Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 98

by Matthew Kressel

  You never know. But I find SF much more difficult than fantasy, because for fantasy you have history to lean on, and for SF you have to make it all up.

  Setting really informs your fiction: you evoke a strong sense of place in all of your stories. I imagine you’re good at researching places, or well traveled, or most likely a combination of both. What are some of the places you’ve most enjoyed visiting—“anywhere with pillars,” as one character teases in your forthcoming The Just City (2015)?

  I’m not all that well traveled. My friend the thriller writer Jon Evans has been everywhere. I’ve been to quite a lot of places in Europe, and generally when I travel in North America I go by train, which means I see a lot more places and landscapes than people who fly.

  Place is very important to me, and in fact all the places in all my books are real and I have been to them. I need to feel a sense of connection to a place to write about it. But that can happen quite fast. In 2011 I spent a week in Florence staying with my friend Ada Palmer (whose brilliant Dogs of Peace is coming out from Tor next year) and I just fell in love with it, and it has been appearing in everything I’ve written since, including things set in Heaven, on generation starships, and in Plato’s Republic. I have been back there every year since.

  What are a few destinations you’ve never traveled to but you would like to visit in the future?

  Of course, I’d like to go everywhere . . . I want to go to Naples, and Istanbul, and lots of places in Asia, and to other planets, and of course Ithaca, but only the Ship of Fools is traveling there this year . . .

  In your novel, Among Others, to what degree were the authors and books a conscious choice on your part, designed to help illuminate the character of Mori to the reader, and to what degree were they instinctively autobiographical, drawn directly from your own memories of reading?

  Lots of both. My memories of reading and my reactions to books when I was that age really guided me a lot—and her likes and dislikes are very congruent with mine when I was that age. But what she reads when and her response to it was definitely chosen deliberately—for instance Babel 17 being the book she is halfway through at the time when she chooses not to die, when Babel 17 is about communication and connection.

  I’m curious if you also read what we might think of as “associational” SF books—that is, books written by SF authors that are not SF. I’m thinking particularly of nonfiction, but also non-genre novels by primarily genre authors. If so, do you have any favorites?

  Yes, of course I do. Dan Simmons Phases of Gravity, Susan Palwick’s Mending the Moon, John Brunner’s The Great Steamboat Race, Keith Roberts’s The Boat of Fate, L. Sprague de Camp’s An Elephant for Aristotle, everything Marge Piercy and Margaret Atwood and Kazuo Ishiguro and Doris Lessing and Anthony Burgess wrote that wasn’t SF . . . no, wait, that wasn’t what you’re asking!

  As for nonfiction, I guess I have read Le Guin and Delany and Tolkien’s essays, but I can’t think of much else. Most of the non fiction I read is history and biography and things.

  Given your fascination with classical philosophy and mythology, I’m curious if you’ve read other SF writer’s takes on some of these raw materials—Dan Simmons’ Ilium and Olympos, to quote a recent example, or others?

  I haven’t read those. I can’t think of much actually. Lots of historical fiction that’s on the edge of fantasy—Mary Renault especially.

  Any others besides Renault?

  More classical historical fiction on the edge of fantasy—Gillian Bradshaw, Georgia Sallska’s Priam’s Daughter, Alfred Duggan.

  In one your posts on Tor.com you classified book series according to four broad categories (I’m using my own words here):

  1) single books split up into multiple volumes on publication

  2) series where each book is self-contained but reading them in the correct order is recommended

  3) series that can be read in any order, but which benefit from cumulative reading

  4) series made of up self-contained volumes that are completely independent of each other.

  I noticed that your website refers to your next novel, The Just City, as the first of the new three-book Thessaly series. Which of the above categories best describes this forthcoming series (or did you invent a fifth one)? And at what point in the development of the ideas/characters did you realize it would be three volumes?

  It’s a type 2 series, definitely.

  Each book is self-contained, and I could have stopped at the end of book one, or at the end of book two. When I’d finished The Just City, I knew I’d have to either write an extra chapter covering some things left dangling, or write a sequel. I thought about it, and wrote The Philosopher Kings. Then when I’d finished that, it could have been enough, but then I looked through a solar telescope in the Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff and knew I had to write the third one.

  So are you currently working on the third volume, Necessity?

  Yes, I am working on Necessity, or I would be if I wasn’t doing this interview.

  About the Author

  Alvaro is the co-author, with Robert Silverberg, of When the Blue Shift Comes, which received a starred review from Library Journal. Alvaro’s short fiction and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in Analog, Nature, Galaxy’s Edge, Apex and other venues, and Alvaro was nominated for the 2013 Rhysling Award. Alvaro’s reviews, critical essays and interviews have appeared in The Los Angeles Review of Books, Strange Horizons, SF Signal, The New York Review of Science Fiction, Foundation, and other markets. Alvaro currently edits the blog for Locus.

  Another Word:

  Free Advice from a Full-Time Author.

  Worth Every Penny Paid

  Wesley Chu

  I’m going to start by admitting that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Nevertheless, I am a full-time writer and my path to achieving my lifelong dream isn’t some quest where the rickety bridge collapsed behind me right after I crossed it. I didn’t grab the only McGuffin along the way as I laid waste to the publishing gatekeepers. In other words, you can probably follow in my footsteps if you desire. Do you actually want to? You may not by the time this article is through, but, if you do, that’s your prerogative. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

  Full-time writing is a lot like parenthood, without having to change diapers as often. Mind you, I have no children. Since we’ve already established that I don’t really know I’m talking about, let’s assume you trust me when I say you have to deal with a lot of shit. In the early days, writing will keep spitting up on your shirt and everyone will think what you’re doing is “cute.”

  It’s easy to get discouraged. It’s easy to feel like you’re wasting your damn time doing this stringing-words-together thing hoping to achieve some unattainable goal that seemingly requires pulling blackjack every hand for an hour. Well, you’re not.

  You, my writing padawan, are acquiring necessary skills. You’re assembling a writing toolbox. You’re learning to fail. And fail you will, a crap ton of times as you learn that this metaphorical Phillips screwdriver doesn’t work for squat trying to metaphorically caulk this metaphorical hole in the wall. I know, I know. It’s all fun and metaphors until someone gets cut.

  Let’s go back to the parenthood analogy. You’re nurturing this writing baby and your desperate hope is that this baby grows up to be a productive member of society and not a serial killer or say, the screenwriter for the Transformers movie. (Yes I know he’s rich.) Let’s be honest, does that dude look in the mirror every morning and say, “You, sir, are one hell of a writer?” Okay, he probably does. But, when he dies, and stands at the Pearly Gates, and the gatekeeper (always these gatekeepers!) looks at his resume and sees Age of Extinction, I think we all know where he’s going. Eternal paradise isn’t in his cards.

  Regardless, honing these necessary skills will take time before you “go pro” (and by that I mean someone out there decides that something you’ve written is worth real tangible money). It could be ten years
from the first time you sat down to write. It could be the next day (I hate you). Whatever amount of time it takes is the time it takes. I won’t judge you and you shouldn’t judge yourself.

  Let’s say you’re there already. You’ve assembled that writing toolbox. You’ve nurtured your writing career like the mewling babe it is and you “think” you’re ready to write full time. The path to full-time writing is usually slow unless you’re incredibly lucky (I hate you) or a supremely talented individual (I hate you more) that somehow made it big on your first time up to bat (more confusing metaphors!). Thusly, I’m willing to bet you probably work a day job or live with your parents. This is the time in your writing career where you do what you have to survive: serving coffee, programming, veterinarian-ing. This could last for a few years or the rest of your life. I’ll write an article someday about holding down a full-time job and writing part time. I’ll call it Time Management and Self-Immolation.

  How will you know when it’s time to make the leap and become a full-time writer? Well, you won’t know when until you know you have to. How’s that for advice? The common wisdom I’ve received from almost every career writer is that you work that day job until you can’t. You work that day job until you’re just juggling too much and something has to give. In my case, I got laid off and said screw it, I’m going for it. Technically, I kept to the exact wording of “work that day job until I can’t” though I’m pretty sure I violated the spirit of that statement. Goes to show how much my wisdom is worth, eh?

  Let’s assume you have a day job, and you have a semblance of a writing career that’s starting to take off. Suddenly, you’re at Robert Frost’s two roads diverging in the yellow wood. You need to figure out which path to take. Do you keep your soul-sucking functional tolerable wonderful job and write part time? Or do you say screw it (metaphorical screwdriver and all), I’m going for it? There’s no wrong answer to this. You do what you feel is right. However, here are a few questions to keep in mind:

  Do you like your day job more than writing? If the answer is yes, don’t quit. Wow. This is easy.

  Are you a huge fan of financial security and retirement? If the answer is yes, don’t quit. I personally plan to write until I die. Really, this advice thing isn’t so hard. Eat your heart out, Wendig.

  Do you like stability? If the answer is yes, don’t quit. This might be getting repetitive.

  Do you like only working forty hours a week? If yes, and assuming your current day job is a straight nine to fiver, then don’t quit. Full-time writing is an all-encompassing seven-days/sixty-hours-a-week job with awful job security—and when I say awful, I mean none—and even worse medical. We sit on our asses a lot which is terrible for our health. That’s another future article: Sitting on Our Asses Is Terrible for Our Health.

  Lastly, is money more important to you than a writing career? If the answer is yes, then don’t quit.*

  Wait: let me put an asterisk on that last question. There. You probably read the asterisk before you read this sentence. It’s kind of like a time travel thing just now, isn’t it? Oh yeah, my time travel book, Time Salvager, is coming out in July 2015. How’s that for name dropping? That will be another future article: Marketing Yourself: The Funny, the Subtle, and You.

  Anyway, the asterisk is because there are many variables to consider when comparing writing income to day-job income.

  For example, what’s your dang day job?

  If you’re a doctor, you’ll probably make more with your day job.

  If you’re a garbage man, you’ll probably make more with your day job.

  If you’re flipping burgers at McDonalds, you’ll probably make more with your day job.

  This is why at conventions people call me Wesley the Optimist.

  Admittedly, there are many successful writers who make a pretty respectable living, and a couple who make it huge. Major props to those folks, but writing, as a career, is a feast or famine field. Ninety-five percent of us eke out a living, while the select few sit on their pile of treasure like Smaug. Do I have exact metrics? No, but I’m willing to wager my last dollar bill that it’s probably true. (Please don’t take that dollar from me.)

  There is something to be said about the currency of doing what you love. If you love writing, and I don’t know any career writers who don’t, then that currency has a value to you that, added with the actual currency you earn as a writer, minus your financial obligations to adulthood, can help you decide whether making that full-time writing decision is the right one for you.

  So there you have it.

  I just want to remind you that I stated at the very beginning of this article that I have no idea what I’m talking about. Take everything I wrote with a grain of salt. It’s not an easy path to take, and definitely one less traveled. It’s extraordinarily rewarding with massive highs and some kick-you-in-the-gut lows. As someone who’s worked in the corporate black hole for almost twenty years, I can safely say that this is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done and it is the hardest I’ve ever worked for the least amount of money but I would make this choice all over again.

  My final piece of advice? There will be many things you’ll have to do when you cross that full-time bridge other than telling stories.

  For example, I am getting paid by the word for this article.

  Editor’s note: No he isn’t. We clearly communicated through a barrage of flaming arrows and carrier pigeons that the Another Word pieces are paid a flat rate (no matter how many words are crammed onto the page). We invite you to come back at an undetermined time to view Wesley’s upcoming piece on reading the fine print titled, “How to Avoid Flaming Bird Shit—a.k.a, Dealing with Editors.”

  Author’s Note: Last piece of advice. Read your contracts and rates before writing articles!

  About the Author

  Wesley Chu’s best friend is Michael Jordan, assuming that best friend status is earned by a shared television commercial. If not, then his best friend is his dog Eva who he can often be seen riding like a trusty steed through the windy streets of Chicago.

  In 2014, Wesley Chu was shortlisted for the John W. Campbell Best New Writer Award. Chu’s debut novel, The Lives of Tao, earned him a Young Adult Library Services Association Alex Award and a Science Fiction Goodreads Choice Award Finalist slot. The sequel, The Deaths of Tao, continues the story of secret agent Roen Tan and his sarcastic telepathically bonded alien, Tao.

  Chu has two books scheduled for 2015. The last book in the Tao trilogy, The Rebirths of Tao, is coming out April 7th. Time Salvager, published by Tor Books, featuring an energy stealing time traveler with addiction issues, is slated for July 7th, 2015.

  Editor’s Desk:

  Translation Is Important

  Neil Clarke

  Telepathy, universal translators, and other convenient tricks allow our favorite science fiction characters to bypass the inherent problems in communicating across multiple languages. It’s a simple shortcut and recognizable trope that allows the author to keep the story moving. We often have trouble with the language barriers among our fellow humans, so it’s not hard to imagine how much could go wrong between species.

  The way we address language and communication in science fiction has been bouncing around in my head a lot lately. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a magical device to solve this problem? Sure, we have things like Google Translate and they can be quite helpful, but it’s still communication on a very childlike level. Machine translation doesn’t understand the context or cultural references. That might be acceptable for bookshelf assembly instructions, but it would completely strip a story of its strengths.

  Stories require someone who is intimately familiar with the language, culture, and storytelling. I’ve often said that I think a good translator has to empathize with the writer they are translating or the story could suffer. These complications—and the addition expense of translation—have left most English-speaking markets isolated from science fiction happening in other languages.
/>
  I’ve always felt like we were missing out on something.

  In the last few years, I’ve had the privilege to work with two excellent writers who also happen to be translators: Ken Liu and John Chu. It’s thanks to their efforts that we’ve been able to publish several Chinese translations over the last few years. Those rewarding experiences led to our partnership with Storycom and last month’s successful Kickstarter campaign to regularly publish stories from other languages.

  This January, we’ll publish the first of many Chinese translations—every other month for the first six months and every month after that—as a supplement to our regular content!

  I’m absolutely overjoyed by the warm reception our plans received from readers and other parts of our community. While the focus of this project was Chinese science fiction, we never intended to stop there. Thanks to some generous support, it won’t. I am very pleased to say that we’ve been able to establish a small translation fund to help us secure stories from even more languages. We don’t have a solid timetable for those stories, but during the last month, we’ve heard from many translators and fans from around the world. From that base, we’ll build the infrastructure we need to get that project running.

  Along those lines, a reader asked me why we decided to go with a regular feature over a special issue or anthology. It’s a good question, particularly in light of how fashionable the latter has become in recent years. While I don’t think there is anything wrong with special issues, I’m not a big fan of the one-and-done model of promoting a cause. They might make a big splash and generate some warm fuzzies, but months later, it’s largely forgotten.

  I want translations to become something normal. They shouldn’t stand out or be special because of where they originate. Regularly publishing stories from other parts of the world is the best way to do that. If something is important, make it part of who you are.