Fox Thoughts

Of stories and vulpine tendencies.

[kandrel]

Self Examination

Good evening my bundles of fluff.  I come to you today not with answers, but with questions.

Because of the recent critical eye on some less desirable portions of the fandom (oh, and the Nazis.  Don’t forget the fucking furry Nazis.) I’ve begun to take a close look on the way that I write.  I want to make sure that I am the good guy I always imagine myself to be, and part of that means making sure that the causes I’m championing and the lessons I’m ostensibly teaching are intentional, and ones that I as a person should be able to get behind.  Most of this is fairly simple.  I write better tomorrows.  I write resistance and upset of the status quo.  I write an acceptance of the Other and an open mind to change and new technology.  Fine.  I’m happy.  I’m a good guy now, right?

I wish it was that easy.  All that stuff is pretty high-minded and ephemeral.  Sure, I can write to themes, but most of what I focus on my characters doing is fucking.  Face it.  I write Porn.  With a capital ‘P’.  And when I really look into that, it’s really difficult to find a right way to do it.

Sure, I could write vanilla smut.  Two equal characters without conflict.  Sprinkle in a modest serving of kinks as appropriate to the genre and skip directly to editing.  As any writer will tell you, that isn’t the recipe for a story.  That’s a fun night on insert-your-favorite-rp-chat-client-here, but it doesn’t make for a thrilling read, and it’s definitely not fit for publication.

The problem is that as soon as you introduce conflict, you introduce inequality.  One character will have power over other characters.  Just like real life, your characters will not be meeting on level footing, and that’s just the beginning of the troubles.  Conflict means pain--at least if you’re doing it right.  A story is about trouble.  It’s about characters experiencing their lows in addition to their highs.  They will do things they don’t want to do--things that aren’t good or kind or honorable.  They’ll hold bad opinions and they’ll express opinions in a hundred little ways that aren’t good or healthy.  And that’s a good thing for a story.  A story needs these imperfections in characters and in the situations they’re facing to be a good read.

As soon as you throw porn into the mix, though, this whole recipe starts to sour.  People are so stuck on sex that anything you write is magnified a hundred-fold when it’s done as part of a sex scene.  If you have a female character that’s being taken advantage outside of sex, you have a good conflict that can lead to character growth.  When you have a female that’s being taken advantage of sexually, all of a sudden you have rape.

No, of course I’m not promoting rape, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?  I’m writing a story that other people will read for gratification, and simultaneously I’m trying to not fuel rape fantasies.  Similarly for all the other horrible things people will do to each other.  They work well as conflict, but when you’re trying to get someone off, it’s really difficult to make clear the difference.  ‘I support this sex.  This is good sex.  You can get off to this sex.’ as opposed to ‘This sex shouldn’t be sexy.  Please don’t get off to this scene.  It’s not meant for you to get off to.’  Sure, I know that some people will get off to parts of my story that I didn’t intend.  I accept that.  Hell, in a lot of situations, I love it.  However, when it’s something like this?  How can I keep the conflict while still stating ‘This isn’t me, and I’m sorta hoping this isn’t you either!’

This isn’t the only example of ways that sex throws a spanner into the works of my stories.  For any number of possible conflicts, adding the presence of sex turns the scene from an acceptable plot point into a powder keg.  I’d really like to hear how other authors navigate this minefield, because I’m finding it increasingly more and more difficult.

Don’t mistake me.  I’m not going to stop writing sex.  I like writing porn.  It’s a sizeable portion of what motivates me to write.  I hate the feeling that there’s a broad swathe of literary ground that has become a proverbial badlands, and it feels like the borders are expanding.

Please help.  How do you guys and girls get through this?  I’ve had problems with this for some time, but this is the first year where it was so serious that it actually scuppered my submissions.  Both Heat and Hot Dish had stories half-written that, because of the themes contained, I just couldn’t finish writing without feeling like I’d stepped over a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

[kandrel]

Arrival - SPOILERS

Have you seen Arrival yet?  No?  Shoo!  This is not for you.  It’s a great movie.  Go out and see it.

SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER

While I’m busy with that, I must say I’m disappointed that I can’t seem to get the hide content elements working in tumblr.  Seems like it’d be useful to be able to actually hide spoiler content properly.

With that said.

SPOILER SPOILER SPOILER

Okay, I think that’s some good donkey pants.  Consider my ass covered.

Just got back from seeing Arrival, and I believe it used a technique that I’m intrigued by.  It’s something I’ve seen other stories do before, but I don’t believe I’ve used it in my own writing yet.  Now that I’ve seen it used so masterfully, I think I might try.

The technique is thus.  Open the story with pain.  Break their heart.  Then when you’re asked why, say ‘Because it’s worth it’.  This is one of the few movies I’ve ever seen that asks you to embrace that pain.

This is something that people have a lot of trouble with in general, even outside the realm of storytelling.  It’s a rare person that, knowing the tragic end, will still go through something in their life just for the pleasure it brought them along the way.  It’s very much a journey, rather than the destination.  It’s shooting for the moon, even knowing that you’ll never make it out of the atmosphere.  To be clear, this movie is very clearly exploring a sense of determinism, rather than some sense of hope.  There is no hope.  Hope is not knowing the outcome.  This is living without hope, and still finding a way to enjoy every second along the way.  It’s very bleak, but it’s also uplifting.

I’m not sure that I have my own destination with this.  It’s just something I wanted to get out just after having seen the movie.  It was an inspiring piece.  Thought provoking in just the right way for me.

[kandrel]

Editing Poison

Hello again my yellow-footed tits!  I know it's been a while, but your fox has returned to you, like an unlucky penny.  Today I'd like to talk about an experience I've had a few times, and hopefully, find out if you've experienced this, too.

As part of my regular duties as an author, I regularly read stories written by other furry writers. While I'm a horrible proofreader, I've been told in the past that I have a fairly good handle on plot structure, story flow, and compelling characters.  The stories I get to read are, by my own demand, 'complete' in the eyes of their writers, but not yet ready for copy editing or proofing.

You might imagine that I run across a lot of issues when I'm reading, and I do.  Inconsistent or bland characters, story arcs that go nowhere, pointless threads and unclear motives—these are the demons I fight on a daily basis.  I try—boy do I try—to be kind about them.  A great editor once called the technique a 'shit sandwich'.  Sure, there's a lot of problems that you need to address, and it does no one any favors if you don't attack them directly.  But a little diplomacy goes a long way, so in general I try to open with something I liked, and then after I break their hearts, I close with something else I liked.

However, once in a while I run across a story that has something I call the poison pill.  When I hit one of these stories, all editing immediately stops, and the idea of the shit sandwich gets thrown out.  I believe it's vitally important to call attention to these as soon as I notice them.

A poison pill is a concept or a theme that the author explores that I would consider so overwhelmingly negative to the story that no other portion of the narrative can be examined until it's resolved.

For example, some time back I was asked to read a story about a late-teenager in a gay relationship.  It was your regular coming-out story.  Step 'A', family problems.  Step 'B', hostile school environment.  Step 'C', cartoonishly evil school bully.  Fine.  Whatever.  We've all read these stories, so do what I can to at least make the characters less archetypal and more like people, clean up the plot to give it some arc, throw in some development here and there so-

Then I hit 'the line'.  The protagonist—a weedy prey species that has no fighting experience that's been explored so far in the story—somehow beats up the bully.  Okay, it's a power fantasy.  Shrug and move on.  He's walking away from his defeated foe and his boyfriend asks, “Shouldn't we call the teacher?”

“No.”  Says the protagonist. “There's no helping people like him.”

No helping people like him.

Like him.

Are you fucking kidding me?  You've crafted a story about developing ones self and diversity and acceptance, and you pull that golden shitshow out of your ass?

The first thing I do is scan forward.  Any time I find one of these, I first need to make sure it wasn't intentional.  See, it's not inherently wrong for your characters to have toxic opinions like this.  It could all be part of their growth—as part of fighting for their own acceptance in society, they learn to better understand their tormenters and see where the hatred is coming from.  That's a nuanced and interesting bit of character development.  That has value.  That has weight.

The poisonous pill isn't when your characters express these troubling views—it's when you then, through the rest of the agency of the story, champion this kind of opinion as the 'right' one.  It gives an insight into the opinions and views of the author.  Many times, especially if their inexperienced authors or (especially) young, they may not realize just how their inner voice sounds to someone who's heard that kind of bullshit coming from real people in the real world.

Let me make it clear here.  I'm not using my editing as a platform from which to preach life choices.  If the person for whom I was editing the example above made it clear that they profoundly believe 'people like him' are truly irredeemable, well, fine.  I disagree, but I'm not going to try and 'fix' them.  They came to me for editing, not for counseling.  It's my job to make them understand what a perceptive reader could take away from their story—not only about their characters, but about them as an author.

Now if you're out there saying 'But it's just one line.  Remove it and the story's fine.'  You're right.  That's not the problem.  The problem is that we've touched on a deep problem that could have influenced the rest of the story.  It could be why some of the characters seem so flat.  It could be why the plot felt so stilted.  I believe that the best fiction comes from the author coming face-to-face with their own inner demons, and there's no better place to start than the ones that you never even realized were there.

Here's a second example—and the one that brought me to write today's little diatribe.  Another author of mine sent me a story to peruse, this time one they believed was close to ready for submission.  The character wakes in a hospital bed.

“You took quite a fall” says the friendly nurse.

“You are mistaken.  I jumped.” says the patient.

Warning bells.  Red flags.  Sirens blaring.  This is a piece of erotic fiction.  Did we just open with attempted suicide?  Boy howdy, Mr. friendly nurse, for all that is right in this world, please set this kid right.

“It'll be trouble if I report that, so I'll just put it down as an accident.  Don't you have any one back at home that could take care of you here?  A wife?  Family?” Flirt, flirt, flirt.  “A boyfriend?”

Of course, I summarize, but it made it no easier to read.  Okay, Mr. Editor Fox, read forward and make sure it's not intentional.  Nope, no, no lessons learned, no problems caused.  That's actually how the author intended it to sound.  A nurse—one of those poor soldiers that have to try and help pick up the scattered threads when someone does commit suicide, is brushing this guy's admission under the carpet for the chance at an on-page fuck. No, no, nonononono.

To his credit, when I brought up the poison pill, the author was mortified. I'm not sure what state he was in when he wrote it—thinking that it was the right way to handle that kind of issue—but when he went back and read it himself, he immediately took the draft back for a major rewrite.

And that's been my experience so far.  On the whole, people are good. When you show them just how something they've written could be read, they're horrified.  “Oh, I never meant it to sound like that.” “Jeez, what was I thinking?”  “Shit, that's nothing like what I wanted it to say.  Sorry, let me pull that back and fix it.” Still, something about this process always sets me a bit on edge.  I don't want to feel like I'm the moral arbiter of my author's beliefs. I dread the day I go back to someone and say 'This story reads like you're trying to say <x>'.  If their response is 'Yes.  And?' I'm just not sure how I would react.

My fellow editors, do you run into these?  If so, how do you handle them?  I'm genuinely interested in how you work with stories that seem to champion core beliefs that are so diametrically opposed to your own.

Thanks guys, and happy pen-wiggling!

[kandrel]

On Character

Ugh.  I really should take breaks when I read.

Hello again my sticky little lumps of love.  I’ve just finished shotgunning two books.  My back is sore from finding comfortable positions to read in.  My eyes are sore because I can’t wear glasses while laying down and reading--every time my head hits a pillow they get pushed off or smeared.  My toes are sore.  Actually, I’m not exactly sure why my toes are sore, but I’m sure I’ll find some reason to blame it on reading.

First of all, I want to say that I don’t do this often enough.  It’s a failing.  I should be reading more than I do, and I know that my writing suffers for it.  Like always, I promise to myself that I’ll do more reading.  Maybe it’ll stick this time.  Second, I want to apologize to all you fuzzy authors out there.  No, they weren’t furry books.  I own so many furry books, and most of them sit unread (see point one.)  To be honest, though, I don’t think I could find it in my heart to get onto social media and rip apart the writing of my fellow fuzzies.  We’re not a big fandom, and I’m not yet confident enough in how I think criticism helps or harms us in a commercial sense to risk making that mistake.  Instead, I’m going to talk about two books that have absolutely nothing to fear from my opinions, because they’re already multi-bajillion-sellers.

I think I’d like to talk about Storm Front first, the first book of the Dresden Files.  This comes by way of a bunch of friends all suggesting that I try this series out.  Okay, folks, you’ve convinced me.  I tried it.  What do I think of it?  Eeenh, well, it was pretty good.  I’m not sure that I’m sold on them yet, to be honest.  Perhaps, just like with The Color of Magic--a mediocre beginning to what’s now my absolute favorite series (Discworld)--I just need to give it more time.  And you know what?  Storm Front has done that.  It has bought the Dresden Files more time to convince me that it stands up to the expectations I have from friends relentlessly selling it to me.  However, it isn’t what I’d call a great book.  Somehow, it seemed to be aware of the fact that it was the beginning of a series.  Each of the characters bursts onto stage with an introduction, then waltzes back off with only marginal correlation to the rest of the story.  At each introduction, I felt like I was just being shown the cast that the author would pick from to write a more thorough story at a later date.  I think the story would have been better served if it wasn’t written with the intent to have a next story after it.

Expanding on this, here’s one of my biggest bugbears when editing a story for one of my fellow fuzzy authors.  Too often when I suggest a way that the story might be improved, I hear the following: “I can’t go that way.  [soandso] needs to live because he’s the star of my next story.”  “Oh, that’s just the way the character is.  You’ll find out all about them in the next story.”  This pisses me off.  If I were to paraphrase here, what’s actually being said is “I’m making this story worse so the next story I write can be better.”  Think about that for a moment.  Taken as a string of stories, can I just assume that each story is worse than it could have actually been, just so the last one will be, what, a true masterpiece?  I don’t buy it.  And if the ‘it’s-all-covered-in-the-next-book’itis continues, I quite literally won’t buy it.

The second book I wanted to cover, though, is quite a different gem.  Some of you may be aware that Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors.  Well, he’s definitely maintaining that streak with The Ocean at the End of the Lane.  Holy fuck, where to start with this story.

I think it comes down to the book’s best strength: the characters.  I could take a masterclass on believable characters from this story.  I can break it down to three noticeable traits of the writing:

First, the subtlety.  No character screams their personality to the reader.  It’s implied.  It’s inferred.  I as a reader feel smart for having figured out that the main character was afraid of the dark before it became a plot point.  I had an idea as to the identity of the Hempstocks pretty early (mainly because I’m aware of the author’s penchant for their archetype) and was slyly smiling all the way along when they made oblique references that anyone new to Gaiman’s style might miss, then pick up a second time around.

Second, it’s the willingness to show the ugly without staining the whole character as bad.  Too often, characters are a collection of traits that are acceptable to their archetype so deeply that the traits themselves lose meaning.  The main character is a bit bad.  The bad characters are a bit good.  All of them have traits that are pretty far outside the norm, in such a way that it’s always a little bit of a nice surprise to figure out something new about the characters that you never would have expected.  This is especially meaningful when you mix it with my first point.  No one screams out their little unexpected quirks.  There’s a little voyeuristic bliss to be had in getting just that little glimpse into a character’s life outside the story, and it makes for characters that feel much deeper and much more complex than they would be without it.

Third, Neil Gaiman understands children.  Fuck, this is hard to do.  As someone who’s attempted to write from the perspective of a child before, it’s so difficult to walk that line of blissful ignorance and canny intelligence.  There is an art form to writing the part of a child that’s diabolically difficult for most writers--I know this because so many of them fuck it up when they try. 

The end result is that Neil Gaimans characters feel real.  Hell, he gives such humanity to his otherworldly and fae characters that they feel more human than some actual humans I know.

There’s more I could say on this story.  Just like most of Gaiman’s work, it’s well paced.  It’s delightfully strange.  It’s difficult to predict.  It’s everything that I look for in fantasy.  Five foxes out of five.  Would read again.  Will read again.  Might read it again tonight.

[kandrel]

Content

Good evening again my plucky perambulationistas!

I am not a content fox.  For those of you who are about to respond with an 'Oh, I'm sorry', or 'I hope things get better for you', don't worry.  This is not a cry for help.  Instead, hulk-like, I'm simply revealing to you the source of my super-powers.

This is not to say I'm unhappy.  Quite far from the truth.  My life is good.  I am secure.  I am loved.  I feel as if I am contributing meaningfully.  I am fulfilled.  Yet with all that, I am not content.  I believe there is a significant difference.  To be happy is very much of the moment.  It is a second to second affirmation of being.  Contentedness, though, looks forward.  To be content is to look at tomorrow and say "I need do nothing more than what I am doing now to be happy tomorrow."  I don't.  I look at tomorrow, and I know that to be happy again tomorrow, I need to be better than I am now.  In this, I am not content.

Let me tell you how this came about, because I believe it might be significant to some of the people out there reading.  I have a friend who will remain nameless here (and before you ask, I have his permission to talk about this.)  It's not uncommon for us to talk about our successes and failures with posting stories--primarily on SoFurry--and share some absolutely horrible opinions.  He said something that worried me, though, and immediately I recognized a sizable difference between us.  "You're lucky.  I've posted ten times the number of stories you have.  I know I'm a good writer.  I just wish people would notice me."

And right there, I knew where things had gone wrong.  He was no longer just happy.  He was content.  He had stopped growing, and had shifted the blame from himself to his audience.

There is a problem that many of my friends (myself included) suffer called imposter syndrome.  It's the feeling that, despite any evidence to the contrary, we're frauds.  My artist friends don't think they draw art.  They're just using tricks to fool the eye.  My coder friends aren't wizards with machine logic.  They just remember this old bit they wrote for a different program, and eh, it works well enough and no one will ever notice.  I am not a good writer.  I'm just faking it.

Don't feel sorry for us.  This feeling of insufficiency is the kindling for our fire.  I imagine that my next story will inspire.  I strive so my next story will change minds.  Despite the fact that my last story didn't, I dream that my next story will rock the world.  Even better, this impotence is our armor.  I'm not afraid of rejection.  It simply affirms what I already know: I'm not yet good enough.

In fact, I've only got one fear.  I am afraid that one day I'll be content.  Because on that day, I'll stop getting better.

[kandrel]

The Role of the Anthology

Hallo, my happy homphs--oh, and my hairless herps, too.

I had a comment earlier that made me think.  This happens every once in a while, so I broke out the gear oil, put the fire at the tips of my ears out, and figured I'd write it down for you.

"Oh, hey!  I thought your name sounded familiar.  I didn't realize I'd read your stories in (insert anthology here)."

This is hardly the first time I've heard this, and I'm sure I'm not the only one to hear it.  I understand.  I smile.  I nod.  I thank the person for buying and let them know (quite sincerely) that I hope they enjoyed it.  But while I continued all that regular social contact, a seed of a thought was planted, and I ruminated to let it grow.  When it sprouted, what I thought wasn't entirely nice to think:

Novels are for the author.  Anthologies are for the reader.

When I think of a book being written, I think of a brain wave.  I imagine an idea so intense and so powerful that it demanded to be put onto a page.  Yes, a good book should entertain.  A good book should challenge and inspire its readers.  These are all qualities of a good book, but they aren't necessarily the reasons why a book is written.  For an author, a book can be just as much catharsis as it is a commercial product (and usually more the former than the latter.)  When you read a book you're experiencing a bit of the author's psyche asserting itself--and for the author that feels good.  Damn it feels good.  There's a lot of work, and a lot of swearing, but when you've got the manuscript sitting in front of you...  I'm not sure I can think of a more satisfying feeling.

Once that book hits the shelf, it continues to be all about the author.  When you buy a book, you're going to remember the author's name.  For better or worse, reading it leaves an impression on you that's firmly in the shape of that author's boot.  People talk about the book in the recommendations section on Rabbit Valley.  Reviewers deconstruct themes, and talk about how it's so like that author to write that scene that way.  Even if the reception is so-so, it's still a sort of validation.  People read it, and it meant enough to them to write something back about it.

Anthologies, though, are a different beast altogether.  At their inception, someone (usually the editor) says "I know people like (x) kind of stories.  Let's get people to write (x) kind of stories, polish them up real nice, and make a shiny book full of them."  Even the ones that don't have a specific theme, like Heat and Hot Dish, have a general theme of passion or eroticism.  When readers buy an anthology, it's a good bet they know what they're getting themselves into.  I'd bet the vast majority of people who buy an anthology do so because they like the theme, rather than because of any particular author in it.

For the authors, we only rarely get a break-down of our individual story in an anthology.  Oh, it happens, but it's rarely more than a few sentences or a short paragraph, and we as a whole rise and fall as a group with the overall quality of the anthology, rather than individually as a result of the quality of our writing.  Even worse, it's so easy to disappear into the crowd.  Just like the comment I received that started this whole thought, even if they thoroughly enjoyed your story, readers still may not remember your name.  It's a pain.  As someone who's tried so hard to be noticed, it's disheartening.  In short, I don't believe that anthologies are particularly good for authors.

Please, please, please, my friendly editors and slush pile readers, I am not saying that anthologies shouldn't be made, or that I'm going to stop writing for them.  Quite the opposite.  For fans of the theme of the anthology, it's an absolute blast.  It's for their benefit.  And you know what?  That's a good part of the reason I write.  I want people to enjoy my stories.  Even if they don't remember me afterwards, I'm happy that someone read something I wrote and that it moved them in some way.

But I know in the back of my mind that anthology stories are just practice.  They're a holding pattern.  They're the currency with which I will buy greater achievements.  I needed them, and I will continue to need them.  They're good practice for things I may not be confident in yet.  They're a way to try out themes that may not immediately interest me.  And just like other types of writing, there's still that certain catharsis of getting a story out.  Even after years of writing short stories for inclusion in anthologies, I still get an incredible rush when I get an acceptance email.  At the very end, though, I have this niggling feeling in the back of my mind that I know they aren't what I'll be remembered for.

[kandrel]

On Tropes and Training Wheels

As happens fairly regularly on Twitter (and other social media outlets) I was asked for an opinion.  I'm not sure why people are interested in the rambling of a cock-addled fox, but whatever.  I like talking, and apparently there are people who like listening.  Who am I to complain?  In this particular instance, I was asked to provide a list of 'tropes' I was aware of in furry literature.  'Sure!' I thought.  'No trouble!  Let's see there's...  Well, and there's...  Um...'

The perceptive reader might notice that of course I didn't have trouble thinking of tropes.  No, that was easy.  The tough part was thinking of tropes that I haven't used--or that I even continue to use on a regular basis.  Obviously, I couldn't give them as examples, because then some troll would post examples of me using them and call me a hypocrite.  Talk about embarrassing!  But I was asked for my opinion, so my opinion I would--by damn--give!  So there must be tropes that I don't use, but that are pretty prominent in furry fiction.  It might be a shorter list, but I could definitely provide that.

But thinking on it, even those ones that I didn't use, I could recognize them out of my favorite works as well.  The only reason I hadn't used them is that the opportunity hadn't arisen yet.  It would.  If I continued to tell stories (and I can't see any particular reason why I would stop) I would eventually use them.  So what, exactly, are we mocking here?

So I had a sit and a think.  Had a hot chocolate.  Listened to some music.  I let myself cogitate.  What exactly was it we were condemning here?  Let me make it clear--this was a condemnation.  People don't collect tropes because they think they're awesome.  This isn't a reader's group talking about their favorite author's techniques and tricks.  When you hear the word 'trope', I'll bet you foxes to ferret nuts that it's meant derogatively.

Should it be?  I mean, I know that I've called authors out on it while editing.  Multiple times.  Hell, I've had people rewrite entire sections of story to avoid tropes.  It's the right thing to do.  It's what a proper beta-reader and editor would do, right?  Right?

Well...

First, I want to have you think about the life-cycle of a story-teller.  In the beginning, we're all imitating the stories we like.  Thinking about it now, this is where 'tropes' are most important--not because of what we should avoid, but because of what we should use.  I mean it.  An inexperienced storyteller can use the tropes to hone their art while making passable pieces of fiction.  Think of them as training wheels.  So here's one I'm sure you're all familiar with:  "Story opens with furry looking at themselves in a mirror."  You'll hear experienced authors moan about this.  Ugh.  Overused.  Overplayed.  Cheap excuse for an infodump-y description.  Well, want to know why it's a trope?  It's because it works.  It's hard to find a reason for the character to be giving a description of themselves, and even if it's a trope, at least it's giving those newbie story-tellers a reason to actually do a description.

But just as we're starting to get more comfortable with the process of writing, we age and we learn and we progress.  During the next phase of a story-teller's life, we'll slowly recognize those training wheels for what they are.  Over the next while, we start to remove them.  We become aware of the tropes, and once aware, avoid them.  We hunt for ways to fit things into our stories in new and novel ways.  Using the example above, instead of a mirror, we look for ways to fit in small titbits of the description into the narrative so the person experiencing the story slowly gets a whole image of the character in their mind.  This is more elegant.  But remember that trope we're now avoiding?  It trained us.  It had us writing descriptions even before we were 'ready' to.  We've described a hundred characters.  Sure, we had a bad excuse for doing it, but at least we can write a description.  We know what's important to describe, and we know how to do it with style.  And now that we're learning to do it in an elegant fashion, we're well prepared.  Would we be if it hadn't been for the training wheels?

This is the phase of a story-teller's life where you see the most complaints about the tropes.  Authors like me who've recognized the training wheels for what they are look back at their own stories that used them and shudder.  They read other people's stories, and those tropes immediately pull them out of the story.  They edit with a scalpel to excise those tropes from everything they see and read.  It's as if we're over sensitized to them, because we see how we used to rely on them.

And we look down on the people who still use them, even though we shouldn't.  We're the too-cool-for-school kids with their eighteen-speed bikes, looking back at the young kids with their training wheels.  We're pointing and laughing from our comfortable older age and greater experience.  And the younger or more inexperienced story-tellers feel ashamed, because every time they try to remove a trope, they end up falling.  Their story gets away from them, or they never find a way to describe the main character, or they end up falling onto a different trope they didn't even know was a trope until another one of us upper-classmen laugh and point again.

There is a last phase of this life cycle, though.  At the end, those of us who've spent enough time picking on the little kids finally grow up enough to look back at those training wheels we used to use.  We pick them up and roll them over in our hands.  They weren't really bad.  They were perfectly functional, we just used them badly.  We take a second look and realize there's actually something beautiful and elegant about them, if we use them just right.  We go back to those tropes, and we play with them.  We use them to set expectations, then break them.  We hide them in our work as jokes, waiting for someone to realize they were just "trope'd" and never knew it.  We brazenly base our stories off a well-known trope, but write them in such a way that it feels novel and fresh.

The best part of this story is that it's a circle.  When I write a story that uses one of those tropes in an elegant fashion, new story-tellers read my story.  'Hey, that worked' they tell themselves.  'It's an easy trick!  I could do that!'  Then they'll try to emulate it.  They'll see the training wheels I've artfully used, and bolt them inexpertly onto their own story.  It'll work--if only just.  It'll give them an excuse to keep writing.  It'll give them a safe opportunity to learn.  It keeps them from falling down.

We know the training wheels are stupid-looking and juvenile.  But we're authors.  We're thinkers and story tellers.  We're the imagineers.  Remember that with just the right amount of imagination, a bicycle with two extra wheels could just as easily be called a car.

[kandrel]

Getting Out of the Corner

Hello again my precious weebls! I did a derp today, and after fixing said derp I began to wonder “Huh, I wonder how many other of my daring dudes done did ‘dis derp.” Once I stopped obsessing over trying to alliterate with ‘d’, I realized that I was being stupid. Probably everyone who’s attempted to write a story has done this, and hell, I might as well give my own views on how to get out of it. Maybe it’ll help some one else out of their own problem.

In short, I wrote myself into a corner. I did it with the best intentions, and the scene should have worked the way it did in my head. But it didn’t, and as hard as I tried, it wouldn’t. I’ve heard from other writers before that it’s okay. Just skip over it. Come back to it later. It’ll make more sense in the long run. Maybe it’s a weak scene, but an otherwise strong story can carry it.

Fuck.

That.

Noise.

I will never intentionally leave a weak scene behind. I want my stories to be a piece of art, beginning to end. At risk of sounding like those endlessly editing people out there, I’m not letting something out to roam until I’m happy with the way it all works, and this scene was definitely not leaving me happy.

But that’s okay. Not being happy with something is how we make it better. This was hardly the first time I’ve run across a petulant scene that wouldn’t behave, so I’ve developed a whole toolbox of tricks to fix problematic scenes. And since I’m such a nice fox, let me lift the lid of this toolbox for all y’all. You’re welcome inside, though if you see something that looks like a puddle, it’s probably best to avoid it. And if something looks like a penis, it probably is a penis. Just… Well, just look over here, and if you want to go wandering around later, I’ll give you a map, some lube, and my best wishes. For now, though, let me introduce you to this fox’s tools of the trade. Here is how I write myself out of those corners I seem to love writing myself in to.

Identify

First, I need to figure out where it all went wrong. For this, I have three things that I ask myself as I read through the scene as it currently stands:

“When did the action stop driving the narrative?”

“When did I stop caring about what’s happening?”

“When did I start skipping paragraphs after reading the first few sentences?”

Usually, all three of these things start happening at about the same time. Once I have that, I back-track to the last point where I’m confident in the scene. It may be a paragraph or two back from the start of the trouble. The tool to use here is pretty easy. Hack-saw everything in the scene off and save it on the side for later. There might be really good passages to use in there—no reason to throw away good work with the bad, but there’s no guarantee you’ll need them yet. Or, if you do need them, that you’ll need them in the same order. From here on, treat those passages as ready-made patches to drop into place, rather than a good continuation of the story from the last good spot.

Everything past here is now considered new content, even if it uses some of the old stuff you used to have in its place.

Change

First, you need to recognize that you need to change the way you’re approaching the scene. This is not optional. If it wasn’t working before, then some decision you’d made about the way the scene should go was wrong. Accept that. Forgive yourself. Now find a better answer. If your solution is always “It was a good scene, I just need to write it better” you may be doing your story a disservice.

This could absolutely mean that you need to change some more drastic parts of your story. Maybe you need to change a character’s personality. Maybe you need to change the order of events. Maybe you need to change the conclusion. By clutching on to those old decisions you made, you’re hampering your ability to properly improve your story. Never be afraid to re-imagine the story as better than it currently is.

Accentuate

This is the first tool in my box that is optional. Identifying and accepting that you need to change a problem aren’t optional, but how you fix it is. So the very first thing I try when I’m looking to change a scene is to make it more extreme. One problem of writing a compelling story is that many writers look to real life for their clues, and in real life, things in general aren’t very dramatic. Arguments are as much about saying the wrong things as they are about saying the right things. People aren’t usually as hurt as they claim to be. Things don’t go as bad as they could have. All that is realistic, but it’s not interesting.

If you’ve lost the interest in a scene, it might be time to ramp it up a notch. Does someone sprain an ankle? Break it. Is someone’s feelings hurt? Burn that bridge. Is someone badly injured? Kill them. It’s not appropriate in every situation, but a lot of boring scenes can be made much more exciting by upping what’s at risk for the characters. Even if the end result of the scene is about the same, the scene itself will carry a lot more weight because of the depth of its drama.

Catalyze

The second thing I look at is whether my scene feels too solitary. Especially in first person narrative, writers like to keep things simple. People do things on their own, like the rational, normal human beings they are. But someone competently doing his job on his lonesome is boring as shit. Want to make it more interesting? Add in a friend. Add in an enemy. Add an incompetent. Add in an asshole in a hat. If the action itself is necessary but not particularly interesting, then let the character interaction make the scene.

Again, this isn’t right for every scene. First, ask yourself how dense the story is with characters. If you can’t count the important characters your reader should be keeping track of on one paw, you may want to rethink adding in a filler character. In that case, bring in someone whose character you’ve already explored. It’s a great opportunity to both achieve something in the story that needs to happen and develop your characters at the same time.

Consolidate

The third tool I like to call the ‘paste’ tool. It’s good for sticking your characters together—even more efficiently than a knot! Basically, are things getting to complicated? If yes, then axe off a character from the very beginning, and see if there’s someone else already important to the narrative that can take their place. If the story still works, then you never needed them in the first place.

The real test for this is if you need to read back to remind yourself of a character’s name. If you need to do that, the character hasn’t had enough time to make them stand out in your memory. If you’re already ten thousand words deep in your story and you find yourself still having to remind yourself of their name, it’s a good bet that they’re just not that important. So either make them important, or end them! I will make you never have existed motherfucker! I will travel into the past and fuck your mother with a garden hoe to make sure you were never born you sonofa-

Ahem. So, you get the idea.

Make it Weird

Oh yeah, you knew I was going to go here. The orgy’s just not fun unless your friend brought his dog, and Sheila’s out back pissing on some guy in the pool, and who the fuck invited that two-dicked demon who’s trying to talk the twins into a threesome?! Okay, maybe that’s not all your scene, but fuck if it’s not interesting.

No, I’m not telling you that you need to make it kinky, but if vanilla is just boring, then you might need to update your concept of vanilla. Sometimes this is as simple as a change of scenery. Put the scene somewhere you wouldn’t expect it, like in space, or on the moon, or some weird shit like that. Sometimes you can get away with giving a character some hidden interest or talent that makes them stand out. It doesn’t have to be perverted or kinky. It could just be that they’re actually the oboe in the local philharmonic orchestra in their off time, and no one thought to ask.

There’s just two rules for this. First, make sure that your weirdness fits the tone, style, and reality of your story. If it’s not physically possible, or if it pulls the reader out of their happy immersion, don’t do it. Second, do your fucking research. If your character IS the oboe player, then you’d better at least know what an oboe is, how it sounds, and how he’d physically play it.

-----------

Of course, there’s lots of other ways to fix a bad scene, but I’d say these are the ones I use ninety percent of the time. Do you have some you prefer? Have you got a different tool you love and use regularly? Let me know! I’ve had precious little feedback to these little tutorials, and I’d love to hear if they actually help you.

[kandrel]

The Sometimes Y

Earlier this afternoon, while I was meditating in my cerebral chamber (that's the phrase I use to describe procrasturbating in the shower), a particularly neat set of random neurons fired and led me to a realization.  This will make more sense if I take the long way around describing.  Don't worry, I won't be describing the 'meditation'; I mean I'll describe the conclusion I came to.

There is an impenetrable wall in the middle of physical sciences.  It's all basic intuitive shit to begin with--throw stuff up, it comes back down.  Throw something to the side and it keeps wanting to go that direction until something else slows it down or stops it, etc...  Sure, some of the math can get a bit hairy, but in general all this macro physics stuff is pretty self-explanatory.  Then you hit the wall.  Bam.  It's ten feet thick, steel reinforced concrete, defended at every post by assholes in lab coats, and for fuck sake, most people just can't muster the mental army to take it by storm.  This wall's name is 'Quantum'.

Sure, there's a lot of crap metaphors, but these are windy, twisty little passages through which the normal person just can't manage to fit themselves.  They get lost in the wall, and are never heard from again.  Or, well, they are heard from.  Loudly and proudly, that all this 'Quantum' shit makes no sense, and they're proud that they got out while they could, because all that 'Quantum' drives you insane.

I can't stand this shit.  Why?  Because no one should ever be proud of their own ignorance.  Accept it?  Fine.  Learn to work around it?  Good for you.  But never, never proud.  But can I really blame them for it?  I wish I could, but I can't, because to be honest that shit doesn't make sense.  They're right.  Things that exist in more than one place simultaneously?  Things popping into reality and back out randomly with no rhyme or reason?  It absolutely amazes me that anyone has made it through that wall alive and is managing to send back care packages from the other side (if you don't think quantum mechanics has actually solved anything for you, then put your smart phone away right now.)

Okay, so back to my shower-based self-manipulation and discovery.  I realized that all of us--every single one--has already performed the feat of mental arithmetic necessary to understand and accept the first principles of 'Quantum', and no one even knows it.  Forget the cat, and the box, and the poison, and all that weird stuff, because no one thinks like that.  Instead, I'd like you to recite the vowels in the alphabet for me.  That's right, do it out loud.  You can even feel sorry for the people around you if you'd like.  They don't understand that you're actually in the process of understanding complicated physics thought experiments, even though it sounds like you're back in preschool again.

So what did you all say?  "A, E, I, O, U, and..."  Did you catch that last part?  "Sometimes Y."  If you didn't say "Sometimes Y" then you obviously weren't taught in the American public school system, in which case I both pity and envy you in equal measures.

See, Y is a quantum vowel.  In some cases it's a consonant, and in others, it's a vowel.  Even though this is mostly just semantics, most people understand and accept it without question.  So if I were to show you a 'y' on its own and ask you whether it was a consonant or a vowel, you couldn't answer.  Or, more accurately, you could say it's both.  The 'y' is both a consonant and a vowel right up until you observe it 'in the real world' as it were.  Once you see it in context, you know for a fact that it's one, and it immediately stops being the other.  Just like an electron, the act of observation determines the state of 'y'.  Before you read it or write it down, 'y' is both a consonant and a vowel simultaneously.

This is the biggest and hardest hurdle to quantum physics at which most everyone fails.  This is 'The Wall', and we all were given the tools to scale it when we were six.  So instead of doing some thought experiment that may or may not involve killing a cat (which I'm not entirely comfortable with) just say 'Sometimes Y'.

[kandrel]

The Mind Game

I've talked about a bunch of stuff that's ancillary to the process of writing, but anyone who's seen me at conventions knows that I'm much more interested in talking about the writing itself, so let me fix this disparity.  I want to talk to you guys about one of the biggest problems I see with most adult furry fiction.  I've spoken about this before, and I've had a good amount of discussion and dissection of my opinions.  I think at this point I'm ready to get all of my thoughts down in a more comprehensive manner, so without further preamble, let me introduce you to...

The Mind Game

First, since this isn't regularly discussed, I feel this needs an introduction.  Just to set the scene, I'm going to state an assumption that, while it seems obvious, I've been argued on:  One of the primary purposes of erotic fiction is to arouse and stimulate the reader.  Depending on the thrust of your story, it may not be the only primary purpose, but if you're not intending to arouse the reader, I'm going to argue that it's not 'erotic fiction' at all, but simply a story that contains some explicit content.  Good with that out of the way, I'm going to propose to you that The Mind Game is your most potent tool for arousing and stimulating your readers.  Most of you probably already use this subconsciously, but just like any technique or tool, the better you consciously understand it, the more expertly you can use it.

In short, The Mind Game states that the mechanics, position, and physical action in a sex scene are only important when they serve to create and right mental and emotional reaction from your characters.  Like with a lot of writing techniques, this means you need to think about your scenes backwards: Decide what reaction from your characters is the hottest, then engineer the setting, props, scene, and positioning to achieve that reaction with the least description of mechanics possible.

When you first read it out, this seems counter-intuitive and a bit wrong.  A lot of authors really rebel against the idea of minimalism in description.  Especially in sci-fi (my chosen genre of expertise) entire reputations can be made with detailed descriptions of otherworldly and alien experiences.  Let me draw attention to two of the words I just used there, though: "Otherworldly" and "Alien".  Detailed description is the most important when what you're describing is not familiar to the reader.  When your readers can clearly imagine your characters, it's actually to your detriment to spend too much time in description.

In fact, this applies doubly so to erotic scenes.  Remember that you and your reader have the same goal in mind.  You want to stimulate them, and they want to be stimulated.  Because your reader wants to be aroused by what you're writing, your most effective tool is actually your reader's imagination.  Let me emphasize that: Nothing you write will be as hot on the page as the scenes your readers are imagining while they read it.  This is a double edged sword, though, because imagination is a stubborn horse.  You'll only ever be able to generally guide it in the right direction.  No matter how hard you try, people's imaginations will add in things and remove them where what you wrote doesn't exactly agree with their own personal tastes.

Don't fight it.  Use it.  If you accept that the best you can do is guide your reader to the general region of hotness, then you can rely on their imagination to fill in the details you don't specify.  Even more, those details they fill in will be custom tailored to the reader to make that scene as hot as possible.  The more of this you do, the more details your reader will fill in, and the hotter it will be to them.  In fact, when you take this idea to its logical conclusion, you're really just building the skeletal structure of a hot scene, with all of the meaty bits actually being filled in by the readers themselves.

"But Kandrel," I hear you cry, "All you've actually told is what not to write.  This isn't useful!"  I disagree.  I'm actually of the opinion that this is what separates a writer from an author.  A skilled writer knows what to write, while a skilled author knows what not to.  This doesn't apply solely to erotic scenes.  Using your reader's imagination is important in every genre.  But you do have a point.  I've told you what to take out of your erotic prose, so I guess I should tell you what to put back in.

Remember, at the beginning of this, I stated that the reaction of your characters is what's most important?  I'd suggest that when you remove all those flowery descriptions of the explicit, squishy bits, that you replace them instead with reactions from your characters.  Those are how you inform your reader that they should (or, in some cases, should not) find what's going on hot.  Want to know the magic secret?  If, through your characters, you tell your reader that they should find something hot, many readers will find it hot even if what's happening in the scene isn't to their tastes.  Again, let me emphasize that: If your readers are emotionally invested in your characters, and you make it clear that your characters are aroused, your reader will be aroused.  This is independent of kinks, independent of sexual orientation and preference.  That's right, my fluffy keyboard-pounders.  You can get your straight readers off to a gay scene.

No, I'm not going to say this happens every time, nor does it work for everyone with every story.  What I'm saying is that by using your characters reactions and emotions to subconsciously inform your reader what they should be feeling at that time, both you and your reader are more likely to achieve your original goal: to get your reader off.

Of course, it's never so simple as following step a, b, and c to hot-town.  Just like any other part of the art of writing, this takes practice and artistry to do right.  I can't tell you exactly what to do, because it will change from scene to scene, and from story to story.  So instead of telling you specifically what to do, I'm going to tell you what to think.  These are the questions you should be constantly asking yourself: How does this make my character feel?  What does this make my character think?  How can I show what this is doing to my character?  How can my character react to this in a way that shows the effect of what's happening an a clear, concise way?  Those questions should take priority over mere mechanics.  Yes, it's hot to know when position changes, but it's significantly hotter to know how that change in position hits all kinds of new and interesting spots when character's lover gives a good hump.  Yes, having sex in a shower is hot, but I really want to know how your character feels about having the hot water cascading down through their pelt while it's all happening.

This may mean a big change to the way that you think about writing sex scenes, but before you ignore my advice and go back to your step-by-step description of the physical action, let me challenge you to try this.  Even if you don't keep it, and even if you don't post it or share it, try it.  I think you may be pleasantly surprised.  Don't expect to get it perfect the first time, but even inexpertly done I think you'll notice a big difference in the 'hotness' of your scenes.

I hope this helps, guys.  Please, give me some feedback here!  Do you find this useful?  Do you disagree with my opinions?  Does this not work for you?  I'd love to hear back.  As always, love from the fox, and keep writing.

[kandrel]

The Cover Letter

Well, I didn't exactly intend to turn this tumblr into a 'how to', but if people want, then I shall provide.  Just like before, let me make it clear: this advice is for small publication and furry publishers.  If you're trying to submit to a larger publishing house, they will have their own (and wildly different) guidelines for cover letters.

Do I need a cover letter?

Yes.  And no.  No, because you can get away with it sometimes, if your story is good enough, or if you know the editors, etc...  Yes, because why the hell would you not include one?  It's common courtesy, and you are automatically at a disadvantage to someone who's included one before the submission editors have even read your story.  So no, sometimes you can get away without including one, but realize you're shooting yourself in the foot by doing so.

What is a cover letter?

First, if they include criteria in the submission guidelines, follow them. Close this window and pay attention to what they say, rather than what I say.  Sometimes they'll need to know very specific things from you, and if you don't include those, you might be in trouble.  The rest of what I'm going to say here assumes that they haven't given you instructions on what you should include.

Otherwise, a 'cover letter' can be as simple as the text contents of the email you send with the submission.  It used to be that you should include another text file with your submission that contained the cover letter, but that's become less and less a 'thing' since editors have started to use google mail boxes to organize their submissions rather than directories or spreadsheets on their local machines.

What should it contain?

I'll forgive you if you skipped down to this.  I put the other stuff up there just to cover my ass and answer the more obvious answers before I dug into the meat of this.

Introduce yourself.  Just assume you aren't as well known as you think you are.  Even if you personally know the editor of the anthology you're submitting to, remember they might have other people involved that don't know you, and you really can't assume the editor is going to write your cover letter for you.  Some useful contents here: your real name and the name you publish under, if it's different. Your publishing experience, including other anthologies you've been featured in, solo books you've published, awards you've won, etc...  If you feel uncomfortable boasting, read on.  I'll justify it later.

Summarize your story.  No, don't 'tease' your story.  Summarize it.  Ruin the plot.  Editors don't need to be 'caught' by your clever twist.  I know as an author it hurts to blow the secrets, but this is actually really important.  Why?  Because the editor needs to know what you're trying to do.  The editor needs to know if you're attempt to pull a Shamalanian twist, or whether that 'gotcha' moment was actually unintentional.  This can make the difference between an editor accepting or rejecting a flawed but fixable story.

State why your story is appropriate for inclusion.  This is maybe the most important part of the cover letter.  Does the anthology have a word count limit?  State the word count of your story here.  Don't make the editor look it up.  Is there a theme?  Make it clear you're aware of the theme, and that you believe your story fits it.  Did you write the story fresh for the anthology?  Say so!  The other important thing here is to make it clear whether the story is already posted, published, or available elsewhere in any form.  This is essential if you've posted it online, or submitted it already to another anthology.  If you don't let them know that you've posted or submitted it before it's accepted, there will be drama.  Drama is your enemy.  Do not invite drama.

Give your thoughts and feelings about the story, the theme of the anthology, or anything else you feel might be pertinent here.  Remember while you're doing this, though, that you're selling yourself (and your story).  More on this below.

Thank the editor for the chance to be included in their publication.

Selling VS Modest

A lot of authors aren't confident with their own work.  Actually, from my experience, most aren't, and the few that are confident aren't nearly as good as they think they are.  Even I am constantly made aware of the failings of my own work, and I'm a smug egotistical asshole.

But remember that through this whole process you are selling yourself and your work to the publisher.  This is not the place for insecurities and doubts.  The publisher won't praise you for your modesty.  You aren't being humble.  You're being stupid.  In short, put on your red dress and get ready to hit the streets.  I know it's uncomfortable, but you have to sell your story on its merits.

That said, though, there is a benefit to knowing your story's flaws.  Doesn't that contradict what I just said?  No.  Not exactly.  As an analogy, when you're in an interview, you can expect to be asked the question 'What's your biggest flaw?'  It's a cliche because it's true.  It does happen.  Just the same here, it's actually useful to know the ways in which your story failed to do what you originally intended it to do, but in the same breath, you need to know how they can be fixed, and engage the editor in that process.  Make them aware of a section you're not quite happy with, then give them the option of different ways you could improve the scene to better fit the tone of the anthology as a whole.

Submitting for publication is all about being a professional, even when you feel like a hack.  Don't cut corners.  Don't rely on friends.  Don't slack off.  You've spent a lot of effort to create a story in the first place.  Would you really want to have wasted all that time and effort because you couldn't be bothered to act professionally?

[kandrel]

The Creative Divide

Or, the grass is always greener.

I recently had the chance to sit down with an artist and chat about our respective disciplines.  The very first thing he said surprised the fuck out of me.

"Sometimes I really wish I were a writer instead.  I spend hours--no, days--working on a piece that people will look at for thirty seconds."

This statement left me rather gobsmacked for a few seconds.  Really?  I've always wished for the ability to create a piece that can tell a whole story to the reader/viewer in just thirty seconds of viewing, rather than requiring a time investment of half an hour or more.  What the artist saw as a weakness, I saw as a strength.  Further, what I viewed as a weakness of my own medium, the artist saw as one of its best points.  How odd.

So it's had me thinking, and I do believe that the give-and-take really does even out.  With writing, I understand and accept that fewer people will appreciate my work than that of an artist.  I ask much more of a reader than an artist does of a viewer.

On the flip side, an artist can realistically expect a larger pool of viewers for their work.  Seeing art is an easy, casual experience.  I can link someone to a piece of art, and they can appreciate it with hardly any time invested.  If they approve, they can do the same, and their friends can do the same, etc...  The word of mouth engine can spread a piece of art far and wide.

But because of that ease of accessibility, should an artist expect that even their magnum opus would be a less impactful or less fulfilling experience than a similar piece of writing?  That's what the artist I was speaking to seemed to believe.  What we're missing, therefor, is a measurable metric of impact.  In my opinion, it doesn't exist.  An individual person can say 'I am more affected by art/writing.  That medium speaks more profoundly to me as a person.'  That's entirely valid for a person.  As a whole, though, I don't think any conclusions can be made.  I think the difference is really only skin deep.  Art is easily accessible, but takes more effort to tell less story.  Writing demands more of its reader, but allows its author a lot more room to expand and elaborate.

That said, do I think I've taken the easy road by being an author?  No.  Yes, I can tell much more story in much smaller space, but being a skilled author is just as much knowing what not to write.  An author who abuses their ability to expand by constantly info-dumping and world-building without attention to plot and timing is a pretty poor author--just like an artist who fills every available space with things with no eye towards composition is a pretty poor artist.  Are there some days I regret my decision to write rather than draw?  Sure.  Once in a while.  Once in a while I'll reach a scene that I think could be told better without any words.  A scene where just a facial expression would convey emotion better than even the most evocative prose.  But then, for every one of those days, I have another day where I couldn't imagine telling a story as in-depth or complex as I crave with art.  It'd take years of invested time to draw something that takes me a month to write.

It's a trade-off.  Any time you find yourself wishing you told stories in a different fashion, remember that every medium has its drawbacks.  If you're an author looking over the fence at someone else's art, remember that it took them months to tell even a single scene of the 'story'.  If you're an artist reading about the fantastically complex and intricate stories that you know you'd never be able to tell with art, just remember how you can make people laugh, cry, or shout without ever uttering even a single word.  In the end, it all evens out.

And the furry fandom wouldn't be nearly as fantastic as it is today if it didn't have both.

[kandrel]

Writing advice - Art

Or, what to expect, what not to expect, what to do, what not to do, and how all dem art stuff works.

This is something that comes up so often when I'm talking with newer authors that I think it's worth an article.  I really wish I'd had something like this, because I've made many of the mistakes I'm suggesting you avoid below.

Just a quick note: This advice, as far as I'm aware or concerned, is only useful within the furry fandom.  I can't advise you on art in the professional publication sphere.  Also, I'm assuming you're approaching this with some semblance of financial responsibility.  If it's actually your intent to throw money at something just for your own enjoyment and the benefit of friends and fans, then you're on your own.

So, you have a story. Are you intending to publish it?

No: Then my advice basically stops here.  Anything you purchase for this story is going to be a loss, because there's simply no method by which you're going to monetize it.

DO:

Realize that anything you commission for this story is out of your wallet and on your back.  That said, if it will bring you pleasure to get a picture of your favorite character, then go for it.  Who am I or anyone else to deny you that?  Hell, post it along with your story, and people may enjoy your story that much more now that they have a picture to go with it.

Inform the artist if you're intending to use their art as an advertisement for your story.  Even if you aren't intending to make money off of it, artists may feel like you're abusing their art if they aren't aware of what you're doing with it beforehand.  Most artists will be fine with this as long as you're not making money off their art.  However, it is your responsibility to make them aware.

Offer to do trades and collaborations with artists that have made it clear they're open to them.  If you're friends with an artist, doubly this.  There's lots of artists that have made their name by illustrating that comic written by someone else, and there's lots of authors who got their start by writing the story behind that art.  Just do your research beforehand.  Look at a few journals or their commission guideline.  Many artists will advertise if they're open to collaborations and trades.

DON'T:

Don't use art as a bludgeon to get people to read your story.  Reading a story takes a significant investment of time, and not everyone's ready give you that time.  If someone enjoys the art but isn't willing to read the story, then you have not failed.  The art has not failed.  The artist has not failed.  The person is simply not interested in investing time to read your story.  Accept it.  Move on.

Don't expect the artist to read your story.  When accepting commissions, most artists are looking for simple scenes to illustrate.  Simply state that the scene you're asking them to draw is from a story, and if prompted, provide a link.  If they ask for character references, give them short and accurate descriptions.  If they ask for a scene description, provide it to them without excerpting entire passages from your story.  The $8 sketch-mission you've just bought is NOT buying four hours of the artist's time to slog through your eighteen chapter online series.  Make the source available, but don't force-feed it to them.  They will not thank you for it.

Don't get angry about trades or collaborations.  Artists are people, commonly with busy lives and full schedules.  Just like you, they're afflicted with creative-itis that tends to eat up what little time they have around earning a living.  You are not entitled to their time.  You did not buy it.  If you ask them to do a trade or collab and they turn you down, thank them, smile, move on.  If they agree to do a trade or collab buy for any reason don't follow through, thank them anyway, smile, move on.

So you're going to try to get your story published.  Has it been accepted for publication yet?

No: Then stop thinking about art.  Entirely.  Stop.  Please.  This is the category where I see the most trouble.

Having artwork already done for your story doesn't make it more publishable.  In fact, it can make it less so.  First of all, the art that you commissioned for your story isn't publishable, unless you're also the artist.  Just like printing your story requires a contract and payment, art has more formal requirements to appear in print than the simple commission you got.  Under normal terms of a commission, for example, you wouldn't be allowed to start selling prints of the art for your own profit.  That, in a roundabout way, is exactly what using art in a printed book or anthology is doing.

Also, just because you personally like an artist's work doesn't make it of a quality or style the publisher wants to have in their brand.  It's really uncomfortable to go to an author and say "We liked your writing, but the art sucked."  Maybe the artist is a personal friend.  Maybe you're somehow attached to the art, and they've just insulted you.  In that situation, it's entirely likely that the publisher may turn down your story just because of the baggage attached to it.

Lastly, if you've submitted a novel, then don't think about what you want the cover to look like.  Don't think about who you want to do it.  You're setting yourself up for a heartbreaking let-down when your novel is rejected.  In the long, arduous cross-country race that is getting a novel published, getting the right cover art is the victory lap at the end.

So your story has been accepted for publication!

First of all, congratulations!

No, seriously.  Most people who write don't get to this point.  Either they lack motivation, or dedication, or skill.  A lot of writers are entirely happy with just posting things on SoFurry and counting the +favs.  There is nothing wrong with that, but you decided to strive and try to go that extra step beyond.  Seriously, congrats.

Now, the publisher's just asked you a question: Do you have an artist you'd like to do the art for this piece?

Do:

Suggest a personal friend who you're sure has the skill, capability, and time required to produce professional art for your story.  The publisher will investigate them, and if they're up to the publisher's standard (and they haven't managed to piss off the publisher because of drama or shoddy practices) you might end up with a truly stunning piece.  If you do end up working with a personal friend, then you can probably ignore most of the rest of the advice here.  You know your friend a lot better than the publisher will.  You'll know how they work best, and what you'll need to tell them versus what you can let them do on their own.  Those are the rewards of friendship.

Bring up the name of an artist that you know regularly works with the publisher if they have a style you think particularly suits your story.  Listen to what the publisher tells you.  If they say that they're already working on content for another story, or may not be available, then accept it and move on.

Don't:

Don't just pick a name out of the 'top ten artists of the year' hat.  While getting art for your story is exciting and exhilarating, this isn't a get-art-for-free ticket from your favorites.  Yes, I know how similar this is to the 'do' just above it, but you'll know if you're making the right choice.  There's a fine line you're walking here between finding the right artist for your piece and using the publication process as an excuse to get free art from your favorite artist.

Don't be afraid to let the publisher handle it.  It's their job to make every story they publish as attractive and beautiful as possible.  Just like you're a professional at arranging words into pleasing collections that people want to read, they're professionals at arranging stories and art into pleasing packages that people want to buy.  It's not just that they have your best interests in mind--it's that your best interests are actually the same as their best interests.  Work with them, not against them.

So your publisher just asked you for an art brief.

Oof.  You're an author, not an artist.  What do you know about visual scene design?  Why are they asking you for this?

The answer is that they're asking you because of everyone involved, you know your story best.  I'm betting that you have at least a few iconic scenes from your story that stick out in your mind.  You can envision them as they're happening.  You know exactly who's doing what, and where they're standing, and what the room looks like.  Plus, you're an author.  You can use your fancy words to describe that scene in minute detail.  Trust your instincts.

Why?  Because without an art brief, you're entirely at the mercy of an artist who, as I've stated above, is entirely within their rights to not have read your story.  Without an art brief, not only will they get details wrong, but they'll get the entire scene wrong.  The tone will be wrong.  Everyone will be frowning when it's supposed to be happy.  Your character will be the wrong colors.  They will get it wrong because you gave them no guidance.  Your publisher will know the artist.  If your publisher is asking you for a brief, it means that your publisher thinks the artist will work best with a brief.

I'd suggest if you've never written a brief before (as I hadn't before I wrote mine) ask the publisher if they have any examples of art briefs other authors of theirs have given them that were particularly well received.

So you just got your contributor copy, and the art you got sucks.

This is the hardest advice I'm going to give you here.  Smile, thank the publisher.  Say the artist had a unique perspective on your work on social media.  Thank the artist and promote their personal site.  Keep smiling and promote the book, collection, or anthology.  Yes.  I'm telling you to lie.

Why?  Because this isn't the stop for the drama train.  Accept it.  Learn from it.  Move on.  By bitching, especially publicly, you do yourself, the artist, and the publisher more harm than you could imagine.  Once your story has been printed, you're the spokesman for that product.  Don't dump on it, asshole.

Are you really disappointed?  Was something just genuinely wrong?  Then talk to the editor or person within the publisher you were working with.  Talk to them in confidence and privately.  Involve no one else.  They may even agree with you.  Commisserate.  Learn from it.  Move on.  And never speak of it again.  Don't be 'that guy'.

So you just got your contributor copy, and you love it.

Welcome to, in my opinion, the greatest feeling a furry author can get.  Seeing your own words, printed neatly and professionally, with nifty/sexy/awesome art next to it, is some of the most life-satisfying high I've ever had.  This, right here, is why I'm in the game.

Thanks for reading, guys.  Don't agree?  Tell me.  I'm assuming if you're reading this, you probably came over from my twitter.  If you didn't, though, go poke me @kandrel.  I might even alter this if someone's got an opinion on this that makes me change my own views.  The only reason I've taken the time out to write this up is because I just can't remember seeing anything like it, and it's a question that comes up so often when people are asking me for advice.

Good luck out there.  Keep writing!

[kandrel]

Long Form Foxiness

Welcome everyone to the Long Form Fox.  If I end up using this more often, I might make it look better.  For now, I'm more concerned with the advice I'm giving than the window dressing it gets.

Normally, I try to tailor my advice from person to person, but I think I'm going to post things here that are a bit too lengthy to fit into 140 characters, and are asked often enough that I want to try and help as many people as I can simultaneously.  Fox efficiency!  Now, if only I could figure out how to do this with blowjobs.

Anyway, no promises on how frequently I'll use this.  I'm not sure I want to make it a regular thing yet.  In other words, watch this space.  Or don't.  Ain't decisiveness a bitch?