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So for my creative writing class this morning, I had a slightly edited version of this piece workshopped. Many people liked it. Many people also made some sensible suggestions, particularly in re: making it clearer why the backdrop of the violence in the first paragraph was relevant and not dropping that thread completely through the rest of the story. There was also some setting confusion, which -- it's always hard to tell how much setting work you need in a science fiction piece and how much you just want to leave people to figure out. People are always telling me to do less setting exposition, but apparently this was too much less, because I had a number of very lost readers, and if I revise it (which I think I will, for my final portfolio), I probably will take their advice and be somewhat more explicit.
Those were the useful comments, but of course, am I here to talk about those? I am not.
I am here because I had to sit there quietly and be lectured to by my classmates about 1) what science fiction is and B) how this was totally not it. EVEN THOUGH IT SO FUCKING IS. One of the more patronizing of them (a young man whose crap story about being chased through the sewer by Lovecraft-knockoff monsters I *defended* in class two weeks ago, btw) told me that unless I was really "married" to the idea of it being set in a science fiction world, I shouldn't bother, because science fiction had to be integral to the story, not just tacked on by references to deep space.
Now, for those of you who didn't bother to click the link above (though you should read it; it's not long), the whole goddamn thing is about the identity crisis of a former sociopath who's gone through court-mandated neurosurgery as his sentence. He's dealing with this idea that they've deemed him okay now, rehabilitated, and turned him loose to live his life, but he's actually not functional yet, because he isn't the person he used to be and doesn't know who or what he is yet. So, yeah, it's kind of incredibly integral to the story that he lives in the goddamn future, where it would be possible to cure a person in that way, as it is in fact not possible now. The human ramifications of implementing a technology that's beyond our current limitations, particularly in such a way that it calls into question basic definitions of the self and consciousness? How in the holy fuck is that not science fiction? And yes, I'm married to it! Because that's the story! Jason Stokes from Hell's Kitchen in 2006 would be rotting in the sub-basement of some maximum security prison somewhere, waiting for a needle in his arm. Jason Stokes from Borough Twelve in I-haven't-given-it-a-year-but-well-after-now is in this place instead, dealing with something wholly different because of when and where he was born. Science fiction! And okay, maybe I could put in more, I don't know, space words or whatever to help the reader along, but no, I'm not taking the fucking deli out, because there will still be delis in the 23rd century!
Anyway, that was my chief need to vent. The fact that my teacher was convinced, and had to be dissuaded by the class, that it took place in a mental asylum was slightly disheartening, too, but at least she seemed to be the only one, and she's a bit daft anyhow.
Although I'm glad I didn't have people's written comments before the end of class, because that's where people really bust out the crazy. My favorite, mainly because I truly can't tell if it was supposed to be serious or not, was "This crazy nigga needs a motherfuckin' friend or needs to start killin' and shit b/c he is looking pussy-as-hell and stupid." I sort of liked that, first off because Jason would so totally agree with it, and secondarily because I thought the options offered were fab: he either needs to go back to murdering people *or* meet someone he can share his feelings with. Either one! Whichever! How great is that?
At the other end of the scale, I got one with just one comment on it: "'Fuck's don't work for me. You shouldn't use that word. Watch your language; it's offensive." And then they darkly crossed out all six recurrences of the word in question. To which, I mean, is there any possible response on earth other than, "Huh, interesting. Fuck you"? No, I don't think there is.
Three more weeks til I'm done with college and can go back to writing for y'all. That's all I have to say about that.
Those were the useful comments, but of course, am I here to talk about those? I am not.
I am here because I had to sit there quietly and be lectured to by my classmates about 1) what science fiction is and B) how this was totally not it. EVEN THOUGH IT SO FUCKING IS. One of the more patronizing of them (a young man whose crap story about being chased through the sewer by Lovecraft-knockoff monsters I *defended* in class two weeks ago, btw) told me that unless I was really "married" to the idea of it being set in a science fiction world, I shouldn't bother, because science fiction had to be integral to the story, not just tacked on by references to deep space.
Now, for those of you who didn't bother to click the link above (though you should read it; it's not long), the whole goddamn thing is about the identity crisis of a former sociopath who's gone through court-mandated neurosurgery as his sentence. He's dealing with this idea that they've deemed him okay now, rehabilitated, and turned him loose to live his life, but he's actually not functional yet, because he isn't the person he used to be and doesn't know who or what he is yet. So, yeah, it's kind of incredibly integral to the story that he lives in the goddamn future, where it would be possible to cure a person in that way, as it is in fact not possible now. The human ramifications of implementing a technology that's beyond our current limitations, particularly in such a way that it calls into question basic definitions of the self and consciousness? How in the holy fuck is that not science fiction? And yes, I'm married to it! Because that's the story! Jason Stokes from Hell's Kitchen in 2006 would be rotting in the sub-basement of some maximum security prison somewhere, waiting for a needle in his arm. Jason Stokes from Borough Twelve in I-haven't-given-it-a-year-but-well-after-now is in this place instead, dealing with something wholly different because of when and where he was born. Science fiction! And okay, maybe I could put in more, I don't know, space words or whatever to help the reader along, but no, I'm not taking the fucking deli out, because there will still be delis in the 23rd century!
Anyway, that was my chief need to vent. The fact that my teacher was convinced, and had to be dissuaded by the class, that it took place in a mental asylum was slightly disheartening, too, but at least she seemed to be the only one, and she's a bit daft anyhow.
Although I'm glad I didn't have people's written comments before the end of class, because that's where people really bust out the crazy. My favorite, mainly because I truly can't tell if it was supposed to be serious or not, was "This crazy nigga needs a motherfuckin' friend or needs to start killin' and shit b/c he is looking pussy-as-hell and stupid." I sort of liked that, first off because Jason would so totally agree with it, and secondarily because I thought the options offered were fab: he either needs to go back to murdering people *or* meet someone he can share his feelings with. Either one! Whichever! How great is that?
At the other end of the scale, I got one with just one comment on it: "'Fuck's don't work for me. You shouldn't use that word. Watch your language; it's offensive." And then they darkly crossed out all six recurrences of the word in question. To which, I mean, is there any possible response on earth other than, "Huh, interesting. Fuck you"? No, I don't think there is.
Three more weeks til I'm done with college and can go back to writing for y'all. That's all I have to say about that.
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-17 05:46 pm (UTC)From:That guy's an idiot.
I recall Asimov getting on LeGuin's case about The Lathe of Heaven, which he contended had to be counted as "fantasy" rather than "sci-fic" because it wasn't based on a technological issue, like his Robot books were. First, I thought that was unduly narrow-minded (my first question is, Is it a good story?), but second, as you note, your story very much fits this definition from one of the self-appointed Masters. So . . .
Re exposition:
I hate too much of it. I'd always rather have less, even to the point of preferring a story that is nothing but dialogue (assuming it's good dialogue, which establishes character as well as moving along plot). But the ideal is what you did here: provide the telling detail, slipped in as if the reader were in the know, not whapping the reader in the face with it as though it were a dead fish or pointing it out oh-so-carefully as though we were all kindergarteners. A good visual comparison would be the film "Blade Runner"--I couldn't rebuild you the interior of the apartment of the Harrison Ford character, or describe how the mechanics of those hover-cars work. That doesn't matter. We got an impressionistic sense of them, just enough to put us in a real world, other than our own. It's a story, not a how-to manual!
( . . . not that I have any strong feelings on this subject, or anything . . . )
Oh, and it case it wasn't evident from all this ranting--that's a fascinating, evocative sketch, and I'd love to see more of it, but I think it stands perfectly on its own. I'd agree with the earlier suggestion that you try to get it published so more people can enjoy it.
(Maybe the real purpose of these workshops is to help you develop enough confidence to tell other people to just . . . oh, but we can't use the "F" word, right? (The scuttlebutt in my History Ph.D. program was that the point of the oral was to get you to admit you didn't know everything. Could this be a reverse psychology twist on that?)