Listen Closely

Being the parent of a small child, it's almost impossible to find time to read. Sure, I can snatch ten or twenty minutes while the little ruffian is napping or on my lunch at work, but that's a pale shadow of the long afternoons I used to spend neck deep in genre fiction.

As you can imagine, podcasts have been a godsend.

Before having a kid, I mostly listened to podcasts about history, comedy, movie reviews, or investigative journalism--things like: Oh No Ross and Carrie, or The Dollop, or Faculty of Horror, or Samurai History, or Greatest Generation you know stuff about other stuff, but as my fiction itch became harder and harder to scratch, I found myself veering sharply into genre waters. 

What wonders awaited.

I'd be remiss not to mention Pseudopod (Horror), or PodCastle (Fantasy), or Escape Pod (Sci-fi)--flagship genre fiction podcasts for close to a decade, but recently I ventured farther afield, finding such delightful fare as The District of Wonders (purveyors of Tales to Terrify, StarshipSofa, and Far Fetched Fables), not to mention the fact that a number of my must-reads have also begun producing audio content, I speak specifically of Apex and Beneath Ceaseless Skies.

And, well, being an author myself, I figured I might as well submit stories to them. What began as a need to fulfill my urge to fiction has rapidly become a lifestyle. I can't tell you how amazing it is to hear something I wrote performed by a talented reader. Lest I risk burying the lead, this is my roundabout way of saying one of my science fiction stories just went up on StarshipSofa.

I honestly think "How I Killed Your Mother," is one of the best science fiction stories I've ever written. I'm not claiming it's good, or that you'll love it, only that it's possibly the best fiction I'm capable of. So, if you're here because you enjoyed something I wrote and you enjoy podcasts, I'd be honored if you give it a listen.

Is the Answer Japan?: A (Very) Basic Guide to Writing about Other Cultures

When I was in junior high, a good friend, Tony Masters, invited me to an Akira Kurosawa film festival at Youngstown State University, the local college. Although I'd never heard of Kurosawa, like any youngling in the mid-nineties I was an avowed fan of Japanese culture (this was before total media saturation, when the only anime you could grab were bootleg translations or DBZ reruns on Toonami, and samurai/ninja were the stuff of culturally insensitive fighting movies starring white dudes with big hair who were "raised by 'oriental' masters"), so I happily agreed to come.

It was an eye-opening experience in more ways than one.

Not only were we two thirteen-year old idiots amidst a gaggle of highbrow college kids (mostly freshmen and sophomores, but to my teenage self they seemed the height of sophistication), but nothing in my Ninja Scroll/Dragonball Z-filled experience had prepared me for the subdued mastery of Kurosawa.

Stray Dog, Sanjuro, Throne of Blood, Ikiru, and, of course, Seven Samurai--if there was a formative moment in my young life, if was that film festival. It drove me to study Japanese in college, pursue a Master's Degree in Japanese History, spend years of my life in Tokyo and its surrounds, and write a billion stories about Japan.

I spent enough time neck-deep in Nihon to have all my illusions shattered, reap a whole new crop of illusions, then have them shattered, again (I'm currently on my third iteration). But you didn't come here to hear me babble about how many stories I've managed to get published or how much I love a Taiga dramas.

Let's discuss the zō-san in the room.  

It's been weird being a white guy who wants to writes about Japan. No, wait, I mean--it's been weird being a white guy who wants to write about Japan the right way. Although I've spent decades of my life studying Japan there's always the looming specter of cultural appropriation inherent in everything I touch.

I know, I know--poor me, right?

Thankfully, genre fiction isn't as resolutely white and male as it was even a few years ago (we still have a long way to go, though). This means that more authors are exploring cultures outside of the standard European analogs that have dominated western fantasy and science fiction since its inception. Despite what the alt-right shitheads in various fringe writing groups would have you believe, it's been a true breath of fresh air to see more publications appealing to underrepresented writers. I mean, one of the points of genre fiction is to explore unfamiliar ideas and concepts, and, to be completely honest, I can only read so many stories about white dudes captaining spaceships--pew, pew, fist pump, warrior race!

Part of this trend is the problematization of white male privilege in the authorial sphere. In the wider context white men have had it good, real good, and losing privilege can feel like losing rights. I mean, who wouldn't mind having dinner and a glass of scotch waiting for them after a long day? You work hard. You deserve it.

Problem is, so does everyone else.

But I'm not here to talk about that. I'm here to talk about creating fiction outside your own experience. We're genre writers, it's what we do, right?

So you want to write a story about Japan, or Ancient Egypt, or featuring a Mexica protagonist battling Conquistadors, or basically anything outside the White European-American paradigm. Well, I don't claim to be an expert, but as someone who genuinely loves a different culture, and who's been trying (with varying degrees of failure) over many years to write about it, I've got a couple suggestions:    

1) Don't

I don't mean don't write, I mean don't just write. Before you even consider writing a piece drawing on another culture, you need to seek out writers from said culture (native writers, not other white folks). I guarantee there are some amazing authors whose fiction will give you real insights into what it means to be from the culture you want to write about. Seek out their stories, their novels, and, for fuck's sake, GIVE THEM YOUR MONEY.

At its heart of darkness fiction is a business. We can call for equality and uplifting of marginalized voices all

 we want, but if no one is buying their stuff, they're going to get swept back under the rug by the white folk who are stealing their ideas. It's a lot easier to read a story about someone else that has been filtered through a lens of whiteness than it is to read a story written about someone else written by someone from the culture they are writing about.

My gateways into Japanese fiction were Sōseki, Akutagawa, Tōson, Ōhara, Ueda, Kurimoto, and Murakami, but there are quite a few anthologies of Japanese short fiction in translation that contain some truly stellar work.

Unfortunately, some cultures/religions/races/genders aren't as well represented in fiction…oh wait, I forgot, we have the internet. No matter what culture you're interested in, if you truly are interested, I'd be willing to bet you can find someone, somewhere producing fiction. Find them, read them, and again, GIVE THEM YOUR GODDAMN MONEY.

Need a place to start? Throughout this post, I've interspersed mastheads from a number of publications that focus exclusively on underrepresented groups. They can all be purchased for the price of a cup of coffee. They've all got free stuff to read, but really, shame on you if you don't buy an issue or two.

There are plenty more out there, these are just my favorites. If you have a particular publication that features underrepresented groups, please post it in the comments. I'll buy an issue.

2) Do Your Goddamn Research

I'm not talking about skimming the Wikipedia entry on The History of Nepal, I'm talking about reading a couple articles, blog posts, and essays written by people from area of interest. Again, you're on this webpage, so I'm gonna assume you've got access to the internet. Don't just research what you're interested in, research what happened before, after, and nearby what you're interested in. Culture is context, and context is king. If you really want to try and conceptualize something outside your current frame of reference, you've got to understand not only what it is, but what happened around it.

Oh, and books, articles, stories even academic treatises are all trumped by the ability to actually sit down and communicate with a person from said culture. This isn't always feasible (say, if you're writing a story about Wako pirates in the 1600's), but if you're interested in some fiddly bit of historical detail from a particular place or time, I'd be willing to bet there's a person from said place or time's modern equivalent that is also interested.

3) If You Can, Have Someone of that Race/Gender/Ethnicity/Culture Read Your Story

First, know that this is a privilege. Do not impose your work upon anyone. If, by some chance in your reading and research you've had the amazing opportunity to cultivate a working relationship (or even friendship) with someone of the place/culture/gender/etc. you're writing about, then count yourself extremely lucky.  

If you're genuinely interested, and they're genuinely interested, it never, ever hurts to get a second opinion. They may not be an author, but I can guarantee if they're a reader of genre fiction from an underrepresented group, they've got a laundry list of shit they're tired of seeing writers get wrong. Again, be super careful about this, nobody wants to be pressured into reading something. If they offer, fine. If not, let it drop. Also, keep in mind that reading and critiquing are work. Depending on your relationship it might be weird offering to pay someone to read your stuff, but, then again, it might be welcome. Still, if you want someone to do work for you, offering to pay them isn't a bad idea.  

4) Accept that You're Going to Get Most of it Wrong

There's no way around it. No matter how pure your intentions, no matter how embedded you feel you are, no matter the months of research you put into your work, know that you can't possibly capture every nuance. You're going to be ignorant. You're going to be offensive. You're going to make mistakes. Someone is going to call you out on it.

When they do. LISTEN. THINK. CONSIDER. CONSIDER AGAIN. Then reply.

Don't try to defend your work. I know, I know, you put a lot of time and effort into it. Listen to what people are saying. Apologize for getting wrong what you got wrong. Then, try to start a dialogue.

Yeah, there are trolls out there, but if you come at honest criticism with an open mind and acceptance of views outside your own, I feel like your good intentions will come through. This is where items #1 and #2 will come in handy. If you've done your reading and research, you'll be able to engage in a dialogue with your critics rather than imposing on them to educate you about what you got wrong.

Let me repeat: It is not their job to educate you.

There is a wealth of information at your literal fingertips. If you've done your research, you'll be able to better recognize the gaps in your understanding when they're pointed out to you.

So, that's it.

"But, Evan," you say. "That sounds like a lot of work. I just want to write a two-fisted adventure where a Zulu tribesman hunts a were-jaguar."

I'm not saying you can't. Just keep in mind that this is the type of work people of other cultures, backgrounds, races, ethnicities, genders, etc. need to do every goddamn day to function in a society where whiteness, maleness, and heterosexuality are considered the default.

Somehow, they manage. I bet you can, too.

Before and After

It's always a weird experience to reread (or re-listen in the case of podcasts) to a story years after your wrote it. A lot of the time, I avoid my stories once they've been published--if only to spare myself the visceral cringe when I come across a poorly constructed sentence, repetitious phrasing, uninspired simile, purple description, or other tidbit of hackwork nestled like a viper in the awkward bosom of my prose (yes, that applies to blog posts, too--if you're wondering).

Seldom does a story I wrote actually hit me in a different way than when I wrote it. I mean, I'm all for interpretation as a facet of art, death of the author and all that, but, being said author, it's strange to read into a story in a way I hadn't intended.

Case in point: my story, "Survival of the Fittest" that just came up on the Tales to Terrify podcast. It's a nihilistic little Lovecraftian yarn written for an anthology dedicated to exploring what it'd be like if the Great Old Ones came rumbling up from their respective sunken cities, demiplanes, and cyclopean tombs and take over the earth.

I wrote the story back in 2014, married and childless. The main character, a soldier returning from a tour of duty in Hastur's Yellow Guard, to try and reconnect with his wife, child, and friends. Strangeness and sadness ensue.

I'd written it from the perspective of a military brat, myself, whose father was routinely away. Not that I fault him, but there was always a period of adjustment when he came back after being away for a week, or a month, or longer. Additionally, I tried to work in generational themes--shifting boundaries, priorities, etc., and how new generations can seem strange, even alien to previous ones. Add to that the stress of adapting to an inescapable and repressive regime, and well, I don't want to say it's a presentiment of the Trump presidency (I couldn't have even conceptualized that back in the halcyon days of 2014), but it definitely feels timely.

So, I'd expected all that to come back when I listened to the podcast, not realizing that I'm a totally different person than when I wrote the story.

It hit me as a father--what it would be like having to leave your friends and family, then returning to find them changed--or perhaps unchanged. It's a feeling I've (thankfully) never had to experience with my wife and son, but one I've dealt with in the past with old friends, long parted.

It's a strange thing to sit down with someone you once knew but who has become a stranger. You talk about what old times you remember, reminisce, catch up on where your lives have gone, but there's always that awkward moment (at least with me), where you realize you're not the people you were, that those people are as good as dead.

Not to mention, that the main character in my story mentions having to kill kids.

As a dad, I've developed a lot more of what I like to call "hooks." For instance, before my son while I certainly found the injury and/or murder of children abhorrent--now I feel it on a deep, visceral level when I come across news, or pictures, or even think about kids (even imaginary kids) getting hurt. I'd meant the reference as a shock, as something horrible to truly hammer home how different and terrible the world has become. The fact that they were evil kids notwithstanding, the line still hit me.

I mean, logically, I know I've changed, but it's weird to be confronted so directly with evidence of the fact. Sort of like reading the diary you kept as a teenage or running across old videos of yourself as a kid and not recognizing the person at all.

Jarring.

My Unreal Month(s)

In keeping with the feast or famine nature of publication, April-May has seen quite a few of my stories pop up online and in print after a relative dearth in the first few months of 2017. That may sound detached, but trust me, I'm about to bite my thumbs off in excitement.

Allow me to explain:

You see, while I buy a lot of genre mags and anthologies, I don't really read many of them, at least on the regular. I mean, I'd love to, but I just don't have the time to devour tens of thousands of words of fiction every month?

There are three publications I read every time they drop an issue. Not just because the fiction is top-notch, but because I can count on an enjoyable and thought-provoking read just about every time. What are these three magical 'zines? Well…Apex, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and F&SF.

So, imagine my delight when the last few weeks saw my work appear in not one but TWO of these august publications. Beneath Ceaseless Skies published my second-world fantasy: "When We Go," and Apex Issue 96 featured my post-apocalytpic weird tale: "How Lovely is the Silence of Growing Things." Add to this the fact that Apex also did a podcast of my work, interviewed me, and picked a cover that complements my story (shown on the right). Oh, and did I mention my tongue-in-cheek post-modern Star Trek-themed satire "The Redshirt's Daughter" appeared in Daily Science Fiction?

Cue thumb biting. 

Tiny Terrors: Victory!

I'm equal parts baffled, humbled, and delighted to have won DarkFuse's Tiny Terrors Contest. It was certainly an experience to write so much microfiction in such a short time. It's still something of a surprise that I managed to outlast so many other talented authors. If you've got a few moments (and it won't take more than a few since the stories are only 50 words, each) I'd highly suggest slipping on over to the DarkFuse website and checking a few out. Here are some of my absolute favorites:

"Metastasis," by Larry Hinkle

"The Web," by Adrian Ludens

"The Man with the Crooked Head," by Jennifer Loring 

"This Week's Challenge: Swing," by Adrian Ludens

"Night Stories," by Kevin Bufton

"Night-Night," by Renee Miller