As it happens, several of my friends and relations are also trying their hand at writing, some with more success than others (depending on how one defines "success") - and 5 of us got together over the weekend to discuss forming a once-a-month support group. Nothing terribly formal, as none of us particularly wanted to go the "bylaws and parliamentary procedure" route, but something that will allow all of us to get something out of the group, and that something being fairly flexible.
One of the big things for several of us was accountability - if we're setting an expectation that we'll have X done for the next meeting, we agreed that we need to actually have X done - and uploaded to our private Google Group at least a week prior, so that those who prefer to mark up hard copy can print and manage pages in their own preferred method (staples, paper clips, whatever...).
I'm looking forward to this - getting myself to the point of handing over my creative work for someone else to look at is going to be a big step.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Re-reading Lovecraft
I normally don't do a lot of re-reading. There are stories that stick with me, and there are some that I enjoy going back and re-reading - mostly, these are the books that stay on my shelf year after year, and don't get donated when I run out of room and have to clear out the stuff I feel is highly unlikely to ever wind up in my "to be re-read" pile...
Then there are the books and stories that I remember having read, but the details escape me - and I find myself re-reading those in part to see if there's a reason I don't remember them that well. Rereading the works of H.P. Lovecraft is turning into one of these experiences. I'm finding that some of the real horror in rereading Lovecraft comes from the author's worldview as expressed through his characters...
It's often a mistake to assume that an author's characters reflect the opinions, politics, or religious beliefs of the author, especially when the author's chosen genre is highly speculative and not necessarily grounded in ordinary reality, as with Lovecraft's nameless horrors inflicted on sleepy New England villages. Robert Heinlein, for example, is assumed by many readers (several of whom should know better) to have been a rabid jingoist and male chauvinist based on (mis)reading several of his characters, despite a preponderance of evidence contra (see Spider Robinson's essay "Rah, Rah, R.A.H." ). Since authors create not only the heroes of their works, but also their villains, it seems faintly ridiculous to assume that any given character is automatically a stand-in for the author - unless one can spot a pattern after careful analysis of several works by the same author.
In the case of Lovecraft, I'm spotting some trends that will bear further analysis. His work was produced during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and the language used is a product of that time. Lovecraft is known for his purple prose, with certain horrors hidden behind a veil of Victorian sensibility while others are written off as "indescribable" after a couple of descriptive paragraphs set up whatever context there may be for an unnamed horror from the Void... And yet, his descriptions of people often contain points of view that are markedly racist (animals, too - one unfortunate black cat is saddled with a moniker I cannot bring myself to type), while others display attitudes about race and social class that are jarring to modern sensibilities.
It has been many years since I first heard of Lovecraft and the Cthulhu mythos. I believe I was in junor high when TSR published the edition of "Deities and Demigods" (a reference book for the game Dungeons and Dragons) that included several fictional pantheons, including those of Michael Moorcock's Melnibone, Fritz Leiber's Newhon, and the Chulhu mythos. My local library had plenty of Fritz Leiber, and I glommed onto as much Moorcock as I could all through high school (along with Tolkein, Bradbury, Burroughs, and Asimov), but it was not until I got to college that I managed to lay hands on actual Lovecraft stories. I read several collections, which left me agreeing with many critics that Lovecraft's strength lay in his creation of a truly creepy mythos rather than in his writing per se. Now, some 25 years later, I'm discovering another problematic dimension to the stories I remember perhaps a little less fondly than I remember Leiber and Moorcock (both of whom still reside on my 'will be re-read eventually' shelves).
Then there are the books and stories that I remember having read, but the details escape me - and I find myself re-reading those in part to see if there's a reason I don't remember them that well. Rereading the works of H.P. Lovecraft is turning into one of these experiences. I'm finding that some of the real horror in rereading Lovecraft comes from the author's worldview as expressed through his characters...
It's often a mistake to assume that an author's characters reflect the opinions, politics, or religious beliefs of the author, especially when the author's chosen genre is highly speculative and not necessarily grounded in ordinary reality, as with Lovecraft's nameless horrors inflicted on sleepy New England villages. Robert Heinlein, for example, is assumed by many readers (several of whom should know better) to have been a rabid jingoist and male chauvinist based on (mis)reading several of his characters, despite a preponderance of evidence contra (see Spider Robinson's essay "Rah, Rah, R.A.H." ). Since authors create not only the heroes of their works, but also their villains, it seems faintly ridiculous to assume that any given character is automatically a stand-in for the author - unless one can spot a pattern after careful analysis of several works by the same author.
In the case of Lovecraft, I'm spotting some trends that will bear further analysis. His work was produced during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and the language used is a product of that time. Lovecraft is known for his purple prose, with certain horrors hidden behind a veil of Victorian sensibility while others are written off as "indescribable" after a couple of descriptive paragraphs set up whatever context there may be for an unnamed horror from the Void... And yet, his descriptions of people often contain points of view that are markedly racist (animals, too - one unfortunate black cat is saddled with a moniker I cannot bring myself to type), while others display attitudes about race and social class that are jarring to modern sensibilities.
It has been many years since I first heard of Lovecraft and the Cthulhu mythos. I believe I was in junor high when TSR published the edition of "Deities and Demigods" (a reference book for the game Dungeons and Dragons) that included several fictional pantheons, including those of Michael Moorcock's Melnibone, Fritz Leiber's Newhon, and the Chulhu mythos. My local library had plenty of Fritz Leiber, and I glommed onto as much Moorcock as I could all through high school (along with Tolkein, Bradbury, Burroughs, and Asimov), but it was not until I got to college that I managed to lay hands on actual Lovecraft stories. I read several collections, which left me agreeing with many critics that Lovecraft's strength lay in his creation of a truly creepy mythos rather than in his writing per se. Now, some 25 years later, I'm discovering another problematic dimension to the stories I remember perhaps a little less fondly than I remember Leiber and Moorcock (both of whom still reside on my 'will be re-read eventually' shelves).
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Checking In
Breaking radio silence at long last - I need to work on developing a blogging habit, I think.
Which links nicely with my most recent read, "The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business", by Charles Duhigg. It's a fairly comprehensive view of how habits work, both on an individual level and at a more corporate culture level. The author covers research into habits, both historical and recent, and details how they drive an awful lot of what we do as individuals, as consumers, and as employees. The core of the book is the three-step habit loop - the Cue, the Routine, the Reward - that forms the basis of every habit from brushing one's teeth to default conversational gambits to "muscle memory" when driving to work. After covering the neuropsychology of habits and the trails they leave in the brain, Duhigg covers the process of creating new habits, how habits drive business success and/or failure, how businesses take advantage of habits, and how habits can operate at a societal level. In the book's appendix, he also covers how to analyze, test, and change habits. This last bit is now available in handy flow-chart form at Duhigg's website.
Which links nicely with my most recent read, "The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business", by Charles Duhigg. It's a fairly comprehensive view of how habits work, both on an individual level and at a more corporate culture level. The author covers research into habits, both historical and recent, and details how they drive an awful lot of what we do as individuals, as consumers, and as employees. The core of the book is the three-step habit loop - the Cue, the Routine, the Reward - that forms the basis of every habit from brushing one's teeth to default conversational gambits to "muscle memory" when driving to work. After covering the neuropsychology of habits and the trails they leave in the brain, Duhigg covers the process of creating new habits, how habits drive business success and/or failure, how businesses take advantage of habits, and how habits can operate at a societal level. In the book's appendix, he also covers how to analyze, test, and change habits. This last bit is now available in handy flow-chart form at Duhigg's website.
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