Oh, and that Mack Megaton short story I promised, I haven’t forgotten it.  But these last few weeks have thrown me a bit behind schedule and Mack has taken a backseat.  But he’s coming.  I swear.

And I’m back to my regular blog schedule.  So let’s get to it.

I think I’ve grown to hate irony.  Or rather, the hipster version of it.  Probably because so many things I love are deemed silly and dumb and only worthy of ironic appreciation.

The things I love, the stories I enjoy, they come from a sincere, honest place.  It doesn’t matter if it’s the globetrotting adventures of Scrooge McDuck or the larger-than-life battles of a superheroic god of thunder, these stories always work best for me when they don’t wink at the audience.

It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of dark and gritty stories for their own sake.  I can’t stand most modern superhero comics because most of them go out of the way to remind me that this is serious business.  DC’s recent relaunch seemed to miss a great opportunity to start fresh.  Instead, we get more of the same blood and gore and mature-content that has been the bane of comic book superheroes since the 90′s.  I don’t particularly care for Batman stories were people are tortured to death and where faces are cut off.  But that’s not going away anytime soon, I guess.

On the other hand, I’m not a fan of when a writer apologies for the weirdness of a story.  I prefer it when a story is presented from a sincere place, even when it is bizarre.  Whether it’s Kung Fu Panda, Tangled, or The Incredibles, I much prefer my fantasy to be absurd without irony.

Often my own books get confused with a hipster attitude, as if I don’t take them seriously because of their subject matter.  But I do.  I care about the characters and the stories.  My next book, Emperor Mollusk Versus The Sinister Brain has many of the hallmarks of hipster irony.  It’s hero is a space squid supervillain.  It takes place in a universe of superscience and grand adventure.  And Emperor Mollusk is the embodiment of the brilliant, nearly infallible adventurer who populated classic pulp stories.  Except that he only weighs about ten pounds and doesn’t have a spine.  But otherwise, he’s just Doc Savage with a more nefarious backstory, more or less.

But this isn’t ironic.  It’s an intentional throwback to an age of fantasy when every planet seemed like it was inhabited, when lost civilizations covered the Earth, and when the idea of a hidden island filled with mutant dinosaurs seemed cool, not silly.  My inspiration was every classic story where the Martians invade or where some intrepid explorer goes to the center of the planet.  It’s a world of secret assassin guilds and nefarious plots, where every corner of the universe is filled with weird adventure.

Of course, I’m sure many will find it silly.  But I care about Emperor and his universe.  And, at least on my end, there’s nothing ironic about it.

I have to believe there’s a middle ground between irony and unpleasant.  I don’t think a story needs to brandish a smirk like a shield or drown in maudlin dreariness.  A story can be crazy, bizarre, and downright weird without being stupid.  A space squid can fight a disembodied brain for the fate of the galaxy, and it can be both fun and sincere.  I’d like to think so.

This always comes up because it’s something I struggle with.  Not just in my writing, but in so many things I love.  And the battle for the soul of weird fiction is far from over.  But if I had my way, there’d be a lot less irony, a lot less blood, and a whole heck of a lot more sincerity.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

So enough about my pain.  I’m not here to bum you out.  I’m here, as always, to enlighten and entertain.

Recently, I bought the second volume of Marvel Visionaries: Walt Simonson’s Thor.  Thor was the first official superhero comic I ever bought on a regular basis.  He remains one of my favorite characters, even if modern comics haven’t really held my attention.  And it’s safe to say that Simonson is one of the biggest influences on my writing, which is strange when you consider that I am not considered by many to be a heroic fantasy writer.

But Simonson’s run on Thor is a masterwork of epic storytelling, a fantastic battle of incredible forces, of high fantasy, of melodrama, heart, and solid characterization.  It’s also great fun.  Admittedly, I’m probably biased, but I love these stories because they are just so sincere in their design, so unapologetic in their bold adventure.

Yet Simonson’s run never really gets the mainstream praise it deserves.  Probably because it’s not “literary” like Sandman or “mature” like Preacher.  Simonson’s Thor is just a damn good comic book that juggles multiple plot threads, dozens of characters, and an epic quality that is too easy to take for granted.  Yet his craftsmanship is second-to-none, and everything counts here.  Simonson never seems out to impress you with how complicated he can make things or how far to the edge he can go.  He’s there to tell a great story and bring you along for the ride.

Simonson’s Thor is from a different era, I suppose.  Perhaps it’s even a bit old-fashioned in that way.  But it’s entertaining and fun, and full of grand moments.  The villains and heroes are larger than life.  Thor doesn’t wrestle with existential dilemmas, with his own motivations.  He’s a good guy out to beat up bad guys.  And the bad guys tend to be obviously bad.  Not in the uninteresting “I’m going to rape and mutilate because I’m evil” way, but in the “let’s blow up the universe” manner that is so rare to find in comics these days.

It’s cartoonish, but that isn’t always a bad thing.  And underneath it all, there are still relationships going on, character arcs, personal triumphs and tragedies.  Just because the first story arc climaxes with all of Asgardians fighting an endless tide of demons in New York City while Thor, Loki, and Odin face off against Surtur at the gates of Asgard, that doesn’t necessarily make it childish or silly.

I know I’m from a different era, and that any criticism of modern comic books I might have will be from that perspective.  But I really miss it when superheroes were about fighting bad guys and not about serial killers with ray guns.  I like that nobody says “bitch” in Simonson’s Thor or that, even when a character dies, his death is usually melodramatic and free of gore.  Simonson’s Thor is a comic that is eminently readable to anyone, and that’s just not something you see much anymore.

I’m not suggesting that all comics need to revert to this style.  Or even any of them should.  Different eras.  But it’s just a shame that, when comic book superhero fans look back on the masters, they tend to overlook Thor which is as worthy of praise as just about any other comic book out there, including Sandman, Fables, or what have you.

So if you happen to like what I write and want to read stuff that inspired me, you might just want to check out Marvel Visionaries Walt Simonson Thor because you might just see where I come from.  And while it probably won’t make you laugh as much, it will define awesome in a whole new way.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

My favorite novel is Tarzan, Lord of the Apes.  It is, I’m betting, probably not yours.  My second favorite novel is Jungle Tales of Tarzan, which is less of a novel and more of a short story collection, but hey, it’s my book.  I get to pick it.  My third favorite novel is Anarchaos.  You haven’t even read it.  Nobody has.  But it’s awesome.  I love Shell Scott mysteries, and I can’t be the only one.  But it sure seems like it.

As a professional novelologist, I always feel a little strange about this.  I’m supposed to love Shakespeare and Steinbeck and Hemmingway.  I don’t.  I don’t think they’re bad, but nothing I’ve ever read in a Shakespeare play has spoken to me the way Walt Simonson’s Thor comic run did.  If you give me a choice between watching the latest Best Picture award winner or Ducktales: Treasure of the Lost Lamp, I know what I’m going for.

And there’s a tendency to think that this is because I like fun, frothy trifles.  But that’s not it.  It’s because those things speak to me.  They’ve influenced me in so many ways.  Not just in the way I write, but in what I believe is important.  Superman and Batman have shaped my perception of the universe in ways both profound and subtle.  I strive to write something as thrilling and beautiful as Incredible Hulk #300 (or maybe 400, I forget the exact issue).  I believe that the medium is not the message.  The message is where you find it.

As I’ve said before, one of the reasons I hate being classified as a comic fantasy writer is that it puts me in a category I just don’t believe exists.  The difference between Julius Caesar and King Kong is a fine line.  Both are great tragedies.  One just has an ape punching a dinosaur, and that only makes it more awesome, not less.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Keep it simple.

You don’t often hear this.  I don’t know why.  Maybe because if people knew how easy it was to write a story, they’d stop paying professional novelologist to do it and just do it themselves.  Although perhaps easy is the wrong word because novelology isn’t easy.  It’s a lot of work.  It’s just that people tend to think the easy part is hard and vice versa.

This is only my own personal experience.  I can’t speak for every writer, but the hardest thing about writing is sitting down and actually making yourself do it.  This is why most people never actually become writers.  Most people don’t have the indefinable quality to sit down and finish a story.  Not even a short story.  Much less a novel.  But it’s not always their fault.  Sometimes, they’re getting bad advice.

Writing a novel is difficult enough.  I know I wouldn’t do it if I believed half of what I’d read about “How to write” books.  These guides come from a well-meaning place, but they tend to put a lot of pressure on writers.  They might ask for plot outlines, character studies, world building, thematic construction, character arcs, etc., etc.  These aren’t always bad things to have in mind when writing a story, but as often as not, I find they get in the way of the creative process.

To begin with, they’re usually so much boring prep work.  It’s like arranging all your cleaning supplies on a shelf in the order you plan on using them, then measuring out how many rolls of paper towels you’re going to need, how much time must be allocated for vacuuming, when would be the optimal time for dusting, and deciding on how long your lunch break should be.  You could waste hours preparing to do something when you could just be doing it instead.  And those hours of prep work give you the illusion that you actually accomplished something, when all you did was get ready to accomplish something.

The same thing happens to writers, especially aspiring writers.  They might be able to tell you everything about the history of their elaborate fantasy world.  Or they deep, pychological scars that drive their detective to deliver justice.  Or the reason their character always wears sandals and likes cats, except for tabby cats.  They might be able to detail the nuanced arc their protagonist undertakes to learn that life is worth living again and that tabby cats are okay.  They can give you all the elements that make a story.

They just can’t give you the story.

Keeping it simple means forgoing the tedious arranging of elements, of doting loving detail on every single element of the story, and just getting the damn thing done.  You might make mistakes that way, but you’ll make mistakes anyway, regardless of how much time and effort you put into quantifying how magical powers work in your universe or how many hours you spent studying handguns or flamingoes or the history of Napoleonic France.

Keeping it simple has more advantages than just allowing you to get your novel done.  It allows you one of the greatest assets a writer can have.  You can be the audience, sit in their seat, and watch the show unfold.  If you’re eager to see what happens next, then how can your audience not be?  If you are just following an outline, screwing together plot points like rivets, you don’t really know if that’ll translate.  It very well might, but to me at least, that’s a lot of work to put into something that could just as well be working against you.

I keep it simple.  I don’t write intense backstories for characters if they don’t need it.  (And so far, only one has needed it, and that didn’t even come up in the book.)  I don’t worry about a central theme at the beginning, except when it’s so obvious that I didn’t need to think about it at all.  And world building should be minimal.  Enough to make it look like I know what I’m doing without pulling it out of the air.

The advantage for me is that when I sit down to write a story, I just sit down and write.  I don’t often know where I’m going, and I rarely, if ever, know how it will end.  This is what keeps me writing.  I want to know why endless waves of zombies are attacking the diner, why a hapless loser has been made immortal, and what would happen if we invited mythological gods into our homes and onto our sofas.  It’s what compels me to write these stories because, until I do them, I’m not honestly sure either.

A good story is a complicated thing, an amalgamation of intriguing questions, characters, memorable moments, and so much more.  It’s magic.  And maybe some folks can take all the ingredients of a great story and look at them before they’re mixed together and know exactly what they’re going to get.  But not me.  I throw them in the pot, stir liberally, add spices, strain out the unnecessary, and by the time it’s done, from almost out of nowhere, a story is born.

Maybe you are one of those writers who benefits from prep work.  Good for you.  More power to you.  But if you’re not (and I think most writers aren’t) it’s all right to work in a different way.  It’s already to take it easy, keep it simple, and just write to see what happens.  It’s what I do, and so far, it’s worked just fine by me.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Enough of that.  Let’s move onto something more fun.

Hey, hey, I’m on a new podcast for SF Signal.  You should really check it out because I’m witty and urbane and I think you’re life will be enriched for it.  Check it out at: www.sfsignal.com/archives/2010/08/the-sf-signal-podcast-episode-002-inteview-with-a-lee-martinez/  

I was having some mouth trouble at the time, and so you’ll excuse me if I mumble here and there (especially near the end when my anesthetic was wearing off), but never mind that.  You’ll still enjoy it and realize just how cool I am.

Death’s Excellent Vacation came out last Tuesday, and boy, howdy, am I amped to be part of that.  This is a great chance to reach out to a new audience, and I just hope, even though most people will be buying the anthology for other writers, that they’ll find something worthwhile about my own contribution.

The story is an original ode to Lovecraft called The Innsmouth Nook.  As usual, it doesn’t have anything to do with anything else I’ve written (other than my love of monsters).  I wondered, after I submitted it, if perhaps it might have been better to write something related to what I’d already written.  Maybe a short story with Monster or Lucky.  Probably would’ve been a smarter idea.  But it really isn’t in my nature apparently to revisit old characters and ideas.  Not yet anyway.

I’m sure that will change sooner or later.  Eventually, an idea will be so much like an idea I’ve already written that there will be no point in doing everything from scratch.  Even the pulpy story I’m working on now bears some passing resemblance to The Automatic Detective, but it doesn’t quite fit in the same framework.  Still, I’m not an endless pool of ideas and unless I start writing horror or romantic comedies, there’s only so many permutations of the sci fi / fantasy genre before I might as well just go back to the well.

Saw The Other Guys.  Funny movie.  I don’t know why exactly.  It’s completely ridiculous.  There’s no effort to have the story make sense.  The characters are absurd, the situations bizarre, and a big part of the humor is that you just don’t know what to expect other than weirdness.  It works though, and hats off to a cast of talented actors who manage to make the stupid brilliant.

Pimps Don’t Cry will play at my wedding, even if it’s a ridiculous and inappropriate song.  I just hope that Will Ferrell and his talented friends appreciate that.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

It’s time for our infrequent and irregular Ask A Smart Guy segment.  Let’s start with this comment someone recently posted on the site.