The Bitter Quill

Ahem. Did I say four posts a week? Clearly, I meant just one. I’ve been guilty of neglecting this blog for the last few days, and so have the rest of the BQ contributors.

It seems like I only have so many words-a-day in me. I spend all day coding ColdFusion at work — not writing, exactly, but still words on paper — then I come home and write the occasional review, and THEN I research and write a couple of blog posts at the Other Blog. Add all of that up and I don’t have a lot left in me for the Bitter Quill, let alone my other writing projects. I’m prioritizing the writing that actually pays me, but that means that the writing that I actually enjoy suffers.

Any suggestions on how to break the cycle? Maybe an enforced period of BQ-and-ancillary-projects-writing on a regular basis? It’ll be just like when I was a kid my mother would make me memorize my multiplication tables for two hours every Thursday, whether I liked it or not, only now it’ll be me I resent, not her.

Whew! This new blogging gig is taking more time than I thought it would. This is the first week, though, and I think it’ll get easier once I get into the swing of things and the site officially launches.

In the meantime, if things are a little slow around here — maybe four posts a week instead of six — blame it on my new boss. Don’t worry, we’ll get things back to normal before too long.

Yes, my friends, it has indeed been a while. I plead vicious stomach-flu — the last several days have seen my schedule full of things like “vomiting”, “sleeping”, “moaning in agony” and less-mentionable things.

I did, however, have a chance to catch up on my reading, and an interesting little tidbit from the inimitable Quentin Crisp caught my imagination. Mr. Crisp was talking about the dangers of “comparative originality”:

If a man were to look over the fence on one side of his garden and observe that a neighbor to his left had laid his garden path round a central lawn; and were to look over a fence on the other side of his garden and observed that the neighbor on his right had laid his path down the middle of the lawn, and then were to lay his own garden path diagonally from one corner to the other, that man’s soul would be lost. Originality is only to be praised when not prefaced by the look to right and left.

With respect to Mr. Crisp and his literary stature, I don’t know if I buy that. Is it more impressive when someone comes up with something completely original without being aware of his competitors in a field? Sure, absolutely. But Mr. Crisp would have us believe that a work — indeed, an author — is somewhat lessened if a piece is deliberately constructed so as to be different. While I will admit that quality will often suffer when someone’s main purpose is to transgress the strictures of a genre or form, lack of quality doesn’t necessarily follow such transgression, and furthermore, there’s nothing inherently ignoble about striving to be an alternative.

I don’t know for sure, though. What do you folks think? Am I totally off-base, or perhaps misinterpreteing Mr. Crisp’s intent?

From time to time, while working on the Exalted setting, I’ve incorporated real-world details into my writing. (For the record, Exalted is a high fantasy rpg that attempts to combine the best of high fantasy, anime, magitech, wuxia, low fantasy, and plenty of death-defying dramatic moves.) This brought home to me the difference between giving players the true version, the interesting version, and the version that they want.

The true version is obvious enough, and is often exemplified in GURPS sourcebooks. Here, the facts have been meticulously researched, the dates are correct, the bad points of the history and location and culture are stressed as well as the good points, and factors which might prove a disadvantage to specific types of PC are noted down without any attempt to soften them. (Such as the lower place of women or foreigners in certain cultures, for instance, or the fact that you can’t just buy a gun at the nearest shop in that particular country.) Sometimes
sourcebooks of this sort also provide guidelines for how to adjust the background or remove certain options if they are inappropriate for a particular campaign, but this is far from the rule.

Next we have what one might call the interesting version. This, like the Ars Magica books, involves starting off with the truth and… improving it a little. Usually these are also meticulously researched, in order to get the basic grounding correct and the “feel” right, but not all the research is necessarily used. Such a book may start off with the principle of “Rome in the Dark Ages” and then add the twist of “and magic works” in order to produce something which is grounded in reality but incorporates further material. Another example might be the Full Metal Alchemist universe (anime or manga), which is basically early twentieth century with alchemy included and different geography. The basic accurate grounding is indispensable; it provides a genuine feeling of reality to the setting that should not be discounted. Other notes are added, accentuated, or adjusted later. Perhaps a cultural facet is edited to allow participation by both genders, or to permit some sort of acceptance for other races. Maybe there are notes about how Dark Ages Christianity really can coexist with magic under exceptional circumstances — such as those which the players will be participating in. It’s reality, but it’s been edited to allow for more play.

Thirdly is the version that everyone really wants to play in. If it’s India, then there must be elephants, and rajahs, and tiger hunts, and thuggee cultists, and cross-jungle chases in the monsoon. If it’s a boarding school for would-be wizards, then there must be boarding houses, and spells, and potions classes, and threatening teachers. These settings start with reality and then move into all the things that players want to encounter. Inspiration may be drawn from reality, or from books, or movies, or casual inaccuracy. Very few people would let an appearance by Sherlock Holmes slip by without an, “Elementary, my dear Watson!” despite the fact that the character never actually used the phrase. Pulp demands dark masterminds, two-fisted librarians, car chases, gunfire, daring reporters, mad science, and all the other usual memes. Tibet requires lamas, yak butter tea, weird Buddhism, snow, avalanches, and green gloves. It’s about giving the players — and, to some extent, the GM — the toolbox they want to play with. Realism isn’t the point, and cultural balance is only relevant where it contributes to the plot.

All these three options really do require a high level of research — either because the writer wishes to remain accurate, or because they want to find interesting titbits to incorporate. However, it helps the writer if they have an idea of which basic concept they’re going with, and how far they want to take it.W

EDITOR’S NOTE: Another contribution from Catherynne M. Valente’s blog Goblin Market, syndicated here for your pleasure. Waitasec… giant squid? Sentient fungi? Where do I sign up?

A quick plug here and a promise to get to the meat of Goblin Market as soon as possible–deadlines have eaten my life and rock stars have kidnapped my son.

But I love this book so much that I just have to link to its final and triumphant wide release–in a new Bantam paperback. The story of how COSAM came to be is rather harrowing–not to be read by those just starting out in the literary world, as it will freeze your young blood right in your veins. Thus, all banners and trumpets to this final incarnation!

This is something like a review, but really, it’s a love letter to Vandermeer’s marvelous, frightening, beautiful creation: the great city of Ambergris. I pretend no objectivity. This book has a permanent place on my recommendation list.

Dear Ambergris:

Not only have you the greatest city-name since Truth-or-Consequences, New Mexico, but you are ruled by an abiding terror of squid and mushrooms, and that makes you dear.

Since I first ventured–hesitantly? Well, yes, there is, after all, the river-squid, and rarely in literature do giant squid bode well for nubile young maidens such as myself–into you, I have been confronted by marvels at every turn, not the least of which being the inversion, perversion, and glorification of history itself, and the deconstruction of deconstruction. Is there anything your streets and alleys cannot encompass? I think not. From Martin Lake’s paintings and his secret revealed, to the grey caps (yes, dear Reader, these are ravenous anthropomorphic mushrooms, and that should be enough right there to lure you past the tentacled river) and the horrifying Silence–whose secrets I am literally dying to know–to the truly delightful Hoegbotton Guide to your admittedly checkered past, which has few secrets besides the cause of its author’s indigestion, there is enough in Ambergris to exhaust a lifetime’s curiosity.

As long as you bring your cryptographer’s manual, a bathing suit, and make sure to be in tow for the Festival–I hear it’s a hoot.

I love you, Ambergris. But please don’t touch me like that–I might not survive it if you loved me back.

Love,
CMV