Archive - November 2014

1
Ferguson: I don’t know what to say.
2
The Martian, by Andy Weir – A (sort of) Review
3
Don’t kill each other, kids.
4
My Friend Is Writing a Memoir About Being Pushed Off a 65-Foot Cliff by Jeff Bridges
5
Stretches for NaNoWriMo
6
Lee Child’s Secret Sauce to Cook Up Suspense
7
36 Little Details If You Want to Set a Story at MIT
8
All Teens Do . . .

Ferguson: I don’t know what to say.

I had a book news post scheduled to go up today, but I’ve delayed it till next week.

Last night, the grand jury returned a decision saying they were refraining from indicting the police officer who killed Mike Brown.  This means there will not be a trial.

More protests are breaking out.  People are angry, heartbroken, ashamed of the system we live under.

I’ve tried to think of something to say and I have nothing.  The grief I’m seeing, not just stemming from this one decision, but woven of the fabric of American society that would allow all of this to happen — unarmed kids dying, citizens getting tear gassed, police arresting journalists and government officials, the wide chasm of injustice when it comes to the amount of melanin in a person’s skin . . . I have no words.

So I’ll just say this, to my Black brothers and sisters and siblings: I see you.  Your lives matter.  I’m listening.

I’ll continue to listen.

The Martian, by Andy Weir – A (sort of) Review

This pseudo-review is of a book originally available for free on the author’s own website. After people clamoring to “take it with them” on an e-reader, Mr. Weir uploaded it to Amazon in 2012 and charged the minimum 99¢. Then the movie people came calling, and then the Big Publisher. The Martian is in production, slated for a November, 2015 release, starring Matt Damon and directed by Ridley Scott. 

I’m intentionally not saying much about the plot here because…spoilers.

 

I don’t review books, or let’s say I never have.

See, if I really love a book, I’m usually so immersed I’m not paying attention to why I’m loving it. I’m lost in the story. And frankly, analyzing a story I connect with kind of…ruins it for me. I cherish that little bubble of having had an emotional tie to a piece of entertainment—be it literature, a movie or a television show. If I start digging too deep, I might see the flaws and lose that lovely naivete.

But reading The Martian by Andy Weir gave me a unique experience, not the least because there were points in the story where I was so stressed out I had to put my head up and gulp air. What really got me was that there were so many points in the book that I yanked myself out of the story. Out of sheer giddy surprise. And so, I decided to write about it, and to recommend it.

Let’s start with a couple of disclaimers.

  1. I don’t generally read sci-fi. The concepts have gotten a little big for me. Quantum-this and plasma-that. I haven’t kept up with science enough to read hard-core sci-fi seamlessly. If I don’t understand a concept, I have to go figure it out, and that means spending more time on Wikipedia than on the story. I don’t have that much leisure to expend on one book, so I tend to pass on sci-fi.
  2. I am picky to the point of ridiculous about the books I read, and I’m a total contrarian. If a book’s “the THING,” I probably pass just because, though not always. I’ve never read a Twilight book or a FSoG book, or just about anything Oprah recommends. (After reading a few of her early recommendations, I concluded we REALLY don’t have the same taste in books. This is helpful, though. It’s as important to have opinions/reviewers you know you disagree with as those you do, in my opinion. A consumer has to have ways of making choices.)

So why was I drawn to The Martian? I can’t really say, except that I read an article about it in Entertainment Weekly and the book sounded so fascinating. An astronaut gets stranded alone on Mars and has to survive. Whoa, cool! The simple premise sends the mind spinning with all sorts of possibilities.  And then there was the opening sentence of the book: “I’m pretty much fucked.”

It didn’t hurt that the EW article was as much about the author as the book and I found Andy Weir instantly likeable. A writer I wanted to support. I bought the book and downloaded it to my Kindle, two years late to the party, but ready to go.

When I got to the end of chapter one I had my first big surprise moment. I thought, “I should tweet about this while I’m reading.” I was hooked. Hard. And I wanted to share my excitement. Why should that be a surprise? Most books I love have compelling first chapters, but I’ve never had the urge to want to tell anyone to READ THIS BOOK after a first chapter. As a writer, I was instantly aware that Weir had masterfully pulled off a feat with an extremely high degree of difficulty, a triple-cork 1440 of sorts. Eight pages. Action, character, setting and problem were all fully established in eight pages. Even though there is a good deal of techno-speak and mechanical jargon, it’s all accessible to a layperson, easily visualized, mostly because the protagonist, Mark Watney, narrates in a stunningly every-man voice. He’s a Mars astronaut for crying out loud, but his parts of the story feel a bit like having your next door neighbor tell you an amusing tale over beers across the fence. If your neighbor was an astronaut. And had been stranded on Mars.

After 7-ish pages of describing how he came to be in this predicament, and just what the predicament is, Watney wraps up Chapter One this way:

If the oxygenator breaks down, I’ll suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks down, I’ll die of thirst. If the Hab breaches, I’ll just kind of explode. If none of those things happen, I’ll eventually run out of food and starve to death.

So yeah, I’m fucked.

So yeah, I was hooked.

We spend the first chunk of the book with Watney on Mars. He’s totally alone, unable to communicate with Earth, and by sticking only with that part of the tale, the reader feels the isolation, too. I remember at one point musing, “I wonder what NASA’s thinking” and I imagine Weir must have fought the urge to tell that side of the tale in parallel from the get-go. But to do so would have significantly deflated the tension. First we had to know that Watney wasn’t going to settle for being “fucked” and actually had the skills and moxie to do something about it.

This is one of Weir’s gifts. To convince the reader that one man, alone on a planet, can fight the slimmest of odds with a hammer and duct tape. And to make us believe every bit of it. This is a sign of a highly skilled story-teller, and they are the authors I want to spend my time reading. I’m not saying anything about The Martian is absurd—I don’t really know how duct tape works in the Martian atmosphere—but if it is absurd, it doesn’t matter, because I believe. Just like I believed that Claire walked between standing stones in 1945 Scotland and ended up in 1742 in Outlander. Just like I believed that an evil force was inhabiting a Native American burial ground in Pet Sematary.

And of course, Weir’s Mark Watney has more at his disposal than a hammer and duct tape. He’s got mad skillz, as the kids say. He was the mission’s engineer and he’s a trained botanist, which just so happen to be the skills most useful for an astronaut stranded on Mars. He’s a masterful problem solver and outside-the-box thinker. Just the kind of guy who becomes an astronaut. He’s special, and yet so very unpretentious.

The Watney sections of the book are presented as log entries, so while we’re in his head, they are meant for keeping track of his doings, for outside eyes to read later. Which, thankfully, means not a lot of navel-gazing. There are some angsty moments, especially when he’s missing human contact, and we get his victories large and small (with exclamation points!) and his annoyances (with snarky commentary), but the doses of “woe is me” are very small, making natural-optimist Mark all the easier to root for.

The secondary characters, are fun to hang around with, too, especially NASA director of Mars operations Venkat Kapoor. One part admin, one part techie, one part humanist, ultimately practical and always empathetic, he balances nicely with Watney, and the other NASA/JPL characters revolve around him like moons of various size and importance.

I happily raced through the book over the course of a long weekend, (taking breaks when the tension ratcheted a little too tight) and as I sat at LAX waiting for my flight home, the final “surprise” moment caught me. My eyes teared up and I hitched a breath. I looked up to see if any of the people across from me had funny looks on their faces, if they’d heard my little sob. I had to turn off my Kindle, and this time I did tweet. I’m in the midst of the last phase of Andy Weir’s The Martian and I keep having to stop. Tears/worry/terror. So good. So effing good!

The Martian is not hard-to-grasp sci-fi. Mostly it’s a story of survival, the ultimate Man vs. Nature tale with an intrepid, unflappable and funny protagonist. I believe most sci-fi writers would say the best of their stories center on characters, that the science enhances rather than demands to take center stage. That is certainly the case in The Martian. It is a story that readers of all genres can enjoy by the simple fact of it being a good tale well told. If, like me, you wouldn’t normally pick up a sci-fi novel, I encourage you to take a chance. Put yourself in Andy Weir’s capable hands and go for a ride.

In case you haven’t figured it out, Curious Puppy gives The Martian Four Paws Way Up.

 

Don’t kill each other, kids.

My first post for the Menagerie. I had wondered whether to use it to topple governments, or to inspire a generation to take up jazzercise, or even to hypnotise the internet into giving me its PIN numbers.

But instead I’m going to write about death.

I think about death a lot. Not because I’m particularly morbid, but because I see it a lot in my work. Not up close and personal, thankfully, but in vast collections of photographs, images from the wars of a century ago to today: dead Germans, corpses from all across the old British Empire, nurses who came to comfort the dying and ended up joining them, Argentinian conscripts cut down before they’d seen their twentieth birthdays.

There’s not much to distinguish any of them. Broken bodies are broken bodies, regardless of how they identified themselves in life. I’m always struck by how fragile the things which we choose to differentiate ourselves by are, yet how fundamental the foundations which we share. Why do humans persist in their tribal behaviour? Why must there always be a ‘them’ to give meaning to the ‘us’?

I don’t mean to belittle the bravery of individuals, or the selflessness that underlies many of the sacrifices that have been made, but the waste of it all saddens me. We live in a world of plenty. We are an ingenious species. Think of the energy and determination lost because of our constant need to butt heads, the drive and determination that has sent so many to their ends. How much better could things be if those qualities had been harnessed to bring us closer together?

Sometimes, I’m very glad I’m a muppet. We are much more enlightened beings, capable of great insight in the form of limericks, like so:

There once were some people from Earth

Who argued for all they were worth.

There was no chance they’d agree,

so they went on a killing spree

And nobody cared what the last line was because they were all dead and it was utterly pointless.

How does any of this relate to writing, I wonder? I imagine you’re waiting for me to tell you that I draw inspiration from the deep internal wells of despair, that my prose is honed to a savage edge by the need I feel to save you all, that I plan to write books which will drag humanity up by its bootstraps and make it hang its collective head in shame.

Well, I do…but somehow it always comes out as Middle Grade, with dragons and stuff.

Be good to each other, human readers, and thanks for stopping by!

 

 

My Friend Is Writing a Memoir About Being Pushed Off a 65-Foot Cliff by Jeff Bridges

TraumaCenter_Tiger

Carl getting mowed down by a tiger. From carlciarfalio.com.

. . . among other things!

So, I’ve mentioned I work in movies, right?  A friend of mine recently emailed me the Kickstarter for the memoir of a mutual friend of ours, stuntman extraordinaire Carl Ciarfalio, with an enthusiastic endorsement.  Now, between the movie world and the writing world, I get messages about a dozen Kickstarters a day, and I ignore them so successfully that my eyes glaze them out now (heh, I’d probably seen Carl’s before and also ignored it).  But my friend also had Carl’s first chapter, which he forwarded, so I clicked on it.

(Now, you gotta understand something.  First, I don’t tell anyone in movies I write.  Second, I’m a TOTAL SNOB when it comes to writing now.)

So I open Carl’s first chapter expecting to sort of skim it, because I’m a writer, doncha know, and I love Carl but heck I have super high standards and all . . . and then I start reading and I end up sitting there with my jaw open COMPLETELY ENGROSSED thinking holy crap Carl can fucking WRITE this is SO GOOD. And I get to the end and I’m like HOLY SHIT I WORK IN THIS BUSINESS AND THIS IS ALL OLD HAT TO ME AND I STILL WANT TO TURN THE PAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE.

So I went over to the Kickstarter and contributed (second Kickstarter I’ve ever contributed to!) and then sent Carl an email that basically said, “CAN I PLEASE PLASTER YOUR FIRST CHAPTER ALL OVER THE WEB AND HELP YOU GET FUNDING PLEEEEEEASE.”

And he very graciously said yes.  So:

Read the first chapter of Stunts, Stars, and Stories: One Man’s Fall to Fame!

Contribute to the Kickstarter!

I’ll add one other thing that may not mean much to anyone outside movies, but — there’s a, shall we say, tradition here in Los Angeles of people saying they are someone they’re not or have done more than they actually have.  There are plenty of people who claim to be stuntmen who are . . . not.  But Carl is the real deal — real stuntman, and a really good dude as well.  So if you’ve ever been curious about what Hollywood is actually like, he definitely has the stories.

Stretches for NaNoWriMo

This month is NaNoWriMo and I have been killing it! I’ve been pounding out an average of 5,000 words a day. I am on a roll! I am on fiyah! I am . . . paying the price with my back. And neck, and shoulders, and wrists. Apparently, sitting at the same exact position for hours on end isn’t that great for my body. I was chatting with a fellow Nano-er, who mentioned her shoulders have been killing her, and it hit me that many Nano-ers are probably going through the same thing. So, without further ado, I present to yew:

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Lee Child’s Secret Sauce to Cook Up Suspense

 

How do you create suspense in a novel? Since I’m attempting to write a scifi thriller, it is the number two[1] question on my mind these days.

A couple of years ago, I read a New York Times article written by Lee Child, the author of the popular Jack Reacher series. In that article, he revealed his secret sauce to create suspense. I still like his pithy advice. More on that later.

More recently, I read an old bestseller that’s an impressive example of suspense. I’ve never read another novel that’s as effective in maintaining tension. Whether or not one likes the story, the book is a superbly crafted thriller, at least on a technical level. I should’ve read it long ago but kept putting it off, thinking that the story was ruined because I’d seen the movie.

When I finally read the book, I noticed this: many chapters end with a mystery. When I write, my intuition is to wrap up each chapter neatly – conclude the scene before starting the next chapter. You know, tidy. The thing is, while sphincteralness may be great for the sock drawer, it may not be the best way to create suspense.

What this author often does is to end a scene at the beginning of the next chapter.[2] For example, one chapter might conclude like this (I totally made this up):

“Luke,” Darth Vader wheezed like a 20-year-old Hoover clogged with cat hair. “I’m going to tell you who your father is.”

“OMG,” Luke squealed. “It’s Obi-Wan, isn’t it? I swear we have the same cheekbones. LOL. Don’t tell me it’s the Emperor. He doesn’t look like he ages well. No, it’s gotta be Yoda. That’s why the Force is strong within me. Wait, does that mean I’ll turn green if I don’t get enough sun? Spit it out, you bastard. I gots to know!”

End chapter.

Are you gonna stop there? Of course not. Like Luke, you gots to know, right? You glance at your clock on the nightstand: 12:03 a.m. You promised yourself to read only one chapter before going to sleep. Cursing, you flip over to the next chapter, which might start with:

“I am your father,” Darth Vader said.

Nooooo, you mutter to yourself, eyes wide. Bookmark that page and go to sleep? Uh, no. If you’re like me, you like to finish a chapter. Thus you read through the current chapter. By the end of that chapter, the author baits you again. Damn it. The evil cycle repeats. Again and again. The clock now reads 2:14 a.m., and you have to get up at six to go to work. Massively screwed up the … well, you know.

To sustain this continuous suspense, you have to create a series of mysteries to string the reader along. But that’s really hard and a lot of work. Merely thinking about it makes me tired. Also, this setup wouldn’t be right for every story. Nevertheless, it’s good to know.

If you’re still reading this, then perhaps Lee Child’s advice worked: you create suspense by dangling out a question and delaying the answer. What is this novel I’ve been babbling about? Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code.

 

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. The first question being why does my story suck zonkey sphincter, but that’s a different post for a different day when the self-loathing Dark side is stronger. (A zonkey is the offspring of a male zebra and a female donkey. A female zebra and a male donkey produce a zedonk.)
  2. If the next chapter switches POV, then the scene might continue in the chapter after that, when the original POV resumes.

36 Little Details If You Want to Set a Story at MIT

  1. Classes are referred to by number, NOT by name (it’s 18.014, not “Calculus with Theory” — we usually didn’t even know the names).
  2. Majors are referred to by number, not by name (it’s course 8, not Physics).
  3. Buildings are referred to by number, not by name (it’s Building 2, not . . . oh, you get the idea).
  4. There’s no central dining hall; you can’t talk about “the MIT dining hall.”
  5. There’s no central library; you can’t say, “meet me at the library” unless you already know which one.
  6. There’s no meal plan.  You have a student account linked to your student ID, but you pay for what you eat, and the account is just money and can equally be used for things like books.
  7. The campus store is called The Coop (pronounced like the thing a chicken lives in, not Co-Op), but some of the more theoretical science and math texts are only at Quantum Books.  The student card can be used both places, as well as at a few local eateries.
  8. MIT has its own slang — and a lot of it.  Punt, tool, cruft, hack, psets, fingering, Twinkies, IHTFP . . .
  9. As of some years ago, you can’t have more than two majors, so triple majors are out.  You can have up to two minors as well, but not every subject offers a minor (computer science[1] doesn’t, for example; if it did I would have one!).
  10. You can’t say you’re majoring in “engineering.”  First of all, see #2, and second of all, there’s no such major — 10 out of the (approximately) 24 different courses of study are different kinds of engineering.
  11. The computer clusters are called “Athena clusters” and mostly run Linux (at least, they did when I was there; they’d started to get a few Windows machines my senior year for certain kinds of software).
  12. Some people go by their Athena usernames.  Even the people with unpronounceable usernames, such as sets of initials, get them used as nicknames occasionally.
  13. Dorms all have their own character and culture and students choose where they live, so the dorm a student lives in can say a lot about that student’s personality.  The various dorms / sections of campus (East vs. West) / dorms vs. frats all mock and judge each other — sometimes gently, sometimes . . . less gently.
  14. It’s not unusual to have your own room as an undergraduate, though you can have a roommate if you want one.  I had my own room from sophomore year on; most students have roommates during
    Drinking and partying happen if you want [them], but […] they’re incredibly easy to avoid if you don’t
    freshman year but I could have had a single that year too if I’d wanted one.  Depending on the dorm, rooms can be quite spacious rather than the stereotypical college closet.
  15. Drinking and partying happen if you want that kind of college experience, but unlike at some other universities, they’re incredibly easy to avoid if you don’t want them, and plenty of people have no interest in that kind of student life.
  16. Despite the number of fraternities, Greek life is little more than a footnote to those who aren’t in it; the most I can say about frats is that I had a few friends who were in them, and I think I was inside a frat a grand total of one time.
  17. Aside from premeds, the undergraduate student body is remarkably uncompetitive, because classes are hard enough that intra-student competition becomes a lot more meaningless.
  18. There’s no grade inflation.  Professors do use grading curves at their own discretion, usually to align the mean to a certain number (say, 70) and the standard deviations to the right places.  I’ve never heard of an MIT professor curving scores down; there’s rarely a problem with exams being too easy.
  19. Unlike at Caltech, women are not a rarity — the undergraduate ratio is something like 40/60 women.  In certain classes, however, the gender ratio is far more skewed; I was one of only two women in my 18.034 class, and was the only woman in my 18.515 class.  (These are both super theoretical math classes and had probably totaled 13 and 8 people respectively.)
  20. MIT is reasonably diverse.  There are a lot of international students, and any fiction set at MIT with no Asian-American characters I will call shenanigans on.  Other minorities have smaller populations, but almost every class or student group or dorm will have at least some African-American and Hispanic students, and one of the rarest demographics is actually the Midwestern white boy.[2]
  21. If you pick a non-math, non-science academic subject (literature, music, philosophy, history . . .) and start talking to an MIT student about it, it’s more likely than not that that student is way more knowledgeable than the average person about it.
  22. If you pick a pop culture subject that isn’t science fiction/fantasy, however,
    My friend didn’t realize we had a cheerleading squad until after we had graduated.
    all bets are off.  Some MIT students are up on popular media; others are completely clueless.
  23. Students tend to be highly politically aware on a general level, though may or may not keep up with current events while in college.  Students who do follow politics tend to do so passionately, no matter where on the spectrum they fall (and yes, MIT has students with a HUGE diversity of political perspectives, from intensely conservative to burningly liberal and everything in between — or off the axis entirely).
  24. Students tend to be either highly religious or highly nonreligious (casual Sunday churchgoers are rare).  Atheism/agnosticism are much, much more common than in the general population, almost to the point of being the default assumption, but people who are religious aren’t uncommon, and are extremely well-thought-out and passionate about their religions.
  25. In general, MIT students tend to be passionately intense about every aspect of their lives, from hobbies to personal philosophies to independent projects.  You can find student groups related to almost any interest under the sun, and the people in them are usually really into them.
  26. Sports are a lot smaller deal than at other schools, and the ones with hardcore teams tend to be sports such as fencing and pistol, and not, say, football.  I didn’t even know we had a football team until my junior year.  (My friend didn’t realize we had a cheerleading squad until after we had graduated.)  This isn’t meant to be judgmental about football and cheerleading; my point is just that they have next to no impact on student life so it’s easy not to notice we have them, which is the opposite of most schools.
  27. University rivalries: Harvard and Caltech.  These rivalries are not about sports.[3]
  28. Cross-registration is allowed between MIT and Harvard and MIT and Wellesley.  Every once in a while I’d run into a Harvard or Wellesley student,
    Geek traits are sexually desirable.
    and I knew a few guys dating Wellesley girls.  I took one course at Harvard and it was easy to do; I also knew a few other people who did it.  I didn’t know anybody who tried MIT-to-Wellesley cross-registration — I’m sure it was equally doable; it just wasn’t common.
  29. You expect the math/science/engineering education to be good, but humanities classes are also excellent (usually just as high-caliber).  There is an eight-class humanities requirement, but many students take many more than that by choice.  You can also major in humanities subjects, which a fair number of people do, sometimes as a double major but I did know a few single-major students in literature or history of polisci.[4]
  30. There’s a four-class PE requirement, but you can satisfy it with awesome things like ping-pong and pistol.  You also can’t graduate without taking a swim test.
  31. Hygiene is often considered way more optional than it should be.
  32. MIT has a 5-point grading scale, so a 5.0 is someone with a perfect GPA. 
  33. There are no Latin honors or class rank.  You cannot graduate summa cum laude from MIT — no, not even if you’re Tony Stark.
  34. Mass transit in Boston is so good that almost no one has a car.  I think I knew one person who had one.
  35. The subway is called the T.  The T line that goes to MIT is the Red Line, and the stop is Kendall Square.
  36. In some ways dating is easier at MIT because geek traits are sexually desirable.  In other ways it’s a mess because everybody gets so in their heads about it.  Some of my friends didn’t date until they got to MIT because of not-fitting-in issues in high school; but a lot of us — sometimes overlapping with the first set — find dating post-MIT a lot easier, because the social stakes and hangups regarding it are a lot lower in the real world.[5]

Disclaimer: All of this is true when I was there; some of the factual specifics may have changed.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)

  1. “Course 6” if you’re talking to someone from MIT.
  2. I think my class had exactly two students from West Virginia; I knew that because I knew both of them.
  3. There is a pretty decent respect for both schools, though, despite the rivalries.  Also, in our more lucid moments we realize that most of Harvard doesn’t really care about us and would much rather war with Yale.
  4. And that’s courses 22, 21H, and 17, as far as your characters are concerned.
  5. Yes, I said the social stakes surrounding dating are lower in the real world than at MIT.  Dating is always complicated, but far too often MIT students — particularly men — get their self-esteems tied up in their dating success, and there’s a good chance that turning someone down for a date will utterly crush him.  It’s awful.

All Teens Do . . .

I’ve come across many posts debating why authors should be allowed to have teen characters in YA books who swear, drink, smoke, do drugs, and are sexually active. I am totally in favor of having teenaged characters who do those stuff, because, well, that’s just plain realistic. However, I do have a problem when it stops being “Some teens do these stuff” and starts becoming “All teens do this stuff!”

Maybe it is true that most teens rebel. I would say that was true for my friends and I. We were growing up and testing the boundaries set by the authority figures in our lives, as well as our own boundaries and limitations. But I think every teen rebels differently. I know there are vast cultural differences between me and the average American teen, especially since I went to an all-girl Catholic school in Singapore, but let’s take a peek at the teenaged cow . . .

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