Ten (Stories) to The Stars

by Raymond Z. Gallun

  Thrust: A recurrent theme in much of your writing was the impact of technology—both its pitfalls and possibilities. Are you satisfied with the way man has used technology to advance human progress?

  Gallun: Yes. To me, technology is still the big thing for the future. True, there have been instances of errors, haste, and carelessness, some of which have probably come about knowingly and willfully, out of a desire for gain. Technology should be wedded to careful assessments of effects, which can’t always be foreseen completely. Therefore, we must now and then be bold, and take certain calculated risks—unless we are just too timid to merit staying alive. This is particularly so in a world that is unlikely, very soon, to become what it has never, so far, been—totally safe! In this connection, I feel that technology has lately been subjected to very considerable phobic obstructionism against its reasonable forward movement. For example, one can argue forever over the pros and cons of nuclear energy, but generally, it does have a very good record for safety—waste disposal by processing for reuse doesn’t seem such an unsolvable problem. Otherwise, even if by some mishap, some thousands of people were killed or permanently injured, is that so terrible when viewed against the constant of fifty thousand people killed in cars on our roads every year? The familiar we accept with scarcely a shrug; but let a slightly strange danger be suggested, and fear of the unknown enters in, like a baby’s Bogey-Man in a dark corner. Solar energy is a nice thought, but there are too many people trying to push it at us as an alternative to nuclear energy. As long as it is confined to the ground, I don’t think I’d give it too much hope for really practical viability, or urge anybody to waste a lot of public or private work and funds on it. Its output of usable power wouldn’t balance the input of effort and materials. There are too many sunless days in too many places. It’s like putting sails on a motor-ship—which, for a while, was done in the old days—until the two systems became a clumsy and useless redundancy. Nor, for similar reasons, do I believe much in wind-power. However, taking solar power out into space, where solar energy is constant and continuous, can be something else entirely, though I suppose the shout would go up about how dangerous the microwave transmission was. By and large, though, I’m fairly well satisfied with the movement of technology, and usually I’ve looked upon it as a benign force.

  Thrust: Generally speaking, did writing come easily to you? Did words come smoothly and effortlessly?

  Gallun: I have experienced both ease and difficulty with the process of writing, but managed to have slogged through. Usually, when writing came hard for me, there was something wrong with the dream I was trying to convey. It may have been incomplete or defective, clouded by improper character personality, or flawed by an overload of information.

  Thrust: Were you a meticulous writer? Did you labor over your prose?

  Gallun: “Meticulous?" This adjective is maybe a bit extreme. Most of the time, however, I have been quite careful over words. One instance I remember from way back—the fact that I still recall it now, after all this time, indicates sufficient of a struggle, then, to make a strong impression. It concerned the selection of an adjective in the first paragraph of “Davey Jones’ Ambassador." In the end, it boiled down to a choice between, "A brittle crackling sound," or, "A brittle jingling sound.” I chose the latter, perhaps because the former seemed unnecessarily harsh. Which would you select? Word applicability and imagery are such elusive things; lots of times you have to rely on intuition for a particular place; and you can argue with yourself the other way at other times.

  Thrust: Can you say something about your work habits—working hours, note-taking, outlining methods?

  Gallun: My work habits varied widely from yarn to yarn. I’ve done quite a lot directly on the typewriter; I’ve written carefully in pencil; I’ve roughed in pencil and worked up typed finals from the roughs. There was one 3,500 word yarn—"Flight of the RX-1”—that I made up and memorized before I typed it out. Lately, I’ve been doing roughs in pencil, and then rewriting on the typewriter. Notes taken after a manuscript is essentially finished—to insert, delete or clarify, and to avoid contradictions, repetitions and unnecessary wordiness—are part of the process. When I work, I work steadily and rather slowly—five to seven pages is a good day. There is seldom any waiting for inspiration. If I don't know what to do about a germ idea, I just buck into it somewhere; thus, I’m forced to focus my attention closely on each bit, which helps me to get it more clearly. I wrote my 1,450-page novel—Ormund House (not science fiction but about a science-fiction writer)—four times, over a period of twelve years, though this was strictly spare time. It has yet to find a publisher!

  Thrust: How concerned were you with technique or method in those early stories?

  Gallun: Technique or method are important elements of good writing. I tried to get a fast and attention-grabbing start with the first paragraph, never too lengthy. I tried to introduce incidents and related bits of information in the best possible place for dramatic effect, while avoiding awkward sequencing which causes confusion, and pulls in pile-ups of action-stopping explanation. My major objective was simplicity and terseness.

  Thrust: Throughout your career, you've evidenced a clear talent for plotting. As you see it, what makes a plot work?

  Gallun: Someone once said that every writer should have a poster on his wall, in letters of fire, spelling: “Suspense!” Of course, there are also the usual elements of problem, method, effort, and some kind of resolution. “Bad Guys and Good Guys,” with the elements of sympathy and anger entering in, encourage the reader to take an active stand. The reader wonders, fears, and hopes about what is going to happen. Usually, in adventure fiction, there is a strong element of danger in the suspense factor. There are other forms of suspense which can seem more natural. And, of course, there is a kind of suspense which might be considered purely a matter of the arrangement of information provided. For example, if you consider that some character named “Charlie" is dealing nimbly with complex mathematics, and then find out that he is only two months old, you wonder—in suspense!—who, how, why, what? You can inform the reader somewhat later that Charlie is a robot or computer or whatever, more interesting. The information is a little out of logical, cut-and-dried sequence, of course, but it is better that way, as long as it doesn't create serious confusion. As far as whether a plot “works," this is a common word applied to stories, but it seems to me to be rather elusive in meaning. I suppose it means that the story satisfies the reader. I suspect that words such as “convincing,” “interesting," and “gripping,” might be better terms. In this regard, a story should certainly be smooth-flowing, with no informational binds and pile-ups in the wrong places. Moreover, characters, action, etc. should seem real; there shouldn’t be any feeling that such-and-such couldn’t happen. Of course, these statements are pretty obvious; however, many things that don’t seem real if stated in a few words, can be made to seem real, and even pleasantly startling, if viewed a little more closely or with a different slant. And that’s where one case can be interestingly different from another—each problem new in the game. Living with a bunch of characters as a kind of pleasant fantasy-life pastime—instead of doing crossword puzzles or something—is the best approach to plotting that I know of. To me, especially, there’s a lot of importance in getting an attention-grabbing incident in the first paragraph, with caution that what follows, flows at the same, or increased pace—tersely.

  Thrust: How concerned were you with the critics? Did their opinions matter to you?

  Gallun: One is always concerned with critics, favorable or unfavorable, but not too much. One’s best chance of pleasing others effectively with any though is first to please one’s self, and then let whatever is universal there find its linkage with others. This will probably happen somewhere, since none of us are really so very different.

  Thrust: It you were asked to assess your work, how would you do so? What were your chief strengths and weaknesses?

  Gallun: As a
science-fiction writer, I think I’ve had a good inventive ability: The telepathic device from the stars that allows a man to read minds, but can also kill him when mass thoughts of hatred are thrown into his brain. The weapon that absorbs sunlight to recharge, but can also become a projector of pictures of the place from which it comes, simply by a reversal of the process. The villain who seals himself away from retribution in a hard shell insulating him from all killing energy, but who is slowly cooked by accumulation of his own body heat within the impervious shell. And so forth. If I can’t go to a strange world, I can imagine myself there, and what real information I have about it gradually expands in imaginary details that seem to fit, over a period of time of fantasy living. I suppose my worst weakness is plots and ideas that buckle somewhere—are incomplete, or become too complex for easy story presentation. I do also suspect some philosophical disagreements with many readers, though not all, of course. “The Restless Tide" comes readily to mind. And I’m an experimenter; I don’t know that I could stick very well to some formula that pays off, as in a series of connected stories. Most significant, if being known is a point, and it surely is, if you want to make a living out of it!—there have been those long gaps of not doing anything in science fiction.

  Thrust: Unlike many modern science-fiction writers, you were quite shy and withdrawn when it came to self-promotion. Why?

  Gallun: My lack of self-promotion was no doubt an error; in part, I was shy. If one does not blow one’s own horn, who will? I have several times run into young writers and artists with the rather holy view that their work should speak for itself—to some extent this is true, of course—but for their own sake it should be emphatically pointed out to them that this extreme idealism is a handicap which may keep whatever they do relatively unnoticed. People look at and listen to those whom they hear about; they are too occupied with their own activities to go scouting around hunting for good in the rest of the world.

  Thrust: What explains the fact that your contributions to the science-fiction genre have gone relatively unnoticed in recent years?

  Gallun: I think I have to admit that my not being remembered very well is somewhat my own fault. I dropped out totally after 1961, when Pyramid published Planet Strappers, and I was not very responsive to letters showing interest. The book had a fair sale, I guess—just a couple of dozen copies short of eighty thousand, which got me beyond the basic advance of one thousand dollars, common in those days. However, I was already involved in technical writing, and this didn’t look like much. There were other reasons, too. I was just then pretty weary of science fiction; I’d already done very little of it for quite a few years. So I decided to close the books, tenderly, on science-fiction writing. Among other things, science fiction was a past phase, pleasant in its time, but the glamor was long gone. I asked myself, “Why break your back? There are far easier, and more lucrative, ways to make a living.” At the time, my blood pressure was up over two hundred. My doctor told me I was heading straight for trouble. When I finally said to hell with it, my blood pressure down to 120/70 in less than a month. So maybe I saved my life.

  Thrust: What have you done in the intervening years since leaving the science-fiction field?

  Gallun: The last job I had was with the Edo Corporation, in College Point, New York—eleven years working on instruction manuals, chiefly for submarine-detection-and-tracking sonar equipment. Meanwhile, I kept myself entertained and my writing sharp by doing a 1,450-page biographical novel called Ormund House, which I mentioned earlier. I've showed it around to a few book editors, getting back some fairly complimentary letters, but the massiveness of this opus doesn’t lend itself very readily to commercial publication, though I had a lot of fun doing it.

  Thrust: Does science fiction stilt fill you with the kind of wonder which inspired your early interest in the genre?

  Gallun: No. Science fiction doesn’t have quite the same appeal now that it once had. Wonder has faded in inverse proportion to what has already been done in areas that once were entirely science fiction. Its attraction then, to young people now—quite remarkable—is evidently in another direction than wonder. Is it escape into better worlds? Does it too often support a conviction of alienation from the Establishment? No doubt much of this is justified to some extent, but encouraging alienation can have unproductive consequences, particularly when the opposite ought to take place. Otherwise, I’ve been in most of the places described in much of modern science fiction, thus it becomes repetitious. I very much liked Rendezvous With Rama (Arthur Clarke)—that carried the old wonder. I like things like When Harlie Was One (David Gerrold), which belongs to Now. I’m getting quite tired of Medieval-type adventure books, full of pirates, mad priests, warriors and whatnot, stuck off somewhere on some planet of some other star. The many Tolkien imitations wear thin. But other people like them, so my occasional grousing is unjustified.

  Thrust: How do you view the current crop of new science-fiction writers? Whose work do you most enjoy reading?

  Gallun: Science-fiction writers today are doing a lot better than they used to. I have my favorites, but rather not mention them right here, though Poul Anderson, Fred Pohl, and Clifford Simak come quickly to mind. This shouldn’t offend newer writers by neglect, since these and others are long established. As for the younger scribes, I particularly enjoy reading Spider Robinson.

  Thrust: Do you have any deep regrets as they relate to your involvement in the science-fiction field? Are there things you wish you had done differently?

  Gallun: No, not really. One has to accept what one did. My choices turned out to be pretty good ones on their own merits. I’ve had a pretty good life in most anybody’s terms. I like to travel and have done quite a lot of it over the years. I’ve been around the world twice in the last 2 1/2 years. Also, I got married again in February, 1978, and remain about as busy and interested in what I’m doing as I have ever been. I could have hung onto science fiction instead of closing stop on it when I did, and thus might have kept progressing at it; but I was really fed up with it when I did quit, instead of being refreshed, as I am now.

  Thrust: Do you have any plans to continue writing?

  Gallun: Yes. Since retiring from formal employment, I’m trying to write science fiction again. The December, 1977 Analog had my “Then and Now’’ in it. And Analog has my “A First Glimpse’’ coming up, I guess in the February, 1980 issue. After my long rest from science fiction, I feel quite enthusiastic about my first love. I’ve recently completed a new novel called Skyclimber. Presently, I’m working on another book, tentatively titled, The Magnificent Mutation. Being a little tired of interstellar stories, I’ve come back mainly to our local solar system, particularly Mars and Earth in this latest effort. I’m looking for a publisher for another novel, Gemi the Finder, about Twelfth Dynasty Egypt, which I am very pleased with. Gemi is an imagined early scientist living in Egypt, about 1900 B.C. Otherwise, the book is a carefully authenticated historical fantasy, with lots of adventure. The novel could surely be considered science fiction, if editors don’t think it too off-beat and out of the present saleable formulas. This is often a stumbling block when an author strives for real originality.

  Thrust: Finally, what legacy would you like to leave the science-fiction field? How would you like to be remembered?

  Gallun: I suppose unpredictables take part in this. It’s not that so many science-fiction scribes make very good specific predictions, though was it Lewis Carroll who gave Mars, two small moons before Phobos and Deimos were discovered? I don’t think such predictions count for an awful lot. I don’t think that the significance of science fiction is in this sort of specifics. It is rather the forward-looking mood that science fiction seems to have helped create. Werner Von Braun, and many others, we hear, read science fiction. The real space-age of today appears to have had a major root in science fiction. And look at today! Particularly now, right after Christmas, look at the kind of toys that small fry are playing with—all sorts of imaginar
y space vehicles and machines! Surely, a lot of this familiarity and indoctrination will stick with them through their growing up years into adult life, when they will be devising and working with the real McCoy! These toys—the whole idea of them—is entwined with science fiction. As a legacy, it is nice to think that one has perhaps taken part in this kind of outward pointing, dreaming and doing!—perhaps making some of it, not just fiction, but real!

  Thrust: Thank you. Mr. Gallun.

  Editors Note:

  RAY GALLUN is a veteran among science fiction authors—he has been writing and selling such stories for more than two decades. Yet he is a writer whose material is invariably fresh and arresting, never shows a trace of genre-fatigue.

  This is true because Gallun is that rarest of creatures among story tellers—an "idea" author. Seldom if ever does he come up with a theme or a gadget new to stf readers. His interest lies in visualizing some "different" situation more clearly than most of his co-professionals and then digging deeper into the natures and feelings of the people he imagines facing such situations.

  In Joe Whiteskunk it may be that he has birthed a character that will linger long in the annals of current and future science fiction. Certainly Joe is one we are not going to forget in a hurry.

  — THE EDITOR.