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No Offence?

April 22, 2014

One of the most recent books I’ve read has been Wilbur Smith’s Vicious Circle. I read a little Smith when I was younger and remembered the old-school adventures to be brutal at times but rip-roaring and jolly-good – something that would make a good change of pace from some of my other recent reading material. Change is as good as a holiday, right?

Too bad I found it downright unpleasant to read at times. The torture scenes, I was fine with. The underlying sense of chauvinism, I could deal with. Then the main villain got his backstory, and the reader is dragged into the abyss.

Without giving too much away, let’s just summarise that the backstory of this one charming SOB is a long sequence of shock-and-awe involving combined incest/paedophilia, prison rape, sex slavery and people being eaten alive by pigs. I didn’t take a dislike to Vicious Circle just because of the content of this sequence. It was because every scene was laboured over – we are voyeurs to every depraved act, and it comes across as tasteless and unnecessary.

Let’s stop there before this becomes a review of Vicious Circle. My point here is not to demonise this book (although let this serve as fair warning for anyone planning to read it). Rather, for me this is a launching pad into a wider discussion on explicit content in writing.

I’m no stick in the mud. Anyone who knows me, likely already knows that one of my favourite books is American Psycho: the poster child for protracted and gruesome torture scenes.

So, on to the obvious question: what is the difference between the depravity of Vicious Circle and the depravity of American Psycho?

American Psycho, to me, represents a theme-driven mode of storytelling. Every device – the killing spree, the repetitive lunches, the long diatribes on 1980s pop stars – are in support of the book’s intention. American Psycho is able to justify its explicit material as being in servitude to the story’s satire and criticism of 1980s society. Generally I’m sceptical of novels that raise its commentary to the same level as its story, and as an editor I commonly advise against it, but there are exceptions to every rule and, in my opinion at least, this specific title manages the balance well.

Conversely, Vicious Circle lays out a path of sexual depravity and violence that serves only to vilify the main antagonist far beyond what is necessary. One could take the American Psycho angle and argue that this character is meant to represent all the dark impulses of humanity, unfettered and without restraint in a world that eventually turns a blind eye to his actions. But it’s a secondary mechanism – worse, it hijacks a plot-driven book. The more direct argument is: we see the bad guy doing bad things because this is a very bad guy, and we need to feel good that the good guy is going to get the bad guy. Cut. Print. Good guy wins.

So when we talk about the application of extreme content, what does this mean for other writers?

It means that explicit material in writing is always going to be risky, even when the story demands it. By taking that risk, you’re already narrowing your audience by their tolerance of sex and violence. Always keep the audience in mind when writing darker material. A quick online search reveals that Wilbur Smith has evidently lost many fans with his latest offering – he took a risk, and perhaps it hasn’t paid off.

The human experience can include some harrowing trials, and accurate writing often must address the consequences of human cruelty and callousness. The difference is in the delivery. To come back to our scapegoat, Vicious Circle demanded brutality to complement its subject matter. But it was hoisted by its own petard due to poor application.

Treat these themes with respect. In one of society’s odd little idiosyncrasies, writers have a little more allowance with gore and brutality than with sexual depravity – indeed, some sub-genres of pulp crime practically make brutality a requirement. But both avenues of explicit material need a justification above and beyond ‘bad guys are bad’ or simple shock tactics. Otherwise you’re cheapening your own material in service of gratuity.

Beau Hillier | Editor, page seventeen

Courtesy Costs Nothing … Again

April 17, 2014

As everybody would know, we have just announced the [untitled] short story longlist. We received submissions for said competition through Submittable, a submission engine that more and more publishers, journals, and competitions are using. Submittable allows you to track where your submissions are, and will tell you where they stand: ‘Received’, ‘In-Progress’, ‘Accepted’, ‘Declined’, or ‘Withdrawn’. On the other side of the desk, Submittable will automate a lot of the duties we previously had to do individually, and also allows us to communicate (when required) with submitters en masse.

Now, let’s backtrack.

[untitled] (and page seventeen) are not profitable ventures for Busybird Publishing. In fact, they run at a small loss. We persevere with them in an attempt to contribute something to the literary community, as well as help give exposure to new and emerging authors. Moreover, we hope [untitled] provides a home for good stories that other journals might be too literary to consider. As we keep saying, We’re about stories.

The administration of the competition is performed by an intern. This involves downloading stories through Submittable, filing them (on her own computer initially, no less), logging details into a spreadsheet, and corresponding with any authors who might have queries. She also has to file hardcopy submissions, which are provided when she comes into the Studio. When the submission window closes, she comes in and files everything on this computer where this very blog is now being written.

Some might wonder whether every entry in the competition is read, from (as they say) cover to cover or whether some underhanded practice is in place, where a handful of submissions are randomly chosen, and the rest are discarded, unread. I’m sure more than a few people have considered that, or something like that. After all, there’s a lot of material to get through in a short space of time.

Well, we can assure you everything is read, the stories divvied (on this occasion) between myself, Blaise (head of Busybird Publishing), Beau Hillier (chief editor of page seventeen), and several assistant editors. What’s more, everything is read in our own personal time. This is also often the case with general submissions for [untitled], as well as for page seventeen, (and is probably the case with most unprofitable journals).

Sometimes, though, things can seem to go awry.

In this case, it involves Submittable not ticking over the status of submissions for submitters from ‘Received’ to ‘In-Progress’, so after the longlist was announced Tuesday, we fielded several queries asking whether we had, in fact, read their submissions. Surely, if we had, submissions would be listed as ‘In-Progress’ in the submitter’s Submittable account, rather than remain at ‘Received’, which seemed to imply that their submissions were sitting here unopened.

We checked our spreadsheet and found that stories in question had been logged. We then checked the folder that contained all the stories, and found them both sitting there. We then checked the file allocation, and found that each story had gone to somebody to read. Effectively, the stories went through the same course as all the others. Nothing had been overlooked on our behalf.

We then emailed the people at Submittable (who are always very prompt and helpful in responding), who explained the status only changes when the submission is assigned to a reader, a note is added to the submission, or a vote is cast or the review of the submission is completed – these are all internal Submittable functions, (which are available when one of our staff logs into our Submittable account). The status does not change, we were told, if the submission is simply downloaded off Submittable.

It’s deflating to be accused of some sort of impropriety, which – in this case – amounts to larceny (taking subs for the money) and fraud (but not then reading the subs). Should this really be the first response when something seemingly goes awry? Is that more probable than contemplating that there’d be some perfectly logical explanation?

This is not the first time we’ve run afoul of submitters. Early in our tenure, one submitter responded indignantly to being edited and pulled his story, then tried to offer it back. By that time, we’d filled the slot and offered to carry his story over to the next issue, but he re-withdrew it. We later discovered he’d behaved similarly with the journal 21D. On another occasion, we fielded a haughty inquiry about our response times. Sometimes, things get on top of us and we can slip behind. We don’t like it – we really don’t like it – but it happens. If you want to know the status of a submission, just ask. We’re happy to respond.

Most people are great – polite and understanding and a pleasure to work with. But, if for some reason, you feel you need an explanation for anything that’s occurred, feel free to bug us but, but, please, show some courtesy. It’s all we ask.

L.Z.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye…

April 12, 2014

You’ve been waiting for it.

I’ve been waiting for it.

Heck, maybe the whole universe has been waiting for it. Let’s not undersell this.

page seventeen is open for submissions as of today. As of right now.

Now, for the one heckler in the back that just yelled ‘so what?’ I’m going to take a deep breath and quickly summarise.

As of April 15, all our submission windows are open to determine the content in Issue 11:

General submissions: short stories up to 5000 words, poems up to 100 lines and pitches for non-fiction pieces. (More info and submit here)

Prose competitions: short stories up to 3000 words, poems up to 100 lines. (More info and submit here)

Cover competition: photos and digital art in the running to be used as the next issue’s front cover art. (More info and submit here)

We’ll be taking all submissions from now until June 30. That’s just over ten weeks for you to submit your work and potentially be included in page seventeen’s eleventh issue. Which, incidentally, will also be released as an ebook – meaning more readers than ever will see your name in the contents.

And, it’s also my pleasure to announce the judges for this year’s competitions!

The short story judge is Emilie Collyer, two-time Scarlet Stiletto Award winner with short stories appearing in many of Melbourne’s top literary journals. (http://www.betweenthecracks.net/)

The poetry judge is Ashley Capes, long-time friend and poetry editor of P17 and prominent Victorian poet. (http://ashleycapes.com/)

The cover comp judge is Kev Howlett, resident Busybird illustrator and artist.

Now, as the trumpets die down and the cheap paper steamers stuck across the archways peel away from their masking tape, some of you might be looking for hints about what we’re after in the submissions. What content will grab our attention the most? What themes will get the most attention?

Sorry. I can’t quite make it that easy for you. Our issues aren’t themed and have tackled a wide variety of content in the past.

What I can say, is that we love new ideas and fresh voices. Challenge yourself. Take a risk or two. We’ve always encouraged emerging writers to consider submitting to page seventeen, and we have a proud tradition of being the first publication for many emerging authors and poets. We want writing that bleeds passion and enthusiasm – whether the content is happy, grim or just delightfully off-beat.

To everyone submitting: good luck. Say hi at our Facebook page or on our Twitter feed, or send any queries through to pageseventeen@busybird.com.au.

And with that, the wait is over. The production of Issue 11 has officially begun.

Beau Hillier | Editor, page seventeen

Condensing Scenes

April 10, 2014

Something a lot of authors miss when writing are the opportunities to collapse two or more scenes into a single scene. This means that whatever they’re writing is longer than it needs to be, and also might contain static, one-dimensional scenes – scenes that singularly exist to deliver their point and nothing else.

Let’s say we’re writing a first-person story about a relationship. The narrator lives alone and we want to establish the domesticity of their life. Of course, being in a relationship, the narrator talks regularly with their partner. Obviously, these are very broad strokes, but we need only a general scenario to set up our examples.

Okay, next, let’s consider two scenes – the first is a conversation between the couple. It might begin like this:

Now imagine this conversation goes on for a page or so as they talk about something to establish the rapport of their relationship. For the sake of this example, the specifics aren’t important.

In the second scene, we’ll deal with the narrator coming home. This follows directly after the conversation …

I hung up and swung the car back onto the road, contending with peak-hour traffic. It was dark by the time I got home. I pulled into the drive and hauled the shopping out of the boot. There was so much I should’ve made two trips, but instead slipped my hand through the handles of all the plastic bags until they cut into my palms, then started for the front door.

From here, the narrator goes inside and puts the shopping away. The point of this second scene might be to establish the narrator’s domesticity so that we see their everyday routine – they’re busy, like to do things all at once, buy plenty of shopping to tide them over rather than just shop for the day, etc. It’s part of the world and character building of this piece.

So what we have are two scenes that deliver different pieces of necessary information, (or for the sake of this blog, let’s imagine they’re necessary for whatever story they’re part of).

There exists, however, the opportunity to collapse these scenes into one another. After all, visualise this as if it was a movie playing out in your mind. How exciting a scene is a narrator sitting in a car on the side of the road having a conversation, or the protagonist lifting the shopping out of their car and then putting it away?

Imagine we do it like this, though:

And so it would go on, the narrator juggling the conversation as they goes inside their house, wrestle with all their shopping bags, and put their shopping away.

By merging these scenes we’ve layered what’s happening. The narrator is no longer just sitting on the side of the road talking with their partner. And the domestic scene is no longer just a tour of the narrator’s life, but becomes integrated with a conversation that has to happen.

This also helps in another regard – actions interspersed through dialogue. So often, I see something like this:

Authors constantly feel the need to break up their dialogue with action, but are the actions of the character running their hand through their hair and biting their lip essential, or just something for the character to be doing? Often, they exist simply for the sake of existing. Using our example of the protagonist putting away their shopping whilst holding a conversation, everything that happens is needing to happen.

Moreover, presenting the situation like this – and let’s remember, this is the most basic example – actually contextualises the scene in a new light. Sitting on the side of the road having a phone conversation, there’s no emotional resonance, other than what the narrator brings in. Here, the narrator might be frustrated because they’re interrupted, they might be harried, the phone call might be the picker-upper they need, etc. The story drives what’s happening. And in trying to juggle everything, not only do things happen, but we’re challenged with new opportunities.

When writing scenes, question if you’re getting everything out of them, and/or whether you can merge them with other scenes.

It’s a simple technique, but it can help unfold your story in a whole new world.

L.Z.

Writer’s Block

April 6, 2014

I’m going to request some mood-setting on your part to accompany this article. Trust me, it’ll enrich the experience.

First, complete isolation is required. No one is to be in the same room as you. Turn off your phone and any chat windows you have open.

Next, we need dim, moody lighting. Draw the blinds or read this at night.

Finally, find some public-domain music, preferably something that amounts to an ominous drum beat. Press play.

Got all that? Okay. We’re ready to talk about writer’s block.

With page seventeen’s submission window just about to open, it feels like a good time to address one of the most notorious concepts behind being a writer. Maybe you’re someone looking to submit to page seventeen #11, or preparing for the competitions – maybe you even have an idea all ready to go.

Then the problem arises. You can’t get that idea on the page. You can’t get past the opening. Maybe you can struggle past the first few paragraphs until you find yourself on the edge of a canyon, and you can’t see any way to the other side. You can’t start. You can’t finish. You just can’t, can’t, can’t.

I could propose a series of methods to beat writer’s block. I could list the ways in which successful writers have dispelled the deadly curse. But chances are you’ve already read that. Writer’s block is one of the most widely-discussed aspects of being a writer; any how-to I put together will only join the mountain of articles that have come before.

So when it comes to methods, if you still need them, peruse what’s already out there and use trial and error to determine what works best for you. Half of it is contradictory anyway. One article will tell you that writer’s block is the cue to get away from your desk and do something else for a while, whereas another article will insist that you need to ‘chain that muse to your desk’ (in the words of Barbara Kingsolver, if you’re interested).

No. I’d rather talk more about writer’s block itself.

Turn the drum sounds off now.

The paralysis of writer’s block usually stems from insecurity – either one particular anxiety, or a tight little knot of several preoccupations. You’re not good enough. The idea is terrible. The words won’t flow. No one will read it anyway.

Pardon me for being direct, but no wonder you don’t get anything done if you’re that miserable about your own writing.

We’re all plagued by doubt, but if you’re letting doubt and insecurity get the better of you then you’re focusing on the wrong things. You’re a writer because you like being a writer. You like creating the stories, the articles, the viewpoints. Right?

Maybe you’re even set of making a career out of it – or you already have. And there’ll be bumps along the way just like with any other career – or any other hobby, for that matter. But if you want to keep going with that job, or that hobby, you find ways to overcome the situation if only to avoid the alternative: quitting. You adapt and evolve your methods based on the challenges you’re faced with. And you pat yourself on the back for finding a way through a sticky situation – then, you move forward.

Because guess what: writer’s block? It’s not that big a deal. There. I said it.

Open the blinds, or switch on a light.

The concept of writer’s block has enormous weight for many authors. The idea of writer’s block itself can often be the paralysis. Would there be so many writers struggling with this problem if the concept wasn’t named, catalogued and discussed so widely? One could say it’s the equivalent of a hypochondriac getting the flu and treating it like the Black Death.

Forget about writer’s block the same way you forgot about the boogie man being in your wardrobe. Tell yourself that you’re allowed to be stuck on something, to need a little more time than expected to get a specific passage the way you want it, but don’t call it writer’s block.

It’s actually a lot easier than it sounds. You just need to find the right way to communicate the idea to yourself. Talk to yourself in front of a mirror if you have to. Just don’t do it with anyone else in earshot – it can be a tad awkward.

Sometimes it’s a bigger matter. Life can disrupt the best-laid plans. Major events can derail your normal habits, or leave you with no mental space to be creative. Well, unless writing is your livelihood – in which case I might recommend having a plan B – sometimes it’s better to let it get in the way. Life’s an unpredictable mistress sometimes, and big things will happen that leave you bereft. Don’t punish yourself for that. The key is remaining optimistic that when you’re ready, the words will come again.

And if you’re still stuck on an idea, or can’t get past a scene no matter how hard you try – well, there’s a pretty straightforward way to start breaking down that barrier.

Invite someone into the room with you; alternatively, call or message someone. Tell them the idea you’re stuck on.

Because remember – you’re better than that, even if you don’t always believe it. You’ve devoted yourself to telling stories and embracing your own creativity – whatever your medium is. Don’t let a little hiccup like writer’s block get in the way.

Beau Hillier | Editor, page seventeen