This is a reaction of a sort to this story by Lisa Mantchev. If you haven’t read it yet, go ahead and do so, then briefly peruse the comments.

The comments section is the really interesting thing. (Unlike most of the commenters there, I didn’t like the story itself that much–it was cute but not all that memorable, and I couldn’t figure out what the point was of making the horrible, spiteful little girl grow up into a horrible, spiteful adult.) The entire argument in the comment thread revolved around whether the story was racist for including the idea of “peddlers” (i.e. gypsies or Romani) buying a child. There were a few commenters of Romani ancestry complaining that it was, along with a group of like-minded supporters. Across the aisle were others that thought the story was fine and leapt to its defense with a variety of arguments. Some of these arguments were pretty stupid (“it’s a free country!”), while some were legitimate (“nothing in the story suggests that the peddlers are gypsies”).

It’s this last argument that I’m interested in pursuing. Nothing identifies the peddlers as gypsies except for the fact that they’re peddlers, and the child-buying is not what the story was about. The author herself appears in the comments and explains the explicit efforts she made to dissociate the peddlers from the stereotypes about Romani. This seems like a good-faith attempt to avoid perpetuating destructive stereotypes without gutting the story, so my sympathies lie with the author. What else is she supposed to do?

“Don’t write stories about selling children,” one commenter suggested with a straight face. This makes an extraordinary claim about the responsibilities of an author when dealing with racial stereotypes: the author can never mention them or even use things that resemble them at all unless specifically to repudiate them. The appearance of any character or situation that smacks of stereotype is automatically disallowed.

I find this alarming, and not just because it limits the sorts of stories that authors are “allowed” to tell. The real problem is that this discourages authors from using non-mainstream non-privileged characters at all. In this case the author explicitly tried to remove the racial implications, and still fell under the opprobrium of the offended. What option is there but to avoid the non-mainstream entirely? I don’t just say this hypothetically: I’ve had stories that I wanted to write, but hesitated because I was afraid of potentially racist interpretations. The solution is often to make the character white, or male, or mainstream, because at least no one can then accuse you of stereotype.

This hardly seems like a victory. For anyone.

Progress has been poky lately, for a variety of reasons. And it’s time for a short break: I’ve got at least two short stories that I want to break out, and the current WIP will benefit from more time percolating.

35000 / 80000 words. 44% done!

Metafictional progress: Had a minor crisis upon reaching the plot-wise halfway point at only 30,000 words. Reconsidered the plot, decided that there was actually more in the second “half” than I thought, plus I had skipped a chapter. Decided that my original estimate of 80K words for the whole thing was probably correct.

Fictional progress: Barbarian warlord came home to discover that his wife was dead. The Heroine convinced her comrades to do something other than cower in fear. Their first excursion against the barbarians almost ended in disaster, except for the Old Woman using some henceforth unsuspected powers.

And that’s all for a while!

28000 / 80000 words. 35% done!

Metafictional progress: Figured out what the Old Woman’s arc should look like, which is good, since it needed to start, like, two chapters ago. Found out a better way to do spell-checking. That might seem like small potatoes to some of you, but remember that I do my writing in Vim and LaTeX, which means that I have great power at the expense of occasional inconvenience. Spell-checking used to be one of those inconveniences. Sent out a new query for the last novel.

Fictional progress: Brought the Barbarian Warlord into the city. Had the Heroine go out and shoot some arrows at the invaders, which got her into a spot of trouble. Rescued by One-Eye in time for a quick getaway. The Old Woman fell into despair over her apparent uselessness (see above comments about arc), but the Heroine came by to rescue her, too.

Choice Morsel o’ the Time Period:

She listened to the water swirl around the oars. If it spoke to her, it seemed only to say Not yet, not yet, not yet.

Fifty years I’ve waited, she said back. If you won’t let me die, will you tell me why I’m here?

And the water answered not yet, not yet, not yet.

Although I don’t often comment on them, I really love the novel-progress updates that I get over at San’s and Cherie Priest’s blogs. Monkey see, monkey do:

The Sacred Mute is churning along nicely. My progress is not as quick or as consistent as I would like, but it’s greater than zero, which is the important thing. This is what it looks like:

24750 / 80000 words. 31% done!

Metafictional progress: Reworked the first six chapters to include the new Plucky Heroine. Kept the original protag as a minor character, then decided he should just die. Retroactively killed him. Fixed some niggling technical problems that made it hard for me to build my manuscript. (I am a geek: I write my novel in LaTeX using Vim.)

Fictional progress: Brought the Plucky Heroine into a (literally) smoke-filled room to talk to powerful people. Introduced her to a man with one of his eyes plucked out. Barbarian Warlord got into a fight with his wife. The Heroine’s city fortified itself, but the Barbarian Warlord proved to be smarter than he looks and found another way.

Tender Morsel of the Time Period:

The furs shifted a little and the light fell on the acã’s face. He was a man of tremendous age. His hair was thinned to white, airy wisps that clung to the fringes of his scalp. Creased jowls hung over his jaws, and his lip drooped, letting a strand of spittle dribble out. His brows were heavy and drooped over her eyes. Reze couldn’t tell if he looked at her, or if he saw at all.

So here I am, writing a scene where two people chat while making a fishing net. And I thinks to myself, “How do you make a fishing net? How can I describe their actions in a convincing fashion? I know! I’ll ask the Internet!”

And what does the Internet show me but this:

Thanks, Internet! You’re the best!

Last night was a night of great and portentious (not to mention pretentious) moment. Four of we who met at Potlatch, gathered at my house. The celebrants were myself, Jessie Kwak, Natasha Oliver, and Brian LeBlanc, all denizens of Seattle and ambitious neophyte writers. We had agreed to a get-together shortly after Potlatch, and this was the day it got together.

Food was had, and in delicious quantities. Natasha supplied fantastic ham quiche squares, Brian blessed us with alcohol, and Jessie took up the rear with a kind of Mexican cookie whose name I have forgotten. The entree was supplied by me and my wife: ciorbă rădăuţeană, a traditional Romanian soup made with chicken and sour cream. I requested that the revelers learn to pronounce the word before they started eating, which they did with admirable aplomb. Well, at least Jessie and Natasha did. I think that Brian got away with not saying the name of the dish the entire night.

Food meant discussion, which eventually led to reading and critting. Jessie agreed to be the first victim with a short story about… Actually, I won’t say what the story was about. It’s her prerogative to divulge details of her own WIP. In any case, everyone agreed that the format was enjoyable and useful, so others will provide further grist for the crit mill in the future.

We all agreed to an encore, with the exact date to be established in the future. The last order of business was to agree on a name for our cadre. After heated discussion, we agreed on the Shining Creamsicles, for reasons to ridiculous to explain. Note that the name is only temporarily plural: when the Creamsicle Singularity occurs (like the Technological Singularity, but with Creamsicles), we will merge and become The Shining Creamsicle. And I know we’re all looking forward to that.

First, a big public thanks to Sän and Eva, who helped me wring the horrible parts out of my synopsis.

Second, I really need to pass forward this page of synopsis advice that I got from Sän. I recommend that you read it and study it. Then click on every single link and study the more in-depth advice given therein. They’re all worth it. Even the one with the horrible background music.

CS Inman (aka Sän) has a surprisingly good synopsis up to read. Basically everyone, everywhere, hates writing their novel synopsis, so I’m automatically impressed by anyone that manages to write a synopses that’s entertaining and informative.

This even applies to the victims participants in Joshua Palmatier’s synopsis day. Now the synopses listed here were “successful” synopses, meaning that they were for novels that eventually sold. But even so, I found most of them dull, incomprehensible, or overly long. Probably the easiest one to read was Mike Brotherton’s synopsis of Star Dragon. That one suffered from the opposite problem: it was fast-paced and easy to follow, but the writing style itself felt amateurish. (I have no idea if that applies to the book itself, which I haven’t read.)

Reading all those pro synopses made me think that maybe the synopsis was free to be long and boring, which was good because my synopsis was long and boring. It was 2500 words of dull. It was a plodding, interminable death-march through a dozen names and a series of irrelevant places.

When I set out to pare it down this week, the first pass got it down to 1250 words and something of a respectable hook.Sän and Eva have both helped me further pare it down and spruce it up, so the final draft will be under 1,000 words, and hopefully will actually help sell the novel.