Being Garrulous (again) with Benjamin X. Wretlind (Part 2)

This is the second part of a conversation between author Benjamin X. Wretlind and myself. Please see Part 1 here.

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MKR: Besides leaving a legacy through your writing, is there anyone you hope to inspire? Is there any message you hope to convey, any ideas you want to put out into the world?

BXW: I think you touched on a sort of running theme when you interviewed me way back when. I like to say people are the sum total of their experience and if we just look at the outside, we'll never really understand them. That often leads to stereotypes, discrimination and even bullying. For example, in each sketch in my novel Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, there is one man who is seen through the eyes of each character.  Most assume he's a crazy nut, a homeless man who talks to himself.  However, there's a very long history to that man--war vet, disabled, wife and child, etc.  Why does he act in a particular way, and why does he appear the same, yet different, in strangers' eyes?

I used to think people were generally bad. There was no good in them, so why bother to understand them. The older I get, however, the more I've started to see each person as that sum total of their history.  If that's the case, if I interact with that person don't I become another summand in their equation?  Shouldn't I want to instill something of value to their present?

I do have a lot to say on this subject, but I'll leave it at that right now.  For your part in writing science fiction, what do you want people to see in your characters? Do you have a central theme you're running off right now?

MKR: When one is a child, it seems that everything and everyone is good and beautiful. Sadly, some children learn too soon that that is not the case, like Maggie, in Castles. I think that as we age the misery in the world overshadows the beauty of it. We may remember a beautiful spring day for a short while, but we'll really remember the tornado that took out ten houses the next block over and swept a family of four into oblivion. A kindness done to us by a fellow human being may linger in our memory for a day, but an act of vicious cruelty can haunt us for a lifetime. I fully understand, then, the inclination to see people as inherently evil, especially considering the influence of Christianity on our culture that very explicitly states that the reason we no longer reside in Paradise is because of our wickedness. And it was this view of humanity as inherently base, as our bodies essentially worthless when weighed against the immortal soul, that led to the terrible conditions of Medieval Europe during which most everyone's life was "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short," to quote Thomas Hobbes. And the worst part was, that was accepted!

In my view, it really took Enlightenment thinking, humanism and deism, to introduce to the Western world the idea that every human life has worth, every human being deserves to live peacefully and free of oppression. Here was an idea that if there is no immortal soul, if this body, this life, is all we have, how can any one of us justify bringing misery to another human being? We still haven't achieved the ideal of the Enlightenment but we are much closer and at least now the goal is there, where before there was only doom and gloom.

I love your view of human interaction. Yes, we each play a part in the lives of everyone else we encounter. Some of these roles may seem trivial but suppose it is something as simple as smiling at a stranger who looks sad? We may have brought a little joy, a little hope, to that person. We must always attempt to give value to one another's lives rather than take value from them. This is the foundation for forming a more-ideal society.

Now, after all that, I will answer your question. I realize I do go on. You asked "...in writing science fiction, what do you want people to see in your characters? Do you have a central theme you're running off right now?" In Sullivan's War, I hope that readers go away asking two very simple questions: what makes a man good? and what makes a man bad? This is touched on in Book I but explored in more depth in Book II. I don't have an answer for that. I am reminded of the difference between morality and ethics: if one is moral in the Christian sense, one does not lie. So, if one were living in Nazi Germany and a Jew ran by followed by the SS who asked which way he went, you would have to tell them the truth to remain moral. But if you are to be ethical, you must lie and send them in the wrong direction. I know situational ethics get a bad rep and I do believe there are universal ethical laws, just as there are universal physical laws. But it's something to think about. To whom do you owe your ethical fealty?

Another idea I explore in Sullivan's War is that of justification. Is it acceptable to do a "bad" thing if it ultimately leads to a greater good? In your stories, it seems your characters engage in an awful lot of justification but of a more personal, selfish kind. This also interests me. We seem to be able to justify an awful lot if it serves our own greater good. Counteracting this is one of the key challenges of society, I think. Is this a theme you have intentionally been exploring in Sketches from the Spanish Mustang?

BXW: I don't know if that internal justification is a subconscious result of turning 40, but Sketches from the Spanish Mustang is filled with it. I'd like to think I've been impervious to middle age, but the more I write, the more I realize I'm probably not. I really enjoy exploring a character's inner child, what makes them who they are. In A DifficultMirror, which I started when I turned 28, actually, the history of a person is forced out in the open and how they deal with whatever mistakes they've made is explored in depth.  That's dark fantasy, however, not reality. In reality, we all have our skeletons, our histories we hide away so no one can see.  However, no matter what we do, we are the sum total of our parts and we can either accept what we've done or try to justify it in some way. 

As I sit here talking about this, I realized that the characters in my upcoming novel Driving the Spike must justify their actions. Are they good, are they bad? Much like you explored in Sullivan'sWar, there is a difference between morality and ethics. Did you start out with that theme before you penned the first word of Sullivan's War or did it come out as you wrote it?

MKR: It evolved. Sullivan's War started as the story about Frank Allen investigating the murder of Assemblyman Gene Palmer. From there it got tied in to Sergeant Riley's Account, then a third story I had written called "Promises," the story of a bounty hunter tracking down a criminal, got incorporated into the beginning of Sullivan's War: Book II. Now, early on I must have decided that Sullivan's War would address these issues of right and wrong because the title All Good Men Serve the Devil was there from nearly the beginning. I actually wrote out a bit of dialogue to incorporate that line before I got to that scene in the book. By the time Book I was finished, however, I felt that it was heavy on action but character development and exploration of theme were a bit lacking. I attempted to correct that with Book II.

My next project, Chrysopteron, started a bit aimlessly but as I wrote the overarching theme began to reveal itself. It was at that point that I wrote an outline to make sure I hit on all the thematic points I wanted to address: hope, loss, faith, sacrifice, right and wrong (again). I ended up shuffling the organization a bit and added another story line but the thematic structure remained intact. I hope readers will pick up on it and appreciate what I am trying to do. Of course, the reader applies additional meaning based on his or her own perceptions. I think the best authors are able to convey their own meaning but be subtle enough about it that the reader happens upon it without explicitly being told. But I guess some readers will completely miss the point, no matter what you do. Do you worry that readers will completely miss the point of your work? Do you care, as long as they pull some meaning from it? Or are you even content for your work to be perceived as just an interesting story, with the reader taking nothing away?

BXW: I really don't worry about what readers get out of my novels, as long as they get something.  There's a meme that's been passed around regarding meaning that you've probably seen.  "What the author meant" vs. "What your English teacher thinks the author meant."  While I can laugh at the simplicity of the author's statement ("The curtains were blue") and the teacher's meaning ("The curtains represent his immense depression and his lack of will to carry on"), I find this meme more telling of what literary snobs think we should get from a novel.  For example, if the New York Times says Castles reeks of abuse and discord, then to me they didn't get it.  Conversely, if the Colorado Springs Gazette says Castles is a view into the growth of a woman through abuse and neglect and carefully questions how environment can affect genetic mutations in the brain, then I think they're pretty close.  Now, what do my readers come away with?  I would hope the literary snobs don't mutate my message, and I hope I write it clear enough that it sinks in with the masses.

I've been very focused on the themes presented in Sketchesfrom the Spanish Mustang. As I mentioned before, it's important to me that I impart the idea that people are the sum total of their days and not just a present manifestation with or without obvious merit.  I do worry the message won't reach the reader, but all I can do is try.

Do you ever worry?

MKR: Do I worry about the message not reaching the reader? I wouldn't say I worry, per se, but I do make a point of writing afterwords for my major works. I do this not so the readers "gets it" but because I want to communicate with the readers on a more personal level. I want them to know what went into creating the story, the inspirations, etc. I think that knowing these things does enrich a text.

I like how the focus of much of your work is trying to make the point that a person is the sum of his or her experiences. It's a profound message, and yet so simple. For example, I am the product of very fortunate circumstances. Because of where and when and to whom I was born, I have been able to cultivate a life of ease and comfort in which I can spend a great deal of my time writing, reading, traveling, focusing on art, philosophy, etc. rather than worrying about where my next meal is going to come from. Reading about the problems that the characters in Sketches from the Spanish Mustang face really reinforces how good my life is, how petty my problems.

Do you think that you are trying to point humanity (or America, at least) in a different direction? Do you want readers to go away thinking that if people are the sum of their experiences, perhaps society as a whole could do something to make some of those experiences more positive? Or is it up to individuals to engage one another and help their fellow human beings along?

BXW: Afterwords are often my favorite part of a book, and I really enjoy reading them.  James Rollins typically puts in a fact or fiction section at the end based on his research.  I know it sounds petty, but that's cool.

I really never thought my writing could point America or the world toward any lofty goal, however I would like to reach at least one person.  It's very important I leave a mark on someone's life, whether or not that's with Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, Castles, the upcoming A Difficult Mirror or the next novel I'll start working on this summer.  That next novel--Driving the Spike--is probably going to be the closet I get to pointing humanity at anything, but I sincerely doubt it'll have the lofty impact I want it to have.

I think there's something to be said about a person who engages another without expectation of reward, and even the smallest attempt to help another can make the biggest impact.  To help without expectation of reward, I truly believe, makes a man (or woman).  Most of us drop money into the Salvation Army bucket during the holiday season, but how many take a full Saturday and sort donations in a food bank warehouse or stand on a serving line at a soup kitchen or walk ten miles for autism research?  These things are small and there is no reward save the feeling you get for helping.  Sadly, there are a lot of people who don't look at life this way; they expect something tangible in return for their effort--getting paid to be a foster parent, getting a t-shirt from a MS walk, showing off some certificate from the two hours they did something for someone.  Helping shouldn't be like that.

I guess I got on my soapbox again. I tend to do that.

Being Garrulous (again) with Benjamin X. Wretlind(Part 1)

For those few of you who read Chewing the Cud in the Myriad Spheres, the previous conversation between Benjamin X. Wretlind and myself, here is another exciting installment! Due to its lack of brevity (which is chiefly my fault) we have decided to break it into two parts. Enjoy!

BXW: So I was reading over your latest blog post, Inventing a Universe, and a thought popped into my head: during the writing of Sketches from the Spanish Mustang I spent a great deal of time getting into the characters' heads, walking the paths they might take, looking at the town through their eyes.  Likewise, with the novel I intend to start this summer, Driving the Spike, I have already started the process by walking some railroad tracks where an accident occurred 108 years ago.   The idea, of course, is to see the world through the eyes of my characters.  However, with Science Fiction, especially with imagined worlds (or parallel universes like you discuss), how do you see the world though your character's eyes?

MKR: What I like to keep in mind is that people are people, whether they lived ten thousand years ago or ten thousand years from now. If I were a Clovis hunter following herds of mammoth across the Great Plains I think that, despite the vastly different way of life, my fellow hunters and I would sit around the campfire at night and shoot the breeze just as I do with my friends today. The technology would be different, our clothes, our language, our way of perceiving the universe would all be different but we would still be human beings. A heart not unlike mine would beat in the breast of my Clovis twin. I would want food, shelter, love, companionship. In the two hundred thousand years our species has wandered this Earth that has not changed and there is no reason to believe it will change in the near future.

Now, I have never taken down a mammoth with a spear. But I can imagine it. As a writer, imagination is key to understanding other people, people who eventually become "characters." Would it help if I could go back in time and see how a hunting party surrounded and felled a mammoth, where they jabbed their spears, how many of them it took? Of course. But I can't, so if I were to write a mammoth-hunting scene my imagination would fill in the blanks that the archaeological record has left behind. So it is with science fiction. When we write about the future we are not writing from a blank slate. We have all of human history to draw on to understand how human beings will react in different situations. For example, we know that we tend to be suspicious and aggressive when encountering intelligent beings not like ourselves (from history, we have the sad lesson of the Europeans' encounter with the indigenous Americans. In my fiction, look at the treatment of the Squamata in Sergeant Riley's Account and Sullivan's War: Book II.) Another example from history that I draw on is the simple fact that people generally want to be free of oppression. The entire Sullivan's War series is about this and how many times throughout history has a power structure has fallen due to the discontent of the oppressed? Here where I live in the Southwest, Hohokam civilization collapsed around 1400 CE and there are Pima legends that indicate that the people rose up against the powerful.

So writing science fiction is simply writing about people. I cannot see alien worlds or travel through hyperspace in a ship but my brain is capable of understanding what they might be like. My imagination can fill in the gaps left after taking the entire shared experience of human culture into account. I see their worlds because their eyes are like mine. I share their hopes and desires because those are common to all human beings across history. And my invented universe is not that different from our own, when you really examine it. There are real-life parallels to many of the things I write about.

Now, what I find interesting is that in Castles you described experiences unfamiliar to you despite the fact that those experiences are real for all too many young women across the country, across the world. For me, that is as remarkable a feat as bringing to life an alien landscape. We've talked about this before, but would you care to talk a bit about Maggie's story?

BXW: As I've mentioned before, I believe Maggie spoke through me in a way that's really hard to describe without coming off sounding--how should I put it?--bat-shit crazy.  The fact I squirrel away information that comes to me via media may have enabled my subconscious to postulate how a woman might view a certain situation more so than a man who is trying to force the character into action.  For example, I had a lot of trouble near the middle of the story related to Maggie's view of abuse at the hand of her boyfriend because that's just not something I'd ever experienced.  Somehow after a few months or years, though--and after dealing with abusive people as a manager--Maggie spoke up.

Getting into a character's head is important to me, and that's one reason I like to interact with their supposed environment if I can, and if I can't, then to spend an inordinate amount of time researching that environment. However, in A Difficult Mirror, a dark fantasy epic novel to be released (hopefully) next winter, I couldn't walk around the environment since it didn't exist.  Not that I couldn't take clues from other stories, but that the environment just didn't exist.  (That's a bit vague, I know, but the novel isn't out yet.)

You brought up something I'm curious about. I've mentioned to you before that I was never a huge fan of science fiction; that distinction fell to my brother. I was the fantasy type, the one who believed in dragons and wizards and spells, oh my!  However, some historic science fiction I've read has held a sort of special place in my heart simply because of the impact on our present.  I am, of course, talking about the work of Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, or Arthur C. Clarke.  Even Philip K. Dick. Their imaginations of technological advances helped pave the way for our present.  Writers like Ray Bradbury or George Orwell, on the other hand, wrote people into the future--much like you describe--and did so without the need to characterize or build up technology that didn't exist.

How do you view technology in your stories? How do you imagine worlds without borders or limitations, and do you hope to one day create something that would inspire some future geneticist or engineer?

MKR: Technology. Well, let me first point out that I am not technologically-minded at all. I am endlessly fascinated by it but if I had to actually try to describe how an intricate piece of software or hardware operated, I'd probably be trying to do it with sticks and a length of string. So, the technology in my stories isn't particularly original. I'll readily admit that. I rely on many tried and true tropes of the genre: hyperspace travel, energy weapons, fold-up tablet computers, three-dimensional displays. Now, since the Sullivan's War story line is supposed to take place about five hundred years in the future, this may seem like pretty low-tech stuff. I actually have a reason for this that will eventually reveal itself as I continue to explore this universe. I will just say that just because a technological advance is made doesn't mean it will be readily accepted.

I suppose I am comfortable with a certain level of technology, a level that has already been explored by many science fiction writers and is accepted and liked by a great many science fiction readers. Again, my own ignorance about technology prevents me from currently writing anything like cyberpunk. I just don't have the background to do it justice. So I really don't see my science fiction as the type that will inspire future engineers. Rather, I see my work as inspiring (if, in fact, it inspires anyone at all) future humanitarians, future philosophers. Remember, science fiction is about exploring how humans respond to fantastical situations as much as it is about inventing and describing cool technology. This is one of the reasons I consider 2001: A Space Odyssey to be my favorite book. Clarke had the scientific knowledge to make the technology one hundred percent plausible but the story is, essentially, about humanity. I mean, it begins with the dawn of consciousness, with the evolution (via external means in his story) of creatures that would one day become human beings! Because of his invented world of the near future, his characters--Dave Bowman in particular--are able to have experiences that no other humans have before experienced. How it affects them is just as fascinating as how future technology, such as the HAL 9000 computer, might work (or not work). How does the realization that an alien intelligence has visited our solar system affect them?

I often think about what would happen if we were to wake up one day and have undeniable proof that we were not alone in the universe. What effect would it have on world religions? I mean, in the 16th century Copernicus developed a heliocentric model of the solar system and while no one with any sense would deny the truth of this model today, there are many who still have a very geocentric, or Earth-centric, view of reality: that we, human beings, are at the center of God's divine plan, that, in fact, we are created in God's image and are his chosen species. Remember, it was only two thousand years ago that not only were humans God's chosen species on the planet, but a very specific group inhabiting the Levant were his chosen race. I speak from a Judeo-Christian perspective, of course, because it is the tradition that has most shaped the Western world. Now, this type of thinking has been used to justify and explain our dominance on this planet. But what if another, intellectually superior species managed to cross the vast distances between star systems and arrive at ours? God wouldn't seem to favor us so strongly then, would he?

I do believe in a creator. To believe in a specific god requires more faith than I have, though. I must trust that the creator, whatever it may be, gave me the ability--via evolution--to observe the world empirically for a reason. We are a species that is meant to question the world around us, not invent angels and devils to which to ascribe the mysteries of the universe. To return to my main point, this is my focus when I write science fiction. I hope to inspire future dreamers, people who will look at our world and see it for what it really is but also see what it can be if we throw off the shackles of tribe, of clan, of race, of nation, even of species. I know that to date my work hasn't explored this as fully as I would like but I am working toward it and my next project, Chrysopteron, will fully explore these ideas.

Read Part 2 here!

What Science Means to Me

I am a science fiction writer. I write in other genres, but science fiction is my first love. I love the possibilities, I love, as I said in a recent interview, asking and answering the "what ifs?" But this is the fiction part. Let's examine the science part for a moment.

It is an ironic fact that science makes science fiction more difficult. The pulp science fiction stories of the '30s did not have to adhere to the truths of the universe because those truths were not known. Rocketry was in its infancy, there was still very serious speculation about life--nay, civilizations--on Mars and Venus and the relationship between time and space that Einstein had proposed was not fully--or even partially--understood outside of the offices and laboratories of physicists.

So we had rockets taking off then landing vertically on Mars or Venus and encountering bizarre alien creatures. We had ships travelling to distant stars via standard propulsion and returning a mere months or years later.

But as science progressed, as we learned that Mars was a cold and barren landscape with little liquid water, as we learned that the atmosphere of Venus was poisonous and oppressive, as aeronautics advanced and the vast distances between the stars became insurmountable with any technology the mind of man could then dream of, those stories came to seem... ridiculous. Especially reading from our 21st century perspective, those stories are not just implausible but laughably so.

But those stories laid the groundwork for something wonderful. Future thinkers read them and let their imaginations run rampant. Some of them went on to become the physicists who showed the implausibilty of those stories. I think that for many, science fiction opened up the world of science. I recall a television program that interviewed several scientists and engineers who were directly inspired by Star Trek. Science fiction, even in its infancy, was mind-expanding stuff!

And so it was--it is--for me. But here I must make a confession: while I am endlessly fascinated by science, while I would say I know more than the average American about the evolution of the universe, much of it I find completely baffling. I simply cannot comprehend how a human mind was able to come up with relativity or string theory just by observing the universe and conducting thought experiments. I cannot do it. I am not a genius. I received my degree in anthropology, a safe, secure discipline. There are many questions still to be answered, of course, but it is much easier to get a grasp on human civilization and culture than it is the formation of the cosmos.

And here's another confession: the science in my science fiction is not "hard" by any means. I rely on tried and true tropes such as hyperspace travel. However, I think I did come up with an interesting way to explain how hyperspace travel works and if you've read Sullivan's War: Book II you can let me know what you think of it.

But despite this, despite my vast lack of understanding and my reluctance to use science rigorously in my fiction, science still means a great deal to me. It means that as a species we are beginning to get a grasp on the true origins of the universe. The physical laws that we observe are a part of the creation and if one believes in a creator, as I do, then those laws can be seen as a kind of guidepost toward the truth. Those laws have repeatedly struck down the fears and superstitions of less-enlightened ages. Science, and the knowledge that we receive through it, is a gift.

For example, an intellectually honest person cannot rigorously study biology, geology, astronomy, anthropology, archaeology, primatology, paleontology, linguistics, physics, history, mythology, genetics, medicine or theology and still believe in creationism, that the Earth, and by extension the universe, simply came into being fully-formed, or very near it. One may still believe in a creator, that there was some impetus for the creation of matter, but all of the ancient creation myths--and the modern ones--must be cast aside through the use of the greatest gift given to humanity, be that gift from a creator or otherwise. They must be cast aside by the gift of knowledge.

Through science, the truth is illuminated. Through science, ignorance can be left in the past if we so choose. Through science, we can make the world a better place for our descendants and leave a legacy of striving to understand the marvelous universe that surrounds us.

What does science mean to you? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments section below.

Chewing the Cud in the Myriad Spheres

The following is an e-mail conversation between Benjamin X. Wretlind and myself between March 6th and March 14th. Both Ben and I thought it would be interesting for readers to see how a couple of Indie writers look at the world. We tried to talk mostly about writing but, of course, it quickly got sidetracked into the meaning of life, what makes for good art and Justin Bieber.

MKR: Ben, we’ve both written about the topic of “legacy.” In your case, you have stated that the reason you write is to leave a legacy (link). I wrote that I believe writers–at least this writer–have an obligation to leave something of value to society, something that enriches our culture rather than cheapens it (link). Do you have any further thoughts on this?

BXW: I’ve been thinking about this a lot, lately, although I don’t like to admit it’s because I’m almost 40 and I’m falling victim to that whole “mid-life crisis” thing. I actually spent a good amount of time in the early ‘90s studying philosophy and various religious texts to see if I could come up with an answer to the question that was on my mind: not what the meaning of life is but if it’s a reasonable goal to expect to leave something of value for future generations and if so, what defines value.

I read your blog article on the topic of whether or not a writer has a responsibility to leave a legacy behind, and I thought it amusing that a snippet of Star Trek IV popped into my head after one of your statements. If I may quote your blog:

“Good art has staying power. A work of art may take the nation by storm for a summer–think of films or pop songs or mass market thrillers–but who will remember it a year from now? A generation from now? In two hundred years the works of Mozart, Beethoven, Mahler, will still be performed. Adele? Probably not. MC Hammer? Certainly not…Great art has to transcend those boundaries and be as meaningful for a person a hundred years from now and a continent away as it is for those who were around when it was created.”

And now the Star Trek IV banter between Kirk and Spock:

Kirk: You mean the profanity? That’s simply the way they talk here. Nobody pays attention to you unless you swear every other word. You’ll find it in all the literature of the period.
Spock: For example?
Kirk: Oh the neglected works of Jacqueline Susan. The novels of Harold Robbins…
Spock: Ah, the “Giants.”

While amusing, the conversation sort of “fine tunes” your statement that great art must be as relevant centuries from now as it is now. Does this mean that we must–and I stress must–create art that lasts the test of time? Should that be our goal and a good part of the legacy we leave behind? Or should we focus more on art in the now–write that which is fits into whatever Jell-O mold that’s currently in vogue?
Personally, I say screw the Jell-O and write what you want, hoping Spock reads it years from now.

MKR: On that same topic as that Star Trek quote, I personally feel that Catcher in the Rye hasn’t aged well at all. I feel like it’s one of those novels that got onto the high school reading lists because it was about a teen-aged kid and teachers have clung to it ever since based on that alone. Mainly, I think Holden Caulfield’s attitude/personality is not reflective of “the Universal teen,” so to speak. He came out of a very specific Jell-O mold that doesn't play in the 21st century. His particular brand of “angst” just doesn’t seem authentic.

As to whether or not we must leave something that will last the test of time, I think we must at least strive to do it. Ultimately, it’s not up to us. But if we only write books that are in the currently popular mold, it’ll be like disco: rarely spoken of and, when it is, much maligned.

Tell me, when you were studying philosophy and religion did you find the answer you were looking for? It’s actually funny that you mentioned that because yesterday I wrote a blog post about politics and religion in fiction (link). I’ll probably post it sometime today. And while we’re on it, do you feel there is one specific “meaning of life?”

BXW: I think there is only one meaning, but it’s different for every person. For me, the meaning of life, the universe and everything is 42. Or was that the answer?

No, I didn’t find what I was looking for in those religious and philosophical texts, and although this sounds like a U2 song, I still haven’t found what I was looking for. I think, like you said, it’s reasonable to strive to leave a legacy–and for those who have the gift of storytelling, perhaps leaving a legacy might even be considered a responsibility. However, there are those who want to leave their mark and, believe me, the mark they leave doesn’t have the impact they hoped it would.

I’ve been tossing around a blog post on literary fiction, what defines it and how it can be marketed well. Not that I have any idea how to market anything (see here), but it’s been an interesting research topic. Part of the Wikipedia article on literary fiction (link) contains an interesting line, especially in light of our conversation here. “Literary fiction may also be characterized as lasting fiction–literature which continues to be read and in-demand many decades and perhaps centuries after the author has died.”
Interesting….

MKR: You say the meaning of life will be different for every person. But wouldn’t you say that there are some things that definitely aren’t the meaning of life? For example, can desiring to die a millionaire be a valid meaning? True, if one has children that will leave them in good shape financially but what if one neglected his children during life to amass that fortune? I guess my point is I reject the idea that anything can be meaningful–truly meaningful. What if someone sees it as their life’s goal to build the ultimate Justin Bieber fan site? That may be the meaning of that individual’s life but is it valid and valuable to society as a whole? This also gets back to my art vs. great art discussion. I am very liberal in what I will call art. If fact, the only criterion I have is that it must have been intentionally created as art. Now, it may be created to serve other purposes as well–religious or architectural, for example–but there is still an artistic desire in the heart of its creator. But just because I will call something art does not mean it is great art.

So, I think the meaning of one’s life–whatever it may be–must have meaning to society as a whole. And for that meaning to be great it must endure, as we’ve talked about. In a hundred years Justin Bieber will be dead and his music will be largely forgotten. If that fan site exists at all it will be rarely visited. What will that person’s life work have amounted to?

How many millions of lives have been spent worrying about ultimately inconsequential things? How many billions of days were wasted on idle frivolity? It’s kind of a depressing thought but the overwhelming majority of humanity is destined to be forgotten. Once we are dead and everyone who knew us personally is dead we will be nothing more than unvisited gravestones, ghosts in photographs and meaningless names. I think that the meaning of life–my life–is to avoid this fate. I probably won’t have children so I won’t leave a genetic legacy but I hope that I can leave a lasting literary legacy. Which is why I like that definition that you provided for “literary fiction.” It is exactly what I hope to accomplish.

If one considers one’s own life, it can be largely broken up into three pursuits, each occupying about a third of our life. The first third is occupied by work, the second third by sleep and the last third by everything else. It is in that last third–unless one is fortunate enough to have a job that allows one to work toward one’s legacy–that one must accomplish all of this. Eight hours a day–perhaps six or even five, when one takes out time spent preparing for work or bed, commuting, taking care of the necessities of life–are left to us to achieve our dreams. It is ironic that such little time is given to us to work toward immortality. Even eternity has an expiration date.

BXW: Sorry for the delay in responding. I got stuck on the Justin Bieber fan site.
You say that eternity has an expiration date. Can you elaborate on that a bit?

MKR: Simply that if we want to be remembered for eternity we have a very short time in which to accomplish that. As a self-professed idler, I am guilty of this myself, but how much time do we spend watching television, surfing Justin Bieber fan sites, oversleeping, playing video games, etc., when we could be working toward immortality? Of course, there are things we have to do and things we do because they bring us pleasure; this is understandable. Human interaction is important, maintaining good mental health is important, having some form of release is important. But I think that the vast majority of us here in the Western world (I won’t pretend to presume what the lives of those in developing countries are like) seem to spend an inordinate amount of time on frivolities. What are your thoughts on it?

BXW: We do spend a lot of our time on frivolities, but perhaps some of life should be spent that way. In my own world, I write early in the morning before anyone is awake. In the free time I have after the day job, I usually paint, read or sing poor karaoke tunes with the significant other. I think it’s necessary for a writer who has the ultimate goal of immortality via art, to work at it as much as possible. However, as James Howell told us in 1659: “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Of course the addition to that proverb as written in 1825 by Maria Edgeworth warns us that “All play and no work makes Jack a mere toy.”

I guess, in that respect, life must be balanced appropriately with the pursuit of immortality.

MKR: You are, of course, correct. As writers we place upon our shoulders the task of revealing the world, revealing life, in a unique way. To do this we must, of course, live life! A writer who attempts to separate himself from the world so that he might work at his art is doing himself a great disservice. I think that the important thing is to spend a good portion of your time doing things of value, things that will strengthen your craft as a writer or improve and enrich your life–or the lives of others–in some way.

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Benjamin X. Wretlind is the author of the literary horror novel Castles: A Fictional Memoir of a Girl with Scissors as well as the ongoing Sketches from the Spanish Mustang.

If you've enjoyed our conversation, feel free to add to it in the comments section below! Look for to a continuation of our ramblings over the next month or so!

Links:

Benjamin X. Wretlind's Blog

Benjamin X. Wretlind's Amazon Author Page 

Michael K. Rose's Amazon Author Page

A Conversation with Benjamin X. Wretlind - An interview I conducted in January

Chewing the Cud with Author Michael K. Rose - An interview Ben conducted in February

Oh Boy! Politics and Religion in Writing!

     I sometimes wonder if it’s possible to be a writer and be non-political. Not in the sense that one is a news hound and watches the debates with bated breath, but in the sense that one has a very clearly-defined political ideology. I wonder this, of course, because as I write I find my own political ideology slipping into my stories. I do not intend to do this; it’s just that as I write situations seem to naturally arise that ask--nay, beg--to address political issues.

     In the Sullivan’s War series, the whole idea of political corruption is, of course, an ongoing theme. I suppose some will read it and say “Aha! He’s commenting on our own current administration!” Others might read it and say “I’m with him! There’s no doubt that he’s referencing a certain administration that ran for, oh, say the first eight years of the 21st century.” And still others might say “What a scathing metaphorical indictment of the Taft administration!”

     I find this interesting but the truth of the matter is, I’m not doing any of it. The Stellar Assembly, the main governing body in Sullivan’s War, is not flawed by way of design; it is flawed because it relies on human beings to carry out that design. And believe it or not, human beings are flawed.

     Our main flaw, I think, is that of greed. Give a group of people a supply of anything and one or some of them will grab a larger handful than the rest. The greedy person will, of course, justify this behavior in a variety of ways and will no doubt not see themselves as greedy but as somehow “more deserving” or “more capable of managing the resource.” If anything will be the downfall of human civilization, I believe it will be this trait.

     I think the Prologue and Book I of the Sullivan’s War series are very open to interpretation. It’s a bit accidental that it turned out that way but I’m glad it did. Now, Book II, due out on March 30, will probably reveal my political stripes a bit more clearly. I considered the effect this may have on readers. Will they like me and my work less if their political beliefs happen to run counter to mine? Will my work be polarizing, with some proclaiming me to be a genius, others calling me an ignorant hack?

     I figure the only way to avoid this from happening is to focus not on politics, but on religion. There’s a safe subject. Questions about the afterlife do arise in Sullivan’s War: Book II, but those questions are left largely unanswered. However, my next project after Sullivan’s War, a novel called Chrysopteron, deals rather directly with the issue of religion.

     Briefly, it is about a generation ship called the Chrysopteron that is en route to a distant planet. An event occurs aboard the ship that gives rise to a new religion and this religion becomes a point of contention for the future inhabitants of the planet once they begin to realize that many of the things they believe may not be true. The novel touches on many themes but one of the issues it examines is this: is religion a net positive or a net negative for society? It also asks whether or not historical fact should be an acceptable tool to condemn a religion. Specifically, are the merits of a religion really dependent on whether or not what its adherents believe is true? Can a religion survive being exposed as a complete fabrication? Can the religion carry on with its followers now viewing their mythology not as historical fact but as moral allegory?

     Of course, like any good religious story, there must be ambiguity. What really happened aboard the ship? Sure, the legend that arose around this particular event is exposed, but the event itself… was there something more to it? Will another event that occurs in the story’s “present day” assume the same significance that the first did for the main characters’ ancestors?

     Now, I know that many will read Chrysopteron and see it as a condemnation of religion. It is not my intent for it to come across that way, but the story requires it. What I mean is, if the religion in Chrysopteron is not called into question, there is no story, at least not the story I wanted to tell. This is one of the reasons that, despite being nearly finished with Chrysopteron, I intend to spend a few more months on it. I want to make a strong point, of course, but not in a way that will alienate readers. I want to leave readers asking questions about their own beliefs, not feeling as though I’ve made an obstinate proclamation regarding religion.

     In the end, I realize that tackling such issues as politics and religion is bound to leave some people unhappy. But for whatever reason these two things are so inseparably tied to our history and our culture that any writer is missing exploring a significant part of the human condition if he does not address it at least occasionally. And I do not believe a person ever became a writer so that he might be timid. So if you are a writer I say to you: be bold but be considerate. If you have a particular point of view to express do not do so with rage and bluster. Rather, let your skill as a writer allow you to weave that point into a narrative where it will find a natural home, where it will engage the minds of your readers and, even if they close the book disagreeing with you, will at least have them closing it thanking you for engaging them with grace and humility. There are highly political authors who never learned this lesson and they are the truly polarizing figures. They are the ones that drive a wedge between opposing sides rather than bringing them together in civil debate. With my writing I hope to do the latter.