Category: Books

This isn’t going to make any sense. That’s okay. It makes sense to me, and I have to write it so I can get back to work. These are things in my head that I need to put down so they’ll get out of my way and let me finish my script:

I have this idea that there are all these stories racing around the multiverse, and they try real hard be brought into life by a writer, a photographer, a musician, or some other creative person. They’re fickle, though: they’ll knock on your door for a little bit, but if you don’t make an effort to open it for them, they’ll take off and find someone else to grant them access to our world. Writing them down in a notebook will get them to stick around for a little bit longer.

I also look at storytelling like a cable that runs through spacetime. Grab a cable and it’ll take you to the place you want to go and reveal the story to you along the way, but you’ve got to hold on real tight, and you can really only hold on to one at a time. It’s okay to jot down where you saw other cables in your notebook while you pass them, though.

Then there’s the log jams, which is where I’ve been the last three days.

You know that old cartoon with the logger who keeps saying, “This one, she holds up the whole log jam!” The camera reveals a gigantic pile of logs, hundreds of them at least, and they’re all stuck behind this one log that’s holding them together, preventing them from falling down and unleashing some mayhem. I think it’s Woody Woodpecker, and he wants the one important log for a house or something.

Well, I’ve had this logjam. I don’t think of it as a block, because I have my structure all in place, I know where my guys are going, and I know how the whole thing ends . . . I’ve just been stuck on this one very important thing . . . that happens to be in act one. I can’t just skip past it and come back later, because the way I handle this particular thing will affect everything else in the story.

I’m not going to go into specifics, but it was frustrating the hell out of me. I’ve written and thrown away hundreds of words and dozens of pages while I tried to work it out.

About an hour ago, the one log that held up the log jam fell down. I figured out what to do in act one, and in the ensuing pile of apparently random logs, I found a lot of other ideas that I will probably use in the rest of the story.

This is a huge relief to me, because I can finally dash out the door and grab a cable now. Be back later.

My pal John Scalzi got this phenomenal mention from SFFAudio:

The name of John Scalzi can now stand in Science Fiction pantheon proudly beside the likes of Orson Scott Card, Joe Haldeman and Robert A. Heinlein.

I recently put out my call for SF anthology suggestions, so let me return the favor: Get Old Man’s War, and move it to the top of your Giant Pile of Books You Bought And Won’t Ever Have Time To Read.

Then make time to read it. Yes, it’s that good. It’s Forever War good. I promise.

In related SF news, I took Nolan out to dinner last night, and he wanted to go into the bookstore when we were done. To my surprise and delight, he went directly to the SF section and began to browse.

“I want a new book,” he said, “but I don’t know where to start.”

I suggestedEnder’s Game, which I loved when I was his age and was something he could relate to, but for reasons that only make sense in the teenage mind, my enthusiastic endorsement had the opposite effect than that which was intended: “Meh.”

“Meh?” I said.

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem . . . I don’t know. Let’s find something different.” He said.

I thought about all the SF I love, but couldn’t come up with anything I thought he’d like. Ringworld wouldn’t interest him, I doubt he’d relate to Old Man’s War, as much as I love it. I suggested Fragile Things, October Country, and a couple of Gardner Dozois anthologies that readers had recommended to me. None of them got the dreaded “Meh,” but nothing was grabbing his interest.

I saw a golden opportunity slipping away. Nolan enjoys fantasy, but this was the first time in his life he’d expressed any interest at all in the science fiction that I so dearly love. I didn’t want to blow it by suggesting something that would turn him off from SF forever, so I sent a text message to my friend, Andrew, who is wise in the ways of science fiction.

“Did you suggest Ender’s Game?” He sent back.

I told him about the Meh.

He thought for a long time, before suggesting Heinlein’s Red Planet“I read it when I was a little younger than Nolan, and I really liked it then. I read it again this year, and it holds up surprisingly well.”

I grabbed it off the shelf, and read the back.

“This looks like a really cool book,” I thought to myself. Then, “Well, here goes nothing.”

I found Nolan on the other side of the rack, and showed it to him.

“Andrew says that he read it when he was your age and loved it.” I said.

Nolan looked at it.

“Have you read this?”

“No, I haven’t.” I said. I cautiously added, “it looks cool, though.”

He read the description on the back. I tried to act nonchalant while I watched him.

“Okay,” he said, “this looks really good.”

A bell rang in my head, and I smiled.

“Cool,” I said. “Can I read it when you’re done?”

“Maybe,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Maybe?” I said.

A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.

“Now would be a good time to talk about you letting me get Assassin’s Creed . . .”