Reality Skimming

This week Joe Mahoney takes us behind the scenes with a mini essay that addresses the topic of ethics in the marketing of Speculative Fiction.

Ethics in SF: A series of interviews, articles and debates on the Reality Skimming blog, hosted by Lynda Williams, author of the Okal Rel Saga.

Ethics of Self-Promotion in Speculative Fiction

A while back I had the pleasure of meeting Speculative Fiction writer David Brin in Toronto at the World’s Biggest book store, where he was promoting a new collection of short stories. I’m a big fan. His book The Postman is one of my favourites, one of a handful of books I’ve read in a single sitting.

Lucky for me there were few people in the World’s Biggest that day, so I had little competition for Brin’s attention. We had a long, wide ranging conversation about many things, including Kevin Costner’s movie adaptation of The Postman, which is so inferior it may as well be based on a whole other book. Brin told me that the movie nailed just one element of the book, and that was the novel’s heart. Which, happily, was the one thing he would have chosen to get right, if he’d had a choice. (He also told me the production team never spoke to him once during the making of the movie, which is just sad, and no doubt contributed to the movie’s failure...and is an ethical question for another time.)

I purchased a copy of Brin’s short story collection, he signed it for me, and I left the bookstore with a positive feeling for the man. So, mission accomplished for Brin. He’d sold a copy of his book and assured the distinct possibility of future sales, all in a friendly, warm fashion. It was a successful soft sell.

Some time later I attended a science fiction convention, where at one of the convention’s ubiquitous parties I met Brin again. To my surprise, he remembered me, and ushered me aside to a quiet place where we could talk. I wondered what he could possibly want to talk about. It turned out he had just finished his latest project, a graphic novel, and he wanted to show it to me. This time when we parted I thought, gee, that was unfortunate. I had felt like all he wanted to do was promote his work. It felt crass. I was disappointed in the man.

However, I did not persist in this opinion. For one thing it would have been hypocritical of me. I had recently produced an SF radio show, a copy of which I’d sent to Brin. He had been quite generous, not only taking the time to listen to the show but responding with positive comments. For another, Brin seemed genuinely excited about his new graphic novel, hot off the presses. Who could fault a guy for that? And if he was in fact just flogging his work...well, he was only doing what he had to do.

Because there is a fundamental difference between David Brin and me. I have a full time job. I draw an annual salary. I’m not particularly hungry or concerned about my future (although in this economy perhaps I ought to be). When I write, I do so for pleasure, not because I absolutely have to. I am not required to self-promote, whereas a full time writer like Brin makes a living on what he writes. His income is based on selling sufficient copies of his work. It’s a job requirement to continually flog his wares. And it’s not fair for someone in my position to judge him harshly for that.

Or is it?

Is it possible to promote one’s work (or one’s self) too much? Is any amount of self-promotion justified? If no one gets hurt it can’t ever be unethical, right? Except -- what if your self-promotion backfires, turning people off, ultimately hurting yourself? What about writers who are better than you, but not as good at self-promotion? Is it right that you should succeed while they do not?

I’ll leave you to ponder these questions while I go check out Brin’s latest bit of perfectly justified self-promotion. (You can follow him on Twitter too: @DavidBrin1).

Your Turn: Comment with your own reaction to the questions.

This week we take a break from guest features and let Lynda share her opinion on limits and going too far.

Ethics in SF: A series of interviews, articles and debates on the Reality Skimming blog, hosted by Lynda Williams, author of the Okal Rel Saga.

Q. As an author, have you been feeling the pressure to send the 'extreme' message about your work to make it stand out? If so, take a moment to reflect, with me, on whether it might be time to acknowledge that some push back might be more exciting.

I just made a mistake that changed me. I approached a writer for an article on 'Ethics in SF' thinking I needed to frame questions in a bold way to encourage the person to identify limits. Why? Because I'd filtered what I heard said at a con through my presumption that 'extreme' is what everyone is striving for more of: darker psychology, more brutal betrayals, uglier sex and more violent death.

The ORU is a 10 novel series, published by Edge Science Fiction and Fantasy.

I have done my share at exploring the nasty side of life, from the banal villainy of spoiled-brat H'Reth in The Courtesan Prince, to the self-conscious sadism of Ev'rel in Throne Price. I claim no moral high ground in the matter. But I have identified what disturbs me about the 'dark' trend in SF literature. The balance of power is shifting from glimpses of evil, briefly indulged and swiftly punished, to ones in which the transgressing character is exonerated and even glorified. Vampires can be cool people even if they have to murder innocents regularly. It's not their fault, they're predators. Horror should expose the stupidity of 'girl next door' values and adventure should demonstrate how life is futile and good guys die pointlessly.

Because that's life.

Amel admits as much, to himself, in Throne Price, when the worst is happening. But even then, he knows he would rather cling to his faith in better possibilities than accept a reality so ugly that existing in it has no value to him. If that's pathetic, rather than brave, then I'm pathetic because I feel the same about writing and consuming literature. Maybe I'm just dumb. Certainly, like Amel, I do not always win. But there's a win in this experience because I have decided it is time to open my eyes to the possibility other people might be equally troubled and the brave thing to do is to expose my offended sensibilities. Even to the extent of being 'uncool' if necessary.

Your Turn: Comment with your own reaction to the questions.

This week we conclude Nancy Jane Moore's two-part feature on Ethics in SF.

Ethics in SF: A series of interviews, articles and debates on the Reality Skimming blog, hosted by Lynda Williams, author of the Okal Rel Saga.

Q. Doing the right thing can have a high cost. How do you make the pain real for your protagonists?

In “Gambit,” the main character ends up in serious trouble with the military authorities. There’s a chance she might get away with what she’s done, but only if it fits into a larger strategy. That’s a typical scenario for me: the character who does something right and ends up paying a price. In “Homesteading,” there’s the possibility that by doing the right thing she’s also done the most practical thing, made the choice that will make her safer. But neither she nor the reader know if that’s the way things will work out.

"Homesteading" appears in Conscientious Inconsistencies

My characters don't always do the “right thing,” but when I write stories like that, their decision haunts them as well. I've had my characters follow their orders, even when they thought they were wrong. They’ve decided not to rock the boat, even though they knew injustice was being done, because it would do no good and would only harm them. "Borders," which appeared in the anthology Treachery and Treason, and "In Demeter's Gardens," which appeared in the anthology Front Lines, are good examples of this. I suspect this is the kind of ethical challenge many of us confront in our daily lives: We see something wrong being done at work, for example, but we do little or nothing because taking a stand would likely harm us without righting the wrong.

Rocket Boys and the Geek Girls

But I’ve also been known to let the characters take a futile stand, even though the end result is painful. In "Blindsided by Venus in the House of Mars," which appeared originally in Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine and has recently been reprinted in the Book View Café ebook anthology Rocket Boy and the Geek Girls, my main character must choose between loyalty to the man she loves and loyalty to a man who fought alongside her in a failed revolution. She's on the run, and choosing the lover is not only her preferred choice, but choice that will keep her safe. By showing how much her lover means to her, I make not just the decision, but the aftermath, painful. In that story, she will suffer no matter which man she chooses.

As I think about it, when my characters are presented with a moral choice, odds are they’re going to suffer whether they do the right thing or the wrong one!

Your Turn: Comment with your own reaction to the questions.