Jens vs. the World #5

June 27th, 2010

Jens and Randi were in a pleasant Mexican restaurant in a small Texas town. “I’d like a margarita,” Jens told the waitress.

“Oh, this is a dry county. We don’t have margaritas.”

“What is this, freaking Iran? Give me a margarita, you heathen Mohammedan!”

Randi gave their agreed-upon distress signal. Jens desisted.

“Well, then, maybe you can help me with something else,” Jens said. “I’m looking for my friend. His name is Meth. Meth M. Phetamine. Do you know where I can find Meth?”

“Oh, sure, honey, just go down to the Meth Market.”

“I thought that said ‘Math Market’. I guess ‘Meth Market’ makes more sense,” Jens said.

They went to the Meth Market. It was busy. Jens bought some meth. He paid for it with Visa. “Every modern convenience,” he said. “Country living.”

A constable passed. Jens quickly hid his purchase, but the cop saw nonetheless. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that in these parts,” he said with a chuckle. “We love meth, ’round here.”

“Really? Do explain,” said Jens.

“Meth’s the best thing to happen to this town since the cattle industry!” said the friendly sheriff or whatever. “Meth paid off my ranch house. Meth paid off my F250. Meth is putting my kids through college.

“But the economic argument aside,” continued the friendly lawman, “this here is Real America, Main Street America, Tea Party America. We believe in small government, a government that doesn’t interfere with the rights of the individual.”

“Then,” said Jens conspiratorially, “maybe you can tell me where I can buy a margarita.”

The lawman stiffened. “Sir, I will pummel your fucking face.”

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Jens vs. the World #4

June 16th, 2010

Jens was at a party. He didn’t want to be. He ate some carrots and carrots and then some carrots.

“I need a new house,” said someone. “My old house is too old.”

Someone else said, “Have you heard about these new houses they’re building out in this town? They’re waaaaaay out, you can almost see this other town from that town. So nice, they’ve got a swimming pool and a golf course and oh my god.”

“Hello! Ghetto!” said the first someone. “When I think that town, I think dump.”

Jens ate some carrots. “I actually think the oil spill is a good thing,” he said.

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Now what what now?

June 15th, 2010

Whew! I’m done with draft one! I have hours a day free, and weeks before vacation consumes my time as a hippo consumes marbles. Whatever will I do with myself?

My natural response when I asked myself that question was: drug addiction. I’m unemployed, now would be a good time! That is what people do when they are unemployed, yes? Unfortunately I have no howling void within my soul that demands to be filled.

So.

  • Learn how to play bluegrass guitar. I’ve got a family reunion in Iowa in July. Evidently my mother’s side of the family is full of skilled bluegrass musicians, and the reunion is one long jam session. I’ve got a beautiful guitar and a clamorous amplifier. I should put my mouth where my money is, so to speak. TANSTAAFL Pub in town has weekly bluegrass jam sessions. So. Time to practice.
  • Read my friend Jason’s novel. I’ve been critiquing it since December. Bad, bad Jens. Finish tout de suite! Especially as we’re visiting him and his wife and kid this July. It would be most embarrassing to have not yet finished. It’s pretty good, and a pleasure to read! But critiques take time take time take time.
  • Read. I’ve spent maybe five hundred bucks on books since our return. Time to put my eyeballs where my money is. It is a joy to read with no demands on your time, with no pressure of needing to do other things. Lordy, I better not ever have kids.
  • Video games. How is it I am unemployed and still don’t have time to play all the video games I want? I’m hip-deep in The Saboteur, which is glorious though wounded, like a twelve-point buck with an arrow through its liver. Also, Bioshock 2, Mass Effect 2, et cetera ad nauseum.
  • Go outside some. I went to a state park last weekend, did a trail run, swam, hiked. It was a blast. I am forcing myself to enjoy the outdoors and finding, to my delight, that I do not have to force myself. Tomorrow I am going mountain biking even though no one is making me.

And in terms of writing:

  • This late summer I’ll be doing revisions of this Aetheria novel (still needs a name) and Khatima. Revisions are fun. No problem.
  • Maybe a short story or two before I head out on vacation, and maybe a few more whilst vacationing.
  • This fall I’ll be writing a cooperative… collaborative… novel with Talented Friend Alex Burns. We’ve been talking about this for, like, a year now. Can’t wait. We’ll be taking a few days later this month for intense brainstorming sessions. We’ll lock ourselves in a room and not come out until we have an outline. Bread and water will be passed in on trays.

And in the long, long term:

  • I’ll be doing another collaborative novel with Niles Bliss, a friend from my time in Korea. He maintains a funny, insightful music blog. I read some of his short fiction, loved it. We like much of the same fiction and have complementary writing skills, I think, so I expect that to be an interesting and fruitful endeavor.
  • My novel idea involving HH Holmes and Boston Corbett, following the years of Corbett’s life after he disappears from the Kansas insane asylum. I keep collecting books and ideas for this, and it keeps sounding better and more interesting. The soul of America is at stake!
  • This first novel set in Aetheria is nothing if not a series-starter. More to come, definitely, especially considering the ending. Wow!
  • Others.

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On Finishing

June 12th, 2010

This morning I typed those two most satisfying words - “THE ENDF” - then I went back and deleted the “F”, which was a typo. At that moment, a weight lifted from my shoulders and I shot through the roof like an ingot of cavorite, en route to the moon from whence I came.

What many people do not realize is that writing is hard work. It is easy to see only the romance, the classic image of a long-haired muscle-bound warrior poet with a big-breasted valkyrie hanging over him while he pounds away at his typewriter; “Voila!” cries he, “C’est ce la!”  and he tears off another sheet of golden prose, which is perfect on the first draft. Yes, that is true some of the time. But most of the time writing is sweat and blood mixed with sweat and tears mixed with blood mixed with sweat and a little bit of vomit. You know, “10% inspiration, 90% perspiration et cetera.” So true. So true.

So when I write a novel, it is three months of hard work, for hours a day, every day. Any day off must be made up for the next day. I drink so much coffee that by the end of a novel I am quite sick of coffee. There are flights of inspiration, where the words drip like molten steel from the corners of my slack lips, burning scars of imagination across the skin of my mind’s face; days when the words come hot and fast and I hit my quota with ease. Other days where the words must be coaxed, where they come as reluctantly as an nonagenarian’s bowel movements. These are the majority of days.

Then, after the torturous two to three hours are over (never less than an hour and a half, I can tell you), when I’m done writing for the day, I’m still not quite done writing. The book stays in my head. I think of what I’ve done and what I have yet to do. I worry about tomorrow’s words, about finding the time, about figuring out what comes next. I live more in the novel than I do in the “real world”. When the novel goes poorly, I am stressed, depressed, moody. When it goes well, I am elated, happy, good company. These figments have a grip on my brain, and they twist it as they will.

The work is difficult, it is time-consuming, it is mind-consuming, it offers little in the way of hope for external reward. God, do I love it. I have found no greater pleasure than writing. Perhaps the misery and anguish of the experience serve to throw the emotional and artistic rewards into greater relief, like this cocktail I had last night - lemon-orange with a dash of cayenne pepper.

I am mortified and thrilled that, even while this novel requires quite a bit of work, at least three other ideas jostle in the birth canal of my brain, demanding to be birthed at once. Thrilled that I have so many exciting ideas; mortified that I must deliver them.

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Dream (COPYRIGHT JENS RUSHING 2010)

June 10th, 2010

A mysterious organization kidnapped me and injected me with something. Then, while I rubbed my sore arm, the CEO, a friendly yet commanding short-sleeves kinda guy, explained to me that, really, they owed everything to me. One of his operatives, looking for new ideas to radically change the world, had seen one of my childhood drawings in a museum - a crude representation of the solar system that accidentally put Ganymede, the moon of Jupiter, between Mars and Earth. “It was so simple,” he said, “but we had no idea until we saw your drawing. We simply move Ganymede out of Jupiter’s gravity well and make it the new fourth planet. This will slightly alter the pitch of the musica universalis, and cause all mesons in this universe to reverse their charge. Meaning that anyone who has that injection that we just gave you will gain superpowers. What superpower do you want? Flight? Super-strength? Super-intelligence? Prehensile tail?”

“Flight, please.”

Then I woke up.

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A good day is a day I get to use “deliquesce” in conversation.

June 9th, 2010

Videlicet, the novel proceeds apace. I’m so very close to wrapping this up. That carries with it the normal sense of triumph that comes with completing any lengthy work, a work that takes multi-months, or “polymonths” to complete. I could say that I began this novel in March, when I started this draft, but it is more accurate to say that I began it in January, when the idea occurred to me and I wrote out the notes; but it would be more accurate still to say that I began it in 2006, when I wrote one-third of an egregious first draft, now scrapped, but nonetheless providing the raw genetic material that would become this draft; and it would be most accurate of all to say I began it in a Waffle House in 2005, tossing around ideas with Joel, and this came up: “Maybe, like, there’s a street urchin thief-type character, and a guy who owns a zeppelin, and they have adventures and stuff.”

The idea has gone through a nonillion iterations since then; I have taken the skeleton of the “street urchin with a heart of gold” cliché and mangled it, forcing it into unnatural positions until, I hope, one can no longer recognize its original state. I have taken the skin of the “band of adventurers and misfits” cliché and crafted it into a variety of household items and fashionable summer garments until that, too, is unrecognizable. I hope. Most stories begin with archetypes; the goal is to move on from those.

So, to digress, this story has been in the pressure cooker of my brain for a long time, and I will be delighted, nay, relieved to have it geyser soupily forth. I expect to report my success within six days. Possibly sooner. Then I can get on with this shambling, makeshift charade that humans call “life”.

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A Disgusting Gift for You

June 9th, 2010

From today’s work on the novel:

They passed the old gates that demarcated the Charnels, iron gates long since rusted permanently open. The slaughterhouses were huge, almost as large as Company superstructures. The stench of the district was powerful, sickening, rotten, the discharge of millions of animals mixed with the rotting remains of millions more; the warmth of the scabbing vats accelerated the decay and aggravated the foetor. Jumbles of hair, shards of bone, hooves, claws, horns, gristle, scales, feathers formed nightmare cryptids.

“Get back!” Cyrus hissed, drawing his pistol and knife. One of the gore-piles was moving, crawling forward, a ghastly slug pulling itself along on appropriated, mismatched feet. Feathers and curved horns jutted from it, and one long skinless horse’s leg protruded from the front, scenting left and right like a butterfly’s proboscis. Skeletal parodies of wings made of ribs unfolded from its back, and yellowed eyeballs surfaced and crawled in the folds of its ragged muscles.

Ain’t that lovely?

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Scifi Primer

June 2nd, 2010

A friend just asked me to recommend some scifi or fantasy books for a reader new to the genres, and I typed out an enthusiastic reply. I think the response is a pretty good primer, so I’m going to post some excerpts here, for the use of anyone just now getting into these genres, the present and future of Literature.

First let me congratulate you on your adventurousness in seeking out new genres, and let me express my hopes that you’ll enjoy them; I’ve always liked genre lit (”genre lit” meaning anything other than “Literature”, be it scifi, fantasy, murder mysteries, romance, etc), and while I may not like all those genres (romance, etc), I heartily believe that each genre is capable of generating Art, or Good Art, if you will, and I heartily disdain the literati who look down on anything because it has spaceships, or monsters, or anything that isn’t “real”; art transcends genre, dammit. If anything, SF/F are MORE able to explore and comment upon our reality, as they have unparalleled powers for allegory that “LITERATURE” lacks; they allow you to examine the world from a wholly new perspective.

All right. First of all, scifi and fantasy are often lumped as one, and they have many things in common, but they are two different things - or can be. The genres have broadened so much and overlapped and grown together that there are works genuinely hard to classify, but generally speaking, scifi books are interested in futurism and, often, science, while fantasy is about the supernatural or mythical, usually in other, fantastic worlds - my tastes generally lie in fantasy, because I’m more interested in historical or cultural issues, which I think are better explored in fantasy than scifi. BUT these are only broad generalizations, and both genres have a lot going on.

Another catch-all term is “speculative fiction”, which can mean works that are both of these things, or neither, but nonetheless contain weird or extraordinary elements.

Within scifi, there’s “hard” and “soft” scifi. For a long time, hard SF dominated the field, but “soft” has enjoyed a surge in popularity over the past 20-30 years. Hard SF tends to care about the details of science and be interested in the nitty-gritty of how the spaceships run, how alien planets are terraformed, etc. Soft SF elevates character and plotting over that. I tend to prefer soft, but I’ve read excellent books in both subgenres. For “hard” scifi, Robert Heinlein’s “juveniles” are very good - they’re books written for teens in the 1950s. The young audience forced him to keep his plotting under tighter control, it seems, as well as his political diatribes. They’re fun, a bit pulpy. I really enjoyed “Starman Jones”. The first Heinlein book I read was “Friday”, about an “artificial person”, a genetically modified human being built in a lab, and her struggles against discrimination and for survival in a crumbling world. It’s good, and good-natured for a Heinlein book. “The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress”, about the moon fighting a war of secession against the Earth, is my personal favorite. Disclaimer: the dude was a hardcore libertarian, and his political views are disgusting, and never expressed more strongly than in “Moon”; however, the plotting and characters of the book are good enough to outweigh that. Great book, take with a grain of salt.

Another hard-ish SF I really enjoy is anything by Lois McMaster Bujold. Her stuff is often lumped as “military SF”, but it’s really not; she describes her own books as “novels of character”, and, indeed, her characters are superbly developed. She also has a good sense of humor and an absolutely riveting control of plot and pacing. Currently one of my favorite authors. She has more Hugo awards for Best Novel (that’s SF/F’s highest honor) than any other author but Heinlein, and she will probably surpass him, having the advantage of still being alive.
Her main SF work is the “Vorkosigan saga”, about Miles Vorkosigan, a brilliant though deformed young officer in the Barrayar Intelligence Services; he foils coups, invasion plots, leads mutinies against insane officers, etc. The books are supposed to be readable in any order, but I recommend starting at the start, with “Shards of Honor”. “Shards of Honor” was bundled with its direct sequel, “Barrayar”, as “Cordelia’s Honor”, which is what I recommend buying.
Failing that, try “Young Miles”, which collects “The Warrior’s Apprentice” and “The Vor Game”.

Another excellent series, which bridges hard and soft SF and mixes in a bit of humor, is Dan Simmon’s “Hyperion” series. It’s two books - “Hyperion” and “The Fall of Hyperion”, and they are two halves of one story so you have to read both, but they’re so good it won’t be a problem - and they take place in a far future where seven pilgrims are selected to visit the tomb of the “Shrike” on the planet Hyperion - the “Shrike” being a terrifying, totally alien godlike entity that will kill six of them and grant the seventh whatever he desires. As they travel, they tell the reasons why they came and what they hope to get; it’s like the Canterbury Tales in space. But better. Then, having established the basic conflict and situation in the first book, Simmons pulls back in the second book and shows how the fate of the pilgrims has ramifications for the whole universe. So good.

“The Forever War,” by Joe Haldeman. Haldeman was a Vietnam vet who wrote a deeply allegorical novel inspired by his experiences; but it is so much more than a mere allegory, it’s also a contemplation on how technology changes war and how war changes those who fight. Made me cry. “The Forever Peace,” a much later book, is not a sequel, merely a spiritual successor, and it’s just as good.
Soft scifi - I enjoy Philip Jose Farmer, who was known for his craaaazy ideas. The “Riverworld” books are top-to-bottom excellent, but it’s a four-book series, so a bit of an investment. The first is “To Your Scattered Bodies Go”. I read it in one sitting, it’s that good. All of humanity that has ever lived (some 36 billion people) is simultaneously resurrected along the banks of a 20 million mile-long river. They are now immortal. Who put them there? Why? Historical badasses like Mark Twain and Richard Burton and Cyrano de Bergerac team up to find out why.

One difficulty with SF/F is that it has historically been dominated by white male writers - SF especially. Ursula K. Leguin leaves most of them in the dust, though. Her intelligence is staggering. I recommend her short novel, “The Lathe of Heaven”, about a guy who sees a sleep therapist because his dreams have the ability to alter reality, and he wants to stop that. But the therapist has other plans. DUNH DUNH DUNH! It’s a brilliant exploration of psychology. Her “Dispossessed” and “The Left Hand of Darkness” both won Hugos, but I haven’t read ‘em. On my shelf.

Fantasy! Much of fantasy is typical “epic fantasy” - that is, elves, wizards, dragons, everyone being very serious all the time, giant books or book series that go on and on. “Lord of the Rings” is the original one. The “Wheel of Time” series and George RR Martin’s “Song of Fire and Ice” are other examples. I tend to avoid this stuff, as it can get turgid or boring, but it’s still the most popular form. I understand Martin’s series - “A Game of Thrones” is the first novel - is quite good. Jacqueline Carey’s “Kushiel” series, of which “Kushiel’s Dart” is the first - is supposed to be good, but I tried it, and it wasn’t my thing. But it sells and gets good reviews, so I cautiously recommend it.

Then there’s sword-and-sorcery, which is the low-rent cousin of epic fantasy, the nitty-gritty stories where there are no heroes, just a couple of bastards fighting each other. I love this stuff. Conan the Barbarian is the most famous example, Fritz Leiber’s “Fafhrd and Grey Mouser” series is also prominent (and excellent), Michael Moorcock’s “Elric of Melnibone” is another - I understand that is the edgiest of all, though I haven’t read it yet. Post-modern, brutal, fantasy intended to challenge the reader. Got ‘em on my shelf. But this subgenre, I acknowledge, is pretty masculine, definitely not for everyone.

There’s also an astronomical rise in popularity of “urban fantasy”, which strictly means anything fantastic or supernatural in a modern setting (such as Jim Butcher’s “The Dresden Files”, but usually means “self-insertionist protagonist has boring or ridiculous romances or fights with vampires or werewolves.” The dreck of this, of course, is the execrable “Twi—–” series, but also includes such bestselling bottom-feeders as Charlaine Harris. You can do better than this. Humanity can do better than this. I consider the subgenre as a whole polluted.

I recommend, though, unreservedly, everything by Fritz Leiber. He is intelligent, hilarious, satirical, poised, confident. He writes across several genres - horror, SF, fantasy - and his experiments in each are always rewarding. His Fafhrd-and-Mouser “Lankhmar” stories were hugely influential, and always fun. I highly recommend, too, “A Specter Is Haunting Texas” - a guy who grew up on the moon comes down to Earth a few hundred years in the future for some reason or other, and most of North America is now part of the country of Texas, where genetically-modified enormous white Texans drive huge Cadillacs and monstrous horses and maintain a weird feudalism over their genetically-stunted Mexican slave races; the hero finds himself an unwitting messiah-figure for a Mexican rebellion. The book is laugh-aloud funny cover-to-cover, and gripping, and tragic.
Also, “Conjure Wife”, his first novel, about an anthropologist whose wife takes up witchcraft. A smart, incisive look at the interplay between people who read fantasy for fun, and those who study it for a living.

Lois McMaster Bujold, the McMaster of my heart, has lately jumped genres and started writing in fantasy. I haven’t read them yet, but they’re cleaning up Hugo awards and selling like hotcakes. She has the “Chalion” trilogy, of which “The Curse of Chalion” is the first, and the “Sharing Knife” series of four novels. Haven’t read them, but if she exercises her usual mastery of character and plotting, they’d be worth reading.

One of my favorite writers currently is China Mieville, a British Harvard- and Oxford-educated socialist/D&D nerd who writes “new weird” fiction. It is putatively fantasy, but has heavy tones of horror and steampunk (which is basically Dickens-flavored scifi, fantastic stuff with Victorian trappings). He has done more in the past decade to break boundaries than any other living writer. His stuff is smart, well-plotted, and not merely “edgy” but actually EDGY. His books stick with you. Wildly original. Brilliant stuff. He wrote a loosely linked trilogy in his fantasy world, Bas-Lag, which begins with “Perdido Street Station.”

Finally - I recommend Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” trilogy: “The Northern Lights”, known in the US as “The Golden Compass,” “The Subtle Knife,” and “The Amber Spyglass”. These are supposed to be young adult books, but they are dense and weighty with delicious themes and indelible characters. His plotting is superb, his fantasy worlds are rich and fascinating, and the books seriously, no kidding, improve page by page from the beginning to the end, the final book being three hundred pages of constant emotional high. Stunning books.

Finally, an author that falls into none of these genres but is merely regarded as “speculative” - Harlan Ellison. He wrote many of the more famous Outer Limits and Twilight Zone and Star Trek episodes, and is one of the few authors to build his career almost entirely on short stories. His work rewards a random sampling, but some recommended stories are “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream” and “Mephistopheles in Onyx” and Djinn, No Twist” and “Send Not to Know for Whom the Lettuce Wilts”. He’s funny and often savage, and his stories are bite-sized. You can’t go wrong with a “best of” collection.

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Jens vs. the World #3

June 1st, 2010

Jens, the smartest person in the world, was at the Public Health Center.

“Can I help you?” said the nice lady.

“I would love a tetanus shot,” Jens said.

“Do you want to finish your Hepatitis A shots while you’re here?”

“I don’t know. Is that a very common disease?”

“Every time you eat at Taco Bell!”

“I’m a Bueno man, so I guess I’m good. Are your needles clean?”

“Jens!” said Randi. “That’s offensive!”

“Sorry,” Jens said. “Are your needles clean, sweetheart?”

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