Knitting During the French Revolution

My niece once told me she was reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.  To her, it seemed more like an endless succession of episodes than a novel with a three-part dramatic structure.  I vaguely remember picking up the book in elementary school library, but being talked out of reading it until I was older.  Strangely though, I can’t remember being taught anything about the French Revolution in history classes (even at university), except that it was “complicated.”

A couple years ago, I read Drood, a novel in which Dan Simmons portrays Charles Dickens from contemporary author Wilkie Collin’s point-of-view.  I’ve wanted to read both Collins and Dickens since reading Dan Simmons’ novel, so perhaps I should begin with A Tale of Two Cities.  My concern is that it’s a long novel, so I’ll have to set aside all the other books I want to read.  Plus, there’s the added problem that once Dickens brings this period of history to life for me, I’ll want to study the subject further, and I already have so many nonfiction topics I want to research.  (Of course, in order to play fair, I’ll then have to read a Wilkie Collins novel as well).  Still, nothing illuminates history quite like well-written Fiction, and A Tale of Two Cities ranks among the most famous works of literature.  

While I debate about reading the novel, I’ve recently found another valuable source of information on the French Revolution.  “The Reign of Terror” was a six-part serial written by Dennis Spooner, and was filmed during the first year of Doctor Who.  When the TARDIS arrives in France in 1794, the Doctor’s companions are thrown in jail, and he must impersonate a regional administrator in the hopes of rescuing them before they are taken to the guillotine.  When watching the episodes with the “Information Text” option, I gained a nice overview of this important period of history, as well as a few interesting facts.  One was that a group of women, known as Tricoteuses, would sit by the guillotine and knit during public executions.

I can understand a lot of the reasons why the French Revolution occurred.  I get how ideologies might drive people to commit terrible acts in the name of the common good, such as during the Reign of Terror, when tens of thousands of people were condemned to death.  What I can’t understand is how a group of women could plunk themselves down beside a guillotine, watch as people are led up to it, and knit while the blade descends and a person’s head drops into a basket.  I mean, wouldn’t their knitted hats and gloves get stained?  Who would wear a sweater splattered with blood?

My wife’s tells me she finds knitting a calming and restful hobby…and then she knits Daleks.  Part of me argues that I’d better confiscate her knitting needles while I still can.  The other part argues that the Women’s March on Versailles served as an important precursor to the French Revolution.  So what should I do?  Should I confiscate her knitting needles?  Or would doing so incite the violence and rebellion I wish to avert?

You know, maybe I really do need to read A Tale of Two Cities.  

Dragon Dave

Steven Brust: Literary Role Model

Two books worth reading.  And rereading.

The more I search the Internet, the more I find young authors who are eschewing traditional publishers.  Perhaps they’ve grown tired of accumulating rejection letters. Perhaps they like the idea of owning the entire publication process.  Their efforts are fueled by youthful energy, and dreams of building their own literary empires.  A common promise is that their novels are revolutionary and groundbreaking. 

Recently, it’s struck me how, in some ways, I chose inappropriate literary role models early in my career.  At first, I bought any books on writing I found in the bookstore, and subscribed to “Writers Digest” magazine.  But I didn’t take any of my favorite novels off the shelf and study how the authors had constructed their narratives.  Nor did I study the market to understand what publishers were currently offering.  Sure, I bought books from the authors whose work I had enjoyed in the past, but that’s different from perusing the bookstores, taking notes on popular authors, assessing trends, and learning which publishers were buying what kind of stories. 

I simply assumed that the story I was burning to write would find a home somewhere.  And of course, my novel would not only be revolutionary and groundbreaking, but most assuredly a bestseller.

Only after I finally finished my first effort, a sprawling Space Opera, did I study the market.  Doing so helped me realize that the approach I had taken, and the segment of the market I intended to revolutionize, had moved on from the kind of novels I fell in love with in my youth.  Had I done this homework earlier, I might not have lavished so much time and effort on my first novel.  Eventually, I decided it would take more work to salvage that novel than to write another the correct way.  As unbridled optimism had failed me, I opted for what seemed the smartest course, and studied the recent Hugo and Nebula award winning novels.  I now view that as my second mistake. 

While I discovered great authors such as Dan Simmons and Kim Stanley Robinson, it didn’t occur to me that they had honed and refined their skills over time.  As an aspiring author, with one failed attempt behind me, I was hardly ready to aim that high.  So, for my next novel, I did tons of research.  I constructed elaborate charts on my characters, worlds, and plots.  Yet, despite all the preparation, I grew overwhelmed with the enormity of the task I had laid out for myself.  And so, at a certain point, I abandoned that project.  “I’m not ready to write this novel,” I reasoned.  “I’ll start another, a simpler one, one I’m capable of finishing.  Then I’ll come back to this one and finish it.”  But I didn’t alter this new methodology, or lower my sites.

Consequently, my office is full of research notes and abandoned novels.

Last year, I lowered my sites.  I decided to abandon all the elaborate preparation work that some authors utilize, but seems to overwhelm me.  And I decided to model my efforts on those of Steven Brust.  His Vlad Taltos novels resonate with me, and are a curious fusion of Science Fiction and Fantasy.  He labors carefully over his prose, injecting each sentence with style and wit.  This not only makes reading his books easy and enjoyable, but also helps them resonate with me emotionally. He doesn’t set unachievable targets in regards to bettering himself, such as my foolish attempts to master Hard Science issues that require a solid grounding in Physics to even begin to understand.  Nor does he push himself beyond his limits in the unending, unreasoning desire to produce more, more, more.  Instead, he takes his time: he writes a page or two a day, and invests all his energies in the flow of words, sentences, and yes, most importantly, his characters.  

Steven Brust pours all the vagaries of humanity into his characters, which helps me identify with them.  Especially Vlad.  It never ceases to amaze me how much I identify with Vlad Taltos, given that I don’t usually get on with antiheroes.  And while he evolves on his journey through life, during those early years, and in those early novels, Vlad is very much that, the most difficult kind of character to write well: the antihero. 

Reading his work, and trying to adopt a similar mindset, has helped me become more prolific.  I’ve grown more comfortable with my capabilities.  I no longer aim to win awards, write groundbreaking, blockbuster novels, or revolutionize the field.  While such dreams were understandable, given the enthusiasm of youth, I’ve sought to uncouple them from my literary efforts.  In the process, I’ve rediscovered the simple pleasures of writing, which, somewhere along the way, I had forgotten. 

I’m so glad I discovered Steven Brust, and decided to model my writing on his.  I may never achieve his level of greatness, but of all the authors I’ve studied, his approach seems…wise.

It goes without saying that if you’ve not yet found a published author to model yourself on, I can make a suggestion.

At peace with my capabilities,

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries

Still Leaning on Steven Brust

Of Ayrton Senna and Ray Bradbury

In 1994, during the San Marino Grand Prix, Ayrton Senna lost his life when his Williams F1 race car swerved off at the Tamburello corner and plowed into a concrete barrier.  His close friend and fellow racer, Gerhard Berger, later complained about many of the tributes paid to Senna by people who had never met the Brazilian.  He disliked how they spoke, often with tear-streaked faces, about how much Senna had meant to them.  To Gerhard Berger, such outpourings of grief seemed inappropriate. 

At the time, I didn’t know how to react to his statement.  Although I had only started watching Formula One two years previously, Senna had become a demigod to me.  He seemed immortal and impervious to harm, a superior being capable of feats mere mortals could only dream of accomplishing.  His death left me shattered.  (Or, as the English would say, gutted).  Obviously, I never knew or even met the man.  Perhaps his death should not have affected me thus.  Yet it did.

Last week, Ray Bradbury passed away.  He was a popular and award-winning author chiefly known for his short stories, although he had written influential novels and worked with filmmakers.  While I read several of his books in my youth, I'm not sure that he was ever a primary influence in my life.  Yet for many, his work proved influential, even monumental.

In previous posts, I’ve mentioned the impact that Edgar Rice Burroughs, Frank Herbert, and Roger Zelazny made in my youth. (There were many, many others).  In the past decade, authors such as Kevin J. Anderson, Kim Stanley Robinson, Dan Simmons, Robert Silverberg, and Terry Pratchett often entertained me and stirred my soul.  Janet Evanovich offered numerous moments of undemanding delight.  A quick glance at my reading list for the past year-and-a-half suggests that Gregory Benford, E. F. Benson, James Herriot, and Steven Brust have recently proven important.  Each, in his or her way, has contributed in a positive manner to my life.

Several years ago, after reading an interview in which Robert Silverberg asserted the eternal importance of The Martian Chronicles, I dug out my old, battered Scholastic edition and reread it.  At the fellowship following an Easter Vigil service, I fell into conversation with the associate priest.  I mentioned how something in his sermon reminded me of a story in The Martian Chronicles.  This older gentleman always struck me as someone better versed in Bible-related and spiritual works than the offerings of popular culture.  Looking back now, it seems strange to me that I can no longer remember any of the sermons he preached, and few of our conversations. Yet our talk that night, in which he shared how one of Bradbury’s stories had served as a minor metaphor for his life, still shines like a beacon in my mind. 

In 2009, my wife and I traveled to San Jose, California, to attend the World Fantasy Convention.  At an evening event, we filled our plates with goodies, and looked for a place to enjoy them.  As all the tables were full, one couple invited us to join them.  Unlike most World Fantasy attendees, he and his wife were not working- or aspiring-writers, but merely readers.  (Not that there’s anything ordinary about someone who regularly reads SF and Fantasy!)  His favorite author was Ray Bradbury.  With glowing eyes and a wide smile, he spoke of meeting the author, and how he would forever cherish the books Bradbury had signed for him. 

In the past week, I’ve read a number of glowing tributes to Ray Bradbury.  Most came from people who only met him a couple times, if at all.  Yet they speak of a man whose fiction loomed large in their lives.  Perhaps Gerhard Berger is right: perhaps it’s inappropriate to speak of what a person you’ve never really known means to you.  But as for how an author’s fiction has helped form the paradigm of your life, or how it enabled you achieve your own works of greatness, or even how it provided pleasant moments of connection between yourself and others...it seems to me that such contributions should not only be mentioned, but shouted from the highest mountains.

Rest well, Ray Bradbury.  You shall be well-remembered.

In respectful tribute,

Dragon Dave

Related Internet Links

Death of Ayrton Senna

A Testimonial from Kevin J. Anderson

One Year Later: Part 1

Time passes so quickly.  What seemed to happen only yesterday may have occurred months or years ago.  We spend our lives swimming in a stream of memories.  Like exhaled bubbles, most moments of our lives drift off into the stream, forgotten forever or rarely recalled.  Significant memories, which often include many we would rather forget, hug our bodies as we swim, refusing to float away with the current.  Memories may increase our buoyancy, lending us strength to swim to a distant, desired destination.  Or they may suck the breath from our lungs, and pull us beneath the surface.  We may not be able to forget those that embarrass or disgust us, but if we can learn from them, we may avoid repeating the mistakes that forged those memories.  On the other hand, we can strengthen and create positive memories if we concentrate upon those that will drive us onward.  Now and then, it’s beneficial to sit back, recall what we’ve done, and reflect on what such accomplishments have contributed to our lives.  It is with the latter in mind that I look back one year ago to when I started this blog.  

In “The Blogging Wars: My Hope,” I essentially asked three questions: 1) Why should I start a blog now?; 2) Why should you read my blog?; and 3) What am I passionate about?  For many years, part of me had yearned to write a blog, but I had no idea what I would do with one.  What would I write about?  What might I communicate that could benefit others?  And how could I justify spending the time away from working on my novels to write a blog?  Ultimately, I started the blog because of two factors: Condor and Depression.  

Every year, when Condor arrived, I would find myself at a loss as to how to engage with the convention’s Guest of Honor (G.O.H.).  An esteemed author walked in our midst, yet I had read little or nothing of his (or her) fiction.  Or perhaps I had read several of his novels, but many years previously, and thus lacked fresh reactions to his characters, settings, plots, and ideas to spark an interesting conversation regarding his work.  Last year, I determined that I would read as many stories by 2011’s G.O.H. as I could.  Both before and after Condor, I read most of the novels Dr. Gregory Benford wrote in the 1970s and early eighties.  But, as the blog evolved, I quickly realized that I wanted to do more than merely review those books.  I wanted to celebrate them.  This involved outlining the stories, studying aspects that fascinated me, and thinking about what they meant to me.  

Sometimes I grow depressed: I have written stories for so many years, but have yet to see any of them published.  It’s my fault: I often fail to finish the stories I start, or spend too much time rewriting, and never put the effort into the submission process that I should.  This lack of success drags me beneath the surface, where a subsequent lack of oxygen deprives me of the strength to swim onward.  Depression most often afflicts me during the shorter days of Winter, especially around the holidays.  I realized that everything I had tried before had not transformed me into the writer I wish to become, so I decided that I must adopt another approach.  Around this time, an issue of “Locus” slid into my letterbox.  It discussed the role that blogs play in fandom, and provided testimonials by published authors who found blogging beneficial to their careers.  I figured, why not start?  After so many years of swimming, I had not yet found the place I desired to inhabit.  Why not take the next tributary, strike off in a direction I’ve contemplated, and see where it took me?  

So, like Sam Clemens in Philip Jose Farmer’s The Fabulous Riverboat, or like Raul and company in Dan Simmons’ novel Endymion, I traveled into uncharted territory.  At the very least, I figured, it would be an adventure.

This essay will continue with One Year Later: Part 2.

Related Dragon Cache entries

The Blogging Wars: My Hope

The Fellowship of Condor

Three Shining Moments