Category Archives: Writing

Worldbuilding by wardrobe/clothing as technology

Working on a scene in which a ruler-in-exile meets a man from off-planet she hopes will help restore her to her rightful place. I’m describing what they’re wearing, with in my ears David Gerrold’s plaint (made last year at Rustycon), about women writers who insist on stopping the scene to describe what people are wearing. This he found irrelevant and tedious. Though I piped up that it makes a difference who your viewpoint is: a tailor, for instance, would notice what people are wearing. But I have been rereading some of Baen books free library on my Palm: military SF, and some of those writers go into great detail about military ordnance, its history, its provenance, and its effect on tactics, because it’s all relevant to the story, part of the world building (I like it, but then I like information in a story). I don’t see why clothing should not be viewed in the same way, as a technology, and as world building. I wonder if women writers treat it differently than men. Or whether the divide is between people who have studied history and other cultures and learned to analyse the social languages of clothes. It may be you have to step outside your own culture to be able to understand the language of your own clothes – I know we have one – or several – they seem muted and muddled. And if you haven’t had that perspective, you don’t know just how much clothes say.

Theme music for a novel

In the process of trying to persuade my various software – including my hacked version of iTunes (I’m still running OS8.6) – to play MIDI files, I came across my collection of music associated with my current WIP: working title, Graveyards of Nereis:

  • Sir Michael Tippett, A Child of Our Time
  • The soundtrack from Gladiator
  • The soundtrack from Alexander Nevsky, especially the alto solo “Field of the Dead”
  • The “Dona nobis” from the recent Henry V

My original conception of the novel was both darker and more heroic than the way it is turning out. I am at the “sculpture under tension” phase – bits of it springing free and thwacking me – where I am trying to force into a shape and it is resisting. Whether I am pushing against something fundamental in its structure, trying to force the story (and, even more, the characters’ final destinies) athwart itself (themselves), or whether I simply do not have my technique right, is something I can only trust will become clear after the first draft. It would be a more powerful story if I let it become a tragedy. But I cannot yet see how to prevent the tragedy from bringing about a closure that would distort the rest of the story I want to tell.

To boldly go, with Data

I have learned many things from Star Trek. Some of them are even useful. However, as I work on a clinical study report, I need constantly to remind myself that data are not singular.

Having reviewed that previous sentence and had to make not one grammatical revision, but two, I recognize the other lifelong grammatical mark of ST. A tendency to regard the infinitive, like the atom, as splittable.

A long train journey

I might one day find the exact quote I keep paraphrasing, Ibsen’s observation that after his first draft, he felt as though he’d been introduced to his characters, after the second, that he’d been to dinner with them, after the third, that he’d been on a long train journey with them, and after the fourth that he’d known them all his life. I am not yet out of the first draft and I feel I am on a very long train journey. To quote Rita Mae Brown, photosynthesis is far more efficient than writing as a means of earning ones daily bread.

Where is it all going?

“Ideas”, for those beyond the CBC broadcast aura, is a weeknightly documentary program on … well, ideas. In 2000 they did a program on “Digital Storytelling”. It is a subject I’ve been thinking about, as a writer – this is my summary and reactions, written at the time as a post on the Hollylisle.com forum.

The program started with the observation that the readership of books, magazines and newspapers was declining. So too was the viewership of film, theatre, television. What seemed to be expanding was the internet: half of the Canadian population is now on line. So they looked at what was happening to storytelling in the digital age.

The key distinction between old and new media they seemed to identify on the program was interactivity, although they identified widespread uncertainty about what ‘interactive’ meant, aside from digital or computer-based.

The first form of interactive storytelling identified was hypertext, and they interviewed Michael Joyce as a pioneer of hypertext storytelling. He described the realization as he started first hypertext novel that he was actually going to have to instruct the reader as to how to read the story. Hypertext has implications for narrative, because it destroys the linear progression and requires the reader to navigate through the story. The incorporation of multimedia is attractive and disconcerting and further fragments the narrative. The fragmentation of the narrative is not seen as a problem by practitioners of the art but as an extension of real life — we are bombarded by media and stimuli and find it a familiar exercise to make meaning out of information overload.

[Parenthetically, I wonder about that. Am I simply a fossil, or am I right in thinking that the reason that life alone does not suffice is that life’s lack of coherence, plot and sometimes meaning bugs people and they actually WANT story. Is there a way to use hypertext and still construct order and story — and how would one do it?]

The next form identified was games, which are more advanced than digital storytelling because the market is driven that way. The program used Riven and Myst as examples, non-violent, riddle and mystery-driven with implicit storytelling. The narrator of the program however observed that there was little control and little character development; the scenery was beautiful but the player remained unmoved. These games failed the test of a good story: Do I care? What do empathy and identification mean in the computer world?

The Intruder is an adaptation in ten games (Brookton, a professor) of a story by Borges. The reader/player has to play a succession of games to hear the story, and the games themselves encapsulate a history of arcade games. They are also increasingly aggressive, paralleling a plot which features rape and murder. They are a comment on a violent story, and by their participation in those games the reader/viewer becomes complicit.

[Lots of stuff there. Is identification and empathy required, or is it overrated? Certainly it has been fashionable — particularly in literature for the young — to have characters with whom the reader can ‘identify’. The author of a book I have been reading Losing our Language would cite that as part of a specific social agenda, in which the teaching of reading was used as a means of socialization to acceptable values. Could one write a game in which the player was a character?]

The holodeck was cited as every computer geek’s fantasy, allowing users to interact, build story and progress narrative in any way they want. But do we want to have relationships with computer programs? Another interviewee (Wong) thought not; he thought readers still needed an authors’ craft to make the experience meaningful and exciting, and that an interaction with a program would become predictable.

The next instance was of a play, Sandeman’s Harvest (Yannek was the playwright’s name), about genetically modified food, performed on-line in a chat room, with lines from the play interspersed with chat, many of the audience having no idea what was going on. It was a case of political theater taking to the streets of cyberspace, and the audience’s interaction brought humour and perspective to the play. It did, however, meant that the play was not what the author had envisioned.

Then the program described LinguaMOO, a learning environment for linguistic students and a place for creative arts — poems, stories and performance — and talked about the fluidity of identity in the Internet (“On the Internet no one knows you’re a dog”) and how that encourages creative experimentation.

Glide is a story/maze/tool for composing music, set in an SFnal scenario 2000 years into the future when humanity has been infected by the i-virus for which the only cure is the dance of death. One has to learn a new language composed of glyphs, which are not only pictoral but musical. Text can be animated and language becomes increasingly visual. It doesn’t conjour image, it is an image. The word and the image renegotiate themselves. The program has a dictionary and can suggest concepts. This led into a discussion of the way we are becoming increasingly visual, and that possibly we are on the cusp of a transition between print and visual/interactive communication, and it would be a transition as profound as that between oral and written. Some people believe that reading is necessary for reflection, that it allows profound thought and makes democracy possible and that by losing it we risk losing our sophistication. Others say that this is absurd, that our minds will still function linguistically. Not everyone believes text will be weakened in a digital medium — certain qualities of language and narrative structure are global, and we will come up with new forms, just as rich.

[As a political aside: I confess to being not entirely sanguine. I mentioned Losing Our Language, in which the author describes the gradual decline in difficulty level of English language instruction over the past century, as evidenced by the reading primers in use, and states that translates into decreased reading attainment and a population less able to handle complexity in language. I’ve also been reading Deadly Persuasion , subtitled Why Women and Girls must resist the addictive power of advertising (or that’s close — the library wanted its book back — and I don’t have the author to hand) — it is entirely about advertising, and the extent and sophistication of manipulation is creepy. I’m aware of my own visual illiteracy and susceptibility — in comparision to text where I can recognize manipulation through language very easily. Images are more accessible and available and therefore more powerful than words. Seeing is inborn and easy; reading must be acquired. But this gets away from the creative arts].

And that was it for Ideas.

Dale Spender in Nattering on the Net forsees the replacement of the novel by a multimedia presentation which may be scripted by authors but will involve coordination by a team of collaborators, rather more like film making with the author in the position of director.

So form will storytelling take in the future? Is storytelling dispensible? How can we get these media to really work, as the best of writing works? Would writers give up your creative control for interactivity? Is there a way — without spending a lifetime on it — to create a hypertext/multimedia/interactive presentation which preserves a creative unity and meaning? This stuff is all hugely exciting and I’m beginning to nibble tentatively at the edges — but I don’t have the leisure time to go through a second apprenticeship. I feel like a silent film star (or at least minor character actress) at the dawn of the talkies.