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Lewis Shiner and the Fiction Liberation Front

Friend and colleague Lewis Shiner is a writer and novelist who has been releasing his fiction on the web for the last few years. Here’s an appreciation of Lew and his site that I wrote for the SILS Galley, way back in Fall 2007:

Raleigh resident Lewis Shiner made his name in the ’80s as a cyberpunk science-fiction writer, though he has worked many genres as a fictioneer: westerns, hard-boiled mystery, anarchic skateboarders, rock music, fantasy. He won the World Fantasy Award for his 1993 novel Glimpses and his most recent, Say Goodbye (1999), was a bittersweet story of a young woman’s indie singing career. He’s written dozens of short stories in his 30 years as a writer, but times are changing for short-story writers. Short stories continue to be written and read, but interested readers have to search them out, and, for genre writers particularly, the short story outlets are pale shadows of what they once were. In a manifesto on his website, Fiction Liberation Front, Shiner says “that whatever future the short story has, the Internet will be involved in it. ”

Although compensation for writers is still an open question, Shiner has decided to embrace “this uncertain future” with his website, which aims to stock all of his short stories, screenplays, fugitive journalism, and other writings — for free — under a Creative Commons license. It’s an experiment, of course, and who knows how it will turn out.

In the meantime, read the fiction! Although Shiner is best known for his science fiction, his technical range and emotional subtlety use genre as simply another tool to tell the story. His most personal and white-hot stories center on music: “Sticks,” about a rock-band drummer, and “Perfidia,” about the mystery surrounding Glenn Miller’s death, embrace pain, loss, and personal responsibility. One of his most powerful stories is “Steam Engine Time,” a take on what would have happened if Elvis had arrived on the scene 50 years early. By contrast, “Lizard Men of Los Angeles” is a throat-grabbing thrill- ride on the old sci-fi pulp wagon.

Lew just sent an email today saying two more novels from his backlist — Frontera and Glimpses (the latter won the World Fantasy Award for Best Novel in 1993) — are being published by Subterranean Press. They’re available through Amazon.com, your local independent bookseller, and — of course — the Fiction Liberation Front.


Summarizing the past year

Sorry to disappoint my skeptically inquiring readers, but I love reading my weekly Freewill Astrology post.

Rob Brezsny’s Libra posts for the last three weeks have swirled around the idea of a cycle ending, taking stock, and looking ahead. Here’s how his Aug 12, 2010, reading put it:

If you and I were sitting face to face and I asked you, “What are the most important lessons you’ve learned these last 11 months?”, what would you tell me? I think you need this type of experience: an intense and leisurely conversation with a good listener you trust — someone who will encourage you to articulate the major developments in your life since your last birthday. Here are some other queries I’d pose: 1. How have you changed? 2. What long-term process needs to come to a climax? 3. What “school” are you ready to graduate from? (And by “school” I mean any situation that has been a hotbed of learning for you.)

Well, of course, the use of the word “school” got my attention. And I think he’s right about looking at the sweep of the last year for the big lessons, rather than picking away at the details of this or that assignment., or becoming obsessed with today’s details while not acknowledging what has happened to me. I think I had a bit of that conversation on my last call with Cairene, and my just recently ended coaching relationship with Christine also raised some good thoughts about the experience.

So, what are the most important lessons I’ve learned since August 2009? No doubt I’ll come back to this post as more stuff floats to mind. No doubt I’m missing more than a few.

  • Good friends are invaluable. Safe places are always needed. Even though I really couldn’t afford the time to do it, I spent one day a week at my old job, where they had kept me on part-time. The extra money was valuable, of course, but simply walking into a place where I felt competent, where people were happy to see me and asked me about what was going on, where I could help out on a project in a pinch — it did so much for my sense of wholeness. It was a cooling balm. My self-image didn’t have to rely only on what was feeding back to me from school, which I often interpreted, rightly or (mostly) wrongly, as negative.
  • But you need to leave the safe places, too. There’s Grace Hopper’s famous quote about ships being safe in a harbor, but that’s not what ships are for. As welcome as my Friday visits to the office were, one of the reasons I went for the degree was that I had reached the limits of my safe job.
  • The universal answer: “It Depends.” This is the punchline to most any question posed in classroom discussions. There are too many variables to most situations and so there can be no definitive answers; but there can be better answers for some situations.
  • Be clear about why you’re doing anything. There’s a famous theatrical anecdote (about George S. Kaufman?) where he was brought in by the producers of a show that was in trouble. “We think there’s problems with the second act,” they told him. After watching the show, he said, “The problem with the second act is the first act.” In my case, I was never really clear about why I wanted the PhD — what was it going to do for me? How would it serve as a bridge from where I was to where I wanted to be? The PhD is the means, not the end. By starting out not being clear about my goal, I set myself up for the problems I faced later.
  • If your Why is strong enough, you can put up with any What. I think I first saw that phrase in one of Christine’s blog posts. One of the main problems of PhD school is simply persisting in the face of many obstacles. If you know why you’re doing this thing, you’ll put up with whatever you must put up with to get it. It’s simply the price you’ve agreed to pay.
  • Indecision causes suffering. My first coach was PJ Eby, and this is one of his oft-related pieces of advice that I’ve found useful at work, school, and even when diagnosing character motivations in short stories. I never wholeheartedly said yes to the PhD, which divided my energies and made me susceptible to the pressures. I read one economics gradschool writer who said it’s actually a good idea to burn all your bridges and not have a safety net if gradschool doesn’t work out — that way, the only direction to go is forward. You are forced to commit all of your resources to the schoolwork and your research. In this case, it may be that my lifeline back to my old job did me no favors. And even through the spring, I was talking to professors and PhDs about their experiences, trying to find some inspiration or reason to keep going.
  • Know thyself. One of the things I noticed with the other students ahead of me, and other PhDs I talked to, was they all said “You’ll enjoy it more when you’re done with classes and can get to your own research.” But but but…I like classes! That’s what I like best about school! I also discovered that I was mostly curious about the PhD experience and I wanted that curiosity satisfied. Consider that desire satisfied.
  • Deadlines and accountability work wonders for your productivity. The Accomplished Dr. Cassidy taught me that lesson: you have to put pressure on yourself. Send in the poster proposal before your data is in so it forces you to do the work. Otherwise, you’ll wait and spend time to make it perfect instead of getting it done. As I look back over the time I’ve been in school (since the summer of 2006), I’m kind of amazed at how much work I’ve produced, its variety, and the various experiences I’ve undergone because of it. Left on my own, I’d probably have spent the last years watching Green Hornet videos on YouTube and puttering in my office. And making myself more miserable about my lack of productivity in the process. One of my personal challenges now is finding the right blend of activity and rest and accountability that will keep me producing things, but without the crippling stress.
  • Time will always be wasted. No matter how busy I was, no matter how much I tried to use my commute time to good effect, I still wasted what felt like to me vast amounts of time. I never got the feeling I was working smartly or efficiently; instead, I was working effortfully. Perhaps because I was working on the wrong things? Or that I felt so busy and deadlines felt so short, I had no brainspace left to work out how to do it better?
  • I’m not as smart as I thought I was. Or maybe I’m smart at other things. I took statistics in the Sociology department (reputed to be the toughest stats course on campus) and was astonished at how smart I was not. I quickly reached the limits of my capacity and felt increasingly humiliated when I confronted homework problems that I could barely understand, let alone calculate. This was a different experience for me, as I’d been sailing through most of my other classes up to this point. This, I think, is what most adults who go back to school fear that their experience will be like. Looking back, I could have probably done better if I’d had one fewer course and an extra 20 hours in the week to read the book more closely, do the work, and find supplemental explanations for the concepts. The goal of both stats courses was simply to nudge people a little further along, no matter their starting point, and I certainly do know more now than I did then.
  • Have a support team. During my darker days of the spring, I worked weekly with an in-person counselor and carried on email conversations with an academic coach. And of course, there are the always supportive friends and family and fellow students, who are more than happy to commiserate.
  • Self-care. I learned better how to take care of myself during stressful times. One of the keys being to somehow change panic mode to problem-solving mode. I took one of Havi’s ideas for the Book of Me and compiled lists of methods, quotes, ideas, questions, etc. that I could use when I needed a pick-me-up. It also helped me to see a catalog of stuff I “knew” but couldn’t always bring to mind when I needed it. Some days, I looked through it often. Lately, now that I’m out of the day-to-day hard stuff, I’ve not picked it up. But I keep it close by. Another bountiful source of methods to use when in a personal crisis can be found in David Burns’ books, Feeling Good and When Panic Attacks, both of which offer mounds of techniques and tools for reducing the anxiety caused by over-thinking and over-imagining.
  • “The end is not fixed.” The quote that Ben Casnocha produces in this post summed up some of the best and simplest advice. Liz loved that idea, that the end is not yet written.
  • The experience will fulfill you. Another mantra I held on to, that came from one of my counselors and that I duly wrote in my Book of Me. One of the thoughts here being that the fulfillment may not come soon, may not come for years, but that it will come and then I’ll understand the lesson the experience was teaching me. Looking back over the last decades of my adulthood, particularly the bad stuff that caused me pain at the time, I can see the truth of that statement. If nothing else, this experience forced me to deal with a lot of dirt that came up. These were issues that would not have come up otherwise, and that I would not have had to deal with. The PhD hastened my self-education, which I believe is a good thing.


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David Markson

I can’t remember how I ran across Markson’s novel This Is Not A Novel, but I found it so fascinating an experiment that I scooped up and read his other novels that followed the same disconnected yet mosaic-like form.

Colin Marshall has written an appreciation of Markson, who recently died, that takes in all of his novels, and the comments led me to this post on the author’s death, written in the late-Markson style.

It’s a potent style that’s quite seductive to adopt. I adopted it when writing about Markson’s last books for the school’s in-house zine, The Galley, and which I’ve included below. (I had a stringent word-count to meet, hence its painful brevity.)

Suggested headline: This Is Not A Book Review

Commuting from the Park & Ride lot, I read these books, one by one. You can read 10 pages in a very short time.

Unusual they are, with sometimes awkward syntax. With about 14 one- or two-sentence blurbs to a page. Sometimes only fragments.

Every page filled by remembered passages of verse or prose, quotations, anecdotes, the detritus and gossip of artists’ sad lives. The “residue of a lifetime’s reading,” says the back-cover blurb.

A melancholy book. With one or two jokes thrown in.

You’re left to intuit what’s really happening at its center. Rather like contemplating the negative space in a painting. It’s weirdly fascinating and absorbing.

Markson claims that not one fact is repeated among all the books.

Reader’s Block and This Is Not A Novel are the first two books, and are the best. Markson has found a new, challenging, avant-garde form, and plays with this odd new toy.

But the third book, The Last Novel, feels too deliberate and planned.

Give them a try. They’re at Davis Library. But I bet you’ll read more than 10 pages at a time.


Assorted links

  • “The truth is dancers and musicians live in two different worlds.”
  • For academic writers, the Rule of 200. Writing 200 words/day is rather like writing for 15 minutes/day — it sets an objective, emotionally neutral goal. Getting that first draft squeezed out is most important; quality can be layered in later. Also, this raises the task from a “special project” (I only write when I’m inspired or when I think I have time) to a routine that one doesn’t have to think about doing — you just sit down to do it. I would like to find a similar metric for editing a document, but maybe minutes per day is the best metric there.


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From dr to mr

Over the July 4 weekend, I faced the fact that I was not enjoying the PhD experience. I discovered the limits of my capacity for the amount and velocity of work that poured into my life. I survived and that was as much of an accomplishment as I can claim.

Based on what others had told me about their experiences, I was not the only one going through changes and wondering if this was really an experience I wanted. I kept waiting it out, expecting it to get better or for me to get more motivated or to discover the spark that would light a passion for what I had intended to do. I never caught the spark and I never found a way to make it enjoyable. I got perhaps a grim satisfaction out of pulling rabbits out of hats, and decided that I did not want to live under that kind of pressure all of the time.

I never really adapted to the pace and wound up not performing to my and others’ expectations in several areas.

As one of my coaches said, at this point in my life, it’s OK to not want to make the sacrifices that are necessary to get the degree.

During my single year in PhD-land, my primary focus of research was on myself. I learned a lot about my beliefs, the unchallenged rules that governed my life, and other inner mysteries. I learned how to take care of myself in a crisis (real or perceived). I discovered new ways to manage myself and my emotions.

Had I known what I would go through, I would probably still decide to do it, because I’d think, “Ha! I can figure out a way around that.” And I would have fallen into the same traps again.

Next steps? Finish my master’s degree. Underschedule my fall and spring semesters so I can finish my master’s project. Have the student experience that I wanted to have. Graduate in the spring and invite my parents to come take pictures (I started work on my master’s in 2006, after all — I deserve to dress up!). And, think about the big question I’ve avoided answering for 25+ years: what do I want?

So, as this blog’s title says, “Learning as I Go.” Still going, still learning.


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