Category: book reviews (Page 1 of 2)

Thoughts on The Motern Method

I liked it. Well-worth reading and owning.

However, if anyone has spent any time at all reading Heinlein’s Rules or exploring corners of the internet where these Rules are being lived out, a lot of the concepts in The Motern Method will sound familiar.

Which doesn’t mean it’s not worth reading. IT IS.

But it wasn’t particularly revolutionary for me. Parts of it reminded me of Make Art, Make Money: Lessons from Jim Henson on Fueling Your Creative Career. Parts of it reminded me of Ray Bradbury’s long-standing advice on quantity over quality in one’s art-making. And parts of it reminded me of Heinlein’s Rules.

One thing it also reminded me of is my previous desire to be an independent filmmaker. If The Motern Method was anything for me, it was a reminder that I once wanted to make movies and felt like I didn’t have the resources, and that maybe I need to let go of such thinking and try to make a movie no matter the lack of money or equipment.

I’m not saying I’m going to start making independent films. But… maybe?

The other thing I like about the book is that it collects a lot of advice into one place. Sure, there are Heinlein’s Rules and the books and authors I referenced above, but when I need a quick pep talk, The Motern Method is right there, with all the stuff.

For instance, I got a rejection the other day from a short story market. And yeah, yeah, rejections are part of the deal, right? I’ve had many rejections before, so you’d think I’d brush it off and no big thing.

But I was bummed. In a funk.

And that rejection was followed by another rejection (different story, different market). So again, you’d think, “But that’s great! You’ve got two stories out for submission and even with the rejections, all you need to do is send them out to two more magazines and keep going!”

And that’s exactly the right advice, but my brain doesn’t always operate on logic. My brain sometimes spirals into depths of self-doubt and loathing that are like the black pits of Tartarus, just roiling under the surface waiting to bubble up.

I know rejections are part of the gig, and I know all I need to do is send the stories out again. But knowing and believing are two different things.

Enter The Motern Method.

I remembered that Farley had a few chapters on rejections and getting your work out into the world (again, very Heinlein-esque), so I flipped to those pages and started reading.

It was basically a pep talk, and it worked. My brain stopped its death-spiral, and I felt renewed. Getting my work out into the world is what matters. Getting your work out into the world is what matters. Can’t let rejections stop that. Gotta keep going.

Sure, I could have gone online and googled Heinlein’s Rules again, or tracked down similar publishing advice, but having Farley’s book right at hand, its minimalist, indie-punk black and white cover reminding me that artists can work outside the mainstream system, made it easier to read what I needed to read.

I love the book’s aesthetic. No author is mentioned anywhere but on the spine. No introduction, no table of contents. The book just starts, each section indicated by bold-font titles, and then it ends, with Farley narrating his creative journey, explaining how the Motern Method was developed and how it helped him write the book.

Some sections are ones I quibble with a bit. “Read the comments. Read the reviews”? Maybe for others, but for me, this is DEATH. Both good comments and bad, good reviews and bad, tend to hurt my Creative Voice. It doesn’t mean I’m not an idiot who sometimes reads the reviews, but I always hate myself afterward.

Farley’s larger point — that reading the reviews will toughen you up, show you that taste is relative and not to worry if people don’t “get” your work — isn’t a bad one, but I know for my own ego, reviews can get inside like brain worms and infect my process.

But overall, the book is a rallying cry, a manifesto.

And it is very punk. Which I dig.

I’ll be keeping The Motern Method on my writing desk. When I’m stuck, when I’m down, when I need a kick in the pants, it will be my go-to.

Reading Challenge (Day 10)

100 Essays I Don’t Have Time to Write by Sarah Ruhl is about theater and writing plays and motherhood, but I’m finding a lot of wisdom in Ruhl’s essays for my own work as a fiction writer.

One of the essays I read today, #37. “Conflict as drama?” proposes that it is actually dialectic — “a need for opposites that undermine each other” — that makes drama, not conflict.

I really like this idea. Ruhl also wonders why improvisation is all about agreeing (“yes and” is the rule of Improv and being a good Game Master), but with drama we say there must be conflict.

This quote on page 82 really made me reevaluate how I write fiction and tell stories:

“What if we borrowed from improvisation a proliferation of assent? A form of storytelling that used surprise as a tool rather than bickering.”

Storytelling as surprise. How can I say “yes and” in my creation of situations and stories? What would that change in my novels?

Reading Challenge (Day 4)

Thank goodness for my book club and our Tuesday meetings! I wasn’t quite finished with the reading section for this week, so today was pretty easy to get my two hours in. Having the deadline put the pressure on (and having to be accountable to the book club gang helped too).

It also helped that I picked up the book first thing in the morning and read for about thirty minutes before I did anything else. I know it has become a cliche to talk about the “miracle morning” or whatever the productivity gurus call it, but there’s a lot of truth to getting things done first thing in the morning. Even if I only read for ten minutes, or work on my fiction for a minute or two, or edit a page for a client, if I do it first thing in the morning, the rest of the day goes so much better. No matter what happens in the afternoon or evening, if I work a little bit on all my projects and challenges in the morning, the day feels successful. I also end up working more throughout the day because I’ve already jumped started everything in the morning.

The book club book this time around is Pachinko by Min Jin Lee. Highly recommended. It’s historical literary fiction, which is a genre I don’t read often, but whenever I do, I end up enjoying it. Historical fiction is great for fantasy and science fiction writers to read and study because the attention to detail and world-building often demonstrate the same skills a speculative fiction author needs to have. 1930s Korea and Japan are as unfamiliar to me as a secondary world in a fantasy novel might be. I love how Min Jin Lee is able to make the world come alive in my imagination. Very vivid writing, and the plot and characters are highly engaging. I’m about 200 pages into it so far, and frankly, I didn’t want to stop reading earlier this evening when I finished the section we were assigned for book club.

Basically, I know what I’ll be doing first thing tomorrow morning. Gotta find out what happens to Sunja, Yoseb, and Kyunghee!

Reading Challenge (Day 2)

This one was rockier than I expected. Two hours is a long time, yo! I made it — eventually — by reading while the kids and husband watched our Family Movie Night movie (The Aristocats, in case any are wondering).

Finished Labyrinth, and while the last chapter made me a little wistful, as Sarah returns home, puts away some of the childish things she was clinging to, and sees Ludo, Sir Didymus, and Hoggle in the mirror, I still stand by what I said earlier: The book needed to be less faithful to the movie. Yes, I know this is not the point at all of doing a movie tie-in novelization, but still. The movie’s magic is the movie’s magic; the book didn’t quite get there for me. I’m glad I read it, though, if for no other reason than it makes me want to re-watch the film and go play the role-playing game.

Now I need to finish the reading assignment for my book club before Tuesday night. That should give me good motivation to read as much as I can during work breaks.

Reading Challenge (Day 1)

I managed it. Read books for two hours today. Finished one book (A Writer Prepares by Lawrence Block), and continued another (the novelization of the movie Labyrinth).

Even though I love the movie, the novelization is slow going. I guess there’s a reason critics complained about the film’s plot. It is rather episodic, and while it works perfectly well in the movie — where we get to experience all the visual wonder of Jim Henson’s creatures and puppetry — it works less well on the page where the wonderful imagery is somewhat lost. It’s not that the author doesn’t describe things almost exactly as they appear in the film, but that kind of description doesn’t capture the magic of the visual effects. The book needed to be much less a rendering of the movie into words and much more an attempt to capture the tone and spirit of the movie (but perhaps with slightly different characterization, imagery, and plot). Sarah is also much less engaging on the page than she is in the movie. Credit to Jennifer Connelly for making that character somewhat interesting and relatable because the book version is not. This just goes to show (again) that books and movies are two different media and what works in one medium doesn’t always work in another.

Also read some Dungeons and Dragons source books and my book club book, Pachinko. Might even sneak in some reading of Jonathan Hickman’s Avengers comics later tonight.

All in all, the first day was a success. But it was also Saturday. Tomorrow should be another easier day to get some reading done, but Monday and the rest of the work week will be the real test. Can I manage two hours of book reading each day while also freelancing? I kinda thought my lunch breaks and morning coffee and such would provide me with plenty of time (or hour or more), but it turns out, I don’t actually have that much time in those moments. Morning coffee is interrupted by kids and household duties; lunch is probably 30 minutes max. I had to sneak time for myself this Saturday to get my two hours. Not sure how easy this will be starting Monday.

But man, does it feel good to read books and not be scrolling the endless wasteland of the internet.

Song by Jesse Teller (a TBRindr review)

35996063So much of fantasy literature these days has what’s called a “magic system,” a.k.a. the rules of how magic works in the story’s world. These rules are often revealed over the course of a novel/series, and the readers expect to have magic “explained” at some point. The idea is that if magic is systematic, then readers can more fully engage with the plot because they can piece together the information about the magic system — much like gathering and analyzing clues in a mystery novel — and then when it comes time for the characters to use their magic, the readers can anticipate, guess, or otherwise make predictions about how and what and when the magic gets used. Apparently, fantasy readers love, love, love them some magic systems. Me? I’m kinda sick of them. Not that I don’t love Sanderson and Stormlight and all the rest, but there seems to be this expectation by audiences that fantasy *must* have a magic system. I disagree.

I want magic to be, well, magical. I want it to be mysterious and hard to comprehend. I want it to bend and often break the “rules,” whether it’s the rules of physics or the rules of belief or the rules of what the characters thought might be possible. Magic systems have become, for me anyway, akin to mathematical equations: plug in these numbers to the formula and get back an answer. I’m cool with math in my sci-fi, but in my fantasy, I want something a bit more poetic.

Thankfully, the magic in Jesse Teller’s novel, Song, is not systematic or formulaic or anything resembling that. The magic in Song is the good old fashioned kind: levitation, energy blasts, dark ritual magic, third eyes, demon portals, teleportation, disguises, auras, etc., and most of the time, we’re not sure what the characters will do or what they’re capable of. The wizards and witches get to do crazy, powerful stuff, and it’s extremely cool with not a rule or system in sight. I’m sure Teller has his own internal rules for how his magic works, but we as the readers are left to ponder the power and danger of these magic-wielding characters. I like it.

I also like the dream-like way the book is written (at least in the first half; the second half becomes more “standard” fantasy action-adventure). Rayph Ivoryfist must gather a bunch of powerful fighters and mages to help him capture a slew of diabolical criminals and such (the criminals have all escaped from their prison and Rayph feels responsible for apprehending them). But as Rayph travels around, gathering companions and setting up his plan, the story feels like we’re in a dream, following Rayph from place to place, but never quite getting our bearings for where we are, who we are meeting, or what exactly is going on. I was reminded very much of the dream narrative in George MacDonald’s Phantastes. And at times, the writing in Song is lyrical and evocative in the same way that MacDonald’s prose can be. There are some strong images here, ones that I find myself recalling to mind quite often.

However, despite the crazy amounts of magic and the mixture of fantasy lyricism and grotesque horror, I found myself not very engaged in the story. I lay the fault at the fact that I couldn’t connect with any of the characters. Rayph, Konnon, and other key characters often feel very strong emotions, but I never really shared in their feelings. Their hearts would break, they would weep, they would laugh with joy, but half the time, I wasn’t quite sure *why* they were feeling these things. We get told about their feelings, but being told how someone is feeling is not the same as sharing in that feeling. This is where I disengaged with the story. The characters felt thin, a bit flat, especially the female characters. All of the little girls in the story were more symbols of innocence and purity as opposed to real, believable people. The sassy and mysterious barmaid is flirty and street-smart and all-around wonderful, but without any flaws or an inner life of her own; she existed simply to be worshiped by the male characters. Other females are either badass warriors/witches/demons, or ciphers. Because of the dream-like way the first half is written, things felt episodic, and since I never really felt connected with the characters, there was not much to pull me into the book. It isn’t a super-long novel, but it took me a long time to read. For many readers, this might not be a big deal — Song has plenty of action, plenty of gore, and some very cool set-pieces — but without the character connection, I couldn’t stay engaged.

Teller is a highly imaginative writer, and the world in which Song is set is varied and strange and vast. But because the characters never felt flesh and blood to me, I had a hard time making it through. I appreciated the way magic was used, I enjoyed the moments of grotesque fantasy-horror, but I just never felt the emotional connection.

3 stars

Big thank you to Jesse and Rebekah Teller for providing me a free copy of Song as part of TBRindr.

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