ultra mega maxima: fantasy and scale

I’ve been watching the The History Channel’s documentary series, The Universe, which–funnily enough–is about the universe, with a special emphasis on our own friendly neighborhood star and fellow-planets. I’m learning a lot (about gamma pulses! and collisions with rogue planets during the crucible of creation! and look, computer models showing the sun expanding and the Earth exploding!), but mostly I’m just blown away by the scale of everything out there. Planets are HUGE, distances are VAST, stars are humongously BRIGHT and ENORMOUS, everything is ANCIENT and, oh yes, if such-an-such asteroid struck Earth it would be with the force of TEN THOUSAND TIMES our entire nuclear arsenal. As for this so-and-so star this-many light years away? Well, if our sun was this puny little LED light, than that star would be this enormous searchlight that just went on behind me with eye-wrenching luminosity… only a HUNDRED times brighter.

After a while, I just go numb when they start with the numbers and the analogies.

Yes, it is horrific that a  meteroite the size of a small city could destroy all life on Earth, that the impending expansion of our dying sun would cook us all to cinders, that a burst of gamma rays could boil away our atmosphere and incinerate us with radiation, that the Great Rip at the end of time would grind us into nothingness… but really? Dead is dead is dead. It was shocking when my doom was to be incinerated by one nuclear bomb, horrifying that it was through the force of a hundred nuclear bombs, but when you get to TEN THOUSAND nuclear bombs—well, I wouldn’t be alive to appreciate all that force anyway. And my mind has shut down and gone into static mode because it can’t handle things of that scale.

Same is true for vastness. At some point, it doesn’t matter if a Jupiter-like storm covers more area than the flattened Earth or only about half of it. If, by some unfortunate occurrance of events, I was actually in a planet-sized storm, it wouldn’t matter to me if it were Mercury or Mars-sized. It’d be all violent storm and I’d be freaking out.  Same with distances. Star A is a 1000 light years away, and star B is 10,000 light years away—it becomes all the same because no one’s ever going there in my lifetime. At some point, my personal scale of reference just disappears into the mists of HERE GO THINGS THAT ARE VERY VERY BIG and HERE GO THINGS THAT ARE ITSY BITY TEENY TINY.

What does all this ranting have to do with fantasy? Good question. I’m glad you asked!

Well, fantasy usually involves high, save-the-world kind of stakes. It also often involves very powerful magic to deal with the issue of Saving the World.

Problem is that we’ve seen the world-in-peril plot a hundred (thousand million) times. And in order to make our (my, your, their, his, her) Save the World fantasy stand out, we feel compelled to dream (nightmare?) up bigger and badder and more gruesome things the World needs Saving From. At the same time, magics to defeat the evil become bigger, more awesome and glow brighter to compensate. This is especially true in a multi-book story when the World has already been Saved (Temporarily) several times, so the writer has to increase the badness in both quality and quantity as the series goes on, until it verges on the ludicrous.

For example, the first book of the series might start off on a smaller scale. The protagonist might only Save one Fortress (here the writer channels Helm’s Deep) from an army that only outnumbers the Good Guys five to one. The next battle, though, has to be bigger, with worse odds and badder magics. And so on and on you go, until at the very end, most of the countryside is aflame, the parts that aren’t on fire are carpeted by mindless warrior drones numbering in the hundreds of thousands, city after city has been overrun, the combined power of three volcanoes, two earthquakes and the biggest reservoir of magic hasn’t slowed the evils down one bit…

Dude. Seriously. My mind cannot handle it. What can I compare hundreds of thousands to? I’ve never seen that much money. I sure don’t own that many books. I’ve never counted that many stars or flowers or hairs on my head. I don’t  even get a 100,000 seconds in a day. I suppose there are hundreds of thousands of molecules of water in my drink, but that’s going over to the other end of the scale, where things too tiny to comprehend live.

So, either my head just exploded, or I’m totally numb. The sheer vastness has had the opposite effect. Instead of making me ache more for the plight of the protagonists, I’m just waiting for the Fairy Godmother to show up and turn the bad guys (bugs, orcs, mechanoids) into pumpkins. Because by that point, it’s like being in a fairy tale. A bizarre fairy tale. The story has taken on a scale I can’t wrap my head around.

So, how to avoid this? Well, odds don’t have to be 10000:1 to make me care. The country doesn’t need to be on fire to make me care. Deaths don’t have to be in the thousands to make me care.

It only takes one character to make me care. One character who has lost a father to raiders, or children to slavers. One character whose beloved brother has turned traitor. One character whose childhood home has been burned down. Connect me to the human-scale grief and anger and loss of one character, and I will care. Give me a character who has loved, lost, picked himself up, gone on while still broken and hurt–and I will care.

You don’t have to decimate your entire fantasy world in order to pack an emotional punch.

sunday progress update

Since I finished the typein I have:

* poked and prodded at a short story I started writing a few weeks ago. decided to leave it alone

* read and backed away from a 8K novelette-wannabe short story in need of massive revisions

* found (yay!) and read through all my notes on Kai’s book to refresh my (poor) (aged) memory

* started work on (re)creating the language of Ain (Kai’s homeworld) and fallen asleep to consonant blends and diphthongs floating around my head. also got very stressed out about proper names, though that was probably exhaustion talking.

* and tried very very hard not to peer over David’s shoulder as he’s reading Quartz and ask, “Where are you? Do you like it? Do you really like it or are you just saying that? If you like it, why aren’t you more enthusiastic about it?” and other such unhelpful questions

the trouble with electronic media

… is that it’s addictive (I’ll watch/surf over to/play five more minutes/one last site/one more level) and before you know it three hours have gone by and it’s past midnight and you’re still watching Battlestar Galactica and your eyes feel like they’ve been sandpapered and all that lost time is just ashes in your mouth.

Or maybe I’m the only one who gets overloaded on the Internet/TV and end up feeling bad about wasting my time afterwards.

I still go back for more, though. Ugh. I never feel this way when I do something else self-indulgent, like tinkering with a story or crocheting or drawing or playing the piano. Or even reading. It’s just lots of screen-time that does it.

I’m glad we don’t have any TV, but we just got a gift subscription to Netflix *tremble*.

Time to write revise. I need to balance unproductivity with something useful. *grin*

challenge: complete

The Stories

  • Xenobiologist
  • Broken (an Elinor story)
  • Exposure
  • Beauty & Beast retelling (unnamed, because I suck at names :P)

The Wordcounts

  • 4410
  • 6244
  • 1637
  • 3510

Written in collaboration with Angst & Whining, hot chocolate, and the album The Better Life by 3 Doors Down.

Not a bad end to the year. Working on Kai’s book begins in earnest now.

pet peeves

One of my pet peeves as a reader is the way labor and childbirth are depicted in fiction (anybody willing to guess why I’ve been thinking about that lately? *grin*). On one hand, you have the spectacular Hollywood labor, beginning with the woman’s water breaking dramatically in an upscale store, followed by a mad dash to the hospital, lots of screaming and cussing of the unfortunate spouse or partner, until baby makes its appearance. On the other, there’s the Fantasy Prologue birth in which an exhausted white-faced woman has just given birth to the Prophesied Child, whereupon she will quit life, leaving the midwife and the old sorcerer to figure out what to do with the kid. (And these women always labor in bed–something I have never been able to do. Hello, stand up and walk around, let gravity give you and the baby a helping hand!)

Neither of these two scenarios does justice to the range of emotions and experiences of labor and birth. That is a shame, because emotions can and do run high, there is pain and euphoria, laughter and intensity, tragedy and comedy and even mundaneness (picture me dressed in hospital gown and bedsocks, reading a book while in “labor”). Relationships are tested and connections forged in the shared experience. And then there are all those emotions when a mom holds her baby for the first time. There is so much story potential in this universal human experience, but it has been left largely unexplored in the lives of fantasy female protagonists.

But then, you don’t see too many fantasy female protagonists with children (children happen later once the character is retired from their leading role–apparently moms are not allowed to have any adventures) which is a rant for another time.

Now, your turn. What are your reader pet peeves?