Author: scott

Writing Advice 2

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People in writing groups often ask me, “What do I do when I get conflicting advice? How will I ever decide which way to go?”

My answer is: “Try it both ways and see which works! Don’t just write one ending, write three!”

It’s a medically proven fact: Writing the same scene several different ways won’t actually kill you.

Take a cue from visual artists. They make a hundred pencil drawings of a subject before even starting with the paint. They paint the same dang pot of flowers a dozen times, with only slight variations. They doodle in their sketchbooks all day, making stuff no one will ever see. But they rarely sit there and just complain about a compositional problem without putting their hands on a brush/pen/piece of clay.

In my second novel, Fine Prey, I actually wrote a scene that I knew wouldn’t be in the final draft, just so I could visualize what had happened “off screen” in the story. Weird, but it worked.

In another case, I lost a short story and had to write it again from scratch. Then I found the original again. (Argh.) Guess what? The combination of the two–taking the best elements of each–was better than anything I would have reached by fiddling endlessly with that lost original. And the experience of writing a story twice and then comparing the two versions helped me understand it in ways I wouldn’t have otherwise.

You see, paper is magic: Making marks on it changes your brain. So, don’t sit around trying to think your way out of problems, write your way out of them. The best place to find answers is on a piece of paper or a glowing phosphorus screen.

One quick note
Of course, thinking about writerly issues in the shower or while jogging is a fine habit to get into, because otherwise that’s just wasted time.* Please understand that I’m not against thinking; I’m only against thinking that thinking on its own will get you out of a hole. Shovel also needed.

*Except for the being hygienic and fit, which is somewhat useful.

Bungee Jacket Alert!

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Readers of Uglies will know all about my so-called “bungee jackets.” Basically, they’re a futuristic way of escaping a burning building in a magnetic levitation harness. Of course, my tricky uglies and drunken pretties tend to put bungee jackets to much more amusing uses.

Well, it wouldn’t be the future if someone wasn’t already working on it. Howard Price of the Trades (which gave Uglies a great review for my birthday) pointed me to this article in the Economist. It’s about a backpack-based inflatable device that allows you to jump safely from a building and bounce to a halt.

The Lavochkin Association in Moscow demonstrated this device (using a 1/6-scale model) at the Paris Air Show in mid-June. They don’t have a working prototype, but the overall concept seems sound, or at least better than burning to death. (Or jumping with, say, nothing.)

You leap with the backpack on, pulling the cord, and the outer rim inflates as you fall. The aerodynamic shape of the device turns the point downward (putting you on the top) and slows your fall way down. Hopefully the pointy front end is soft enough to protect you from the ground, and any earlier jumpers from you.

The full-size version is six meters (20 feet) across, so imagine a flock of them coming down the street at you on a windy day!

Anyway, I want one. (After the testing. Lots and lots of testing.)

Writing Advice 1

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The most common questions I get from fans (other than “when is Pretties coming out?”) are those about writing. Where do you get ideas? How do I get started? How do I keep going? How do you get published?

Of course, it’s not surprising that a lot of people who like to read also want to write. And fortunately, I love talking about the craft and business of writing. But I do find myself answering the same questions and giving the same advice again and again. So I’ve decided to start to put my stock motivational speeches together into a series of posts call, oddly, “Writing Advice.”

To give these posts visual interest and the appropriate authori-tie, I wasted many long minutes designing this exceedingly lame logo:

So let us begin at the end:

Finish everything!

There will always be a part of your brain that wants to give up when characters aren’t behaving, when you don’t know where to go next, when the inspiration has faded. Don’t give the start-something-else part of your brain any extra leverage, or it will win every time. And once it starts winning . . . Well, let’s just say that the not-finishing habit is a hard one to break.

It’s easy to think up logical reasons to stop writing a story. You say to yourself: “This sucks. Why waste any more time? I’ll start something new that inspires me!”

Yeah, well, the inspiration of a new story is exciting. But if you wind up not finishing ninety percent of what you start, guess what happens. After a few years you’ll have written 100 beginnings, 40 middles, and only 10 endings. Which means you’ll be great at writing beginnings, only so-so at middles, and you’ll suck at endings. Which means you will almost certainly keep faltering between the middle and the end of every story, which means you’ll keep giving up and not finishing . . . Rinse, repeat.

And that’s a hole you don’t want to fall into. So finish, even if you know this story isn’t going to win you the Nobel Prize—it’s good practice to type THE END.

Zombie Zeitgeist

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On the unkillable, shuffling comment thread of my Frank Lloyd Wright vs. Zombies post, Jim Coughlin announces a shocking discovery: the new George Romero zombie flick, Land of the Dead, has an obscure reference to Frank Lloyd Wright.

Writing in the San Diego Union-Tribune, David Elliot describes the film thusly (mild spoilage):

Pittsburgh has become the last fortress for the humans, surrounded by hordes of zombies who just keep slogging around on a random meat diet. A primal class structure still preens, with yuppies living in a protected high-rise compound where the rivers converge, ruled by suits led by [Dennis Hopper as] Kaufman (a jokey nod to the Kauffmans, the Pittsburgh department store family that built and lived in Frank Lloyd Wright’s great Fallingwater home near Bear Run).

Zombies at Fallingwater could have been a real classic, but instead . . .

Hang on, did I just read that? The phrase “Zombies at Fallingwater” in a real newspaper? Has the Zombies/Wright connection shambled from my mad rantings and into the actual world? Has Dennis Hopper finally discovered his dramatic destiny as a post-apacolyptic Wright-client heir?

Clearly, this is a sign of the end times, and we should all be headed toward the nearest architectural masterpiece with bottled water and phosphorous rounds. Me, I’m repairing to the Guggenheim with all the bowling balls I can carry.

Well, I would be, except that Land of the Dead opens today. For showtimes, click here.

Library Event, Uglies in French

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First, some event news.

On Tuesday, July 12, Justine and I will be appearing at the Donnel Library in New York City. This is a Teen Central event, which means that only people 12-18 are allowed in. (No littlies or crumblies.)

We’ll be talking about Magic or Madness and Uglies, and generally attempting to be entertaining. Here’s where it is:

Donnell Library Center
20 West 53rd Street
(212) 621-0619.

In other news, Pocket Books in France has made an offer on the Uglies trilogy.

Yay, France! They have now taken all three Uglies books, plus So Yesterday, Evolution’s Darling, and The Risen Empire. They are now ahead of all non-US countries in publishing my work, including Britain and my adopted Australia.

Also, I get great press there. So, I’m like the Mickey Rourke of science fiction, or something.

People studying French, what will the title be?

Eleven Questions from a Fan

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A fan wrote me today with a bunch of excellent questions, and posting my answers here is easier than, you know, actually blogging.

Hi, Mr. Westerfeld/Scott (whichever you prefer). I really like your Midnighters books. I plan to be an author someday, so could you answer me a few questions?

Yes, I can. And I prefer Scott, except when people are trying to sell me something. (Then, “Mr. Westerfeld” will do.)

1. What is the hardest part of being a writer?

The vast emptiness of the blank page. You start to think about a story, “So there’s this girl with a dog . . . ” And a voice pops up and says, “Wait! What’s her name? Age? What year is this? What country? Is she poor? Rich? Middle class? Does she like monkeys, or just dogs? What about cheese? Is there magic in this world? What kind? Can the dog smell the magic? Hey, what kind of dog is it, anyway?”

See what I mean? There are so many different things you can write about. It gives me a headache sometimes.

Also, writing is kind of lonely profession. You’re all alone with that computer screen all day, unless you’re very clever and marry another writer.

2. What is the easiest part of being a writer?

The all-important writing uniform. Pajamas are comfortable and easy to put on. Socks, optional.

3. Do ideas come to you easily?

Yes. Ideas are easy, words are hard.

4. Is it hard to be published?

Yes and no.

On the one hand, there are millions (no really, millions) of people out there who want to be published. Every publishing house in the world has mighty stacks of manuscripts waiting sadly to be read. Every literary agent gets dozens (at least) of query letters a day, all begging for their attention. Everywhere you go, you’ll meet lots of people wanting to be writers.

On the other hand, a lot of those people are totally hopeless. Half of them don’t ever write anything. And half of them that do never send their stuff anywhere. Then subtract all the ones who can’t spell, can’t type, or who just can’t tell a story. And suddenly . . . there’s a lot more breathing room.

But persistence is required. (Imagine if you asked someone for a date, and they didn’t get back to you for six months, and then said no. And then imagining asking them again for a date. That’s publishing.)

5. How long did it take you to write your first book?

I started it on Mother’s Day, 1992. I spent more than a year on it, put it away for a few more years, then worked on it some more. It was first sent to an agent in 1996. (But after that, it all went pretty fast, and the book, Polymorph, was published in 1997.)

6. Do you receive a lot of fan mail?

Two today, which seems about average. (Not all of them are as complicated as yours, though. Not that I’m complaining.)

7. When did you decide that author was the right job for you?

Before I was one.

For me, there’s nothing more fascinating than novels. Most are created by only one person, even though they’re one of the most complicated things that humans do. Authors have to be the architect who draws the overall plan, the foreman who makes sure the work gets done, and the welder who puts in every bolt and rivet. (And then you have to research whether welders actually put in rivets or not, or some piss-ant will write you a letter about it.)

And as a science fiction writer, it’s even crazier. In the same day, I’ve had to decide the fate of humanity’s future and then had to check if “scumbag” has a hyphen or not. (It doesn’t.)

8. What book was the funnest to write?

Probably So Yesterday. I wrote it after living in Sydney for a year and a half. I had just come back to New York City, so it was a sort of love letter to a place I’d lived in for 16 years but was seeing anew. The story just flowed out of me. It’s also the most comedic of my novels, and it occasionally slew me.

9. Do you know other famous authors, being one yourself?

Ahem, you are too sweet. But I’m not sure if I’m exactly “famous” at this stage in my career . . . I will leave that for my biographers to decide.

But I do know many wonderful writers, and seem to be meeting more all the time. Hanging out at publisher’s parties at conventions and book expos is an excellent way to meet your childhood idols, which is quite a fringe benefit.

10. Do you have any children?

Nope. (They might tell me my kid-slang is wrong, after all.)

11. Does writing ever get in the way of family?

Fortunately, I’m married to an author, so writing is the family business. We talk about our books all the time, go to visit publishers and to conventions together, and read our work to each other at night.

“The family that writes together, smites together.”

Tornado Sky

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When I was about ten years old, a big storm moved over my grandparents’ house in Crawford, Texas. The sky turned brown, the colors on the whole street shifted eerily, and my ears popped as titanic air masses jostled overhead. I knew from school and from the weatherguy on TV that deep brown was the mark of a tornado sky.

I saw a similar color in Sydney on my first antipodean Christmas Day. But on the arid continent, brown means a bushfire sky, caused by the ash and smoke of the summer burn-offs.

The same hues appeared today over New York City as this thunderstorm rolled in:

This is from Justine’s and my apartment, looking down on Second Avenue from the seventh floor. The camera is facing south, and it’s about six PM.

My favorite moment in a NYC storm is when the streets turn dark, but the sky is still glowing. Especially when the heavens are the crazy brown they were today, shifting the colors of everything and turning the rain-mirrored asphalt the hue of a slow-moving bayou.

It was definitely weird looking. Right as the rain broke, we were headed off to meet our Razorbill editors for dinner, umbrellas in hand. A kid came out of the building in front of us, looked up at the sky, turned to his dad and said, “Why’s that like that?”

I didn’t tell him about the tornado-sky thing. Partly because I would have been lying. Back when I was ten, the tornados didn’t come. One hits Crawford every few decades, but I’ve never seen it happen. And in NYC, of course, storm funnels hardly ever form. But although I’m generally against massive death and destruction and all that, one of these days, you know, it would be really cool to see one live . . .

The Future of Pretty

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The New York Times had an article today about how high-definition TV makes it harder for celebs to hide wrinkles and skin conditions. It contains the quote: “Celebrities are considered attractive at least in part because they’re suited to the technology of the age.”

Too true. Why should looks be any different from talent? After all, we don’t imagine Bill Gates amassing atonishing wealth if he’d been born back in the 12th century, or someone with Michael Jordan’s talents becoming a famous athlete in cricket-mad India. (I’ve seen him try to bat, after all.)

In Hollywood, the era of black and white had its high-cheekboned ice queens, and the current era of small screen rental seems to favor exaggerated features. Some of today’s beauties in HD may well look as bad as Jordan did swinging a bat.

But I’m not here to talk about anyone’s bad skin. What’s interesting to me is, what kind of pretties will emerge from the HD era? And how will that go on to affect our society’s ideas about beauty?

The Times article quotes a make-up artist who works in HD. She says the medium favors stars like Halle Berry, with her flawless skin. (The article also says that plastic surgery is problematic, leaving seams and ridges that the camera will capture and emphasize.)

Of course, TV will eventually do what movies do, and use CGI Vaseline to blur away every imperfection. (And eventually plastic surgery will become undetectible; the market will demand that it does.) But at some point in the race between digital fidelity and digital deception, I predict we’ll get a wave of movie stars with really amazing skin. Stars that won’t have to be fuzzed out to look good on HD. Stars that seem to glow on screen.

And when that happens, even people who don’t have to be on TV will emulate the celebs of the moment. And we will all obsess a little bit more than we already do over every zit.

Those of you who’ve read Uglies may remember that the pretty operation gives you perfect skin. As a marker of lifelong good health, clear skin is one of those things that evolution selects for. It seems to make people react positively, no matter what society we’re born into, like symmetry (mirror features) and neotony (big lips and eyes). But the images in our culture influence us to obsess over some factors more than others. Sometimes it’s neotony, sometimes symmetry.

So maybe the era of perfect skin is upon us.

Of course, when everyone has it, all that smooth skin may start to look really creepy . . .

Simon Says Interview

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Here’s an interview with me over at Check Your Pulse, part of the Simon & Schuster site.

It will be up for a few more days, and its permanent home is here on this site.

Also, Justine and I saw Howl’s Moving Castle today and it rocked! We were in the third row, and just behind us were these totally anime-obsessed teenage girls. During a big pullback-to-reveal-a-glorious-vista sequence one gasped and said, “Oh, Miyazaki, you are such an attention whore.”

Now that’s just funny.

So Yesterday in Swedish!

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Breaking news from World Headquarters: So Yesterday was just bought by Bonnier Carlsen, a publishing house in Sweden. Big props to Whitney Lee at Fielding Agency for selling that book all over the globe.

I always suspected that So Yesterday might sell well internationally. As a consumer satire, I figured that it should appeal to foreign folks who find us inch-using, doctor-paying, soccer-not-playing ‘Mericans to be inherently funny. I’m glad to see that I was right.

I didn’t think of this when the French rights sold, but I’m very curious as to how the Spoonerisms in the book will work. (For you who are too lazy to click: a Spoonerism is a humorous reversal of word beginnings, like “May I sew you to your sheets?”)

Spoonerisms form a key plot point in So Yesterday, and are supposed to generate a lot of laughs. But does Swedish even have them? I mean, William Archibald Spooner himself was a don at Oxford (the place where they make that cattle-stunning dictionary of English) so there’s no guarantee that speakers of other languages even know what Spoonerisms are . . .

Sounds like a tough ask for the translator. I just hope he or she is a shining wit.

Now, I’m a self-confessed language geek. (My sophomore novel, Fine Prey, is about a xenolinguist, and you can’t get much geekier than that.) But I know next to nothing about Swedish. So I have no guesses as to the Swedish title, or whether the character-name puns (like “Hunter”) will translate well, or how those all-important Spoonerisms will fair.

My only tidbit to share comes from my Swedish-Aussie pal Kim Selling, who once explained to me during a long car ride in the Outback that the Swedes are to farting as the Inuit supposedly are to snow. That is, they have a lot of words for it. This is probably the result of spending a lot of time in saunas together, a natural environment for the linguistic dissection of flatulence.

So a brief and probably inaccurate primer on Swedish gas-passing:

• Fjärt–a fart (the English root-word)
• Pruttar–a sputtering fart (very onomotopoetic, that one)
• Äggmök–a smelly fart
• Göra en stinkare–literally, to make a stink
• Mört-a silent but deadly one (bringing new meaning to the title Morte, d’Arthur)

I’m sure there were more. I’m waiting for Kim and any other Swedaphones to weigh in on this important issue.

And if you object to this post, just remember that Spamalot just won a butt-load of Tonys. Don’t make me pruttar in your general direction, yo.