Penultimate, they call this chapter. I’ve always found that a funny word. It makes me think of a super hero that has a sidekick called PencilOrdinary. Just saying.

So, although I write steampunk, more or less, one might notice there is sort of a bit of magic in this world. Yes, no one calls it magic, but the Secret of Silver and Copper are both fairly magic-like things. I mean, come on, the Secret of Silver? Having a silver spike rammed into your brain, and boom, perfect cyborg tech? Yeah. But that is why I love steampunk. The line between science and magic is fuzzy and you can play with it, just like you can play with the gritty nature of Sci-Fi while also having a bit of the clean nature of Fantasy. But, there is always that problem of originality, even in the “fresh new world” of Steampunk. And I blame Brandon Sanderson.

Now, I know I talk about Brandon a lot on this blog, but pardon, as he is one of the few (read “the only”) NYTBS authors that not only do I know, but that knows me too. So I’m a bit biased on using my examples from him. ANYWAY.

Brandon is known for being very imaginative with his magic systems. I, on the other hand, am not thus known. I don’t really know if I’m known for anything aside from occasionally Rickrolling people. But, yeah, but I do try to be creative.

Now, when I wrote my first manuscript in the world of Tijervyn (which a few of you have seen, not many) I had not even heard of Brandon Sanderson. Seriously, I had not. But I got this idea for steampunk cyborgs, and decided they should have a spike of silver in their head. So I wrote a 120k novel, shopped it around a bit with no luck, but idled away the months of waiting by finally reading a book or two from the man that would finish The Wheel of Time. And, oh, look at that. He has this monsters that have spikes in their eyes and are all mean. Fun!

Then, maybe a year or so later, I read the rest of Mistborn. I find out that the spikes give the monsters super powers. That getting stabbed is by a spike of a certain metal is a magic system, including having it rammed into your brain. Oh great.

Now, I shouldn’t be concerned by this. I mean, I came up with my idea before I ever read Sanderson. It was not one of contamination. Except now I have seen that there, and I’m worried I might start to veer towards it like a drunk driver veers towards anything he can see. I don’t mean to. I might even think I’m pushing away. But, nope, I just ran over a telephone pole.

I have a similar problem with another manuscript I’ve written. To read it, you might think “Oh, I know Richard is a browncoat, and there are obvious Firefly parallels here.” Except, I wrote the story before I knew who Joss Whedon even was, at least consciously. I’d seen Serenity a long time ago but had no clue there was a show and the movie had not stuck in my mind. After I wrote that, some of my readers pushed me to watch Firefly. And I swore. I loved it, but I swore. When I pitched to an editor that the story was life Firefly in mood and feeling, he cringed. That didn’t help either.

So how do I make my magic without being derivative? Honestly, I just try to not care. The more I think about “oh no, that is too much like XYZ system” the more I am going to end up patchworking a bunch of different systems instead of making something that is organic and fits together. I’m not Brandon; I don’t see the KFC sign and think “11 herbs and spices? MAGIC SYSTEM!” (it’s a joke comic that was made. Have fun googling, I tried and failed, but Brandon linked to it somewhere.)

Aside aside, I would rather accidently have a magic system that is similar but different in some ways and works for my story than one I tried desperately to make unique and special. But that is just me. The same goes for my character dynamics, plots, etc etc. Adding my flavor, my voice, my special je ne sais quoi is what is important to me. And that is how I make the magic.

So, I’ll start high.  In many fairly popular sci-fi stories, it takes an alien invasion for the world to set aside its bickering and unify as a single force.  Granted, there are still cultures and other issues within, but a single government entity emerges to confront the new alien terror.  Which, as I will say many times in this post, is a Them for our Us.  And honestly, I think that is about the short of it.  Sentient life seems to have such a hard time getting along that it comes down needing something bigger and scarier to pull us together.  Heck, John Locke noticed this, although he believed that it would take a Behemoth, a massive military force that was able to hold the world at gunpoint, to actually make it behave most of the time.  Which, funny enough, has been the case in some Sci-Fi too.

But, let’s even look back at the beginnings of government.  Nomad tribes learned to farm and settle, then when other nomads came to take the crops, the settlers banded together for protection.  Of course, the biggest, meanest settler became the king, and bingo, government, us, and them.  Pack behavior from the get-go has probably been survival based, with Nature being the Them, but don’t quote me on that.  I’m hardly an anthropologist; I just play one on TV (I wish).

So, cliques.  And an aside, I hate that word, cause I use it quite often in speech, but it took me a full five minutes of going DUR to remember how to spell it and have it mean what I wanted it to mean.  Anyway, cliques, and in particular, kids on a playground.  I don’t know how well anyone here remembers elementary school, but there were two givens. Thursday was spaghetti day, and there was a group of kids who hated with your group of friends with the boiling intensity of a thousand suns.  They might not have been able to do anything about it, especially if your group was way larger or more popular, but they still did.  And more than likely your group had an animosity with some other group (or, sadly, occasionally just a single outcast type kid).  Why? Well, it isn’t just that kids are mean, which they are.

No, it is because an enemy draws us closer.  Hatred is, sadly, a very strong and universal emotion, perhaps moreso than love.  A mutual love of something can create some bonds, but a mutual hatred is like the duct tape and super glue of young friendships.  Perhaps the nature of hate is a good reason.  After all, to quote (shudder) Billy Shakespear, “In time, we come to hate what we often fear.”  And, to quote many people (although Carmine Falcone from Batman Begins is stuck in my head saying it) “You always fear what you don’t understand.”  And what is more universally true of any human than a lack of understanding?

Oh, and an aside of historical proof, both the unification of modern Italy and the unification of the German State required a vilification of an outsider to make it stick.

So, hatred bonds people together, even when they have great differences.  Get enough people together, and there will be great differences.  So, perhaps, there will always have to a “Them.”  To my psychology-savvy friends, please, give me proof otherwise (or anyone for that matter). Cause, honestly, that is a kind of depressing thought.

Oh, and writing.  All I really take from this is that you need to think long and hard if a single-government without external threat really makes sense at all, whether in a future-earth or a fantasy universe.  I, personally, find them odd (which is funny since I do want to write about one in a novel.  Least I have more to think about.)

I think a large part of it is truly antagonism.  The man had a special hatred in his heart of the secessionist states, not that he really liked much of anyone.  On the same note, he did not really or honestly hold a grudge, even against South Carolina, which he did the most harm to during his campaigns.  In his writing, he even would say that he would gladly fight and die for the South, so long as it was in the name of the unified United States.  This was a man who saw no incongruence with yesterday’s vile enemy being tomorrow’s dear ally.

Not that a generational resident of Atlanta would say that, let alone Georgia or South Carolina.  While honestly, a good part of Northerner’s would be hit or miss on who Sherman was (and perhaps even lucky to recognize Grant), these names are immortalized in the South.  The antagonism of Sherman has survived generations, and in honest truth, his actions probably helped to ferment the Southern-Northern hatred (even though the carpetbagging and other “reconstructionist” doctrines decidedly helped as well.)  Never mind that Sherman actually did what he did to try and end the war quickly, much like when Truman dropped the bombs in Japan.  Never mind that he then offered very generous conditions of surrender to enemy forces that were only later refuted by Andrew Johnson (perhaps for good reason, perhaps not).  Never mind that the most gregarious of his “war crimes”, namely the burning of Atlanta and Columbia, were likely accidents or caused by the general confusion of war.  Some primary sources even note that Sherman himself was helping to fight the fires that burned in Columbia (although in another source one of Sherman’s officers more or less admitted that Union forces started the fires).

So, what the heck am I getting at?  Honestly, it isn’t a defense of Sherman, although I think he gets a wee bit of a bad wrap (not that he doesn’t deserve some of it).  No, it is writing, always.  Antagonism.  It is an awesome motivator.  I used to think that the hatred caused by a societal memory could not actually be good motivator, but since moving to the South, I can see how it could be.  Maybe not in a “level-headed” person, but added to some other traits such as upbringing and a strong sense of society, well, yeah.  A general hatred of a person just because of where they are from and what that represents is indeed a very strong motivation.  But, my former ignorance is also an enlightenment.

Many people don’t actually suffer this preconception, or if they do, it isn’t in a fashion that they can understand and relate to the page.  If you wish to use this as a motivator for a main character, you had best be sure to explain it in understandable terms.  Although, can I truly feel and understand the ire the South has for Sherman, even with it being a real thing that I can live in?  No, not really.  I have a historical bias that I am from the Midwest, and we don’t really have any inbred animosity like that.  What will tomorrow’s animosity be, though?  I am worried that my children will grow up to despise all Arabs simply because what one radical sect of Jihadists did, but I do have hope for them on the racism and sexism front, at least.  But, I wonder, do a people always have to have an enemy?  Must there always be a them for there to be an us?  Hmm . . . .  I’ll write on that later.

So, short of the skivvy.  Don’t assume your readers can understand a bone-deep non-personal antagonism easily.  Play it up too much, and it honestly comes off as being one-dimensional.  But, small mannerisms, offhand comments, and even straws that break camels’ backs are a perfect use for it.  And as long as there is something else to a character besides that, perhaps a small bit of depth where they can see humanity in their blood-enemy, but are still distrustful, well, it helps.

But . . . the need for enemies.  I think that will be Friday.

Wednesday, on the day before Christmas Eve, I attended a Festivus party (for the rest of us!).  For those unfamiliar with Festivus, it was an invention of the father of a writer for Seinfeld and made itself into an episode of the show.  The traditions are simple, with the entire explanation fitting on side of a piece of paper.  That aside, it was a fun excuse for a party.  Of course, a keg of beer and winter in general are good reasons for parties, but, well, yeah.

Other traditions have jumped off pages.  From the wonderful charity work of TarValon.net, with their Novices, Accepted, and Aes Sedai, to fictional swears and catechisms.  Heavens know that I say Gorram a lot since watching Firefly, and a goodly number of people use Frack of BSG fame.  There are people out there that will even have weddings themed on a book’s traditions.  Wowza!

But, what makes the tradition jump off the page like that?  Some of the great stories have very little off-page life, while some middling but still known stories have far more popularity.  Well, honestly, I have no clue cause I’m not a Humanities-type scientist, but I will say that I think it more has to do with the symbolism of the tradition or the ease of employing it.  For swearing, Gorram and Frack roll off the tongue easy.  For a Wheel of Time wedding, well, the costuming described is actually pretty awesome and the deeper meaning that was implied in the few marriage ceremonies we saw in the book were extremely heartfelt.

And to Festivus?  Well, it was simple, and the meaning was, while silly, strong.  It was a “secular holiday” (a wonderful oxymoron, in truth).  An acknowledgement that you don’t have to believe in invisible sky-people to still want to have some cheer in the dreary cold of winter, which, in my opinion, is what the midwinter celebrations are all about.  So, put up an aluminum pole and air some grievances!

And to the rest of you, a Merry holiday season.

Now, I’m all about the story simplification of only naming and establishing settings you are going to use, but the very fact that there could be numerous cities and countless towns and villages can do a lot for a setting.  And if there is a seemingly lack of it, make it important, please!  Like in the Wheel of Time, the massive tracks of land *snerk* that are uninhabited is actually a semi-important thing that has to do with the entire setting of the world.  But, in “Tower of Shadows”, the scant handful of towns (seriously, like an entire kingdom has less then ten solid municipalities across a hundreds if not thousands of miles kingdom.) does nothing except make it easier for the author to skip by the whole “let’s travel from one coast to the other” part of the story.  Oh wait, silly me, he through in a completely irrelevant dragon fight too.  Can’t forget that. (I swear, it was just a D&D campaign that somehow got past an editor).

Next up: what kind of civilization?  Is it a Roman-Greco republic or democracy?  Is it a constitutional monarchy.  Is it a military Punta?  And how does that make every single spear-bearer in the story act.  Trust me, people act completely different depending on the civilization they are in.  Do you have a good reason for this civilization to work?  Are you using a canned historical model or trying to make your own system.  Are you going to explain why the heck your own system works (Heinlein style), or are you just going to gloss over it?  If you gloss over it, you’d better at least take one or two more steps of design in your notes to know exactly how it works.  *shakes fist at authors who don’t*

And finally, where, really, does your protagonist (or group of protags) fit into this society, and how are they really going to react if they’re being shifted around in it.  Are you making them change their status?  If so, are they going to fall into with minimum discomfort (Like Mat from Wheel of Time), or are they going to kick and scream like an emo blacksmith that nobody likes?  Oh, sorry, Wheel of Time venting.  That’s what I get for reading The Path of Daggers right now.  Gah!

Anyway, Civilization, yeah.  I suck at ending my little expositions.  Maybe it’s cause I never liked the stupid “restate, recap, sting” thing they taught in high school.  Felt like a complete load of BS to me.  Basic Science, that is.  Dunno what you were thinking.  Yeah, I’m going to wonder off now.  Happy Pop-eye day (according to Google).

So yeah.  Sure there are plenty of books out there that are specifically dedicated to examining the complex interactions between family members through the course of strong events, but those are typically “literary” novels more than genre, and I have to wonder: Why is it that every person who is stepping up to save the day is an only-child orphan?  Aside from the mysticism of it, it’s a bit of an overdone trope in my opinion.

Now granted, I’m kind of guilty of it myself.  In two of my three manuscripts, not a single character’s parents are mentioned, nor siblings.  And I admit, this is a failing.  After all, if Average Joe has a problem, wouldn’t he be likely to consult the old tried-and-true pillars of wisdom that brought him up (provided they aren’t conveniently dead or missing or Darth Vader), or perhaps would he (and pardon the gender-typing, I’m meaning he in the gender-neutral sense) not also perhaps go and speak with a sibling, perhaps one who might even have some foresight into the matter.  And, here’s the kicker, could this supposed hero (or heroine), do this without the book being all about the dynamics of family?  Could it not, perhaps, be a story where these considerations of real-life phenomenon happen without it being a major plot point, but instead it could be just another way to draw a person into caring about the characters, connecting with them on a deeper level?  I mean, I think I’d seriously connect better with a hero who has a brother (such as I do), and interacts with him in a believable but not plot-dominating way that I would an orphan.

And now that I’ve harped on this, I’d better get off and start doing it.  After all, manuscript number 3 has a father, but it is somewhat plot-central.  Bah.  I guess it somewhat defies the Keep It Simple, Stupid (KISS) Law of Everything, and the general “get your money’s worth out of your words” law of writing, but it still bugs me.  Meh!

See, it is hard to read a serious book with there being some mention of children, even in passing.  They are part of our society, even if they are not typically set up to be prime actors in it.  And, to an author’s perverse joy, they are perfect for eliciting emotions out of us.  Want to show someone is kindhearted, have them help kids, or stop to admire them play.  Want to show someone is truly evil?  Have them hurt a child, or even kill one.

Want the reader to feel these more first hand?  Have one of your PoV characters be that child.  I remember back when I was reading The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, and a good section of the book is dedicated to the protagonist’s youth where he was ripped from his loving family, had to bury the bodies by himself, and then his wondering journey as an orphaned urchin in the streets of a giant city.  Let me tell you, he spared no punches.  I had to put the book down several times reading it for how gut wrenching this child’s life was, and even knowing it must eventually get better–the entire thing is a flash back from the protagonist in his mid-thirties–it was hard to read.

So, be mindful of children in stories.  They are there a reason.  They are part of our lives, part of our stories, and part of our hearts.  And, if you are a parent, do me a favor: hug your child extra tight tonight for me.

See, this really comes down to world building in my opinion.  A simple truth about humans, and I dare say sentient life in general, is that we have a limited intellect, a limited amount of knowledge, and a burning desire for more of each.  This is, on a sociological level, the purpose of religion.  Oh, and to any naysayers who assert they are truly without religion, I’m sorry, but an unwavering belief that science can explain all of the unexplainable, given enough time, is still a religion.  You are still putting “faith” in something that you have no real way of knowing if it’s right or not.  So, Nelson says “HA-ha!”

Anyway, so religion in SFF.  I’ll grant that it’s “truth in television” that religions have a habit of being population-controlling bastard organizations that are corrupt out the yin-yang and all that, but while you can argue that stereotypes are based in truth, I’ll argue right back that stereotypes are never completely true, and very often are not at all.  Now, I’m not saying that a story needs to have a religion where the deities are real and there is an epic struggle between heaven and hell or what have you, but it really adds and draws a reader into the world when you can have churches, etc, and characters opinions on religion without having to say one way or the other objectively about the religion itself.

And, personally, whenever I read a world where religion is a) one-dimensional “yes, it is good and awesome and rawr,” b) one-dimensional “they are all evil corrupt bastards except for a couple random parish-type priests, or c) completely non-existence except for some randomish “praise to the light” that everyone knows and is taught from parent to child but has no organized anything, it bugs me.

Actually, c) is what annoys me the most.  It is not happenstance that the majority of human society had not only religion, but a group of priests that actively taught and expanded the religious canon, usually (in the early stages) the elders who everyone thought knew everything because they had lived the longest.  And no, not all of these old codgers (or what have you) typically had some ulterior motive.  Go try and talk to a well-loved priest or minister in your neighborhood sometime and tell me if you think that person’s goal is not manipulate and control instead of offer answers and comfort.

So, yeah, to not include religion at all in your story, or to leave it as a one-dimensional stereotype, that is just sloppy, lazy writing.

Gene Wolfe has said of world building that you must know where the bones are in your garden, refering to a story about the bones of an elephant that had been found in a Vatican garden and the story behind how they got there.  Robert Jordan was well known for his descriptive flourish, and Tolkien as well.  There is a problem with knowing where the bones are, though.

For one, it can detract from the story if you are not careful.  Not every descriptive detail given about a world has to advance the plot, but it does have to advance the story.  A description is meant to explain the nature of what it describes, so knowing that a person has opulent taste and giving a vivid picture of it can be useful.  Knowing that the spear-carrier prefers the broad-headed spears to the narrower spears might not as much.  Heck, I’m a fan of Robert Jordan, but sometimes I just have to think: “I don’t care what kind of imaginary trees are sitting around without leaves.”

On the reverse, though, and quite obviously, not adding “unneeded flourish” can leave a book dull and flat.  There are more plots and interests than just the primary plot, and I often find myself wanting to learn about the cultures and histories of the fabricated societies just as much as I want to know “what happens next”.  This is especially useful when passages advance both.  Of course, that sometimes makes for a certain theme of story.  The best plots for mixing in history and society are usually mystery or political.  Action/Adventure type stories are a little harder on that respect.  Not that it can’t be done, just that it’s a little harder.

So, my personal theory?  Have around four to five times more detail in your notes than you need on the page.  Know where every last one of those durn elephants are buried, but realize that you don’t have to tell them in the story.  Think of it as giving directions.  You might know six different ways to get someplace and every landmark on the way, but you only need–dare I say want–to give a single route and enough additional landmarks to make sure they feel comfortable with where they are.  The reader should feel the same about the story: they are comfortable with where they are without feeling overburdened.