My Affair With John Scalzi

I'm not one to pick up new writers easily. I'll be honest as hell and say that since I've started writing my own stories I've become much worse about that. Reading a new book by a new author is for me what shopping for cars is like for most people. I get nervous and twitchy and I want to know I spent my money and time on something good.

I've heard John Scalzi's name for years now. I've seen his books on bookshelves and noted that the covers of his SciFi books are similar to many, many others: ships in space painted with that dreamy haze. I like that aesthetic, honestly, but it doesn't jump out at me.

Then I read this post on his blog back in October. The post and the resulting comments are a brutal send-up of some extremely conservative politicians and their view on rape victims. It's not easy to read.

That post got me curious. I started to take a deeper look at Scalzi. Then I read a sample of Redshirts and immediately knew I had to read it. A comedic novel that parodies Star Trek? Yes, please.

I read the book and adored it. I laughed out loud reading it. Scalzi captured me with his ability to make the ridiculous believable and to effortlessly (or with a seeming lack of effort; I'm a writer. I know it's difficult) blend in tender moments. I cried at one point. It was pretty good.

I did not, however, continue my affair. I was working on my (now indefinitely) shelved novel Monster at the time and didn't feel right spending my time reading when I should have been writing. So I wrote and occasionally reread old favorites. My relationship with Sanderson, Rothfuss, Butcher, Brent, Weeks, Friedman, and other favorites was once again sort of monogamous.

Fast forward to last week. I finished reading the final Wheel of Time book and found myself in a mood to keep reading. I wanted something new, something very good. And I remembered that I had enjoyed Redshirts and loved it. Surely Scalzi's other books were somewhere close to that quality, right?

Well, no. They weren't. Redshirts was really good, but the others? Fucking AMAZING.

I started with Old Man's War, which is the first book in a series by the same name. I read it in six hours. Then I bought the sequel, The Ghost Brigades, which I read in five hours. Then I bought The Last Colony and took my time, spreading the reading over two days and a total of about eight hours. Then it was on to The Android's Dream. And that's where I'm at right now. Four books consumed in less than a week and I hurt for more. Scalzi is releasing a new novel in the Old Man's War series (which I meant to review here instead of just writing a huge fangasm to Scalzi, but hey--I've been awake since last night. I'm tired.) in serial format, thirteen parts released one a week.

Starting today.

I will wait until all thirteen are out, then buy them all at once. I couldn't stand the anxiety of waiting a week to read the next installment.

So we're clear: John Scalzi is ludicrously talented. No, his books aren't perfect because nothing is perfect, but I judge science fiction by very high standards. Old Man's War as a series stands beside the best SciFi in the world. It may lack the gravitas of Aasimov, the earthy wisdom of Heinlein, or the sheer technical brilliance of Clarke or Herbert, but that does not make Scalzi's work less than theirs. Culturally, Old Man's War is as relevant to where we are as people today as anything Heinlein wrote in his time. I don't denigrate his work in saying he isn't those men (I think he would agree). I just want to be clear; his work carries the best parts of each of them.

In short, John Scalzi has his own voice. It may have a tone more wry and irreverent than others (the first chapter of The Android's Dream, the title itself a reference to Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep AKA Blade Runner, is one long fart joke) but that's just fine with me. Because Scalzi manages to capture you with his words, keep you there with his characters, and make you laugh your ass off and ponder philosophy at the same time. That's a hell of a thing.

Looks like my harem has a new member. And yes, I realize it's creepy and weird to keep referring to my favorite authors that way. It's because I love them, all of them, and Scalzi is just too good not to love.

The one where Winnie the Pooh is outed as a murderer

Jess and I had a conversation on the way home from the store yesterday. Here's how it went.

Jess: Did Winnie the Pooh only eat honey?

Me: I mean, he's a bear, right? I'm pretty sure that between heartwarming adventures he hunts.

Jess: Seems reasonable.

Me: Well, the hundred acre wood isn't rife with woodland creatures. Probably because Pooh kills and eats them.

Jess: I think that's what happened to Piglet's parents. Piglet has Stockholm Syndrome. Pooh is his friend because Piglet's mind can't deal with the horror of remembering the bloody murder of his parents.

Me: Christopher Robin is just getting fattened up for a finale that will ruin the childhoods of millions.

Jess: God, I hope so.

There was more to the conversation but I was so tired that I fell asleep and forgot the details. But this is the gist of the thing, and it gives you some small insight into the twisted discussions I have every day. It made me laugh to do Pooh's voice, telling Piglet that his time has finally come. I guess the other possibility is that Pooh and Piglet have some kind of Lenny/puppy relationship. I don't know. It just made me giggle.

Back to work for me.

2012

2012 has been a strange year for me. Through the end of 2011 and most of the way through this year I was in a deep depression with only occasional moments of normality. During this year my writing income doubled from the previous year, yet in the last month I've seen what I think is a serious long-term decline in my sales. I hope I'm wrong.

I finished Monster yet after I was done I realized the book wasn't at all what I wanted it to be. It needs a lot of work to be a true sequel to Beautiful and I want to do that work and get the book out. The problem is that I wrote almost all of it during that depression, and reading over it puts me back in the mindset I worked so hard to get out of. I don't know if your own emotional problems can create PTSD, but it feels that way. Monster is shelved indefinitely as I work on other things.

I'm at a strange crossroads as a writer. I have a huge amount of material I want to crank out, good ideas that need barely any work to be fully-fleshed out as stories. I've spent long nights working at the nursing home thinking about them on my rounds. Most of them only need the one thing I've had in short supply: time.

Time is the worst part. Yeah, I have it when I get home in the morning, but that's when I'm exhausted in every way. I've written that way before, and in fact I write Living With the Dead that way almost every day. LWtD takes up most of my mental energies any given morning. More writing on top of that is counter-productive.

I started Write The Future in an effort to spend all next year just working on my writing. The campaign is over at midnight tonight and the total contributions stand at just over $1,000. That's no mean feat for a guy sitting on his couch writing about zombies, but it's only about five percent of my goal. That's okay; I honestly didn't think I'd get that far. The project looks like it'll fail in about twelve hours, all the backers will get their money back in the next few weeks.

I'll keep on working and tucking away money here and there. I'll try to save my writing income as much as possible so that someday I'll have a nest egg that will allow me to risk not working. All I need is time to write those books and a bit of luck, and I'll live my dream. Eventually I'll be writing full-time and the stress of this year will be something I can look back on as a learning experience.

Complaining seems pretty dickish at this point. I've had more success than I expected by any measure. Over this year I've reached more readers than I thought possible. I've made new friends and learned a tremendous amount about the art of writing, and it continues. Work is hard and it sucks, but that's how it is all around, right? I've got a roof over my head, the best wife and family anyone could hope for, fuzzy companions at home who are always happy to see me (yes, Jess and I keep Hobbits in the house) and the future has yet to be written.

My readers are the best. You are the best. You've been the most supportive group of people, and I know that while it may take a while, I'll get there eventually. Because of you! That's the truth. I could be sitting here writing the next great classic (I'm totally not) but it wouldn't mean a thing without you guys. I'm thrilled every time I get messages from you, or words of support, or anything really. You all keep me motivated and in total honesty interacting with you on a daily basis has helped calm the emotions that wrecked my productivity so much of this year.

Thank you for all of that. Whether you're a close family member or someone I met on the internet (and there are more of you than I can easily count now, many of you now dear friends), you mean the world to me. Even if I had to give up writing (tragic wheat thresher accident? Choose your own adventure) tomorrow I would still treasure each moment, past and future.

I'm not giving up. I will write and write until my fingers bleed, and I will achieve my dream. I don't make resolutions, but 2013 is going to be my year one way or another. I promise that.

"Next" and a review of "Cold Days" by Jim Butcher

My initial plan was to begin work on Saint for NaNoWriMo this month, but a few false starts later and an obsessive infatuation with another planned book, Next, pushed me in a different direction. Next is sitting at almost eight thousand words as of this moment, and I'm planning to put it over the 10k mark tonight.

As for Monster, well, the raw first draft is sitting on my hard drive. I'll be honest: I wrote the book during more than a year of depression, personal turmoil, and continuing physical and mental stress. I want to get the book done and published, but every time I sit to edit and revise I start to remember every bad moment and I just can't do it. I may need to let Monster sit for a while as I work on other things and revisit it later. I want it to be a good book. Right now it isn't what I'd like it to be.

And now, a review of Cold Days by Jim Butcher, which I just finished reading a few hours ago.

A warning: SPOILERS. OMG SO MANY SPOILERS. Don't read past here if you haven't read the book or care at all about knowing major plot elements ahead of time. Seriously.

In fact, let me just add a jump right here.

Saint: A First Look

Many of you know I'm running a campaign on IndieGoGo to fund my writing for next year. That link will take you to it. The goal seems like a bit much, I know, but it really isn't. It's less than I make at my full-time job, but even if you don't use that metric it really isn't an outrageous number. I've seen people run campaigns for $15,000 for a single book. I'm reaching for 20k to complete six additional novels on top of my work on Living With the Dead. When you break it down I'm shooting for about $3,400 per book. That's about par for writing campaigns on IndieGoGo, Kickstarter, and the other crowdfunding platforms.

I should also mention here that I'm planning on adding more perks to the campaign that include print editions of each book. Signed by me! Awww, yeah!

With Monster in the edit/revision stage, I figured it would be a good time to give you some background on my next planned novel, which I'm going to write regardless of my campaign's success. It's called Saint, and it's something I haven't done before: a crime drama.

Without giving too much away, the story centers around a man called Saint O'Brien. Though his first name is Eric, few people call him that due to a personality quirk: the Saint always gives a second chance. But after that he's as ruthless and without mercy as a hurricane.

Saint is a character inspired by several of my favorite bad guys in movies and comics. He's a little Mike Ehrmantraut from Breaking Bad, a little Winston Wolf from Pulp Fiction. It's safe to say that Agent Graves from 100 Bullets (one of my all-time favorite characters in comics) exists in the Saint in some form, as do the minutemen he lead in the comic.

He's a cleaner, a fixer. He's the one who gets called in to troubleshoot and solve problems when lesser criminals can't manage on their own. The Saint has little to lose and few morals to hold him back. He's a murderer with ice in his blood.

And the idea of the story was to put him in a situation where he is forced to face those remaining moral lines up close and face choices that might make him cross them. Saint is going to be faced-paced and full of thrills, but in building the central character and plot, I began to ask myself just who Eric O'Brien is and how he grew into that man. Originally this novel was going to be a straight thriller, but over the last few months O'Brien has evolved into something much more complex and interesting than a simple anti-hero.

I'm excited to finish Monster and get to work on Saint. This is a new direction for me. I usually write in the realms of science fiction and fantasy. I've got most of this book mapped out in my head, and if the campaign is successful I'll be able to get it written pretty quickly. So if you haven't contributed yet, you should think about doing so. If you haven's shared the link, here it is again. I hope you do that.

Because this guy wants his day in the sun, and I want to give it to him.

Six Books For $10

Just going to keep this short and to the point: what the post title says is correct. I'm running an IndieGoGo campaign from now until December 31st at 11:59 PM, and the lowest level of backing will net you all six of the new books I'll write in 2013 for less than the cost of two lattes from Starbucks.

I'm trying to reach $20,000. If I hit that goal, the campaign will be successful and I'll spend 2013 at home working on books and nothing else. No full-time job. If we don't reach that goal, everyone's money is automatically refunded and I don't get a dime. But, then, I won't have the freedom to write all six of those books. I'll still work on them as much as I can, but I can't guarantee I'll be able to do any of them, much less all six.

There are other perks that cost more on the campaign, which can be found right HERE, but the one I think would appeal to most people is the cheapest one. Six books--eBooks--for ten dollars. If that sounds like a great deal to you, and it should, then head over and help support my work. If you can't afford to, then please share and encourage any friends you have that might enjoy.

Thanks,
Josh

Telling Stories: Cancer, Comedy, And Going There

I'm not just a writer, I'm also a comedy nerd. I love language and telling stories as things alone, but to me comedy is a perfect example of blending language and storytelling into an experience that creates a reaction. What I try to do with words on a page, comedians do with their tone of voice, body language, and a dozen other little things.

I've been trying to work all afternoon and evening and have little to show for it. A little while ago I took a break to listen to a stand-up routine I bought from my favorite comedian of all time, Louis CK. It isn't his performance. It's an audio track by a friend of his, fellow comedian Tig Notaro.

Louis posted this tweet not long after watching Tig's set:

in 27 years doing this, I've seen a handful of truly great, masterful standup sets. One was Tig Notaro last night at Largo.

Sixty seconds before the set, Tig told Louis that she had cancer, was probably going to die, and had lost her mother not long before. "I'm going to go up there and talk about it," she said. "It's probably going to be a mess."

I listened. It wasn't.

She took to the stage and did something really unique. By bluntly confronting the tragedy in her life, not complaining but seeking an honesty with her audience I've never heard of much less seen, Tig Notaro gave what was probably the performance of her life. Louis called it masterful, and it was. She made me laugh when I didn't want to even through tears.

She walked up to the curtain between life and death, threw it open for those of us who have never really faced that kind of tragedy, and taught us something about grace and humor in the worst possible situation.

Her ability to keep the audience with her through the whole thing was nothing short of miraculous. The talent Tig displayed in taking something like cancer, the death of a loved one, and other awful experiences (all true, at that) and making us laugh at it--amazing. Really, truly amazing.

I'm fascinated in the mechanics of comedy. That's part of why I love Louis so much; he's a comedian's comedian. He understands the deeper currents of confronting people's fears and doubts and pointing out the absurdity in our own shame. Comedy is about dealing with fear and anxiety. The best comedians can make you look hard at yourself by using themselves as a mirror.

The trick is making us laugh at what we see. Louis does this well. Tig Notaro did it in her set better than anyone. Period.

She did it with humility and raw emotion, and I want more than anything to give her a hug. To tell her how much I hope she does well. To thank her for an experience I can't get out of my head.

But I can't. So I wrote this. It's a sad imitation and she'll probably never read it, but if I can convince even one person out there to buy the special and hear what I heard, felt what I felt, I'll have done at least some small good.

The link is here. I can't be clear enough that you should click on it.