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Writing Sideways

You have a problem. Perhaps you’ve written your main character into a plot trap. Or you’re trying to create an irresistibly likable character. Or you need a good motivation for the antagonist. Or you don’t even know what to write about. I don’t know what your problem is. Still, let me help you solve it.

By writing sideways.

Well, it’s really called ‘lateral thinking’ but I like to think of it as writing sideways. I’m indebted to Shane Snow for the ideas in this post. He discussed problem solving in general, but my post is about solving problems while writing fiction.

His article starts with a clever problem to illustrate his method, but I’ll choose a different one. Your character is in a new house wired by a crazy electrician. The character sees three switches in the basement and knows each switch controls a different incandescent lamp on the first floor, but doesn’t know which switch controls which lamp. How can she find out, by making only one trip upstairs?

Shane Snow’s method has five steps, but you might not need all five for every problem. I’ll rephrase his steps in my own words:

Examine the assumptions. All problems have assumptions, but some are so obvious most people ignore them. List all the assumptions you can think of, and examine each one. Is it really true? Are there other options? For our Switch-and-Lamp problem, the assumptions might include:
- You need to know which switch controls which lamp.
- Each switch controls a different lamp.
- You can only make one trip up the stairs.
- You can’t see the lamps from the basement.
- You can determine a switch-to-lamp connection by flipping the switch on and looking at the lamp.
Question the direct approach. Think about the way most people would solve the problem. Then ask, “what if I couldn’t do it that way?” For the Switch-and-Lamp problem, most people would flip a switch or two, then go upstairs and find they’ve only identified one of the three connections. They’re stymied by the limitation of being allowed only one trip upstairs.
Re-write the Question. Often by examining the question, ingenious new answers emerge. Why is it so vital to know which switch controls which lamp? Why am I only allowed one trip upstairs? Does it matter that they’re ‘incandescent’ light bulbs?
Approach the Problem Backwards. This is a common method used with mathematical problems. Imagine you’ve already solved the problem and think about what form that solution took and what route you must have taken to get there. In our character’s case, her solved problem consists of going upstairs and finding the three lamps in three different states, so she can know which switch controlled which lamp. That seems impossible, since lamps have only two states—on or off, right?
Get a fresh perspective. Look at the problem from different angles and sides. In a problem involving fictional characters, think about how each of them see it. In our switch-and-lamp problem, look back and notice how we’ve constrained our thought by thinking of lamps as binary—either on or off, but we need some third state of a light bulb to know, in one trip, which switch controls each lamp. Is there a third state of a light bulb other than on or off?

Readers love books that break molds, defy conventions, and explore new ideas. They enjoy characters that are out of the ordinary, or who solve bedeviling problems in ingenious ways. Perhaps these techniques of writing sideways will help you.

Oh, yeah. I forgot about the lamps. By now, you know one answer: your character must turn the first switch on and wait a few minutes, then turn that one off, turn the second switch on, and go upstairs. Your character will find one light bulb off but warm (switch 1), one lamp on (switch 2), and one lamp off but just room temperature (switch 3).

That’s the problem’s classic solution, but what if the problem permitted no trips up the stairs? Then our character could drill a hole in the basement ceiling and construct a periscope so she could see at a glance which lamp comes on as she operates each switch.

If you apply the sideways writing techniques, you’ll come up with even more solutions to this problem and many others, solutions far beyond the imagination of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

April 7, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Fixing Science Fiction

In a Slate Magazine article, Lee Konstantinou argued that “Something is Broken in Our Science Fiction.” Is that true? If so, what can SciFi writers do about it?

Konstantinou’s thought-provoking piece declares that SciFi remains stuck in the cyberpunk era of the 1980s, seemingly unable to break free. He contends that cyberpunk and its many offshoot ‘-punks’ were products of the Reagan-Thatcher era.

To Kontantinou, the various punks share common attributes, such as (1) a setting not too different from our own, (2) an individual struggling alone against a flaw-ridden society, and (3) an absence of collective action by a group or groups. Even recent trends like dystopian SciFi and its positive counterpart (hope-punk?) typified by Hieroglyph: Stories and Visions for a Better Future are just cyberpunk derivatives.

Is he right? Is Science Fiction broken? Are the punks to blame?

As a writer of steampunk and clockpunk, I experienced an initially sour reaction to Konstantinou’s article before I thought more deeply about it. I agree with him that something seems wrong.

Whatever you say about the punks, give them due credit; they’ve had a good, long run. Konstantinou’s common attributes of punks are general enough to cover a lot of territory and appeal to a broad range of tastes. Moreover, the various ‘time period’ punks such as steampunk, dieselpunk, atompunk, etc. cater to readers’ nostalgic longings.

Still, I get a sense that SciFi is in a transition period, waiting for the next movement to explode on the scene. Likely the seeds of that next era are already here in some form, just starting to sprout into public awareness.

Maybe the next big thing in SciFi will spring from one or a combination of the current observable trends:

LBGTQ main characters, and explorations of alternate sexualities
Climate change extrapolations; humanity as a spoiler of environments
Artificial intelligence, the entire spectrum from the weak (narrow) kind, through the strong kind, to the super-intelligent kind
3D Printing and nanotechnology implications
Cross-genre mashups
Biological and genetic science
Extended human lifespans, Trans-human possibilities, cyborgs
Mundane SciFi

More likely, the next SciFi movement will grow from something I haven’t anticipated or noted yet.

To paraphrase P!nk in her song “Just Give Me a Reason,” Science Fiction is not broken, just bent, and SciFi writers can learn to entertain readers again. One author who will make the effort is—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 31, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

A Long Weekend in Arizona, and Beyond

On occasion, I’ve included posts about my travels in this blog. However, since I’m a fiction writer, not every word of these posts is true. Last weekend, I traveled to Phoenix to attend a wedding.

While in town, my wife and I went sightseeing. On Friday morning, we drove to Camelback Mountain, named for its resemblance to an animal that has never set foot in the Sonoran Desert. It’s a mountain for serious hikers, and I’d like to say we hiked up and down in record time, but I can’t. We snapped a few pictures and left.

That afternoon, we took a delightful cruise on windy Saguaro Lake aboard the boat Desert Belle. Narrated by Captain Gino, the cruise took about ninety minutes and we enjoyed seeing the desert mountain scenery and hearing facts and stories about the area.

On Saturday morning, we drove to South Mountain Park. Though you can hike up the mountain, we found it much easier to drive to the summit. If you do likewise, take it easy on the roads; they’re full of hairpin turns and blind bends.

The wedding took place Saturday afternoon, with perfect weather, and I’ll simply say the bride looked beautiful and the couple is now well and truly joined in matrimony.

On Sunday, we met a college friend of mine and ate lunch at the quirky Buffalo Chip Saloon in Cave Creek. I couldn’t resist ordering the Buffalo Stew and thoroughly enjoyed it.

The author, blocking a view of the Grand Canyon

My wife and I got up early Monday morning and drove to the Grand Canyon. Although I took pictures, I’m now convinced you can’t appreciate that place through other people’s photos or videos. You must go there.

Two people had recommended we see the red cliffs in the town of Sedona, situated between the Canyon and Phoenix, so we drove back that way. Driving along State Road 89A, which winds its way down Oak Creek Canyon, we took in the majestic mountain terrain on a road the mostly followed the serpentine path carved by the creek.

Red Cliffs of Sedona. Beware of vortexes.

I’d grown tired of driving, so my wife and I switched places. She drove along the touristy main road of Sedona with its slow speed limits and frequent lights. We stopped twice to take pictures of the towering, rust-colored rock formations. You really get a sense of geological time and the slow power of water in such a place.

Then a strange thing happened.

Just past Airport Road, I felt something odd while sitting in the passenger seat. While still belted in, I experienced an upward whirling sensation, as if being twirled in a spiral manner. I saw the car spinning below me, then the town, then the entire desert.

Panicking, I tried to see what was lifting my body, only to discover I had no body. My senses had somehow separated from it, and I could see the turning sphere of our Earth below me without having to breathe or suffer any discomfort.

Of my galactic voyage through our own and many alternate universes—some where the void is light and the stars dark, others where magic outweighs science, and still others where living stars and planets converse and philosophize—I can’t say much. Mainly this is because our Earthly vocabulary is too limited, too constrained by our provincial understandings.

After a wondrous, crystalline eternity spent wandering various dimensions and astral planes, I felt myself drawn back to our tiny orb. Down I spiraled, toward North America, toward Arizona, toward Sedona, but this time not to the mesa near the local airfield, but rather toward a reddish rock formation southwest of there.

Without warning, I was back in the car, awash in a sensation of spiritual renewal and psychic vitality. “Did you feel that?” I asked my wife. She looked puzzled. “Feel what?”

Only later did I learn Airport Mesa is a so-called “masculine vortex” of outward energy, and nearby Cathedral Rock is a “feminine vortex” of inward energy.

Someone should have forewarned—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 23, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Technoethics and the Curious Ape

In the movie Jurassic Park, the character Ian Malcolm says, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.” Today, I’m focusing on another technology topic, namely ethics in technology, or Technoethics.

Our species is innately curious and inventive. We possess large brains and opposable thumbs, but lack claws, shells, great speed, camouflaged skin and other attributes employed by animals to attack prey or to avoid becoming prey. These circumstances make us natural toolmakers.

From the beginning, we found we could use our tools for good or evil. The same stick, spear, bow and arrow, or rifle we used to kill a rabbit for dinner could also kill a fellow human. The different outcome is not inherent in the tool, but in the heart of the person employing it.

For each new technology in our history, there was at least one inventor. This person took an idea, created a design, and often used available materials to assemble the new item. Were these inventors responsible for, in Malcolm’s words, stopping to think if they should?

With some technologies, like the plow, the printing press, the light bulb, and the automobile, it’s certain their creators intended only positive, beneficial outcomes. The inventor of the automobile could not have foreseen people using cars as weapons, or that one day there’d be so many cars they’d pollute the atmosphere.

With other technologies such as the spear, the warship, the canon, and the nuclear bomb, the inventor’s intent was to kill other people. Why? The usual rationale is twofold: (1) My side needs this technology so our wartime enemy does not kill us, or (2) If I do not invent this technology first, my enemy will, and will use it against my side. Given such reasoning, an inventor of a weapon can claim it would be immoral not to develop the technology.

I’m sure there are unsung examples of would-be inventors refusing, on ethical grounds, to develop a new technology because they feared the consequences. The only example I can think of, though, is Leonardo da Vinci. Although he had no qualms about designing giant crossbows and battle tanks, he drew the line at submarines. Though at first excited about giving a submarine design to the Venetians for use against the Turks, da Vinci reconsidered and destroyed his own plans, after imagining how horrible war could become.

That example aside, the history of humanity gives me no reason to suspect future inventors will hesitate to develop even the most potent and powerful technologies. It’s our curious ape nature; if we can, we will. Only afterward will we ask if we should have.

As a writer of technological fiction, I’ve explored technoethics in many of my stories:

In “The Sea-Wagon of Yantai,” a Chinese submarine inventor intends his craft as a tool of exploration, but an army officer envisions military uses.

In “The Steam Elephant,” a British inventor sees his creation as a mobile home for safari hunters, but then imagines the British Army employing it on the battlefield. Only the narrator character fears what war will become when both sides have such weapons.

In “Leonardo’s Lion,” da Vinci actually builds his inventions, but hides them away and gives clues to the King of France about where to find them. The King never sees the clues, but decades later a ten-year-old boy does, and must decide whether the world is ready for these amazing devices.

In “The Six Hundred Dollar Man,” a doctor imagines how steam-powered prosthetic limbs would have saved crippled Civil War soldiers, but fails to foresee how super-strength and super-speed could turn a good person bad.

In “Ripper’s Ring,” a troubled Londoner in 1888 comes across the Ring of Gyges that Plato wrote about, an invisibility ring. Possession of that ring changes him into history’s most famous mass murderer.

In “After the Martians,” the survivors of an alien attack in 1901 take the Martian technology (tripods, heat rays, flying machines) and fight World War I.

As we smart apes start playing with bigger and more deadly sticks, maybe one day we will stop and think if we should before we think about whether we can. Hoping that day comes soon, I’m—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 10, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Plagiarisms, Algorithms, and Ostracisms

The latest outrage jolting the fiction-writing world is the Cristiane Serruya Plagiarism Scandal, or #CopyPasteCris in the Twitter world. I’ll leave it for others to gnash teeth and rend garments over the specifics of this case. As a former engineer and natural problem-solver, I prefer to look at what we might do to prevent future recurrences.

First, let me summarize. Alert and avid readers of romance books noticed matching phrases and paragraphs in two books: The Duchess War (2012) by Courtney Milan and Royal Love (2018) by Cristiane Serruya. These readers notified Ms. Milan, who reacted strongly. More investigations by readers of Ms. Serruya’s 30-odd books found uncredited passages and excerpts from 51 other books by 34 authors, 3 articles, 3 websites, and 2 recipes. In addition to Ms. Milan, the original authors included Nora Roberts, who likewise doesn’t tolerate imitation, no matter how sincere the flattery.

While lawyers gather for the coming feast, let us back away from the immediate affair, make some assumptions about the problem, and consider possible solutions. First, we’ll assume Ms. Serruya actually did what readers allege, that she (or her hired ghostwriters) copied other works and passed them off as her own. Second, let’s assume she is at least somewhat sane and had semi-logical reasons for doing so. Third, we’ll assume Ms. Serruya is not alone, that there are others out there doing the same thing.

What might her motivations have been? Why would anyone do this? In her post, Ms. Roberts asserts the existence of “black hat teams” working to thwart Amazon’s software algorithms to maximize profit. For more on this practice, read Sarah Jeong’s post from last summer, based on the Cockygate scandal.

It’s possible we’ve reached a point where (1) the ease of copying books, (2) the money to be made by turning out large numbers of romance books, and (3) the lack of anti-plagiarism gatekeepers at Amazon, have combined to produce all the incentive needed for unscrupulous “authors” (even a cottage industry of them) to copy the work of others.

Setting aside the current scandals, which must be resolved in light of existing laws and publishing practices, what can we do to prevent this in the future? How would we arrange things to dissuade future imitators of Ms. Serruya? What follows are four potential solutions, listed in order from least desirable to my favorite.

Make Copyrights like Patents. Consider how copyrights differ from patents: they’re free; they’re automatic; they require no effort by the government. For a patent, though, you must pay the government to determine if your invention is distinctly different from previous patented devices. If the government grants your patent, you then have full government support and sanction for your device, and a solid legal foundation to go after those who dare to infringe. We could do the same with copyrighting books. Boy, would that ever slow down the publishing world!
Make Amazon a Better Gatekeeper. Amazon and other distributors could set up anti-plagiarism software that detected if a proposed new book contained too many copied phrases from other books. Then they’d simply refuse to publish books that didn’t pass that algorithm. Although pressure from customers might force Amazon to do that, it’s not likely to happen, as explained by Jonathan Bailey in this post.
Make Use of Private Plagiarism-Checking Services. Imagine if a private company offered (for a fee) to check your manuscript to see if you’d plagiarized. Assuming your manuscript passed, you would cite that acceptance when you published it, similar to the Underwriters Laboratory model for electrical systems. Readers might tend to select plagiarism-checked books over those not certified. This would put a financial burden on authors.
Trust Readers. We could rely on astute readers to detect plagiarism, to notify the affected author, and to use social media to shame the plagiarizer publicly. This is, of course, where we are today. It requires no new laws, no fees, and no algorithms. It’s not perfect, but so far, it is proving workable.

If you think of other, better solutions, please leave a comment. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I wrote every word of my stories. Just ask my alter ego—

Poseidon’s Scribe

March 3, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Connecting those Interesting Bits

Alfred Hitchcock said, “Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.” True, but you can’t just write the interesting bits and call that collection of scenes a story. You must connect those scenes in a smooth, seamless way. Today’s post is about these connections, called transitions.

I Iike the way Jody Hedlund described transitions in her post, as tunnels for transporting readers from scene to scene. Without these tunnels, readers would feel disoriented and confused. However, the tunnel itself is boring, so it’s best not to linger there. Keep your transitions short.

In Beth Hill’s post on the subject, she cites the three usual types of transitions: (1) change in time, (2) change in location, and (3) change in point of view. She also discusses transitions as a way to show a (4) change in mood or frame of mind. You can also use these types in combination.

With time transitions, a subsequent scene takes place at a different time than the previous scene. You can separate your scenes by minutes, weeks, months, years, centuries, or millennia. In the case of flashbacks, you can even go backwards in time. It’s important to make clear to the reader how far in time, and in which temporal direction, the new scene is from the previous one.

Location transitions shift the new scene to a different place. Once again, make it obvious to the reader that the story has shifted elsewhere. Spend only as many words as you need to describe the new setting, so the reader feels she is there with the characters.

Point of View transitions can be tricky. It’s best to mention the name of the new POV character early in the scene, in the first sentence. Since no two characters think alike, start by having the new POV character think about something the previous scene’s POV character wouldn’t have, to make the transition more obvious to the reader.

You can combine mood transitions with the other types, and often a change in time or location explains the change of mood. If a character alters mood within a scene, you need to make reason for the change clear to the reader.

Some writers find transitions difficult to write. If that’s true for you, consider writing your scenes first and just skip the transitions. Then go back and write those transitions, focusing on helping the reader understand when the new scene is, where it is, and from whose point of view she’s seeing it. Make the change obvious and brief.

As you edit transitions, read the end of the previous scene, the transition, and the beginning of the following scene. Is the change clear? Is it too abrupt, or too long?

So, follow the advice of Alfred Hitchcock and cut out the dull bits, but make sure you transition well between the remaining dramatic scenes. Now, transitioning to my usual sign-off, I’m—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 24, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

6 Ways Your Brain Kills Your Stories

How is it that your brain can think of wonderful stories, and then actively thwart your efforts to write them down? Let’s discuss some ways this happens, and what you can do about them.

In this post, I’m building on a previous (and inspiring) post by Courtney Seiter. Her article dealt with writing in general, but mine focuses on fiction writing.

When I think of an idea for a story, I jot down the idea in a file so I can write the story later. Over the years, the file has grown to over 160 ideas. However, I’ve written stories for only about 25 of these ideas, about 15%. Why not the other 85%? At one time, I was enthusiastic enough about all the ideas to write them down. What happened?

As I see it, one or more of the following six reasons explains my inaction. Many of these match the ones on Courtney Seiter’s list, but I’ve altered her list to conform to my experience. My methods of fixing the problems differ from hers to some extent.

Here are the ways my own brain works against me, and how I counter each of them:

It tells me the idea is no good. Maybe it once seemed good, but it no longer excites, or it’s obsolete, or there’s too little there from which to build a story. Sometimes my brain is right about that. When it’s not, the cure is to think more deeply about the idea, to brainstorm and mind-map, and to flesh it out.
It tells me the story is too hard to write. This most often occurs with stories worthy of being novels. It’s true that a novel is a bigger project than a short story. However, you don’t tackle big projects by worrying about how hard they are. You break them down into bite-sized tasks, and go after the tasks, one by one.
It tells me I’m too busy with other work. There will always be other things to do, so this ever-present excuse can prevent you from writing anything. The cure is to decide how important the story is to you. Can you adjust your priorities? Can you exercise better time management?
It gets distracted. Really, brain? This is your most pitiful excuse of all. My cure for this is to write a first draft with only a pad of paper, no computer. That helps eliminate many distractions. Setting a deadline—even an artificial one—can help me focus as well.
It tells me the story idea is outside my lane, and someone else should write it. My muse has come up with some crazy ideas, many of them far outside my usual genres. Sometimes I’ve given such ideas to other writer friends for whom the story would be a better fit. Often I’ve gone ahead, written the story, and hoped for the best.
It’s afraid. As Courtney Seiter observed, this is the biggest reason of all. It’s the root cause of the previous five reasons. There’s no sure-fire cure for this. I have to ask myself why I’m afraid, and look for ways to counter that cause. Often this involves asking myself, “What if I weren’t afraid? How would I tackle this?” Then I mind-map ideas about how I’d go about it.

Next time your brain tries to kill one of your stories, try these techniques. They’ve worked for the brain of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 17, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Your Editing List

You finished that first draft of your story. Whew! What’s next? Most likely, you’ll need to work on second and subsequent drafts, like a sculptor smoothing and texturing a statue. How do you do that?

In a previous post, I recommended you create a personal editing list. It should contain things you want to check in each story as part of your editing process.

Why is it a personal editing list? Every writer has different strengths and weaknesses. Your editing list should focus on your known weaknesses, while ensuring your strengths remain strong.

How do you find out about these weaknesses? You consult people you trust (including yourself). These people can include other writers in your critique group, Beta Readers, and editors of previous stories. You may also include weaknesses noted by those who commented online about your previous stories, especially when you agree with the comments.

Obviously, as you keep writing and getting more comments on more stories, your editing list will change. It’s not only personal, it’s flexible.

For those just beginning, I’ll propose a starter list. Add items as you discover your weaknesses, and delete (or disregard) items that haven’t been a problem for you.

Overall Aspects. Who is the protagonist? What is the protagonist’s problem? Does the story pass the ‘so what?’ test? How would I briefly answer the question: What is this story about?
Point of View. Have I chosen the right POV for the story? If other than Omniscient, have I selected the right character(s) to narrate it? When I change the POV, are the transitions clear?
Characters. Are my characters compelling? Why should readers care about them? Are my characters too stereotyped, and if so, what can I do to correct that? Have I conveyed the thoughts and feelings of the POV character?
Beginning. Does the first sentence, or at least the first paragraph, hook the reader? Does the beginning hint at the problem, convey the tone of the story, and include the protagonist? Does the story’s beginning foreshadow the ending without giving it away?
Plot. Does the plot convey the protagonist’s efforts to solve the problem? As the plot proceeds, do I build and release tension effectively? Is the story suspenseful? Do all the events and all the narration in the story advance the plot, or have I gone down rabbit holes?
Ending. Does the ending include a resolution to the problem? Is the ending too predictable? Does the ending go on too long after problem resolution?
Setting and Description. Is the setting clear from the start? Have I included too many details or too few? Have I grouped the setting details into an info-dump, and if so, can I sprinkle them throughout? Do my descriptions appeal to all five senses?
Dialogue. Is my dialogue appropriate and realistic? Have I conveyed a language accent with too many misspelled words? Does each major character have a distinctive (and contrasting) manner of talking, and vocabulary? Have I used dialogue tags effectively?
Show, Don’t Tell. For the key plot points, do I show rather than tell? Do I convey emotions, feelings, and impacts of events on characters? Do I merely relate events through narration? Do my characters react to events and actions appropriately?
Style. Have I strengthened the prose with similes and metaphors? Are there adverbs I can cut out? Have I used active phrasing? Can I choose verbs that are more powerful? Are there clichés I can delete or modify? Do I vary my sentence lengths enough? Is my vocabulary appropriate and consistent?
Spelling and Grammar. Have I corrected all unintentional misspellings? Is my grammar correct? Do I still have any awkward sentence structures? Do I have any misplaced modifiers?

There’s your starter list. Happy editing! Now it’s time for me to chip away at the next masterpiece by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 10, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Biomimetic Technology

How is Velcro like a burr plant? How is the Eastgate Centre in Harare, Zimbabwe like a termite mound? How is a tire tread like a tree frog?

These are all examples of engineers solving problems by looking to nature, a process known as biomimetics. After all, animals and plants have evolved over millions of years, and have developed solutions to many problems. Why shouldn’t we learn from them?

Burdock Plant, the inspiration for Velcro

After a hunting trip, Swiss engineer Georges de Mestral observed burrs from the burdock plant sticking to his pant legs. He wondered how the plants did that, and from his investigation came ‘hook and loop fasteners’ or Velcro.

Eastgate Centre in Harare, Zimbabwe with cross-section of chimney

Architect Mick Pearce sought a way to cost-effectively cool and heat a building in Zimbabwe, with its widely varying daily temperature cycles. He examined the flues and vents within termite mounds, and used the termites’ passive technique to save 90% of the cooling costs in his design for the Eastgate Centre.

Automotive designers wanted tires that adhered to wet roads. They noted how tree frogs stick to smooth wet leaves, and even to wet glass because their toe pads squeeze water away through fine grooves. Tire treads have a similar design, channeling rainwater away for better adhesion to the road surface.

Characters in several of my stories use biomimicry, too.

In “The Steam Elephant,” (The Gallery of Curiosities, Issue #3) my sequel to Jules Verne’s two-part novel, The Steam House, the engineer known as Banks constructed a mechanical elephant around a traction steam engine. Verne likely chose an elephant to allow room for the boiler, and as a form that did not require railroad tracks.

My story, “A Clouded Affair,” in the anthology Avast, Ye Airships! includes a working, steam-powered ornithopter. These aircraft imitate birds by flapping their wings. Although useful in bird-sized machines, they never proved as practical as fixed or rotating wings in full scale. Even so, prior to the invention of the airplane, some designers tried to mimic birds in this way.

Along similar lines, my story “Instability” in the anthology Dark Luminous Wings is about a monk trying to fly by imitating flying creatures. Based on legend, my tale has Brother Eilmer of Malmesbury Abbey constructing a pair of wings similar to those of jackdaws. He soon finds this impossible to build in practice, so chooses to model his wings on those of bats instead.

Are you trying to solve a problem? If so, perhaps nature has already solved it for you. Look to plants and animals for inspiration. After all, biomimetics worked for—

Poseidon’s Scribe

February 3, 2019Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Writing Inside the Box

The problem with life is there are too many constraints. There are too many limits, too little money, too few resources, and never enough time. And that’s the good news.

Good news? Lest you think me crazy, I’ll explain.

A wonderful blog post by James Clear inspired this post, and I encourage you to read Clear’s article, too.

If Theodore Geisel (Dr. Seuss) could constrain himself to write a children’s book using only fifty different words and come up with Green Eggs and Ham, then constraints may help you as well.

As discussed in Clear’s post, constraints (whether self-imposed or not) force you to think creatively, to find unusual ways to get things done within the limits.

As a fiction writer, you’re always imposing constraints on your characters, particularly the hero of your stories. Your protagonist is always racing against the clock, striving to get out of some trap, fighting to get free of a bad relationship, or otherwise burdened by severe limitations. With the usual options denied, your hero must become inventive in coming up with ways to resolve problems.

What about you? While writing your story, do you face constraints? Yes. I’m sure you have a word limit, even if only a vague one.

Other constraints include the tone of the narrative (once you’ve chosen that, you shouldn’t deviate), genre norms, a desire to stay away from stereotypical characters, character speaking style, the story’s Point of View, etc. Other constraints you might choose for yourself include vocabulary limits like Dr. Seuss’ story, an upper limit on readability index, a dislike of certain words or phrases, and thousands of other possibilities.

Perhaps the most constraining limit of all for any writer is time. You never know how much time you really have and you can’t buy more of it. You can’t take an infinite number of years to finish your story.

As one extreme example, consider the way Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit 451. With two small children at home, he sought a quiet place to write. At the library, he could rent a typewriter, but had to feed it a dime every half-hour. That would be a dollar every half-hour today. They say ‘time is money’ but imagine feeding money into your laptop all the time. No wonder Fahrenheit 451 is a rather short novel.

Constraints, whether imposed by the universe or by you, force you to optimize, maximize, and prioritize. They force you to choose some things and forego others. They force you to think beyond the normal, to consider bizarre alternatives, and to invent new methods.

Perhaps there’s no use complaining about constraints, then. We all face them. Just maybe, they’re bringing out your most creative impulses. Instead of complaining, accept them. Face them. Figure out ways to deal with them.

I’ve accepted the box I’m writing in, but it’s uncomfortable and my joints stiffened up. Now I’m stuck. I hope someone can reach in and help—

Poseidon’s Scribe