Consciousness

17 April 2004 | 1 Comment

I recently finished reading your novel, Solitaire, and was astonished at how good it was. But you’ve probably already heard the same many times, so I’ll be more specific.

First, the plot rang true. I’ve spent my adult life working for a single, large corporation. They’ve provided interesting work, have treated me well, and I’m a loyal company man. Probably that’s how affairs will continue until I either die or retire. Yet I know that if, for some bizarre reason, the welfare of the company depended on me being crushed and humiliated, then so it would be. Just as in your story, there would be no malice, there would even be kindness to the degree possible,­ but it would be done.

Second, your characters came to life. Again, that’s pretty general, so more specifically… I was able to dislike and yet feel sorry for Jackal’s mom. I felt, even at first introduction, a simultaneous dislike and grudging admiration of both Gavin and Crichton — the same kind of feeling I‘ve gotten in person when talking to executives, not being able to help admiring them even when I know damn well I’m being manipulated. And, I got teary-eyed at Jackal’s and Snow’s reunion.

Third, the book was joyful. Most great novels are — even if reading academic reviews would make you think they’re gloomy and ponderous. And what I most want to say is that I enjoyed the optimism of your novel and hope that your future work is similar in that respect. Please understand that I’m not trying to give fan guidance on what you ought to write. I’m just offering a thought, a hope, and letting you know what about your work appealed to me. But life can be painful at times and, during those times, coming across a living, breathing, believably optimistic story about what it is to be a human can be a very big deal.

Last, I wanted to let you know that I’m a middle aged, straight, more-or-less conservative research scientist (your Crichton would call me a lab coat nerd if she were in a good mood). If you were able to make your story gripping to someone so different than how you describe yourself, then I’m guessing that the appeal of your writing must be nigh well universal.

Best Wishes,
J.

P.S. I saw that you used to be an executive at Wizards Of The Coast. My younger daughter has been a Pokémon fan for several years now. Congratulations on your marketing.

For me, one of the most complex treatments of ambivalence to create in Solitaire was the corporate culture. I have few mixed feelings about bad companies — they just suck, you know? But the good ones are less easily labeled. I spent five years in executive positions at Wizards of the Coast (which was for me an excellent experience in general, although astonishingly hard in particular moments), and in various positions at smaller companies before that (almost uniformly Suck City). The thing that made Wizards an excellent place for me was not that it was seamlessly good, or smart, or efficient. It wasn’t (oh, the stories….). But it was a place where a person of skill could, given a good manager, create an excellent experience for herself. Perhaps this is the best we can hope for, this combination of opportunity and support, but I have to believe it can be better than that, or at least more organized. When I led the project management team at Wizards, I tried to carve out a space in the company in which anyone could have an excellent experience. I expect that not everyone did, but I do believe that project management was considered a “better” part of the company to work in because of the way we built the team.

I get restless and impatient when people talk about corporations being “evil” and “greedy” and “heartless.” Corporations are big stews of people who often make uninformed or unimaginative or fearful decisions, which is just as bad in effect but makes a difference to me on some level. I find stupidity more forgivable, or at least more easily rectified, than evil or greed. What’s interesting is that I’m much more willing to characterize whole corporations as “supportive of employees” or “socially conscious” or “learning organizations” — I don’t have so much trouble with these kinds of generalizations. I think this is because for a whole corporation to be perceived as actively “good” in some way, a lot of people have to make a conscious agreement about how to behave and then live up to it on a daily basis. Chaos requires less consciousness and courage than order (or kindness).

I think joy and hope also require consciousness. Hope is almost always a choice to value oneself, in my experience, and joy is almost always a choice to celebrate value in oneself or the world. Maybe it’s that order and kindness and hope and joy are connecting forces, and fear is disconnecting. Maybe it’s that simple. What do you think?

Anyway, as a writer I’m interested in connection. I will write about fear and sorrow and the fractures within, and between, people because that’s part of the human terrain that I map in all my work. But I believe in joy and hope and growth and love. They are things I’d like to see more of in the world, and I hope I am never so sundered from them that I would want to write a book designed to separate the reader from them as well. I can imagine it. Nicola and I have talked about what might happen to our writing if the other died, and I can see the bitter books that I might wish to unleash on the world. I think I’d probably have a talent for making those people real too, and perhaps there would be some value in it, but I don’t like to read those books, and it would be a challenge to write one that I could be proud of. But I can imagine a state of soul in which it would seem like the thing to do. And if it were a choice between writing something like that and not writing at all…. well, those are the interesting questions, aren’t they?

I’m guessing that Crichton would only call you a lab coat nerd if you did something she didn’t like (grin). And I’m glad you liked the book. Cheers.

Posted by Kelley | Filed Under blog, friday pint, life, talk to me, writing 

More random

4 April 2004 | 2 Comments

Thanks for your description of “angles”, “filters”, and the Interpersonal Gap.

Re your mention of the Interpersonal Gap, I further educated myself here.

It reminds me of the psych-book, Games People Play, re word/body language play.

That is infinity. Apparently, it boils down to skillful and appropriate use of intention and interpretation as priorities in order to profit from conversation, personally, writer/reader, or artist/viewer.

You mentioned “discerning plot from unusual angles” and you mentioned this as best found in film. However, a film cannot be randomly read (another advantage for the traditional book concept). The film can project a sense of randomness, disjointed layers, but only one sequence exists.

A digital movie or website could exhibit randomly though, thus alleviating ‘choice’. Page-flipping could be eliminated also. Current E-books offer this, and they could avoid repetition of sections, which can happen with manual random reading. Reader-choice could be allowed or attenuated.

I meant, ‘gathering’ the plot via random reading, and moving through many tentative plots in the process.

In terms of fiction, all writing loses control to the needs of the reader. Convention is necessary to have an audience, yet the most successful styles, as I theorize here, allow (conventional, sequential) readers the ability to ‘write’ their own book, whereby even ‘profundity’ or ‘apotheosis’ may be perceived. The artistic product is an insight-vehicle for the reader, albeit a guided tour (smile).

Yet, both comedians and judges seem to be able to specifically control their delivery and the intended effect.

You ended with, “Filters matter. Often they are integrated at such an unconscious level that it takes a lot of work to dig them out. But it’s work worth doing, in my opinion.”

Yes input/output filters/embellishers are eternal problems and capabilities.

Solitaire seems appropriate for this era.

Thanks for the link — it’s a useful document.

I’m not sure I would compare Games People Play directly to the Interpersonal Gap model, mostly because so much of Games (as I remember it, and it’s been a while) is concerned with conscious or unconscious bad intentions, and I associate the Interpersonal Gap with good intentions gone wrong. For me, it’s about clarity. Of course, we can have bad intentions and be clear about them, but then it seems to me that we are not playing games, just being clearly nasty. I find it difficult to understand how people experience this as a good thing, but mileage varies.

The ability to clearly articulate intentions, filters (coding) and effects in real-time is perhaps the most powerful communication skill I know of. I am impressed by it even in people I don’t particularly like, because their skill (and mine) makes it much easier to navigate the interpersonal friction. It incorporates awareness of self and other, and the willingness to acknowledge difference, fear and vulnerability in the service of greater connection. I’m fortunate to live with someone who has this skill in spades, and as it happens I like her very much (grin), and find our conversations rich, sometimes astonishing, sometimes terrifying, always connecting.

I believe I understand better now what you mean by random. It’s interesting to imagine moving through tentative plots toward a final understanding of the plot as it exists. A new literary concept: Shroedinger’s Plot. I only do this as a reader if my linear reading experience becomes boring or stressful. When that happens, I’ll jump around in the book to see if I can get a sense of what’s to come without necessarily connecting all the dots. I think that’s as close as I get to what you’ve described. In the best of book-worlds, I like to start at the beginning and have the story swallow me whole — and I always begin by hoping for the best.

I would paraphrase what you’re saying about writing as “everyone reads her own book.” This is, for me, related to my notions about books and multiple entry points. It’s true that any meaning (profundity, resonance) to be found in a book depends on the experience and values and desires of the reader as much as those of the writer. When these intersect in story in a way that is meaningful to both parties, well, that’s a fine moment. That’s the connection that I seek as an artist.

Posted by Kelley | Filed Under blog, friday pint, talk to me, writing 

Riffing

4 April 2004 | 1 Comment

Finished Solitaire two days ago; it’s still ringing in my thoughts. I’d almost given up on it around page 50; you found your stride later, and I’m glad I stuck with it.

Twice (twice!) I found myself tearing up (and I don’t cry *that* easily) — both times with joy, at the human truths you gracefully set up and then depicted, cleanly, showing-not-telling, without a bit of the maudlin or the melodramatic.

Nicely done! Just wanted to pass on my compliments directly. Keep writing — I’ll keep looking for your next novels.

Michael

Thanks for sticking with it. I’m glad it became more to your liking, and that you did not find it maudlin or melodramatic. I worry sometimes about my propensity for what I think of as riffing, which is akin to taking a running start at an emotional cliff and then flinging myself off, clinging to a rope of exuberant prose. Riffing is great fun, but not always great writing. The last two paragraphs of the elevator scene are a riff, and so is most of Day 424 in VC, and the entire reunion scene with Snow, and they were all fun to write, even the hard ones.

One way I know I’m on a right track in my own work is that it makes me cry to write it, not because it’s deathless prose but because I’m getting close to some kind of truth that is right for the story, a joy or sadness or exhilaration, or those piercing moments that are these combined.

I, too, am looking for my next novels (grin) and I know they’re in here somewhere. If I could get away with riffing all the time, I’d be on Book 37 by now.

Posted by Kelley | Filed Under blog, friday pint, talk to me, writing 

The variety of art

4 April 2004 | 2 Comments

Kelley — I read for a lot of reasons — some of which are — to learn, feel, experience, contemplate, confront, dream, and transcend. Sometimes I seek solace, a new way of approaching life, or the unexpected. The stories that have the most impact on me become a world unto themselves — these are my favorites and I will read everything I can get my hands on by that author [or musician or director in other mediums]. What they have written lives on forever in my psyche. Solitaire is one of those books.

You taught me something important. I am a solo and I need to do some [more] online editing. And I am fortunate to have my own web.

Jackal and her world have intersected mine and I am grateful.

I enjoy the links and referrals by you and your readers. I am looking forward to reading more. Thank you.

Chela

And thank you. I do this myself with books and music, and can’t imagine how I could be myself without them moving through me like tides. I’m honored that you would include Solitaire on your list of things that work in you this way.

It’s interesting to think about the difference for me between books, music, and visual media in this context.

I give my heart to a TV show every so often, one led by a really good writer/director whose vision shapes all aspects of the experience (Buffy, Firefly, The West Wing, My So-Called Life, and does anyone remember Wizards and Warriors from the early 80′s? I loved that show.)

Movies are different. I tend to think of them as a more singular experience rather than part of a spectrum of work. I have a few favorite actors whose work I will seek out, but I don’t make the same commitment to directors and screenwriters. I’m partial to some (Peter Weir, John Sayles) but I don’t form the same passionate attachments that I do to authors and musicians. Hmm, she said, thinking, thinking. I wonder if this is perhaps because I recognize movies as collaborative, and what I am talking about rightnow is being drawn to the work of the individual? Auteur television falls somewhere in the middle ground. And of course no artist is free of the influence of others: in some ways, we’re all collaborating with the world in general and our own lives in particular. We are all editing online, all the time.

I love movies and television and theatre: I love the total sensory experience, and the complexity of so many elements coming together. Successful collaboration is a particular thrill to participate in, and to witness, and I’ve had some amazing emotional experiences in these situations. But I find my most powerful connection and recognition with books and music, where I am more free to consider the experience from multiple perspectives. It fascinates me that movies are a collaborative effort to present a unified vision, and fiction is an individual effort to present an experience that can be entered into in multiple ways. At least, that’s how it works for me. And music: well, for me, it’s the express train to places sometimes too deep for words alone.

Posted by Kelley | Filed Under blog, friday pint, movies, music, talk to me