Writers in the Storm

James Preston

“I’m sorry, Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

We’ll come back to that in a minute.

Story is important. What we do is important. My guess is you believe that or you wouldn't be reading this blog. I had that knowledge driven home one year on vacation.

Welcome to another installment of Writers in the Storm. I hope you get two things out of this essay: first, a reason to believe your writing is important and second, a reason to believe in stories with happy endings.

The Importance of Story

My friends and I visited Stratford-on-Avon (yes the Stratford-on-Avon). I had just broken in to fiction writing, selling short stories to Analog Science Fiction, Isaac Asimov’s, and others. Outside the building I saw a framed poster advertising a performance of one of Shakespeare’s plays, an event to raise money to restore the house, and Charles Dickens was one of the performers. And I felt this flash, this epiphany, and it hit me that I was part of that tradition. Sure, they were generals in the writing army and I was the second assistant to the junior file clerk, but I was part of it.

Story is important. You believe that, but if you’re like me every now and then you need encouragement. Writing is tough. That early sale to Asimov’s? It fell through and it took months to find another home for the poor story.

There are times for most of us when we are looking at a rejection letter or facing the dreaded “what happens next?” when we ask ourselves why we’re doing this. I want to offer a surprising reason to believe that what you do is important, one that you may not have thought of. And my reason is more important than I realized when I started writing this essay. Your writing may save the world.

As writers we are immersed in daily-changing memes, currents of thought. One enduring current is the fear of the rise of the machines — artificial intelligences that are smarter than we are.

What if the machines don’t do what we want them to? In the classic Stanley Kubrick film, 2001, HAL killed the rest of the crew and was trying to kill his pal Dave. In Her (2013) Samantha the AI thanks her boyfriend Theo the human for teaching her to want. A good thing? But those are only movies, right? Okay, how about your autonomous self-driving car hearing you talking about trading it in. What if it doesn't want to go?

The good news is there are people worrying about the problem, and they have a range of solutions. Okay, a little bit of background on artificial intelligence.

There are two kinds of AI, “Weak” and “Strong.” Weak is the kind that speaks up from your dashboard to tell you that you have missed the turn and it’s recalculating. It's with us now, everywhere, like in your appliances. (Side note: some researchers are very worried about the security of this “internet of things” but that’s beyond the scope of this essay.)

“Strong” artificial intelligence is self-aware. It's Skynet, or the Matrix, or Samantha and it’s around the corner, a decade or two away. But, it’s not too early to think about teaching a machine ethics. Well, the first problem is deciding what good behavior is. And that’s where we come in.

One promising solution is being developed by Mark Reidl at the Georgia Institute of Technology: read the machines stories.

Read the robot stories that show things like being helpful, polite, not destroying civilization. So you don’t want to read HAL a story where everybody dies.

Back to Dave and his little problem with HAL. The latter is the “strong,” AI that runs the spaceship and HAL has, well, he’s gone off the deep end, his elevator no longer goes all the way up, he’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal. You get the idea. What happens when your AI gets cranky? The dreaded “blue screen of death” takes on a new meaning when it's in your self-driving car or the 757 landing at LAX.

Yep, a culture’s fiction embodies the best (and of course, the worst, in the antagonist) and one way to teach an AI — the more recent term is “Artificial Life” but that one kind of makes me nervous — to be good is to tell it stories that show good behavior rewarded. And what better group of writers to do that than romance novelists?

In Defense of the Happy Ending

In my mystery stories things usually work out, and I suspect that is true for yours, too. And yet everywhere we see the reverse, “a bittersweet tale of love gone bad,” “a grim exploration of the angst inherent in modern life,” “a futile effort to break the chains of (fill in the blank).” You won’t find this in my writing. To quote a recent Nobel Prize winner, “It ain’t me, babe.”

Joy is important. There’s not enough of it to go around. Comedy, a close cousin to happiness, is hard. Don’t believe me? Check out an interview with Jerry Lewis called, “No Apologies.” He tackles this issue head on and makes a case that if you want horror, just pick up a newspaper. Comedy, and I would widen that to include all happy endings, is harder.

So, “and he folded her into his strong arms and whispered, ‘l love you,’” is not only satisfying, not only reflective of reality, it also may be important in ways we cannot envision.

With luck, when HAL says, “I’m sorry, Dave, I can’t do that,” Dave will say, “Hal, remember that Jayne Ann Krentz story I read you? And how the hero and the heroine cared about each other?”

“I liked the dust bunnies, Dave.”

And the spaceship door swings open . . .

And story saves the world.

I’m interested to hear how you feel about the long tradition that we are part of, and how stories might be used in the future to train thinking machines.

 James R. Preston is the author of the award-winning Surf City Mysteries. The most recent is Sailor Home From Sea. He is finishing the second of a projected trilogy of novellas set at Cal State Long Beach in the 1960s. The next Surf City Mystery is called Remains To Be Seen and will be available in 2017. His work has been selected for the UC Berkeley Special Collection, California Detective Fiction. And when he needs inspiration for a great opening, he looks at a Jayne Ann Krentz. 

For More Information (and for fun) —

Asimov, Isaac. I, Robot and the rest of the robot novels. He invented the Three Laws of Robotics in the 1950’s and more than half a century later they are strong candidates for implementation. On top of that, these are good stories. 

Popular Science, The New Artificial Intelligence. Special Issue, (2016). Lots of intriguing ideas as well as a good definition of the kinds of AI.

Foreign Affairs July/August 2015. “Hi, Robot: Work and Life in The Age pf Automation.” A good, detailed discussion of the social implications of machine intelligence and how we might get along with them.

2001  (1968) no discussion of AI is complete without HAL singing, “Daisy, Daisy” as Dave pulls the AI’s circuit cards.

Colossus: The Forbin Project (1969) The US turns defense over to a supercomputer, only to find that the Russians have done the same. Colossus takes over, and assures its creator that mankind will eventually love it.

Her (2013) Touching man/OS love story marred (IMHO) by really rough language.

The Matrix (1999)  All three, but the first is the best. It's almost a throwaway, but watch one of the characters choose blissful illusion over nasty reality. Video game, anyone? At least in this future the machines find humans useful — as batteries.

Star Trek: the Motion Picture (1979) The alien machine built around the Voyager probe is searching for meaning and regards humans as an infestation.

The Terminator (1984) All I need to say is, “I’ll be back.” Once again man is an infestation that needs to be wiped out.

 

 

Angela Ackerman

Stories should be a true experience for readers. Like a gourmet meal, we want there to be more to them than just what is seen on the surface. This depth can be added a number of ways—through subplots, character arc, subtext, theme, and symbolism. Of them all, symbolism is one of the simplest methods to employ, and it packs a serious wallop. 

Symbolism is important because it turns an ordinary object, place, color, person, etc. into something that goes beyond the literal. Babies represent innocence and unlimited potential, spring is synonymous with rebirth, shackles symbolize slavery, the color white brings to mind purity.

Symbols like these are universal in nature because they mean the same thing to many people. As such, universal symbols are helpful as readers see them and understand what they literally and figuratively mean. This not only delivers another shade of meaning to whatever is being described, it also promotes word economy because, by its very nature, symbolism allows us to convey more.

But a symbol can also be personal in nature, more individual, meaning something specifically to the character. For William Wallace in the movie Braveheart, the thistle represents love since one was given to him by Murron when they were children. To most people, love in the form of a prickly weed wouldn’t typically compute. But as it’s used throughout the film at poignant moments, the audience comes to recognize this personal symbol for what it means.

So whether the symbol is universally obvious or one that’s specific to the protagonist, it can add a layer that draws readers deeper into the story. The setting itself can become a symbol as a whole should you need it to. A home could stand for safety. A river might represent a forbidden boundary.

More often than not, your symbol will be something within the setting that represents an important idea to your character. And when you look within your protagonist’s immediate world, you’re sure to find something that holds emotional value for him or her.

For instance, if your character was physically abused as a child, it might make sense for the father to be a symbol of that abuse since he was the one who perpetrated it. But the father might live thousands of miles away. The character may have little to no contact with him, which doesn’t leave many chances to symbolize. Choosing something within the protagonist’s own setting will have greater impact and offer more opportunities for conflict and tension. A better symbol might be the smell of his father’s cologne—the same kind his roommate puts on when he’s prepping for a date, the scent of which soaks into the carpet and furniture and lingers for days.

Another choice might be an object from his setting that represents the one he was beaten with: wire hangers in the closet, a heavy dictionary on the library shelf, or the tennis racquet in his daughter’s room that she recently acquired and is using for lessons. These objects won’t be exact replicas of the ones from his past, but they’re close enough to trigger unease, bad memories, or even emotional trauma.

Symbols like these have potential because not only do they clearly remind the protagonist of a painful past event, they’re in his immediate environment, where he’s forced to encounter them frequently. In the case of the tennis racquet, an extra layer of complexity is added because the object is connected to someone he dearly loves—someone he wants to keep completely separate from any thoughts of his abuse.

Motifs: Symbolism on a Larger Scale

Connecting readers with our stories is what we all hope to achieve as authors. This is why the stories we write often contain a central message or idea—a theme—that is being conveyed through its telling. Sometimes the theme is deliberately included during the drafting stage; other times, it organically emerges during the writing process. However it occurs, the theme is often supported by certain recurring symbols that help to develop the overall message or idea throughout the course of a story. These repeated symbols are called motifs.

For example, consider the Harry Potter series. One of the motifs under-girding the theme of good vs. evil is the snake. It’s the sign for the house of Slytherin, from which so many bad wizards have emerged. Voldemort’s pet, Nagini, is a giant snake. Those who can speak Parseltongue (the language of serpents) are considered to be dark wizards. By repeatedly using this creature as a symbol for evil, Rowling creates an image that readers automatically associate with the dark side of Potter’s world.

Because motifs are pivotal in revealing your theme, it’s important to find the right ones. The setting is a natural place for these motifs to occur because it contains so many possibilities. It could be a season, an article of clothing, an animal, a weather phenomenon—it could be anything, as long as it recurs throughout the story and reinforces the overall theme.
Themes can either be planned or accidental. If you know beforehand what your theme will be, think of a location that could reinforce that idea—either through the setting itself or with objects within that place—and make sure those choices are prominently displayed throughout the story.

Need a bit of help finding the right symbol for your story?

Did you know we have a comprehensive Symbolism and Motifs Thesaurus at One Stop for Writers? Stop by sometime and explore the many possible symbols that can be used to enhance the deeper themes in your writing.

How have you used symbolism and motifs in your writing?  If you haven't, how would you like to use them to enhance your writing?

Angela Ackerman is a writing coach, international speaker, and co-author of five bestselling writing books, including The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Expression. She is passionate about helping writers succeed. Her site, One Stop For Writers is a powerhouse online library like no other, filled with description, story structure, and brainstorming tools to help writers elevate their storytelling. You can also find her on Twitter, Facebook and at her blog, Writers Helping Writers.

 

 

Let’s just call it … 2016 has been a whole cluster of bad. We lost some amazing artists, we’ve watched natural disasters and man-made disasters devastate communities, and we’re now experiencing massive aftershocks of an election that’s shaken all sides of the country.

I’ll spare you the pity party of various personal things.

Now here we are staring into the holiday season. That should be a happy thing and usually it is. Except this year, I’m feeling exhausted, absolutely mentally and emotionally drained.

I know a lot of people out there are feeling overwhelmed, scared, disillusioned, angry, or however all of this is affecting you, and we’re all trying to move forward in whatever way works for us personally.

I’ve been told to “get over it” and I’ve been told “you need to be doing more.” I’m not ready to get over it and I don’t have more to give – at least not right now. Don’t worry, I won’t be getting on any soap boxes today (with my luck, I’d fall off and add “broken ankle” to my fun list for 2016). I’m also not going to tell you what YOU should be doing. I will, however, share what I’m doing for myself and why I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

I’m reading.
I’m not reading heavy, literary, topic-based books. I’ve started and abandoned five different novels in the last month. And I’ve resisted attempts at discussing what I’m reading.

The novels that have kept my attention are ones that allowed me an hour or two of escape each day. I’m not looking for answers to profound questions or a grand “a-ha” moment. It was suggested (with a not very subtle eye-roll) that I was being shallow, that as a writer I was supposed to be deeper than that. I shrugged and walked away. I won’t be swapping titles with that person again.

As a writer, I know just how hard it is to write a book that transports someone to a different place, a different time. Why then should I feel guilty for enjoying and escaping into a world that someone else has lovingly created? The fact that someone’s hard work can give me an hour of peace in a day where I feel like my head is spinning like a cheesy horror movie, is brilliant. Hopefully my book will one day do that for someone.

Maybe I’m not “learning” from the author’s carefully honed craft. But I am honoring that carefully honed craft by letting her words transport me. I am escaping, I’m okay with that. And when I put the book down, I’m in a better place.

I’m watching TV programs
A couple of weeks ago, I started watching a TV program (This is Us) that a lot of my writer friends have been raving about. They’ve talked about the brilliant writing, the lessons we as novelists can learn. I’ve been watching it on the sly and tiptoeing away from any discussions online and in-person. I’ve been curled up on my couch, snuggling a cat, with a box of tissues handy, and losing myself in the struggles of these perfectly imperfect people.

Have I had any “ohhh, that’s brilliant” moments? Absolutely. Have I had any “that’s what I need to do with my main character” moments? Nope. I’m simply allowing myself to enjoy. And at the end of the hour or two or three depending on how far behind I am, I’m in a better place.

I’m not worrying about writing
There are days I can whip through my word count like it’s a bag of gummy bears. Other days, I sit at my desk, open my manuscript then promptly close it and move to the couch for a binge-fix or whatever else I feel I’m up for that day.

I know the “write every day” rule. I don’t. I can’t, especially not lately. But whether I’m consciously thinking about them or not, my characters are always with me. And I find that when I’m not forcing myself to think about them, they’re more forthcoming with their secrets. When I’m stressed or upset about whatever is happening to me or around me, I can’t always lose myself in the writing. Sometimes yes. For the can’t days, I give in. And I don’t feel guilty.

I said I wasn’t going to tell you what YOU should do. I take that back. I’m going to give you one piece of advice – Do whatever you need to nurture yourself.  And do it without the guilt. That’s not always easy, especially when people tell are judging what you’re doing or not doing as the case may be. Without a healthy, happy you, there is no writing anyway.

How do you get through the hard times?

About Orly

Orly Konig is an escapee from the corporate world, where she spent roughly sixteen (cough) years working in the space industry. Now she spends her days chatting up imaginary friends, drinking entirely too much coffee, and negotiating writing space around two over-fed cats. She is a co-founder and past president of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association, and a member of the Tall Poppy Writers. She is rep’d by Marlene Stringer, Stringer Literary Agency LLC.

Orly’s debut, The Distance Home, will be released by Forge on May 2, 2017.

You can find her on Twitter at @OrlyKonig, on Facebook at OrlyKonigAuthor, or on her website, www.orlykonig.com.