Blast From The Past: Genre And Compression
Cross-posted to The Deadline Dames.
To round off last week’s post from the vaults, here is the post that immediately followed a year ago. I had planned to wax rhapsodically bitchy about how everyone puts genre fiction down, but others have done it better. So, here’s what I came up with a year ago, instead. Enjoy.
I woke up this morning with a serious case of the crankies. So if I seem a little bloody-minded, dears, that’s why.
I had a whole post about genre planned, but it would probably devolve into a huge slaughter of innocent verbage, full of recondite brimstone and unfounded combative assertions. Such is my mood. So I’ll content myself with two small things this Friday and go vent some of my spleen in fiction.
First, I’d like to make a small observation. An overwhelming number of what we consider “classics” today were seen as “genre” or “trash” fiction in their time. Novels were considered women’s reading (and hence, unSerious) for a very long time; plenty of novelists were supposed to feel ashamed of their success. Lots and lots of things we see as classic (because they have survived) started out as, for want of a better word, schlock.
This hinges on a theory I have that lit fic–the “highfalutin litrachur” genre is supposed to be the redheaded stepchild of–is actually a pretty recent invention. The Selkie and I were talking this over last night and she observed that lit fic is actually so diffuse it can’t be pigeonholed into a genre. There’s a fair amount of accuracy in that observation. I wonder if that diffuseness makes it easier for critics and reviewers to drown it in academese and impress each other, therefore making lit fic “serious” and genre “unserious”.
This is still a foggy idea of mine, so I want to invite other people into the conversation. I’m going to be thinking all week about what genre means, what lit fic means, and where I think the two differ. I don’t think it’s just in shelving or cover art.
Further bulletins as my thoughts coalesce. What do you think, dear Reader?
The second thing I’m going to mention is artistic compression. I use this term to describe the sense of pressurization I feel right before I dive into a big project–in this case, the fourth Kismet book. The outside world becomes an irritation and chores are something to be rushed through so I can get to the real work, which is the boiling of the book inside my head until it’s ready to slide out at varying speeds.
Ugh. That’s a nice mental image, isn’t it.
The sense of compression often returns, as Caitlin Kittredge so aptly describes, near the end of a book. (She calls it “Hibernation Mode”.)
A lot of the creative process seems to involve varying feelings of pressure. There’s the pre-boil of a book, the stages of writing (including the MY GOD THIS BOOK WILL NOT DIE slog halfway to three-quarters of the way through) and the sudden decompression after a book is finished, which involves a lot of spinning aimlessly. There’s a sense of pressure in revisions too, and sometimes after a particularly intense round of revisions I feel drained and bug-eyed as if I’ve just rewritten the goddamn novel.
It is really, really important to think about those feelings of pressure and to identify one’s own creative process, so it isn’t a huge deadly thing each time. A lot of writers seem surprised each and every time by the intensity of the feeling and the emotional drain. No doubt it is surprising, but not analyzing the feeling and reminding oneself that it’s normal can lead to a whole lot of inefficient flailing.
And while I enjoy a good inefficient flail as much as the next person, there’s always the timesuck factor involved. Figuring out your emotional reaction to your artistic process is one of those things that can make you a better writer–or at least, a more productive one. If you’re not blindsided by the compression, if you can take a deep breath and remind yourself that this happened the last few times you worked on a project, the physiological effects (mine include sweating hands, headaches, backaches, feelings of crankiness only rivaled by PMS, and a great deal of synesthetic irritation*), while not receding in intensity, can at least approach the realm of something you can deal with instead of a Huge Fricking Unworkable OMG Problem.
I tend to view the creative process as a technician. If I can figure out how this engine works for me I can get, if not standardised, then at least consistent results out of it, which is what I want. I know a True Artiste is supposed to wait in agony for the numinous descent of the fickle Muse, but I don’t have time for that. I’ve got books to write NOW, dammit.
So, fellow writers, how does your (if you feel it) artistic compression work? Any strategies, tips, tricks to get yourself through? I’m curious, and hoping I’m not utterly batzoid nuts.
Of course, the way I feel this morning, I just might be despite all my hope.
* I use this term loosely, of course. Most of the time my borderline-synesthesia is a happy fillip to daily life, a source of joy and creative connections. But there comes a time in the compression cycle when it just gets to be too much input and I get seriously frazzled, feeling like a delicate sensory instrument being mercilessly whacked by reams of static and messy data pouring in. GAH.
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Tags: deadline dames, Friday Writing, questions from the edge
May 29th, 2009 at 12:31 pm
Believe it or not, I just had a very similar conversation this past weekend at a conference. Frame-of-reference is everything with respect to cultural media, for people forget even the simplest things like how opera was popular and commonplace. Now it’s expensive and art “couture.” Comic books weren’t originally for geeks, they were more widely distributed than newspapers. The literary books of today sell far more less copies than any other type of book on the market. If you go by sales alone, then your comment about literary books being a recent invention, is exactly true. Look at how many copies were sold of Pickwick Papers, for example.
I for one do not like the subsequent “literary vs. genre” wars I so often encounter. (I started in literary, went to gaming, and now am journeying to trad publishing.) I believe that exclusivity — especially between writers — really hurts authors in more ways than they might realize. Readers “do” pay attention to their favorite authors, but they also want to try new books. The only way to keep people reading is to get them excited about things they might want to read — even if that means suggesting a book that you don’t prefer. There’s a book for everyone, and literary books are just one, small piece of the pie.
May 29th, 2009 at 2:36 pm
Hi Lilith,
Read your post today and enjoyed it, as always.
Later on, I stumbled across this, and thought you might enjoy it, since it relates very well to what you’ve brought up, including your ‘re-post’ of your “hack” essay.
It’s from Dan Simmons website, a column by his agent Richard Curtis:
http://www.dansimmons.com/news/curtis/curtis_2008-05-special.html
Cheers,
Ken
May 29th, 2009 at 2:46 pm
“The outside world becomes an irritation and chores are something to be rushed through so I can get to the real work.”
At the risk of sounding like a internet junkie, I have to say: THIS. This right here. It’s something that has become more and more apparently in the Y House as I get furthered involved in what I’m involved in. Here it’s called “playing with Angel’s imaginary friends.” When I get really frustrated, with life, finances, people, whatever, that’s all I want to do. I’m sure it annoys the ever-loving hell out of my family, but they know and I know that if I get my “playtime” I’m better off.
May 30th, 2009 at 6:45 pm
This was very timely reading, as I have a revise & resubmit article (on stalking) due late tomorrow. It takes forever to do and write up these things and it *still* seems like everything happens at the last minute! My way of relaxing while being stressfully productive (?) is to make myself stop working every hour or so briefly. I get a lot of laundry done at times like these
Or I check out my favorite websites (here, of course, as others), or pet the cats, etc. And listen to calming music. Joshua Bell’s “Romance of the Violin” is currently playing. Well, here goes nothing …
June 14th, 2009 at 3:44 am
Hi Lilith,
Not being a writer of much more than trivial stories for family and friends I find that I don’t get the same kind of pressure as you described… well at least not from writing, by day (and all over hours god sends) I’m a lighting Designer, mainly working theatrically but also doing my fair share of the concert tours and musicals. I find I get the stress when my creative mind is trying to assemble a structure out of fades, colours, gobos and angles. Being the young man I am at only 24 I use my liver as a buffer for the stresses of my life, probably not the best thing to use but it works.
The way it seems to work for me is something like this, first the pre-production stage, this is mainly a lot of talking with a director saying the imposable 50 times in each scene and me doing my best to say yes we can do that or no that dumb let do this to get the same effect. It’s a moment of pure anticipation from all involved. everyone wanting to put there mark on the show… best way I can describe it to you and the best way iv ever heard it being described is “it’s like bracing your self for the biggest cat fight of your life” it a mental and physical draining week+ of catfights. And the way I deal with this is simple, sleep… a lot.
The second stage is the designing stage it’s self, talking the concept and turning it into a scene by scene, cue by cue lighting plot, no mean feat when on average a show will have over 2000 cues. This is where the stress mounts up for me, I’m trying to build in all the effects the director wants and add my own mark to the show. I start stressed out of my mind, half way through I’m stressed because I cant seem to make it work, about 300 cues from then end (normally the big finish to any show) I’m stressed because I think its going to look like *place any expletive here or make up your own wonderful word to fill the gap*. I cant really explain all the emotions I go through in 5 days but normally ill go from pure ill kill anyone and anything in my way rage, to sitting in a corner sobbing, to falling in love with anything that has 2 legs and moves… and this is where my liver gets its beating, ill head out to a pub or a club with a pen and a note pad, sitting and watching everything, from what people are wearing to the colour of there drinks, ill listen to what people are saying and slowly getting my self more and more intoxicated, noting everything down I like and then ill go home, wake up with a hangover and get to work, I cant physically do stress when I have a hangover but I can still think creatively, out comes the pad and ill pick colours and ideas I like and BAM ideas come streaming out of my like coffee out of the coffee machine I survive on. first draft is finished around day 3, day 4 and 5 are spent cleaning it up changing small bits and generally fiddling but I know I have a cue by cue plan of what will happen for all to see so I’m happy… almost, I still think its going to fail.
Finally the last bit of the pre-production stage for me, plotting and cueing it all up, hanging every light where I want how I want, taking my 5 days of creative spewing and making it real. I spend the 2days its take constantly shaking. I’m just so dam scared that it won’t work, or an idea will look 100% fail. and for me this is the worst bit, the 1st stage everyone is feeling the same, the second no one can see me doing it but now, if it goes wrong everyone will see it fail, everyone will see me franticly re-plotting, re-cueing… everyone will see iv failed and that idea alone kills me. All the cast, all the crew, the director, the SM, they will all see me fail to do my part, my small bit, ill have failed not just my self, but them all 100+ of them. And the best way to get past that…. god if someone knows tell me, I can’t drink, I can’t sleep hell half the time I can’t eat.
but finally its all done, my work is done, the director sees it all for the first time with all the lighting and is smiling from ear to ear which tells me iv done it again, he is happy, the cast are happy the crew are happy, I can go home and spend how ever long until the first night sleeping 3 hours a night at best because I’m always thinking what if X happens or the data for the show is all lost (has been known to happen to other unlucky souls) what if the director has moved one of the actors during a scene he wanted a spot for… what if the audience don’t like it. I have the same problems here as I do during the plotting and cueing stage and it won’t end until the first night, when the curtain goes down and the audience has left all buzzing from seeing another hour and a half show…
I know its part of my creative process, its how I work, its not the best way or the healthiest, but its my way, I know that and I have come to trust my way because it works for me, if I try and deal with the stress above and beyond what I already do it means 1 thing, iv stopped caring for the show, if you don’t care it wont work. Like writing you have to love the story you’re telling, if you don’t you end up with bleh in a book, a good book was loved by its author, a good show is loved by all who helped make it. But with love come extremes of emotion. We creative sorts all get them I find, we all have our own way of dealing with them and for some strange reason, and we keep going through the process of having them oO
Keep Safe