Making Evil Too Exciting

All---

Photo by Harlequeen

If you've been familiar with my blog for any length of time, you'll know I talk about evil a lot, mostly about the writer's relationship to the portrayal of evil.  If you're familiar with my stories, you'll know that my interest in exploring the nature of evil is core to what I do.  The past few days what's been niggling at me is the notion that we (writers, TV producers, movie directors, playwrights) make evil pretty exciting.  In truth, most of the time, evil is an uncomfortable sort of boring.

When I think back to my time doing forensics, it's pretty apparent that facing evil is not a hot rush of adrenaline.  It is a cold, empty ache in the belly.  It's not a thrill ride, heart pounding as you wonder what's around the next corner.  It's a dull, weepy mood as you realize that you know what's around the next corner for someone.  Maybe you.  Maybe a loved one.  Maybe a stranger.

Despite all the wild, intriguing motivations we right about -- and which occasionally do exist in reality -- most murderers are a lot more boring.  On one case we were involved with the murderer explained his motivation as, "They made me mad.  When I get mad, I shoot people."    On another case, the killer was too drunk to remember why he kicked a man's head in.  On a cold case I was part of, we identified a woman as the victim of a serial killer who himself was long dead, and it all happened as if we were sorting mail.

Is there interesting psychology and human drama in these stories?  Yes, to be sure.   Is there adrenaline?   Excitement?  Not much, at least not the kind we usually write about or portray.

I suppose this isn't news, but it's something that weighs on me sometimes as I write.  My stories are surreal and larger than life.  I want them to be exciting.  I want them to be compelling and memorable.  I think, in some ways, they are effective because of that.

Sometimes, though, I wonder if I'm doing a disservice to real evil, or injustice to the people who confront or fall victim to real evil in the world.  Their experiences aren't exciting.  They're devastating.  They're destructive.    They're dramatic.  But their lives aren't thrillers; they're just miserable.

.Nevets.

The Humans are Dead

All---

In case you've not noticed before, I've added some news feeds to the blog, about topics related to themes in this blog.  (There's a tab up top!)  As I was glancing through this afternoon, I came across this article from the York Daily Record about the county looking for a more accurate way to track EMS (ambulance) response times.

Photo by Coolcaesar

This, I think is one of those things that I think most people assume is far more technical and precise than it is.  If I were to ask ten people on the street how EMS responses were recorded and reported, both in real time and for statistical purposes, I'm not sure what they would say.  I doubt many would say, "It's based on what you say on the radio."

Here's how it works in our area, and it's somewhat similar in most places.  This process holds true for both volunteer and professional EMS units, though the professional units are usually stationed at their ambulances and so don't require a second alert tone.

1. Dispatch receives an alarm (e.g., a 911 call or a Life Alert).
2. Dispatch sends alert tones to an EMS unit.
3. After two minutes, Dispatch sends second alert tones to EMS unit.
4. EMS crew assembles, and reports on the radio that they are responding.
5. Ambulance drives to scene.
6. When ambulance arrives at scene, driver reports on the radio that the unit is on scene.
7. When the ambulance is ready to leave the scene, the driver reports that, as well as the current mileage on the odometer.
8. Ambulance drives to hospital.
9. When the ambulance arrives at hospital, driver reports on the radio that the unit is arriving at destination, and reports the ending mileage.

Seems simple and reasonable when you see it spelled out like that, and it typically works pretty well.  For better or worse, though, it depends on humans.    Someone must report and someone must hear.  Someone must speak clearly and someone must understand correctly.  No one can forget a step, or the entire record is essentially meaningless.

For instance, in our area, we are permitted to take a patient to an out-of-county hospital if they request, but we are required to report on the radio our time leaving the county and our time back in the county. (Among other reasons, so that dispatch doesn't try to divert us to another call, but also so that our response can be accurately timed and recorded.)  It's an easy thing to overlook while on a run.

Even if the calls are made as they should be and understood as they should be, the information has to be recorded and input.  

Things get even murkier when it comes to recording which district the response is in.  It's important for a number of reasons to know how often our EMS unit covers a call in another territory.  This information comes entirely from two sources: a note made by the dispatcher, based on their understanding of the geography; and a note made by the EMT who fills out the reports, based on their understanding of the territories.

Some areas have begun using GPS, RFID, and other technologies to track the real time movements of emergency personnel, but these tools are expensive -- not to mention invasive.  In our area, GPS systems are used to record the speed of ambulances, but not to actively monitor locations or to track response times or route efficiency.

NASA Android,
photo by Geoff Stearns

This is an interesting topic specifically, but I think it also plays into a broader conversation about relying on humans in this increased technical era.    We have come to expect mathematical precision in everything, and every year that passes increases the needle-point fineness of the precision we expect.    When we don't have the precision, we fear we are wasting money.  We fear we are jeopardizing public safety.  People will cry about government waste and the safety of the children.

And, then, when technological solutions reduce the number of employees required to conduct business, we lament lost jobs.  When humans are replaced by machines, we weep over the dehumanization of our civilization.  When we track people's movements and record their performance to the millisecond and millimeter, we object to the invasion of privacy and grumble about micromanagement.

And, yet, we want precision.  We want accuracy.  We want what we call scientific certainty.

But we want it with a human face.

'Tis a pickle, my friends.  'Tis a pickle.

.Nevets.

Nevetsosophy Part 1

All---

I've talked a little philosophy on this blog before, so hopefully by now you're not scared when I bring it up.  If you, relax, I'm going to make this pretty painless.

I incorporate a lot of philosophical ideas and questions in my writing, in a very intentional way.  At the risk of unmasking Zorro a little, some of my stories have their genesis in my attempt to reify a philosophical model that I'm wrestling with in some way.  So I think that perhaps some occasional exploration of the philosophical world in which my mind operates give you a neat peak at the gears, and perhaps a richer understanding of my writing.

To minimize the risk of being too boring, I'll also give you both a quick literary and practical application each time I talk about part of that philosophical schema.  And I will do my best  to speak in English, even at peril of technical precision (forgive me, philosophers).

So, with no further ado, Nevetsosophy Part 1: the Hegelian Dialectic.

"Wait," you're saying.  "What happened to speaking in English?"

Hegelian just refers to the German philosopher Hegel.  You don't really need to know any more than that.  Hegel's philosophy occupies a big part of mental universe, and so as we go through the Nevetsosophy, you will learn more about Hegel.  No prior knowledge (a priori) is necessary.

Dialectic is a little more complicated, but let me boil it down to this: a dialectic is when two opposites come into conflict and must be reconciled.  Sometimes, it's easiest to look at something paradoxical.  Let's use the language of writers: the same writer may say, "I'm a slave to my muse," and yet also say, "I only feel free when  I'm writing."

But let's come back to that.

Let me start by reducing this to something more elementary: 1-black and 1-white meet.

A fairly common East Asian dialectic might reconcile this with the familiar yin/yang concept of balance.  The two 1's are reconciled in a new construct that is half black and half-white.  Opposites are brought together, moderated and combined, kept separate but in balance.  1B + 1W --> 0.5B + 0.5W = 1 (B&W).

"Without the darkness, there can be no light."

A popular corruption of this Asian dialectic in popular US culture is found in the middle ground.  The two 1's are reconciled in a new construct that is all grey.  Opposites are brought together and mixed thoroughly until what's left is the average of the two. 1B, 1W; average = 1(grey).

"Now is not the time to be liberal or conservative, it's the time to reach across the aisle and get things done."

The most popularly known dialectic is the Marxist dialect, which holds that two opposites come into conflict and their conflict drives progress.  The ultimate resolution (in a crude simplification) is in a new construct in which one side emerges as dominant, improved by the incorporation of the other.  The two 1's are reconciled in a new construct that looks like one or the other, but speckled.  1B and 1W -->  1 (black with white speckles).

"The conflict between the classes can only be resolved when the laborer also control the means of their own production."

The Hegelian dialectic, the one that most interests me, and the one upon which the Marxist dialectic is based, holds that two opposites are only reconciled in a new truth that includes and supersedes both prior truths.  The two 1's are reconciled in a new construct that includes both ones in a new and better truth.  1 + 1 = 2.

"Good and evil are reconciled not in the triumph of one over the other, or in finding common ground, but in the emergence of a new truth that is both good and evil, and better than either."


Let's go back now to the writer's paradox, which I hope also offers a practical application to the understanding or yourself or some of your fellow writers: the same writer may say, "I'm a slave to my muse," and yet also say, "I only feel free when  I'm writing."

Adapting one of Hegel's better known dialectics, the resolution to this paradox could be this: yes, as a slave to your muse, you may be at times subject to its whims.  However, you must never forget that your muse, which seems to be in power, is helpless on its own.  Your muse cannot express itself without you.    In the end, it is you who actually create all the product, and it is you who make the mark on the world.  So yes, perhaps, at the end of the day you sleep when the muse allows you sleep.  But at the end of a life, the muse has done nothing in the world, and you have created all these beautiful writings.  It is you who have the power.  You have the influence.  So, yes, you are both slave and free.  You are something that is both and yet greater than either.

Let me wrap-up here with another application, something you might consider in the craft of your writing.  There are a lot of conflicts in stories.  Typically, one party comes out ahead.  Sometimes, it's a Pyhrric victory.  Sometimes it's just a hollow victory.  And sometimes there's a stalemate.  But you can also have conflict resolved according to a Hegelian dialectic, in which the conflict ends in a way that answers both sides of the conflict, and yet is better than either.  1 +1 = 2.

Hope you found this interesting.  Hope you found this educational.  And hope this might give you something to think about when you're reading my stuff, because I've worked with the Hegelian dialectic in more than story and in more than one way.

.Nevets.

To Be Yourself or To Be Understood

All---

First and foremost, make sure you have read who won the Nevetsized Halloween contest!

Secondly, I've had a pretty interesting conversation with Scott Bailey in the comments of his post today on the Literary Lab.  I decided to move some of my thoughts over here before I was really hogging the comments field.

I hope I write this clearly, because this is actually a very personal post, and when I ask for your advice and thoughts in the end, it's a sincere request.

The quick and dirty version of where the conversation between Scott and me ended up: I read, write, and think in a very different way from most people, and my writing process sometimes gets bogged down by the process of trying to convert my way to the way of most of my readers.   Scott's advice was to just forget that conversion process, and write it like my brain writes it, and treat it like I'm writing it for people who read like I do, too.

That is actually a pretty amazing bit of advice, and I'm chewing it over greedily.

But there's a catch.

It runs the risk of reducing my readership.

I don't care for that risk.  (a) I like the idea of a lot of people reading my stories.  (b) I still hold onto to the pie in the sky hope of some day making my living from my stories.

So, really, my writing is caught up in the same dilemma that has perplex me most of my life.

Here's where it gets a little complicated and a little personal.  (If you've read the thread or some old blog posts, I apologize for the repetition of a few pieces of this.)

The basic challenge lies in the distinction between inductive thought and deductive thought.  Inductive thought involves reasoning from the bits and pieces to understand the whole.  Deductive thought involves reasoning from the big picture down to the particulars.

All of us use both at one time or another.  Most folks are pretty balanced, but tend to read, write, and learn inductively.  It seems to make the most sense.  You put the pieces together to get the answer.  You follow steps.  You gather clues and work out the solution.

Some people, like me, are inclined very strongly to deductive reasoning.  This is often inexplicable to inductive thinkers, because it looks like we guess a lot.  It seems like we're using our intuition.  We'll state what we take as fact, be asked how we know it, and all we can say is, "I don't know?" because to us it's just apparent and we don't really understand the question.

As teenagers, we tend to get in trouble for that one. :)

It was only in the past few years that I began to understand this.  For most of my life, all I knew was this emotionally crippling frustration with my inability to properly interact with others on matters of knowledge and expression.  To get through school, I learned how to let myself get to the answer my way when possible and then make myself go back through the inductive steps to try and show how I got there.

Often a very frustrating experience because it's not really how I got there, and I would often introduce weird "errors" into the process.  But if I didn't try to do it, people were rarely satisfied with my answers or my messages.  "Okay, that sounds good, but how do you know that?"  "I might be to understand better if you explained why you believe that."

And that's what I'm wrestling with in response to Scott's suggestion today.  It literally never occurred to me to write the way that fits my mind, because I'm used to having to translate.  It's just habit.

Now that I'm thinking about possibly doing so, it at least feels to me like I'm facing the old challenge: should I be myself or should I let myself be understood?

The former is the most appealing answer, obviously, and it's in some ways an easy recommendation to make.

But the elementary school kid in me is saying, Oh no, not that again.


So, bloggers, readers, fellow-writers, and friends, what are your thoughts on this?

Aside from the obvious fact that I'm over-analyzing myself once again. :)

.Nevets.

Hoist by My Own Teilhard

All---

Amidst conversations on writing compelling characters, I had a bit of a moment. Please bear with me as I call it a Hegelian realization.

At the risk of frightening off casual readers and of revealing my own ignorance, let me brutally paraphrase a Hegelian notion so that I can misappropriate it for writing.

Hegel talks about the Absolute (crudely, God) as having created us as limited beings who learn about God (the same Absolute who created them) so that He (the Absolute) can learn about himself through their learning.

It's complicated and that's a bad summary, but here is why I talk about this now: when I write characters, they are typically drawn from limited portions of my own Psyche. When I put them through the paces, they learn how to cope with broader reality. In this process,I am therefore hoping to learn something about myself. And I am hopeful that by identifying with the characters readers can do the same thing.

I don't suppose that's earth-shattering, but it helps me better understand what I do as a writer so I thought I would share it.

Anyone else have any recent insights they'd like to share? Even if it doesn't seem grand or complicated?

.Nevets.

P.s. This post has nothing to do with Teilhard, but I could not resist the pun.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.0

Flash Fiction: "Sartre's Glockenspiel"

Originally posted at Flashy Fiction.

[Explicit language and other things warning]

"Sartre's Glockenspiel"

by C. N. Nevets, (c) 2009

Each tick of the clock was another rumble in the belly of my nauseous mind. The thing I had once called a soul. That coincidence of electrical impulses I had once called spirit. The sick, twisted joke I played on myself.

I could not begin to tell how long I'd been staring at my tormentor. At each tick, the second hand twitched, but it never progressed. It was running in place, just like everything else in this man-forsaken universe.

I hadn't had a beard when I started staring. I did now. My hair was longer. My eyes bleary. My stomach hungry. But I had lacked vision all my life, and I did not think I could ever be without need, so even these signs were poor indicators of the passing of time.

Around me, people went about their activities. Sometimes they stopped to talk to me. I rarely answered them, for when I did they did not understand.

“Honey, how much longer are you going to sit there?”

“I haven't even been here a full second.”

Or –

“Daddy, can you take me to school this morning?”

“It's still yesterday morning, and tomorrow morning has already come.”

Or –

“Jones, there's no two ways about it. You've gotta come into work to keep your job. You haven't so you won't. You're fired.”

“I would worry about that tomorrow, if there were such a thing.”

Sometimes I tried to explain. Tried to get them to understand. To realize that their eyes were bleary and that they were hungry – and that they always had been – and that they always would be.

“Sweetie, why don't you want to go to work anymore?”

“Because I'm just going to die.”

“When?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

“What's different about one time from the next?”

Or –

“Daddy, why don't you eat?”

“Because even if I eat, I will die.”

“So I don't need to eat?”

“Of course not.”

“What about taking baths?”

“You will get dirty again.”

“Do I still have to go to school?”

“It is too late to learn, the moment you are born, and it is too early to learn until the moment you have died.”

The ticking of the clock only served to sicken me further at the futility of clutching at existence. The uselessness of grasping at moments. The fruitlessness of striving to achieve within the no-win situation that mankind has given the grandiose title of LIFE.

It is too late to learn, the moment you are born, but you never chose to be born. Your parents did that to. Your parents decided to fuck you over and stick you in a seventy-two year prison term. They wrapped it up with an umbilical cord and gave you presents every year to apologize for what they had done.

It is too early to learn, until the moment you have died, and that – that you have control over. That you can choose. You're not stuck with someone else's time table. That's all yours.

Outside, I heard the roaring of a car around the corner. I knew it would be possible to hurl myself in front of it without it having a chance to stop. I moved.

School was in.

***

Fin

***

All ---

It's self-consciously derivative (and explicative) of existentialist philosophy, but it was from a flash prompt that quoted Jean-Paul Sartre, so what's a nerd like me supposed to do? Not the best I've done with that philosophy, but I like it anyway.

Also, in case you missed it there was a more light-hearted flash story posted just prior to this update. And on top of that, if you haven't caught on, there's a contest in which you have a chance to have a moment of your life Nevetsized. See the link in the sidebar for more!

.Nevets.

The Great Novel Rebrand

All,

First, don't forget to read my review of Cinders that was posted earlier this weekend. I don't want my talking about my own book to distract from thoughtful consideration of a book I strongly recommend.

That said, I do want to talk about my own book.

I have been focusing a lot of my energy lately on Real Stakes, because I have been more confident of its market-readiness. I believe in Ennui and Malaise, but at this stage of its development I am not sure yet how to best pigeonhole it for sale. Real Stakes, I have believed, slides neatly into the thriller genre.

Anyone who has been reading my blog for a while knows that I have been perplexed by the question of genre. Ultimately, I have decided that the best home for my writing is psychological suspense, which allows me to brush up against horror and to embrace a somewhat more literary style than a traditional thriller. That's good because my interest is really in the intersection of psychology and philosophy within the dynamic sphere of character, not really in gun play and adrenaline -- though I use both to a high degree.

And that's the rub.

I am facing down what I think of as the Elektra factor. If you haven't seen it, Elektra was a 2005 Jennifer Garner vehicle slash Marvel Comics splash. It has a lot of action, a lot of special effects, a lot of comic book villainry, and a fair amount of Jennifer Garner in revealing costumes. Needless to say, all of the above are what the critics focused on. I'm not here to recommend the movie, nor to claim it as an all-time great. But I have always felt that critics allowed themselves to get distracted by the flash and they missed a nice redemption arc told through simple dialog and solid acting.

My writing is vulnerable to the same sort of thing. If you've read much of my writing, you know that in addition to a lot of voice, there tends to be a lot of evil and fair amount of violence. In other words, a whole lot of stuff that is eye-catching and can easily distract readers away from the heart of my stories. More than I'd care to admit, my writing had been heavily influenced by the music and imagery of Pink Floyd and the story-telling style of Japanese pop culture. There is a lot of philosophy, a lot of psychology, a lot of individual angst, and it's all expressed through often exaggerated evils, both literal and symbolically represented.

What I'm now facing is the realization that Real Stakes is sitting right in that spot. It has all the trappings of a thriller, but is really exploring the philosophies of evil and obedience and how they interact with the psychologies of three very different individuals. One happens to be something of a secret agent. One happens to get pulled into a conspiracy that threatens the United States, and perhaps the world. One happens to be a criminal with a broken childhood. There is plenty of action. Plenty of subterfuge. Plenty of adrenaline.

But I have now realized that I need to make sure that what I'm actually trying to do does not get lost in that. Domey Malasarn helped remind me of that when he remarked that he'd appreciated the philosophical digressions in my other things he'd read. That really brought it home for me, "Yeah, that's what I do." And I need to make sure that I still do that.

As such, I am re-branding Real Stakes. It is now Sublimation. It is still a thriller, but by tweaking the focus of the title I can situate the book in the appropriate context: a thriller that, when the adrenaline lets down, you're thinking about what else was going on between the lines and in the background. The real story of this book is not of gamblers and spies. The real story is about good, evil, and (to borrow a phrase from Jeeves) the psychology of the individual.

Now, I just need to rebrand the opening of the book, of which I am fond, but which I believe sets the focus in the wrong place...

.Nevets.

*** *** *** ***

Excerpt from, Sublimation, (c) 2010.

I'm not a poetic man, and while I have my attachments, I'm not given to sentimentality. Even so, if any night in history has deserved to be regarded as remarkable, it is that one. Without even knowing it, seven billion people rode into the jaws of death, into the mouths of hell.

It was a cool spring night in Denver. Overhead, a shooting star pierced the belly of a descending Orion. All about, the wind was crisp with the fresh potential of a coming summer. And in an abandoned pickle warehouse, the final battle of godlike men was about to begin. The men would not carry weapons, control armies, or conduct experiments. They would play cards, throw dice, and spin colored wheels. And their names would be Smith and Jones. I'm Alec Smith.

“Keep moving, god-man!”

“Keep on your on your feet!”

The two tuxedo-wearing gorillas were enamored of the word keep. Everything they said amounted to nonsense, but I could not escape the jarring cadence their words were given by the inclusion of that simple word in every sentence they uttered.

“Keep your eyes forward!”

“Keep going straight, god-man!”

They kept calling me that, too. It was insensible to me. It was an insult on their lips, like when you turn a self-acclamation back on someone. Way to go, Number One Dad. Tell us again how to win games, Captain of the Plant Softball Team. Smooth moves, Astaire. But god-man?

“Keep walking, god-man!”

“Keep your head about you.”

Easier said than done. I hadn't head my head about me all evening.

Tempted to Explicate

All---

I got another 1K+ words in on my Hegelian sociopath story last night. I was mostly happy, but I'm running into this awful temptation to explain my character's motivation, so that my sociopathic killer has the voice of a philosophy grad student gone bad. Not good.

Thanks to a college English teacher who really hammered, "Show, don't tell," into my brain, I cringe anytime I find myself even coming close to plot exposition or verbalizing a character's motive in a way that is unrealistic for an actual person to think. At this point, I rarely find it a problem. I have built up all the right habits.

Unfortunately, this story presents a unique challenge -- "allegory" is not the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. (Sorry, I'm reading Choke right now.) Essentially, what I'm doing here is taking a portion of Hegelian philosophy and playing it out through sociopathic murder. In other words, I'm crafting an allegory for something with which I know my readers will be totally unfamiliar.

If I pull this off, it will get encourage people to think about a philosophical idea that I think is very important to grapple with, without their having to actually delve into the arcane world of philosophy. However, just as the story of the apple falling on Newton's head illustrates gravity without dragging out a technical explainer, my story needs to illustrate the idea without the accompanying philosophy.

And I keep looking back at what I've written and seeing placed where my sociopath expresses too clearly motivations which explicate the philosophy I'm underlying. The sociopath shouldn't even be thinking philosophically, let alone explaining my story.

Aargh. I will try again later.

.Nevets.

Scaring Myself

All---

Sometimes I scare myself with my writing, and that's not a sly way of saying I'm "scary good" or so effective that my sense of suspense gets to even me. The subject matter may or may not be inherently scary. The writing may or may not be of any quality. What scares me is what my writing reveals is inside me somewhere. Sometimes, I would rather it not be there.

"Pre-writing" is what I call it when I'm thinking about what I'm going to write and playing around with the actual sentences and structures in my mind. Right now, I'm pre-writing a short story that literalizes certain aspects of Hegelian philosophy. Sounds really dry, right? It plays out as a first person chronicle of becoming a sociopathic killer. Sounds less dry, yes?

I'm not sure I'm in love with the fact that I can identify enough with a sociopathic killer to write a first person story from that perspective. It's a little creepy. I know authors do things like that all the time. I've read stories like that and never been bothered. But writing it myself? Looking at those dark, terrible words and knowing they're in my voice? That's a whole other experience, and I'm not always comfortable with it.

It's true that I am endorsing neither the sociopathic lifestyle, nor necessarily the Hegelian philosophy that led me down that path. I am exploring. I am playing with ideas by playing with words. It's also true that dark, terrible words reflect a reifying of philosophical abstracts from generations ago. They do not reflect my own thoughts. They interpret someone else's. Even so, the voice is my own. And, like most (many?) authors, I am pretty immersed in what I write or pre-write, so the voice is not even my own through a distant echo. It's pretty intimate.

And that's what scares me.

How easily some aspect of my personality can take on the thoughts and motivations of a sociopathic killer and feel them intimately.

Not sure what to make of that, but there it is.

.Nevets.