Subgenre Saturday: Bizarro Fiction

People know what they like, for the most part. It hardly needs stating, it's such a well-accepted fact. But what people don't always have are the words for what they like, the names that they can actually use to communicate it. That's not exactly a problem I can tackle, but I'm going to take a little nibble off of it with this new set of posts.

So welcome to Subgenre Saturday, a look at the myriad subgenres tucked under the speculative fiction umbrella… and maybe a handful that hang around just outside the umbrella, too. And believe me, when you start digging deep into it, there are a lot of them out there.

But today, we'll start with one very near and dear to my heart, one of my great loves, as a reader. Bizarro fiction. Sort of a new kid on the block, sort of a Frankenstein compiled from other 'cult' genres, bizarro is described by the writers and publishers involved in it as 'literature's equivalent to the cult section at the video store.' It's the B-movie of the literary world (although there are bizarro movies and other such media, as we'll see).

 

Bizarro fiction didn't officially become a thing until 2005, when houses like Eraserhead Press (easily the biggest bizarro publisher out there) adopted it to describe the books they were working with. From a literary standpoint, you could say bizarro is a bit of magical realism mixed with a bit of splatterpunk horror and stirred up with some sex and nudity. But even that's not a good definition. I think the best definition I've found was from a blog about writing bizarro. It's taking an idea that sounds absolutely worthless, then making it not suck.

Let's take a look at my favorite bizarro novel (novelette, really), just to maybe explain it a little better: Ultra Fuckers, by Carlton Mellick III is dystopian sci-fi… but not. But maybe. Here's what the 'worthless idea' part of this book would be (spoilers ahead): a sentient gated community that takes over the world. Yeah. Sure. But it ends up as such an unnerving book. A husband and wife head to a diner party in a new housing development. But they can't seem to find their way. The streets are to confusing, and it just seems so huge. Eventually, they get directions from one of the stations scattered throughout the community (they also serve fast food, and just about anything else you need). But the directions, of course, lead them nowhere. The wife leaves to find it on foot, and the husband continues to drive.

For days.

Eventually, we learn that the whole community is continually replicating, processing everything from the world, filling in holes, covering the planet in the same set of houses and streets again… and a

gain… and again. Eventually, it circles back through the whole world and starts again, reprocessing what it already made. An endless cycle that leaves the world a barren suburbia.

That. That is bizarro, and that's pretty tame, compared to a lot of the other books. Dead Bitch Army. Shatnerquake. Razor Wire Pubic Hair. Just to name a handful of them.

When it comes to movies, there are a few that definitely fall in the bizarro category. Probably the most famous is Eraserhead, which is where the press got its name. It's an excellent movie (it's pretty hard to go wrong with David Lynch and space sperm), but it's not my favorite bizarro flick. If I was going to personally recommend just one bizarro movie to someone, it would be The Saddest Music in the World. The story of a legless Canadian beer baroness (who uses glass prosthetics filled with beer) who hatches a plot during the Great Depression to find the saddest music in the world, because sad people will drink more and buy her beer. It's a good intro to the sort of off-kilter vibe that pervades bizarro works, and it's fairly humorous, so it doesn't get as heavy as some of the darkest works.

So, if you like things that are pretty out there, I'd give bizarro a try. It's one of my favorite genres. But as fair warning, I should point out that a lot of the works have some pretty adult content. Lots of blood and gore, sex and nudity, violence and language. NC-17 books, here… of course, if you're like me, that just makes you want to read them more, right?

Voss

Video Gamers: Unite!

So, I put this out on Facebook. I'm also going to put my request (read: plea) up on here.

I'm looking for video gamers for a super-secret research project. This is for anyone who self-identifies as a gamer, even just a little bit. If you could kindly leave me some kind of contact information down in the comments (an eMail or Facebook account would be preferable), I will explain the bare bones of the project. If you're still interested after that, I'll send out the next step in the project to you.

This is something that can take as little time and effort as you want. You're free to back out at any point. Or you can get deep into it right alongside me and see what we can discover. Either way is fine, so don't feel pressured that, if you participate, you'll be forced to spend hours each day doing this. I want it to be fun... a fun research project. Yeah. That's not an oxymoron at all...

So, if you're interested, shoot me a comment down below, or on Facebook. Hoping to get some bright, smiling faces,

Voss

Plumbing the Cultural Depths

As writers, we play God (or Goddess, as it were). It's in the job description. We play God(dess) and, if we want to write a good story, we often have to flex our divine muscles to change probability to something a little more interesting. In speculative fiction in particular, we're divine--we have created a world.

Hot damn.

But, there's something worth remembering amidst all of that worldbuilding we lovingly do: you have to follow every thread out to the very end, at least as it applies to the elements you're dealing with in your book.

I'll give you a recent example form my own work. I'm currently worldbuilding (mostly culture building, at this point). The culture is designed to deter prejudice and dishonesty: everyone wears full body veils, covering everything but the eyes, and rings that signify socioeconomic standing, profession, marriage status, and number of children. You can't lift the veil in public.

Here's the issue: I'm writing a very strong romance thread in this book. So I had to go in up to my elbows and figure out a new system for public displays of affection. Then I cam to the realization that I had no way for unmarried couples to eat or drink in public, since they would have to lift the veil off of their face and risk showing themselves. So I had to design new chairs.

These were all issues that came up because of one relationship. Between two characters. Lord only knows what else I'll find before I get to the writing stage.

When you write a totally invented culture, it's necessary to think it all the way through. Even the smallest difference between their culture and ours can cause huge ripples, and you don't want to ignore them. Somewhere along the way, someone will go to the fridge and, while looking for a beer, figure out that something in your book doesn't make sense. Okay, maybe it's not a sure thing, but are you willing to take the risk?

Embedding myself in culture,
Voss

Zills and Zebu

Whiles words like zill, zebu, bo, panabas—they're all perfectly acceptable words and have perfectly useful meanings, but how many people actually know what they are? Not a whole lot, would be the answer. They're actually very specific things (For those dying of curiosity: zills are finger cymbals used during belly dancing, zebu are a small species of yak, a bo is a six-foot long staff used in combat, and a panabas is a variety of long-handled sword from the Phillipines.) and it's great to know them, but that doesn't mean that your reader will know what they are, and most dictionaries won't have them all.

There's a bit of a tendency, when you put research into something, to pick up specific words—and you should. However, among less experienced writers, there's also a tendency to use those terms, and that can be far more dangerous than you might think. When a reader sees a whole lot of terms that they don't know, two things happen. A: they feel stupid and B: they feel like the author is showing off. Neither of those things is desirable, I'd like to add.

If you use the term and explain it, that's better, but you could most likely still avoid the word all together. You can call a bo a staff or call zills finger cymbals and even the people that know the proper term probably aren't going to care, and if they do then don't you think they're just a wee bit stuck up?

I've done it too—my very first manuscript (which was never completed, as I was only in seventh grade) was full of those kinds of things, because I was very proud of my intellect and...I try not to remember that story too often.

Of course, this applies to writing fiction. In non-fiction, the idea is to instruct, so go ahead and use those technical terms in non-fiction—I'll gladly read it. But, for once, mixing the chocolate and the peanut butter of fiction and non-fiction isn't so good (But if you want to talk creative non-fiction with me, I'll pour you a cup of coffee and we can dish.).

Goodbye all,
Voss
------------------------------------------------
I'd like to say, also, that I've had a blast on this blog challenge. I've met some awesome people, written my way over one-hundred posts, and generally just had a good freaking time. Hopefully it wasn't too boring for y'all, either.

Unexpected Elements

You're at your computer, right? Have the internet open and all that jazz? Go ahead and open a new tab—it won't offend me. Go to your search engine of choice and type in something you have absolutely no bloody interest in, or very little. Something like seagull physiology or sperm whales or—just something you don't really want to know about. Trust me, it's heading somewhere. Now go on ahead and go through the results until you find something that does pique your interest.

This is where we start link chasing. If you go through enough links from there, you can find a lovely element or two to include. I found things to use on a crochet site the other day—crochet. I don't crochet—I can hardly recognize it when I see someone doing it—but it brought something to the table that interested me, so I stored it in my brain.

That's how you spice up your writing, both for your readers and for yourself. I always talk about following tangents, and this is really no different—if you latch onto a tangent you like, throw it in. Maybe you saw an African fertility chair and really liked it—I bet you can get it into your next project, or the one after that. I have a whole list of them saved up—Zulu spears and shields, ancient Egyptian battery pots, French death clocks, exotic firearms, the Bouncing Betty, Quan Yu, French buccin—and hope to use them all at some point (Although Quan Yu might wait...she can be a little frightening...).

The point is to throw in something you maybe don't expect, something you have to research a little, because research will set your little heart aflutter and fill you with a sort of raucous joy. Plus, your readers will see something out of the ordinary from you—surprising your readers is a good thing. And if that's not enough, you can draw in new readers with new elements. By broadening your horizons, you can broaden your fan base, and then get your work out to more eyes.

And isn't that kind of the point?

So, who knows what could come up next? The characters in your post-apocalyptic world might start rinsing their mouth with urine—it worked for the ancient Romans, right? They were pretty successful...

Peace out, y'all,
Voss

Purely Titular

(This post is unaffiliated with the A to Z Challenge)

So, over the course of the A to Z Blogging Challenge, the title of my blog has been brought up a few times. Well, I've been putting off this post since I started the blog, but I guess it's time to cover the information. Are you ready?

It's a ploy to get people in here. It sounds really cool and draws the attention of sci-fi and fantasy fans.

Now, for those that didn't really buy that, yes there's more to it.

Demon hunting is the subject of my very first full-length manuscript (Tartaros). Ever since I met one particular person, I've been minorly obsessed with Catholic demonology. While it doesn't feature a whole lot into 'Tartaros,' I do have a copy of The Lesser Key of Solomon on my computer, and I peruse it from time to time for fun.

As for the tenth-dimensional physics...I like it. A lot. I don't really get along with regular physics that much. But quantum physics/mechanics, I can work with. They make sense. So, if you read my sci-fi, you'll almost assuredly be able to find some reference to some dimension from four to eleven. I chose ten because it's a nice, easy to understand dimension in physics, and it sounds good after demon hunting.

So no, I don't post a whole lot of anything to do with demonology or science on my blog, it's entirely an interesting title to get my hooks in.

Glad to be over with that,
Voss

Research Bunnies

It’s a bit of a departure from speculative fiction, but stay with me—I have a proverbial itch that needs to be metaphorically scratched.

I love research. As much as I may complain about having to do research for a project, if you ask anyone that knows me even a little bit, they’ll tell you just how much I love research. In fact, somewhere in the long-lost annals of this blog, I have a previous post about research. Something to the tune of taking up new hobbies as a form of research. I digress.

The problem is, when most people hear or see the word research, their heart rate skyrockets, memories of restless nights studying meaningless equations about pointless anomalies all to pass a test that may or may not hold any importance in your life five seconds after turning it in—at least, that’s what I’ve heard from other people.

That issue stems from a lack of anything interesting to research in school. Now, I can’t complain too terribly much myself—learning the atomic weight of every element on the periodic table is something I probably would have done on my own eventually, just like I did with quantum mechanics and string theory—but that’s no longer as fun for me.

What we need to do to make our writing research fun, and hence infuse new life and excitement into our work, is research things that interest you, but you’ve never put any real effort into learning about. I can’t say what that will be for you exactly, but try this: think of something you wish you could do, but have next no or no experience and/or skill with/at. Anything could work, not just the traditional jobs for heroes and heroines. There a thirteen-billion-and-four books about cops, cowboys, and knights—I can only think of one with an assistant fashion editor as the main character, and it’s one of my favorite books (The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger). The only really important thing is that your desire and passion come through—that alone will make the character believable.

Why, then, should you research what it is to be an assistant fashion editor, a tornado chaser, or a gunsmith? All you need is passion, right?

Mostly, you research because you love what you’re learning about, but you’re also trying to infuse that knowledge into the collective of your lifelong knowledge, and pick up on those tidbits, those holy nuggets of information you can deglaze with the broth of your novel, to add that intense, otherwise unreachable flavor.

Does a hobby or profession not make your blood dance? That’s perfectly all right—think of a place you desperately want to visit—the best thing about it is you can visit anywhere, at any time in the present or past with your writing.

Again: why does it really matter? Sure it adds flavor and realism to your work, but are those things really that important if the rest of your manuscript is to die for?

Let me give you an example of a scene—one version written as someone that put almost no time into learning about their main character’s job, and one that allowed him/herself to live and breathe the profession:

He kneaded the dough, the soft mass squeezing out between his palms and the cutting board. Behind him, too many pots to handle boiled and bubbled, but he maneuvered through the kitchen with mastery, stirring this pasta and that sauce as he let the dough rest. The chef below him handed him a nearly finished plate, his eyes hopeful. With a flourish of his hand, he sprinkled the final ingredient on top, “Perfect.”

All right, I know that was unbelievably bad, and no one would probably ever write that, but I had to make a point—someone that had no understanding of the culinary world could craft something similar.

The same scene again, but from someone that actually knows about cooking:

He leaned his full weight into the dough, kneading the sticky mass into submission. Push, turn, pull. Push, turn, pull. The mantra repeated in his head. He pressed the dough down and out into the flour, turned it up a quarter turn, and pulled it back over itself. Soon, his hands moved the dough into little more than a blur, the vibrant yeast accosting his nose. Picking it up, he pulled the dough taut, plopping the pale, silken sphere into his pre-oiled bowl. He gave it a quick turn and covered it with a tea towel, placing it next to the full stove—the heat would be enough to make it rise, for sure. A popping, burbling pot of fresh marinara called to him. A simple stir released the acidic smell into the air. He joined the flavor of the sauce with the sweet, wheaty tortellini in his head—the dish was nothing new for him at this point. The gentle footsteps behind him signaled his sous chef, a plate of chicken parmesan held out in front of him. The executive chef dipped the back of his spoon into the sauce, careful not to drip any on the edge of the plate, and tasted it—it was a common mistake. He grabbed a jar of Worcestershire from the counter and carefully added a few drops, watching them bleed across the dish, “Perfect.”

Same scene, but much different—you can see that someone knew something about cooking when writing this scene as opposed to the first. It comes from research—the person that wrote the second scene could probably make you a delicious meal thanks to all that he/she learned—I’m not so sure I would let the first author make me rice.

So, join me—learn. There are a whole lot of ways to learn about these sorts of wonderful things as well: books, movies, documentaries, professionals, natives, teachers—I bet, with a little scratching, you’ll find that your friends and families are veritable wealth-springs of interesting information. One of my uncles knows a scary amount about munitions. Another used to pan gold for a living. My first cousin once removed makes his living sewing costumes for the local drag queens in Portland. My friends range from entomologists and geologists to cake decorators and Broadway stars—use them, and I’m sure they’ll understand. I read somewhere that, if you tell people you’re writing a story, they’ll talk to you. I’m strongly considering talking to a pair of Indian Sikh that run a convenience store near my house, just to hear the tales they could tell me—and I’ve never met either of them.

So, grab a cup of coffee (two, if you’re planning to have an informative chat with someone) and get to it.

Voss

The Grandest of Schemes

When authors sit down to do their pre-work on a new project, they find themselves doing a lot of jumping and, if they're anything like me, talking, pacing, and scribbling, just to work out the details of this whole new thingy.

I've noticed that a lot of people that don't write, think we have these grand ideas that start off our novels, that the seeds are diamonds encrusted with gold and dipped in melted silver. They, however, are wrong. Ideas start as something supremely shallow and odd, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, something to the tune of: I want a story with an awesome guild of knights who are awesome.

Of course, no one else needs to know that's where we start.

Next comes the writing two-step: research and planning. Before we write word one, we find ourselves lost, not knowing squat about military strategy. So we read Sun Tzu's "Art of War", the equivalent of Cliffnotes on the subject (really, it's not even fifty pages, I don't think).

Then we realize, "Oh dear, why is my emperor trying to do all of this in the first place? It can't be jsut bcause he wants to rule the world--that's just boring." And we psychologically profile him, finding that he believes whatever he believes that makes him do this.

Next we make maps.

We work out the wealth of each and every country.

We find out the military force available to any one group.

We psychoanalyze their leaders.

We look at the natural resources and major exports of every nations.

And.

And.

And.

You get the picture. Why post this? To inspire others to break the rules along with me: NaNoWriMo is fast approaching, and I think, at least for people that have done it before, it's toime to go balls deep into the next project. So, I invite you to join me and begin planning your next work now...besides, it's only a little (a lot) more than the one week planning deadline given in the official rules, right?

Happy novelling,
Voss

Write What You Know

Yes, I can already feel the disturbance in the force. It happens every time a writer gives out the advice "Write what you know."

Especially spec fic writers.

We've all felt some animosity, at least, for that piece of advice. But I had a lovely epiphany about this, even though I never thought I would ever give that piece of damn advice to anyone.

Are you ready for it? I mean, this is pretty ground-breaking *snicker snicker*.

Write what you know.

*cricket cricket*

Okay, let me explain. It doesn't mean you can only write things if you're an expert on the subject. In fact, those are the last people you want writing fiction 99% of the time. You need to write with what you know and not give a rat's ass about anything else, really. That's what lends real authenticity to a work of fiction.

For example: I don't know who the manuscript belonged to, but he let a dear friend of mine look it over. She did the standard editing things, I'm sure, but she also saw that his main conflict came from giant spiders--avicularia giganticus or horribilis or something like that. It was an avicularia.

Those that have seen an avicularia or know anything about them are probably laughing or shaking your heads right now. Those that aren't, I'll let you in on the joke:

Avicularia are the least threatening, frightening species of tarantula, like, ever. They're generally docile, good as pets, and they have pink feet. I don't mean pinkish like you'd expect a spider to look, but freaking PINK.

See? Now, I know this isn't about spiders, but the point is they're cute. Not many people would have been wise to that, but those that were would have been annoyed as hell. It's like a giant cocker spaniel coming after you. They're too cute to be really frightening. The most they'll do is lick you to death.

That's writing what you know, to one extent. You can't force that information, but if you know something that can add more logc and more realism to your story, use it. I know classical music and concert instruments inside and out. I can use some of that to my advantage in my books. Another friend of mine knows puppets better than anyone I've ever met. Another one knows all about Portland, Oregon, and another friend of mine is a little self-publishing encyclopedia/dictionary. All of these things can be used to their advantage, and we all have something like that. If my father ever tried a book, I know for a fact he could do something brilliant with modern mechanics or old cars--that's the kind of thing I've had to research.

And that's the other part. Somewhere in the recent past on Frances Pauli's Blog, she has a post on following tangents. She got an entire book series out of her last one (red cross dogs) and she also knows all about this wide variety of things, all from doing the research on a subject.

You need to research things that you enjoy learning about, because something in there will stick in you little writerly brain and pop up one day. Now, I'm not the best person to be saying this, but I'l make the resolution if you all will.

Make a list of things you want to know more about--at least ten things--and go through them, looking them over and up until you know them for sure. If that means you go take a Latin dancing class, then I'll probably be right there with you, because it's something I've always been interested in. I have next to no rhythm or dancing talent, but that won't stop me from learning about it.

The last thing I can tell you is specific to speculative fiction. You know your world and its laws, so you have to write them. You have to know your world,a nd I can't stress that enough: YOU HAVE TO KNOW YOUR WORLD!!! You have to be able, at a moment's notice, to cross-reference the uses of various things in your main character's supplies as an anti-venom for a dragon bite, or understand that dimension-bending engines have to have a particular and large fuel supply that may or may not always be present. That's also writing what you know.

Off to research...something...
Voss