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Author Status 4 – Writexistential Crisis

An existential crisis brought on by one’s writing.

The fear that your absolute lack of ability to get a response is actually proof that you don’t exist.

What happens when you get and use Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and a blog in order to create an author platform, but despite following all the best advice you continue to go essentially unnoticed.

Something that makes you wonder if there is a point to continuing to post or publish as it seems that not only does no one care, no one even sees it.

Also: the reason I haven’t been posting those lengthy in-depth theories and analysis on writing which it seems no one particularly cares for anyway. That and it’s the end of the tax year and I’m busy with my day job.

 
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Posted by on April 2, 2017 in On L.C. Morgenstern's Work

 

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Author Status 1 – Pressure to Produce

In this modern, social media obsessed world, beginning authors are constantly warned that they absolutely must have social media – which they must keep constantly updated – in order to get noticed and Make It.

Have a twitter. Have a facebook. Have a blog. Have a goodreads. Have a youtube channel. Have a website. Have a, have a, have a, have a, have a. Update, update, update, update, update. Write, write, write, write, write – but never on your projects, because you always have to be on your social media. You will gain readers, publicity and network by constantly being on social media, the advice goes, even though you are aimlessly shouting into nothingness and ignored by the world because you don’t have a social base to read all the things you write about on your social media. The advice always ignores the possibility that you – as a writer, all too often naturally tech-bane and hermit-like – won’t be able to gain a following because you have no following to start with. Somehow, magically, if you keep chattering into nothingness instead of writing, you will magically gain a following. Somehow. That’s always how the advice goes – step 1: make social media, step 3: make it in writing by telling your social media base about when your next book is coming out. The unspecified “They” of popular wisdom don’t even realise they’re missing step two.

Worry is not conducive to writing. To any truly creative process. Yet the popular wisdom is always the same: post regularly and often, and slowly go mad from the anxiety of trying to get the impossible goals of each day met so that you “stay relevant” – even if you never managed to be relevant in the first place. You can never have the peace of mind to write, really write, because you constantly stress that you have to come up with something for your next blog post or you’re behind schedule.

It crushes your heart from beneath your rib cage – squeezing and squeezing, day after day, enough to hurt but not to kill – until slowly all the joy and creativity have been pressed out, because in the shrivelled little heart that’s left when worry loosens its grip, there is no more room.

Come up with an intelligent topic. Write a little essay/blog. Hope desperately that the universe will, for a change, send some tiny acknowledgement that you exist. That the space you think you occupy is not vacant. That someone, somewhere, noticed you. That you are at least made of cellophane, rather than being so non-existent that even cellophane cannot notice you. That there are 7.4 billion people in the world and surely, surely, one of them will notice. Just for an instant. Will confirm that you are there. That you can be heard. But it never happens. And week after week you stress and stress because you worry you’ll disappoint someone if you are late to post – even as you know that it is impossible because there is no one to disappoint – and you’ll miss out on the chance to not be alone anymore. If you are truly alone. Can something that doesn’t exist be alone?

Stress and stress, on and on, worrying about making sure you get something up regularly, so that you can stay relevant (something that has never been relevant and has never existed cannot stay relevant, but the anxiety that you might fail – or disappoint – remains all the same, crushing from the inside out. Always the inquiry of why giving up is not an option is beaten down with the all powerful chant of Have to. Have to stay relevant. Have to have a blog. Have to tweet. Have to goodreads. Have to, have to, have to, have to.

Eventually the nails of anxiety’s crushing hand have dug in so deeply that crushing, stabbing pain beneath the ribs – pain from the inside out, attacking from where you are supposed to be safe – is a constant companion. You get used to it, but you never get numb to it. The anxiety makes it hurt too much to write, and every day that goes by without writing anxiety digs its claws in deeper, and the hurt becomes greater as creativity bleeds out uselessly from the shrivelling, aching organ. Even when you manage to keep tabs on everything you go unnoticed, as if you were never there, and each day nothing is achieved you have failed. Indeed, you have failed before you have even begun.

 
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Posted by on August 22, 2016 in On L.C. Morgenstern's Work

 

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Fantasy IS Fantastic, Thanks, And Has Its Own Worth

Welcome to Fantasy IS Fantastic, part three. Better known as what happens when you yammer on too long about what you want to say, instead of saying it, or why part two should never be allowed to take steroids.

Okay, so last time I talked about how and why fantasy is disparaged by fans of other genres and society in general – and I failed to get around to what I actually intended to talk about. To avoid a similar mishap this time, I shall get straight on to the two issues which need to be discussed. To save you having to go back and check what I said last time, I will quote myself: “This disparagement of fantasy comes from two basic errors. The first is the fallacy that because fantasy can include things which could not be in reality that anything goes – and therefore that it is the “easy” genre. The second is a fundamental failure to understand what fantasy actually is.”
Huh. Pretentious much? Well, I never claimed to be perfect. In fact, in hindsight I now realise that I should have listed those two fallacies in the order they would have to be discussed rather than the order which sounded best. Oh well.

 What is fantasy? There is a common misconception that fantasy is about dragons and medievalism and magic, although not all fantasy has those aspects and not all stories with those aspects are fantasy. Likewise, science fiction is not merely space tits and death rays fiction, nor is horror merely jump scares and vampires. This is how they are commonly viewed, due to a typical error of assuming the thing is the same as what is often used to wrap it, but it is highly inaccurate. At its core, each genre pulls at a different emotional or psychological (or even physical) aspect of the reader. In most non-speculative genres it is very easy to see this:

  • The core of Erotica is arousal.
  • The core of Romance is attraction.
  • The core of Comedy is humour.
  • The core of Mystery is puzzlement (and the solving of puzzles).
  • The core of Adventure is curiosity.
  • The core of Action is aggression.
  • The core of Historical Fiction is nostalgia.
  • The core of Tragedy is grief.
  • The core of Drama is grief (this is because drama and tragedy were – to the Ancient Athenians responsible for their invention – the same thing; there was no differentiation in genre between the possibility of terrible things happening and their actually having happened).

These make sense. After all, to use the most straight forward example, no one reads Erotica for puzzlement (save, perhaps, baffled teenage Asexuals trying to understand why everyone their age has suddenly gone insane).

However, if you try to apply this to Speculative Fiction while only looking at the trappings of it, is simply doesn’t work.

  • The core of Science Fiction is NOT spaceships.
  • The core of Fantasy is NOT wizards.
  • The core of Horror is NOT things going bump in the night.

So what is?

We often talk about Hard and Soft, or Technical and Social, Science Fiction – an idea started by Isaac Asimov in his 1953 article “Social Science Fiction” (in Modern Science Fiction) when he suggested that all Science Fiction plots fell into one of three categories: Gadget (“Look, I’ve invented a car: this is how it works”), Adventure (“Oh no, the bad guys stole my newly invented car, we must rescue it!”), and Social (“Some idiot invented cars, now we’re all stuck in traffic”). But those are distinctions within the genre, not the core of the genre itself. Nevertheless, it does illustrate quite well what the core of Sci-Fic actually is. Every plot type, you see, hinges on scientific knowledge being extrapolated into something new.

The core of Science Fiction is comprehension. It is knowledge – both current (science fiction being based on current scientific fact) and future (what possible advances in knowledge can be theorised from current scientific fact)

  • The core of Science Fiction is THE KNOWABLE.
  • The core of Horror is, of course, THE FRIGHTENING.
  • The core of Fantasy is THE UNKNOWABLE.

And that is why I spent so much time, last time, talking about how the arrogance of humans – in their belief that they will one day understand everything in the universe – results in distain for fantasy.

Now, this might sound totally crazy, given how strongly how strongly fantasy is tied to magic, but answer me this: what is magic? Not; what kind of magic are you playing with? What is magic? Magic is a term for things that exist but which science cannot explain. Not “hasn’t explained yet”: cannot explain. Science is a system of making sense of the universe which doesn’t work on magic. And this is precisely the point. Magic is the most common term for this, but it doesn’t have to be “magic” to be the incomprehensible-unknowable that is present in all fantasy (because it is, in fact, the core of fantasy). Magic is, also, easily confused with the knowable – even though it is not actually comprehensible. This is because people often conflate coping with something (learning to do spells, for example) with the ability to understand something (there is not a single work of fantasy out there which can explain why magic can break the laws of physics which otherwise govern the universe it is in – and no work which did give and explanation could truly be fantasy). A way of coping and the ability to recognise a specific phenomenon is NOT the same as being able to understand it.

To illustrate: In Science Fiction the characters come across, or create, a phenomenon and proceed to understand it. In Horror the characters come across a phenomenon and proceed to be scared shitless by it. In Fantasy the characters come across a phenomenon and fail to understand it, forcing them to accept and cope with its status as incomprehensible. Now, this does not need to be overt – both because the presence of the unknowable, or incomprehensible, will inevitably subtly touch upon itself in the background of coping with it, and because the incomprehensible lends itself to themes such as good versus evil (the paradox of right and wrong) and the question of death.

Fantasy is a liminal genre. But the threshold upon which it stands is that between what can be comprehended and what cannot. Sci-Fi, on the other hand, stands on the threshold of what is currently understood and what is going to be understood. This is why all Sci-Fi stories which end with the “some things man’s not meant to know” cliché fall flat. The audience is not reading or watching Sci-Fi to experience coping with the unknowable. They are reading or watching Sci-Fi to cope with what is known and the process of coming to know more. Fantasy is the genre readers and viewers go to when they want to cope with, or experience others coping with, that which cannot be explained or comprehended. Horror is about being scared by either the known or the unknown.

Or, to put it in simpler – yet far more laden – terms: Science Fiction is about the expansion of the Self, whereas Fantasy is about coping with the Archetypal Other. WAIT! Don’t panic. I’m not going to start quoting Sartre at you. Instead I will direct your attention to the fact that, after variations on “Dark Lord”, variations on “the Other/s” is one of the most common and recognisable terms for big bads in fantasy.

The importance of Fantasy as a means for coping with the incomprehensible and unknowable cannot be understated. The Archetypal Other can be incomprehensibly huge – when the Other is not our universe or other than life (cosmic horrors, existential dread as related to the question of death, etc) – and it can be painfully close to home; not only in Us vs Them and the Othering of those we reject socially, but also in that we can never truly understand another person. Other people, other races, other species, phenomena which follow other rules than the norm of the universe, other states of being or not being; these are all things which ultimately we can never truly comprehend – which frightens us – and which, at the same time, we dread because our nagging doubts make us wonder if we could become like that or might already be that way. Ultimately, we fear the Archetypal Other because we fear that we may become something which we are incapable of understanding. And that’s why Fantasy is so important. Because without Fantasy as a coping method, all we have is fear – Horror.

This key difference between Science Fiction and Fantasy, between knowledge and the impossibility of knowledge, is best expressed by considering the third major genre in the umbrella of Speculative Fiction and why, perhaps subconsciously, it has been placed with the other two. This is because fear is a reaction to both the known and the unknown and thus Horror cannot exist without one of the other two. Thus Horror, roughly speaking, comes in two forms: that dealing with real or soon-to-be real dangers and fears, like serial killers wielding Jigsaws and Aliens, and that dealing with incomprehensible or inexplicable dangers and fears, such as the House of Leaves, Stephen King’s IT, and most things written by H.P. Lovecraft. Or, in other words, the two main forms of Horror are that which falls under the genre of realistic extrapolation (Sci-Fi) and that which falls under the genre of trying to cope with the incomprehensible (Fantasy). Fantasy is looking at Eldritch things humans cannot comprehend (like magic: laws of physics which do not follow physics and appear to be utterly lawless) and finding it within oneself to see beauty as well as Cosmic Horror.

“We find it difficult to conceive of evil and beauty together. The fear of the beautiful fay that ran through the elder ages almost eludes our grasp.” – Tolkien, On Fairy Stories

But this, precisely, is what Fantasy allows us to do. We no longer view magical creatures as a terrifyingly incomprehensible reality, as our ancestors did, but we still find the archetypal Other frightening and difficult to perceive as something which is not terrifying. This is also, perhaps, why Fantasy lends itself so strongly to the notion of Good Vs Evil. This notion allows for both the fear of the Other and the acceptance that some things cannot be understood to be expressed. And that’s a hell of a lot for one genre to (inherently) have to handle. There is no easy way to handle Fantasy because the core of the genre is our deepest unease.

But this is, once again, getting a bit long and I don’t want to rush my last point. So I’ll see, or not see depending on how you liked this, you next time in the (hopefully) final part four: Fantasy IS Fantastic, Thanks, And Is Bloody Difficult to Pull Off.

 
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Posted by on June 29, 2016 in On Writing

 

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