taken, and requests from people to do interviews. When I was self-published, I always felt like I was standing with downcast eyes and my hat in hand when talking about my books. Nowadays I feel that I’m
allowed
to speak about them with my head held high, and that removes a lot of stress.

What’s next for you?

Going back to the last question, the only way to guarantee steady income is to keep writing. Since finishing the edits for The Riyria Revelations in June of 2011, I’ve been busy working on my next books. I have three written, and I’m about fifty-percent done with a fourth. Of course, I’m hoping that Orbit will pick them up as well, but I’ve not submitted anything…
yet
. The next project that will likely hit the street will be
Antithesis
: Two opposing individuals possess limitless magic, providing the universe balance. An unexpected death transfers this power to an unsuspecting bystander who is clueless of the consequences of his newfound abilities.

I tend to write my own “back of the book blurbs” or “elevator speech” and do so early on to help me articulate what a book is about. This is what I have so far:

Have you ever wondered how the world will end?

No? Well, don’t sweat it. Most people don’t, and the few that do expect the cause will be a dramatic change in climate, a pandemic, or mostly likely war. That’s what we’ve all been taught to believe, and we’re comfortable with rational explanations. But people weren’t always so quick to accept the facts provided by so-called experts. There used to be a time when we believed in myth and magic. Our minds were open to the idea of things that couldn’t be seen…the fantastical.

Having been that way myself, I can understand the propensity…but then I met Winston Stewart and learned to believe that there are other forces at work—not the least of which is fate. Fate is an amazing thing. It put Gandhi in South Africa, Nelson at Gibraltar, and Winston Stewart on that train in Alexandria, Virginia.

You don’t know who Winston Stewart is? You will.

I’m also keeping my ear to the ground about how The Riyria Revelations are being received and whether people want more. There are many ideas I have for prequels—or even sequels set in the far distant future. What I won’t do is tack on to Percepliquis, the last book. The series was carefully choreographed to end as it did. To extend directly to that story would ruin something that I feel is pretty special as it is. But Riyria existed for twelve years before the start of
The Crown Conspiracy,
and Royce and Hadrian had many exciting escapades that could be explored. Also, I could do a series of books about the original empire and the fall of Percepliquis, or go even further back in time to the original war between men and elves. I really like the idea that the religious beliefs that Elan holds in the days of The Riyria Revelations are actually myths that have been distorted over time. The “actual” events would have been much different than what they have been led to believe.

So I’m watching and waiting. I’m very conscious of not “milking the series.” I’m really happy with what I created, and I don’t want to be like one of those television series that stays around long past its prime. I think there are two ingredients that are required: first, have a compelling story to tell, and secondly, have an audience interested in reading it. I think I have plenty of the first, but I’m going to let the readers decide if there are any of the second. To that end, I do have a work-in-progress area of my blog where people can vote on which stories they would be most interested in. Bottom line: I don’t want to overstay my welcome in Elan. But if people want more, I’m more than happy to oblige.

Any parting words of advice, encouragement, or mischief?

Many readers of fantasy also feel like they have a book inside waiting to get out. To them I say, “Go for it.” Even if you write something only for your own enjoyment, you never know where that may take you.

As for life in general: I’m glad that I learned early on that life is too short to do something you don’t enjoy doing. I’m fortunate to have a wife that was willing to support me while I chased, and eventually caught, my dream. Without getting too
Princess Bride
on you, I do believe in true love, and if you can find yours, your life will always be spectacular.

As for mischief: I’m a rebel. I believe in doing things my way. I don’t mind bucking a system (or two or three). Know that you can be in complete control of your own life, if you only dare to step off the well-worn path. And last but not least, live by the immortal words of the classically trained and revered philosophers of
Galaxy Quest:
“Never give up! Never surrender!”

About the Author

Jeremy L. C. Jones is a freelance writer, editor, and teacher. He is the Staff Interviewer for
Clarkesworld Magazine
and a frequent contributor to
Kobold Quarterly
and
Booklifenow.com.
He teaches at Wofford College and Montessori Academy in Spartanburg, SC. He is also the director of Shared Worlds, a creative writing and world-building camp for teenagers that he and Jeff VanderMeer designed in 2006. Jones lives in Upstate South Carolina with his wife, daughter, and flying poodle.

Another Word: Dear Speculative Fiction, I’m Glad We Had This Talk

Elizabeth Bear

Look.

I’m sitting down to have this conversation with you as a friend, as somebody who loves you. As somebody who’s devoted thirty-odd years of her life to you.

We’ve all made some mistakes. We’ve all had moments in our lives when we got a little self-important, maybe. Where our senses of humor failed us.

I’m as guilty as anyone of taking myself too seriously.

But for you, it’s become an addiction. You seem to think that nothing fun can have value; that only grimdark portentousness and dystopia mean anything. You wallow in human suffering and despair, and frankly—it makes me tired.

I remember when we were younger. You were so clever, so playful. So much fun. We had some good times. You could make me laugh and think at the same time. You made my pulse race.

But we got older and started understanding a little better how complicated the world is. How layered people’s motivations are. At first, you seemed to handle the moral complexity well. You’d give me something like
The Forever War
or
The Left Hand of Darkness
, and we could talk about it for hours.

I mean, I sensed your ambivalence. But I had some ambivalence of my own. That’s the thing about ambivalence—it’s a kind of tension. And tension drives a narrative, right?

And I don’t know if you got uncomfortable with the tension? Maybe you felt like you couldn’t live in limbo anymore, but you’d seen too much to believe in happy endings anymore. I’m guessing, I admit—but I wonder if you felt like had to find some way to resolve things. Get some closure. And escapism… just wasn’t open to you any more.

You started thinking you had to be cynical and mean to accomplish anything. You got wrapped up in your own history and your long-running arguments. You buried yourself in the seriousness of it all, and you forgot how to tell a joke. You even got—I hate to say it—kind of pretentious. Didactic, even.

The thing is, that kind of cynical pose is really just a juvenile reaction to the world not being what we hoped. We can’t have everything—so we reject anything. But it’s adolescent, darling, and most of us outgrow it. We realize that as much as the world can be a ball of dung, and horrible things can happen for no reason, there are positive outcomes too, sometimes. I’m not going to say things balance out, because of course they don’t—life is not fair—but it’s not just awful, either.

I’m not crying out for slapstick, here. You know that’s never done it for me. And I’m certainly not saying that I want you to be shallower.

If anything, I’m asking you to be deeper—to embrace more of the range of human experience. Not just the bad times. I mean, sure, we need to acknowledge the bad times, and I’ve deeply admired your recent willingness to explore new perspectives, to take on issues of race and gender and sexuality that once you would have shied from.

I have never doubted your courage.

But look at Terry Pratchett. (I know, we should all be Terry Pratchett. But then what would
he
read?) He manages to be incisive without being pretentious. He manages to be sharp and illuminating
by
being funny. Look at Neil Gaiman. Here’s a guy who can tackle some hard subjects and still have a good time. He makes people like him, and because they like him, they listen when he says hard, important things.

I almost hate to bring it up, but… J.K. Rowling? I know, you don’t take her seriously. She’s a woman, and she writes for kids, and in fairness some of the later books… could have used a closer encounter with the blue pencil. So it’s easy for you to dismiss her. But what you can’t dismiss is that she reaches people—and whether you agree with the way she discusses issues like class bigotry or not, the fact is, she does discuss them. Her awareness of them saturates her work, and it gets into people’s heads—because millions of people
read
her work.

I guess what I’m saying here is, look at Lenny Bruce. Look at George Carlin. The angrier they got, the less fun they got—and the less effective they got, because nobody wants to listen to an old man cat-yell at the kids on his lawn.

Oh, honey, I’m not saying you’re old. And I’m not leaving you. You’re a big part of my life, and I will always be here for you. I’m just trying to make sure that you’re always here for
me
, and sitting there in a toxic stew of your own bitterness… it’s not good for you.
Look
at you. When was the last time you left the house? When was the last time you read something because it was
fun
, not because you thought it was good for you?

Stern-lipped moral uprightness is not a literary value, darling. Sure, theme is. I’m not disputing that. But did you know that John Gardner talked about this thing he called “disPollyanna Syndrome?” He considered it a literary vice—the cynical fallacy that the real world is unrelievedly bleak—and he considered it as great a disservice to art as its opposite. And… he cited Harlan Ellison as a chief practitioner in this mode.

Oh, I heard you gasp. But the New Wave is one of the primary influences on the way we live our life and do our work today. And also, I hear you say, Harlan was popular! And funny!

Well, yes, he was funny. That’s why he got away with it. But you? I feel like all we have anymore is pus and severed limbs and the eschaton. And that’s not something we can build a future on, is it?

Kind of by definition.

I’m just saying that it’s right—and humane and morally correct—to harbor a deep and abiding concern for the world around you. And that it’s a perfectly normal—even laudable!—trait to express that concern and draw attention to problems by being savagely trenchant, witty, and sarcastic. Caustic, even. I want you to speak out. I want you to say what you mean.

But sometimes lately, spending time with you is like having my face pressed down into a trough of human misery until the bubbles stop.

You can have a sense of humor too. It’s
okay
. We’ll
still like you
. We’ll still take you seriously. We just think it’d be best for all of us if you could let yourself unbend just a little.

I know. It’s easier to get people to take you seriously when you’re all grit and pus and urban decay—or all gut wounds and bureaucratic incompetence, for that matter. It seems like a quick route to street cred. But the thing is, real people generally aren’t miserable all the time. Even in horrible situations, they find ways to take a little pleasure, to crack jokes. Dying people and homicide cops and soldiers are generally really funny.

I want us to have a little pleasure again too.

And maybe we’d have more friends if you weren’t such a downer to be around all the time.

About the Author

Elizabeth Bear was born on the same day as Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, but in a different year. This, coupled with a childhood tendency to read the dictionary for fun, led her inevitably to penury, intransigence, the mispronunciation of common English words, and the writing of speculative fiction. She has published nearly a hundred short stories and twenty novels, the most recent of which is
Range of Ghosts
from Tor (2012). Among her genre honors are two Hugo Awards and a Sturgeon Award. She grew up in New England and lived in Las Vegas for seven years. She now resides in central Massachusetts, where she shares half of an eleventy-two-year-old house with a giant ridiculous dog. She has no plans to leave the Northeast ever again, except on brief exploratory excursionsand regular visits to western Wisconsin, the domicile of her partner, notorious (and brilliant) fantasist, Scott Lynch.