I can’t believe I haven’t talked about influences on here. To think of just how influential some writers were to me when I first discovered that I liked reading for fun… and I never even pointed them out.
Over at the devil’s playground (also known as Facebook), Baen Books recently asked people to chip in on their favorite and most influential SF books ever written. I tossed my two cents in (well, more like a dime’s worth really, what with inflation and all…) and started thinking. Just how influential have some of these books been on me? I needn’t look any further than how I view certain aspects of life itself.
It’s true that a lot of us read certain books and associate with people who think a lot like we do. I guess growing up in group homes and not having a certain “familial thought process” to base some foundations on both hurt and helped me in the long run. It hurt because I still have problems trying to picture in my head just what a “normal” family looks like. But it also helps because I’ll listen to just about anyone’s opinion and (usually) I don’t have preconceived notions.
That, by the way, is a round about way of getting to listing the top five books which have influenced me over the past fifteen years and shaped me to be the person I am today. Here they are, in no particular order:
Old Man’s War by John Scalzi – This book is probably the most recent addition to my list, having bumped out “The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress” by a whisker. The reminder that war is a young man’s game is subtly thrown out the window in Scalzi’s debut novel, and it also keeps a lot of things (like relationships and life) in a fresh perspective. It can be a hard book to read for anyone fresh out of the combat zone, though it has some therapeutic qualities to it. Scalzi, while still a young writer (though an old man compared to me… ;-P), definitely has his thumb on the pulse of society and has a chance to leave the same kind of impression on SF that Asimov and Poul Anderson did. It guided me through a difficult period of readjustment to life in general, and it was therapeutic for me on a spiritual level, something I doubt that Scalzi intended when he wrote the novel. But to each their own, I say.
The Last Centurion by John Ringo – Ignore the conservative psycho babble. Ignore the relations and non-too-subtle use of current politicians. Hell, ignore the voice of the author. But buried deep in this book is a terrifying reality: America, while possibly the best suited to deal with any adversity, may be too diverse and free to save itself. Before this book was written, I had the fortunate opportunity to be on a panel at a SF convention with Ringo in 2006. We were talking about alien invasions and the drastic loss of human life which would result of a massive invasion. John was mentioning how the US, along with every other Western society, would be forced to speed up the birthrate in order to stay alive. I was young then, and thought I knew better, and told John he was wrong. I remember this fairly well, because the look on the other panelists faces was priceless. I told John that the US, with all the civil liberties and rights and freedoms, would perish first because nobody would want to be forced to do anything, such as carry a litter of children. Our government simply isn’t omnipotent enough to force the citizens to do anything they truly did not want to do. In The Last Centurion, Ringo takes this point and hammers it home. I really, really think that anybody who believes in absolute freedom should read this book. It’s a wise tale, even if it has a conservative slant to it.
Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein - Please forget Verhoeven’s abortion and think, instead, of the book written in 1959. Heinlein is one of the most influential writers of his day, and his reach extends far beyond his death. But this book is the one I read before I enlisted in the Navy. At the time, I was having doubts about which branch of service to join (I’d just lost my college scholarship and was struggling to find a way to not take out students loans so I could go to school still) and was leaning towards the Army. I knew I didn’t have the Marine mentality (I know when to say when; a Marine, in my opinion, doesn’t have a choice…) and I didn’t want to go into the Air Force or Coast Guard. So it was down to the classic Army vs Navy. A friend of mine handed me the book (I still am confused whether it was my best friend Richard or my good friend David) and told me to read it before I signed anything. I read it and realized that it wasn’t about which service could do the most for me, it was about what I could do for it. I was ready to join the Army when the Navy swooped in and nabbed me. No great loss for the Army, if I may say so. I doubt they would have tolerated my “what do you mean, I need to sleep?” attitude… but I feel any person about to enlist or accept a commission into any armed forces should read this book.
Armor by John Steakley - I know who gave me this book, and unsurprisingly it was a Marine Corps veteran. Armor opened my eyes to the depression and loneliness that quite a few people suffer through while in a combat zone. In the Navy, I didn’t have that feeling often because I was always working with someone and had a semi-constant correspondence with my foster father and friends. But after reading this, I realized that the one thing that makes a hero both great and tragic is that in order to become a hero, someone had to have screwed up. And the main character of the book survives screw up after screw up to become this legendary figure in black, the man they call Felix. It’s terrifying to think of just how deadly a person can be when they’re fighting for their survival, and Steakley paints one bleak picture while telling his tale. This is a book I’d recommend without reservation to any veteran.
Freehold by Michael Z. Williamson – Who, a lot of people have asked me over the years when I mentioned the name. Most people associate Freehold with Farnham’s Freehold, another Heinlein book. But this book confronts the uncomfortable and actually forces the reader to think about their own beliefs and ideals as a woman on the run from an oppressive society lands in the society with the most liberties in human civilization: the Freehold of Grainne. The sex scenes are either intriguing or frightening, depending on who’s reading. The adjustment to culture shock is heart-wrenching as the reader starts to question their own sanity as the book gets deeper into the society and just how high the costs of freedom and responsibility truly is. Then there is the military invasion, which is painted in stark contrast to the rest of the book, when both sides use despicable and deplorable means to fight (and win). It brings to light the thoughts of the current wars our country is in at the moment, as the idea of an insurgency in the book grows from active military personnel hiding amongst the citizens to fight their war. I’ll be the first to admit (after the author) that Freehold is based on a libertarian, Utopian society, but it’s a thought-provoking novel that I would suggest to readers over the age of 16. “But Jason”, someone’s going to say, “there’s s-e-x in the book!” Trust me. If a 16 year old doesn’t know anything about sex after listening to the current Top 20 on the radio, then they live in a place where the children can’t read books like this anyways or the radio station is nothing but classical music.
So those are my top five influential books, and my reasoning behind them. What are yours?
Just how much creative license can one person take before the reality police pull them over for disorderly conduct?
I was emailing Barb Caffrey earlier about some military terminology and what you can get away with when I realized that, by and large, the majority of scifi writers get crucified whenever their math is incorrect. Or worse still, they write with a military slant and they screw up the rank structure. Or the worst crime of all: have a magic FTL drive without explaining how it works.
On the flip side of things, ever ask a fantasy writer how magic works? They’ll look at you kind of funny and mutter “It just does, okay?”
Hmph. I smell a double standard here but then, I tend to treat hard science fiction fans with a lot more respect. Am I biased, all things considering? Maybe a little.
I think I touched on this a while back, but just how far does suspension of disbelief go before the cops pull you over?
When the plague visits me (I call getting sick the plague, FYI) I generally have little production or interaction with the human species.
So it’s a short and sweet “How do you cope?” when you’re sick question today.
Ugh, when will these meds kick in…?
So I was typing out this long, rambling post about how a playwright never knows if their play is going to suck because it is read differently by every single actor. I had something going there, because, well, nobody reads a book the same way. This applies to scripts as well. But then I looked over and realized that this is Shiny Book’s 100th post.
I double-checked that, because I sure don’t remember being around here that long.
So in celebration of our 100th post (it’s not that big of a deal, I know, but give me some credit here…) I’m going to just say “Have a good weekend” and enjoy this little tease of a snippet from Wraithkin:
Chapter Four
“I’m telling you that there are checks and balances for a reason,” Laird Christophe McCarroll of-the-High, Senator of Ceres argued as he stormed angrily down the spacious hall, his voice echoing off the marbled walls. He looked over his shoulder at his aide, who was following behind at a respectable distance. He shifted his gaze to the man struggling to keep up with him on his left. His dark eyes narrowed in annoyance as he looked at the obese man. “The Emperor is set on destroying the checks protecting the Dominion from tyranny!”
“Come now Christophe,” the larger man wheezed as he struggled to keep up, his heavy robes making progress difficult. “I’m sure the Emperor has his reasons for expanding the Wraiths.”
“To subvert the will of the Upper House to that of his Lower House cronies through force and threats, even stooping to violence,” Christophe ground out through clenched teeth, furious. “He’s proving that he doesn’t need us to create laws, that the Dominion will be run by his hand alone. He needs his thugs, those damned Wraiths-” Christophe spat onto the tiled flooring of the hall at the name of the Emperor’s protectors “-to run around, unchecked, fighting wars with whomever his jollies feel like.”
“The War Powers Act allows as such,” his counterpart interjected mildly, small beads of sweat beginning to form upon his bald brow. He unfolded his arms from the thick, red robes. “Be mindful of this hallway, Laird. Many ears can be listening.”
“Blast them all!” Christophe exploded vehemently, throwing his arms out wide. “If we cannot speak about the Emperor in anything but loving tones, then who will be the voice of dissent when he dissolves the Houses? Who will speak in defiance when he desires to rule the Dominion from his thumb? Tell me, Senator, who will dare oppose him?”
“It is not about who opposes him, Laird,” the elderly senator from Corus argued with his deceased friend’s eldest son. “It is about who can actively thwart his schemes while staying loyal to the Dominion. Your father was excellent at this, young Christophe. His love was for the Dominion first, his planet second and the Emperor last. He remembered his duties up to the very end.”
“I know that, Duncan,” Christophe sighed wearily, his anger evaporating at the mention of his late father. “Dad always swore that the power resided in the Upper House, no matter what. It is us who writes the Law. I’m just glad my brother Philippe didn’t get his hands on the seat. He worships every breath the Emperor makes. Who knows what damage he would have done if that addled-brained fool took up the chair.”
“Indeed,” Duncan, Senior Senator of Corus, chuckled softly as he slowed down from the frantic pace the younger man had set. He wiped the sweat off his brow with one of his long sleeves, his face red from the exertion of keeping pace with the much healthier man. “It is fortunate that your father had his affairs in order.”
“Well, what do we do?” Christophe asked, the exhaustion and weariness heavy in his tone. “I’m the junior senator here, now that my father died. Laird Hunt is quite content with the way things are. Bastard won’t even argue in favor of the increased royalty tax the Lower House is opposing. And don’t get me started on Higgins or Boothe.”
“The filthy rich usually are content with the status quo,” Duncan quipped, conveniently ignoring the fact that both he and the man before him were in the upper five percent of wealth in the entire Dominion.
“Hunt’s love of Imperfects also disgusts me,” Christophe muttered darkly.
“That is something that disgusts everyone,” Duncan observed. “I’ve talked with his daughter, Lady Meredith von Hapsburg, about this and she is in total agreement. She thinks her father’s poor health has taken a toll on his mental facilities and believes that he may be forced to retire his seat soon. Lady Meredith is a firm believer that the recent push for more rights for the cursed Imperfects is exactly what the Dominion doesn’t need to be distracted with at this time.”
“I must reacquaint myself with her,” Christophe said, his mood brightening. “I haven’t seen her since we were both children at primary school. Back then, all she did was pick her nose and punch boys in the gut. A tempestuous bitch, if I recall. Sounds as though little has changed.”
“Very pleasant upon the eyes as well, Laird,” Duncan smirked. Christophe looked at the older man and grinned.
“You lecherous old man,” Christophe laughed and patted Duncan’s shoulder. “I wonder just how poor her father’s health really is.”
“With her around and the desire for power fueling her?” Duncan thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “I’d say his health is in imminent decline.”
“So what do we do about the Emperor, and more importantly, about his massive power grab?” Christiophe asked after a few moments reflection.
“Well,” Duncan began, holding out his open palm. “We control the funding of the war machine. If the Wraiths don’t have funding, they can’t train replacements. Usually the Lower House tries to tack Wraith funding onto a bill we’ve already written and passed, but this year, with all the turnovers that have happened, their funding slipped through the cracks. So no new Wraiths for a year, minimum, after the last class about to go through. That is a small blessing.”
“Indeed.”
“Then there is the simple matter that Wraiths are expensive,” Duncan continued, closing his hand into a tight fist. “If we can convince a few of the Lower House members to agree with us, then we can stall their funding again for another year. Meanwhile, with the loss of Ptolemy and Catal Huyuk, the Navy’s going to be screaming for new ships and personnel. We go to bat for the Navy, they’ll return the favor by choosing our planets to construct the Eleventh Fleet. More jobs for our constituents.”
“It’s an idea…” Christophe murmured, thoughtful.
“And then, Laird, when the Wraiths begin to retake the lost planets, they begin to lose bodies,” Duncan smiled savagely. “Bodies they can’t immediately replace. Rather, suits they can’t replace. We make a good enough case to the Lower House, again, and we can convince them to send in the Marienes. They are far more reliable than those maniacs in the Wraith Corps, and they answer to the citizens of the Dominion. Wraiths go back to their job of being Praetorian guards, and the Emperor’s power is temporarily checked. Meanwhile, the Marienes go about securing the border planets and reapplying to the Houses. We gain more favorable votes with newer Lower House members once they gain admittance, which helps us a great deal.”
“There are a lot of ifs to your plan, Senator,” Christophe observed after a quiet pause. “How do you propose we work past these ifs?”
“Oh, I already have an eye on five incoming parliamentarians who would easily agree with us,” Duncan’s eyes were wide with amusement. “All of them are young, idealistic and impressionable. The best part? I think I have that young Espinoza bastard in my pocket.”
“Espinoza?” Christophe’s face filled with shock. He knew, as did the other Senators, that the powerful family from Belleza Sutil was not one to generally work with the ruling elite from the Core worlds. To have one of them on their side before he was even officially sworn in… “How did you get through to him?”
“Believe it or not, his wife,” Duncan pursed his lips and tapped his ring. The platinum ring, encrusted with a single large ruby, was a reminder of the powerful status his clan held on his home world of Corus. “She is related to me, distantly, and I simply suggested through family that an incoming member of the Lower House might need a friend in the Upper. Word was passed, and she contacted me three weeks ago after he won the election. She was disgusted at the thought that there is now an Imperfect in the family.”
“Wait,” Christophe interrupted, his expression curious. His day was improving dramatically by the moment. “There’s an Imperfect Espinoza now?”
“Joel’s youngest boy, I forget his name,” Duncan waved his hand dismissively. “Some anomaly in his genetic pattern. Doesn’t matter. Parliament-elect Espinoza is going to face some ridicule from his fellow members in the Lower. As I mentioned before, he’ll need a friend or two. He- and in extension, us- are fortunate the results of the gene test of his younger brother weren’t leaked until after the election. It could have tanked him. And us.”
“You think he believes that the Emperor is overstepping his bounds?” Christophe queried. Duncan shrugged again.
“The Espinoza’s are loyal to the Dominion, Christophe,” Duncan reminded his young protégé. “I doubt that the boy… Kevin, I believe, is going to stray from his father’s beliefs much. And Joel, despite his faults and arrogance, believes in a strong and stable Dominion. A power-hungry Emperor does not make a stable Dominion. Even one of them would agree.”
“So we…” Christophe’s voice trailed off.
“We wait, cut the budget so the Emperor bows to the will of the people, and move forward with the proposed Boxley Act,” Duncan stated. He looked back over his shoulder as Christophe’s aide coughed slightly. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the aide, who had been silently staring at the floor nearby. “You trust him?”
“Darius,” Christophe called out to his new aide, who had been one of his father’s favorite aides in the months leading up to his death. “What did you think of the conversation? Or of the plans we spoke of?”
“Conversation, Laird? Plans?” Darius asked quietly, his brown eyes confused as he looked up from the floor. “I heard no conversation, nor any plans. I wasn’t aware that any took place, in fact. I was about to remind you, though, that you have a meeting in ten minutes with Senator Stephens of Juno about the new trade tariffs on goods from the Domai Republic. Then you have a meeting an hour after with the esteemed Justice of the Lord regarding… items of interest.”
“Totally trusted,” Christophe answered Duncan’s question with a quick nod. “And efficient, too. It’s no wonder my father hired him.”
“As you say, Laird,” Duncan nodded. He cocked his head to the side and looked back to the young Senator. “The Justice of the Lord? What are you doing with that old relic? He barely comes out of his crypt anymore.”
“Paying my respects, Senator,” Christophe said as patted Duncan’s shoulder. “One can never have too many allies. Something my father taught me.” The two men turned and continued down the hall, followed closely by the silent aide.
He’s not insane, he’s entirely reasonable and persuasive, “Darius” thought as he followed, mentally writing his latest intelligence brief as he trailed behind his current employer. The younger is going to be worse than his father was. His father was selfish and a traitor, but this Christophe is a zealot, a true believer. I wonder how Chief Gan is going to handle this… The Dominion Intelligence agent kept his head down and his ears open as he kept a respectable distance between him and his new boss.
And my father taught me something as well, young Laird, “Darius” recalled with inner delight. Something that you would never understand. Sobre todo, la familia permanece.
James Enge, author of Blood of Ambrose, has gotten back to me and he agreed to be interviewed. Yay! I’ll be sending the info to him and (hopefully) it’ll be up within the next few weeks either here or at Shiny Book Reviews.
Wrote quite a bit yesterday after the update, and was generally pleased. Some villains are ready made, while others need a little coercion to crawl out from their dank holes. The best, however, are the villains who believe that they are the good guys.
I’ve had a few questions about Corruptor‘s e-book release date. I really don’t know when it is. I asked my publisher a month back, and here is her response:
9/3/2010
Hi Jason,
An editor is working on Corruptor as we speak. I want Corruptor to be as error-free as is humanly possible. Edits should be in within two weeks.
I’ll have a better handle on the official release date once we have a print proof copy in our hands.
Lida
So there you have it. Still hoping that Webscriptions will be able to do an e-Arc of the e-book, but with Arnold still sick and me not knowing the legal ramifications of things I’m going to go out on a limb and say it probably won’t be up at Webscriptions at all, which is a shame. I really like what they do over there, and the DRM-free format should be the industry standard.
Good morning readers! How is your lovely day going? Oh, need some caffeine? Ah, you haven’t had breakfast yet… I understand. Here, have a donut or three with your coffee. Now some snacks… yum yum.
Believe it or not, the majority of writers are very unhealthy critters. We snack when we write, we sip absentmindedly at whatever drink is in our grasp. Many joke about putting scotch into a writer’s water to see if they’d notice (scotch? Trust me, we’d notice. Rum on the other hand…). I’ve had whole sandwiches placed near me when I’m in a groove that I ate and didn’t even realize that I had eaten anything until reminded of it later.
So how do we keep off the weight while trying to keep our three fans happy with writing production? That is the $54 million dollar question.
I’ve taken to going to the gym and playing basketball in my “dead” hours (i.e., hours I don’t normally write well, which is around 1-3pm). It gets my heart going, which in turn helps me lose a little weight. I’ve also tried to cut out the soda from my diet (unsuccessfully, I might add… soda is a harsh mistress) and got rid of the snacks. I also try to plan my food intake to be on an even schedule.
What other steps might a writer take to keep from looking like the Michelin Man?
The gym sucks. I still hurt.
I buckled down last night and pounded out the first of two reviews I was working on, namely Blood of Ambrose by James Enge. The review is posted over at Shiny Book‘s sister site, Shiny Book Reviews. Yeah I know, not very original. Sorry. I was under a time crunch and when that happens, well, sometimes the best decisions are not made. The second review, This Crooked Way by the same author should be up by Monday. I’m still waiting for him to say “Yeah” to my interview request, by the way. So if you guys want him interviewed, a concerted effort to raid *ahem* his Facebook page wouldn’t hurt one bit.
Today I was procrastinating with Wraithkin, which has begun to completely dominate my life. Not that this is a bad thing, mind. But when I’m in the middle of a play which opens in three weeks (OMG WTF!?!), struggling to run two websites (okay, “run” as in the same way as one “takes care of” a healthy cat, but still…), and keep up with my social networking (evil motherf*****g Facebook), having one thing trying to dominate your mind can be a bit overwhelming.
I know you can be overwhelmed, and you can be underwhelmed, but can you ever just be whelmed? -Bianca Stratford, 10 Things I Hate About You
You can now. Really, I said it’s okay.
I’ve been whelmed today, just with life and everything else in general. So I heeded the advice of the Great Scalzi (he of the turbaned head and genie bottle residency), who in turn passed on the words of the not-so-great Harlan Ellison (What? His writing never engaged me…): Even if you only write 250 words a day, in a year you have a 90,000 word novel.
So instead of going all out and writing, I went in and edited. Like a cake decorator, editing is an acquired art form. You’re either very, very good at it or you absolutely suck monkey nuts.
You can guess where in the spectrum I fall into.
On the plus side, I edit other people’s work fairly well. So I guess it balances out rather nicely, so I don’t find my mad skills overflowing with monkey nuts.
…and I got more work done. Go me.
Worked some more on Wraithkin today, then went to the gym.
Yeah, you read that right. Me. In a gym. Willingly.
To be fair, I would go to a gym quite often if it weren’t A) so expensive, and B) restricted to free weights and what-not.
You see, I hate lifting. Some of my best friends can dead lift a Buick (once upon a time, I almost did) but me, I’ve always been the runner. The guy who ran everywhere, six miles a day in the morning before school and another two miles afterwards. The guy who went to the basketball court and shot hoops for four hours. I was that guy.
Then I ruined my shoulder. Lesson I learned that day? Footballs are not meant to be thrown at 85 mph.
But since that day, I’ve been very particular about what activities I do. Since I no longer have access to my dad’s boat, I don’t waterski like I used to. I’m also no longer young (okay, 32 isn’t that old, but still) so organized sports are mostly out. But my savior came and showed me the way. Yes, the intranets explained that a new rec center opened up no 15 minutes from my house and had two indoor basketball courts. After checking it out, I decided today to check it out.
I love the place. Hopefully, I can sign up for monthly access soon. Running around and shooting hoops makes me feel good. Almost as good as writing does.
So tell me… is there anything you do that you enjoy as much as writing? And reading, by the way, does not count.
Over at Shiny Blog’s sister site, Barb Caffrey has recently reviewed The Course of Empire by Eric Flint and K. D. Wentworth. Go give it a read.
I may get some razzing for this (and some smack talk as well, given as to how poorly they played yesterday) but I am a Colts fan. Yes, I understand that being an Indianapolis Colts fan is like being a fan of the Yankees. But I’ve been a fan of the Colts since they resembled the old New Orleans Saints. You know, the one led by Archie Manning? So I usually give myself some slack in that regards. Hey, it’s not like I root for the Patriots or anything.
Rooting for a heavy favorite in a novel doesn’t happen very often. Time and time again authors use the “plucky underdog” metaphor when writing the tale of the hero(es). The hero is always outgunned and outnumbered, and the future rides on his actions to Save The Day. There almost always is a love story from someone who has no reason to love the hero, since they come from two different worlds and the likelihood of that Nigerian prince who needs your bank account to transfer $12.3 million being a real person is nil. You read as much dystopian fiction as I do, you start to see a pattern. Yes, I am a bitter old man.
But how can you turn that around? What if you made a hero the powerful and benevolent ruler who is facing an underdog enemy who has the hearts and ideals of a small population? Who, while not having the firepower that the kind and benevolent hero can bring to the table, has that plucky underdog vibe to him and makes life a living hell for the hero? What do you do when the hero, in some eyes, no longer resembles a hero? When the hero starts to look more and more like his evil father?
You see, being a rebel is easy. Leading an insurrection against the evil dictator is simple work, because any casualties of war you can blame on the evil dictator. Anything that doesn’t go according to plan you blame on spies for the evil dictator (trust me, read some more… evil dictators always get the shaft and, worst of all, have spies everywhere… if their intelligence net is spread this f****ng wide, how did the evil dictator miss the rebellion brewing?). The hero has no accountability other than a sleepless night when eventually his best friend since childhood either A) dies heroically saving them all, or B) betrays them all right before the final battle.
So what happens when the hero must be accountable?
Assignment for the week: if you like, write a brief summary about what the hero did after he becomes the new ruler. Does he abdicate the throne in favor of a busty, redheaded dominatrix named Trixie? Does he become a kind and friendly ruler who must battle his own insurgency? Entertain me, please. Be as insane as you want.
