Writing

Coming To Our Separate Senses

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com, Steve’s Tumblr, and Pillowfort.  Find out more at my newsletter, and all my social media at my linktr.ee)

You may remember my earlier post on “granularity” as a measure of quality of story.  My take was that good work has a level of detail, much as a visual work does.  Some works of broad tropes may be big, colorful detail (like an 8 bit game), others may have fine, subtle detail (like a realistic painting).  I felt the visual metaphor was useful.

In a discussion with my friend Serdar, he brought up how he had a similar term for good works – pungent.  That work that has a power to it that brings a reaction just the way a strong smell does.  Pleasant or unpleasant, it has a certain something that draws you in, a depth.

I went with sight as a metaphor.  He went with smell a metaphor.  I suggested we should find other metaphors using the remaining senses, but by the time the joke was made I took it seriously.  Why not experiment with metaphors to understand creativity?  My creative friends and I are always trying to find metaphors to understand what makes creative work good.

Writers, artist, cosplayers, etc. want to know what’s good, but creativity is not so easily classified.  But exchanging metaphors and comparisons like this?  That’s valuable, small signs and milestones to help us get where we’re going.

(OK now I’m using a map metaphor.  See what I mean?)

By taking a moment to think about good works as pungent (as opposed to my granular), I gain a new way to appreciate good works and improve my own.  Is this story I’m considering more soy sauce or fermented pepper paste?  Should a blog post be like a delightful smell that lures you in, or the punch-in-the-nose scent that gets your attention?  For that matter, could I be writing something so bland there’s no “scent” at all?

I invite you to exchange metaphors and brainstorm them with your creative friends.  See what kind of visceral relations and comparisons you can come up with.  Your differences will probably lead you to some informative places . . .
They may even lead to metaphors that are pungent.  Or granular.  Or use some other sense . . .

Steven Savage

The Granularity of Good Stories

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com, Steve’s Tumblr, and Pillowfort.  Find out more at my newsletter, and all my social media at my linktr.ee)

Why can some stories with broad strokes – tropes really – satisfy us while others disappoint?  This subject came up in a writers’ group when we discussed tropes, and someone noticed simple stories of good versus evil could still satisfy as much as complex ones.  I responded that simple stories can still have depth as surely as a more nuanced work, because both had granularity.

However I wasn’t sure why I was saying that.  I could visualize what I meant, so to put it into words, I wrote this.

When we think granularity, we think of the level of detail in a report, a game’s graphics, or just a description’s detail.  Some things are “big and chunky” (8-bit game graphics), and others are “fine-grained” (research data catching differences among subjects).  Good stories, worldbuilding, and characters also have granularity – but the kind varies.

Look at what is often considered a “good” book or movie.  There’s depth to the characters and setting.  There’s subtle detail about motivations, political history presented subtly that still gives you a century’s events and Checkov’s guns that were more of an armory.  There are levels of fine detail there, like a painting of many colors and delicate brush strokes.

In short, “good” works are often ones with granularity, those details and extras that make it real in our minds.

But what of those simpler works we enjoy, one that may be very simple, trope-filled, or both?  Sure some are real simple, but aren’t many books and movies “good” without all the fine detail of other works?  In fact, I’d say yes – because a “good” work that’s simple or trope-filled can have granularity of a different kind.

The “good” broad, trope-filled book or show has granularity as well, just not at the level of more complex works.  Think of the difference between 8-bit graphics and modern cinematic videogames.  The first presents a world realized in big, colored, obvious dots.  The second is a subtle palette of colors and detail.  Both can delight, but they deliver a different experience.

The “good” book of broad strokes?  That’s the 8-bit game.  There are differences, there are details; they’re just big, obvious, and not always subtle.  But there is some level of granularity and detail, it’s just not the same or the same amount as other works.  It’s “chunky.”

A standard “charming rogue” character can be boring; we’ve seen that all before.  Let’s give them one trope of a soft spot – they never abandon their friends.  Next, throw in a flaw like overconfidence, another trope.  But that’s enough to tell an interesting tale about a person who’s dashing but not always responsible, never abandons people but overestimates their ability to do so.  Three tropes together give you enough depth to enjoy and feel something.

You need enough granularity to bring the characters and story to life.  Be it a “good” book of the incredible detail or a “good” show that is filled with tropes with enough big chunks of detail to give it meaning, you can enjoy yourself and the experience.

And you, my dear writer, just need to find what granularity does what you and your audience want.

Steven Savage

Legacy And Transition

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com, Steve’s Tumblr, and Pillowfort.  Find out more at my newsletter, and all my social media at my linktr.ee)

By the end of 2023 I’ll have written one book shy of forty books.  That’s the kind of thing to make one think.  Add the covid crisis, a world in the midst of change and turmoil, and a few life milestones, and I’m thinking a lot.

Somewhere in those thoughts is looking at those forty-minus-one books and asking “what’s next?”

I could write more of course, and doubtlessly will.  However I feel myself gripped with a desire to cultivate and consolidate my existing writing to do the most good.  It’s like I suddenly inherited a portfolio of book rights, only I inherited it from my younger self.  So what do I do with it?

It’s a lot of responsibility that I’ve dropped in my own lap.  Here’s what’s gelling in my mind:

Some books, I think, just are out of date and should be retired.  I could just make them free, maybe updated with a message, but there’s no reason to promote them or publish physical copies.  Perhaps I’ll print out 10-20 copies and donate them to close the door.

I just hate the thought of these being gone but past is past.  The responsible thing is to not to have it worry me.

Some books deserve a second or third edition and maybe a new cover.  They’re worth it, especially with some tweaking, updating, and a new look.  Some are even worth a rewrite every five or ten years.

Some of my works address specific needs and can keep evolving.  Updating them seems both responsible and kind of fun!

Finally, I want to take most if not all of my ebook only books to print.  That’ll take effort, especially as I’m looking to explore other ways to publish and get into bookstores.  However it’ll be worth it to create a physical legacy for my work – especially the Way With Worlds minibooks.  Part of me imagines an indie bookstore with a bunch of those minibooks on a shelf waiting for writers . . .

This builds a legacy and increases the reach of my work, and arguably some of my best work.

The above is not a simple effort.  However it feels worth it (or most of it feels worth it).  Maybe the next year or two will involve a larger focus on updating my catalog instead of expanding it.

Thirty-nine books isn’t enough.  But maybe I’ll take some time to do right for most of them – and the books to come.

I look forward to people’s opinions.

Steven Savage