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So I Wrote This Novella

Cover for Tales From The Fathomless Abyss, stories by Mike Resnick & Brad R. Torgersen, Jay Lake, Mel Odom, J.M. McDermott, Cat Rambo, and Philip Athans.
Cover for Tales From The Fathomless Abyss, stories by Mike Resnick & Brad R. Torgersen, Jay Lake, Mel Odom, J.M. McDermott, Cat Rambo, and Philip Athans.
I’m turning in something today that I’ve never tried before: a novella.

Back when I was first approached about the Fathomless Abyss, it involved an initial story and a later novella. Sure, I said, and whacked out a story for the first Fathomless Abyss book, TALES FROM THE FATHOMLESS ABYSS. It was “A Querulous Flute of Bone”, which I based on an O.Henry story, and which I think is one of my best stories to date. If you don’t believe me, spring for the 99 cent download and tell me if I’m wrong.

Then I started on the novella. The first thing I did was look up the length requirements. Wikipedia told me the official SFWA definition was 17500 to 40000 words. So just a long short story, right?

The problem with that was that…I write short. I excel at under 4000 words. So I turned again to a model. I’d been thinking about issues of addiction and so I decided I was going to write about that, and use William S. Burroughs’ JUNKY as my starting point. And I was going to throw in a touch of Lovecraft for spookiness and make the drug of my protagonist’s choice something a bit weird. And I wanted to reference some of the cool stuff the other Fathomless Abyss writers had added to the world.

I was telling a life story, from early days in an Abyssal village, through journeys to all sorts of points, culminating in some sort of…well, you know…climax. There was a chase for one thing, then another chase for what it turned into. I wanted to include something about the philosopher-king Nackle, whose teachings figured in “A Flute of Querulous Bone.” I wanted mushrooms and hallucinogenic wasp stings and pack llamas. I sketched out an outline and started writing. And I kept folding in stuff I wanted to include as I ran across it and then I reread Joe Lansdale’s THE COMPLETE DRIVE-IN and decided to not worry about being too weird and things all fell together…

And I became aware it was too long. Too, too, too long to finish on deadline. But I had the first half written and there was a good place midway to split the narrative, and so I said to Phil, “What if I do a pair of novellas, this first half, and then give you the second half for later release?”

So that’s what we have. I’m turning in A SEED ON THE WIND this time and A CAVERN RIPE WITH DREAMS will follow on its heels.

Wikipedia quotes Warren Cariou when discussing novella structure:

The novella is generally not as formally experimental as the long story and the novel can be, and it usually lacks the subplots, the multiple points of view, and the generic adaptability that are common in the novel. It is most often concerned with personal and emotional development rather than with the larger social sphere. The novella generally retains something of the unity of impression that is a hallmark of the short story, but it also contains more highly developed characterization and more luxuriant description.[7]

I know mine is focused on the development of a protagonist who I fear is somewhat unlovable. I’ve tried for interesting characterization and today I’m finishing up adding a layer of luxuriant description.

If you’ve come looking for advice on writing novellas, I’m not sure I have any. Perhaps you, the readers, can tell me what you think of them and what you’ve done when trying that form. I know Rachel Swirsky is a champ at writing them. What do you think – do you like novellas? What do or don’t you enjoy seeing in them? Can you think of anyone you think does them exceedingly well?

5 Responses

  1. Don’t know nothin’ about writin’ no novellas, but I am certainly looking forward to reading yours. A touch of Lovecraft improves any dish. Also, thanks for mentioning Lansdale’s Drive-In stuff a while back. I downloaded The Complete Drive-In and liked it a lot, although damned if I know why. It shouldn’t work but it does.

    1. I think DRIVE IN is an absolutely fabulous book for conveying that the writer can go anywhere they like in a book and they can be as gonzo and bizarre as they like. Try to describe it to someone and it doesn’t sound all that great (except for the Popcorn King), but it is just so wonderful and weird while at the same time you care deeply about the characters.

      I’m trying to think of other books that do that, which would make a great blog post.

      1. Dhalgren maybe. At least I cared about the characters and you can’t deny it’s pretty weird. Of course I haven’t read the book you’re talking about (yet) so I may be off base, but there you go.

        MKK

  2. Let me quote the esteemed Michael Dirda who said in the Washington Post:

    “Short stories contrive to use a single incident to illuminate a whole life: They aim for a short, sharp shock. Novels, those fabulously loose and baggy monsters, frequently transcribe entire biographies, reveal cross sections of society or show us the interaction of several generations. They contain multitudes. In between lies that most beautiful of fiction’s forms, the novella or nouvelle. Here, the writer aims for the compression that produces both intensity and resonance. By focusing on just two or three characters, the short novel can achieve a kind of artistic perfection, elegant in form yet wide in implication. The closest analogue may be Aeschylean tragedy – two actors on an almost bare stage, ripped by the torments of the human heart.”

    Words to live by, my dear.

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How Gorgeous is This Cover for A Seed On The Wind?

Look! Mats Minnhagen has finished the cover for A SEED ON THE WIND, the Fathomless Abyss novella I’ve got covering out this October. The scene’s one that occurs early in the book and gets referenced again and again throughout, so this cover, which comes so close to what was in my head, delights me with the way it conveys the space of the story.

If you don’t know what the Fathomless Abyss is, it’s a shared world project created by Philip Athans involving myself, Jay Lake, Joe McDermott, Mel Odom, Mike Resnick, and Brad Torgersen. Books out in the series already include Philip Athans’ DEVILS OF THE ENDLESS DEEP and J.M. McDermott’s NIRVANA GATES. I had a lot of fun writing “A Querulous Flute of Bone” for the TALES FROM THE FATHOMLESS ABYSS anthology and just as much fun writing this novella, which is the first half of a pair, to be finished in A CAVERN RIPE WITH DREAMS. Charles A. Tan recently talked with me about it for S.F. Signal.

Cover for A Seed on the Wind, painting by Mats Minnhagen
Tiny things floated through the air all around him. He stretched out his palm and kept it motionless long enough that one drifted to be trapped in his palm. A seed, a brown seed. Attached to one end a tuft of hairs, fine and feathery, to carry it along. Carefully he raised his hand, examined it more closely. So small. As it neared his eye, it became no longer brown, ridges and swirls marked its surface in grays and greens and reds that somehow blended together to create the impression of brown from just a few inches farther away.

Here’s something from the first chapter:

One morning his father woke him from a nightmare. He was still young, perhaps six or eight. His father squatted on his heels besides Bill’s bedroll and shook his shoulder. When he woke, shuddering and gasping from dreams of strangle-fingered demons, feeling his breath still in jeopardy, his father didn’t say anything, just beckoned to him.

He followed at his father’s heels, towards the world and the great tube that the village of Poit clung to. At the end of each tunnel the space widened considerably, leaving places where shelves and ladders and catwalks could be stretched. And beyond them all you could see the abyss itself, stretching downward and upward into darkness.

The air was full of something. What was it?

Bill moved to the railing to see what was happening. His father said, “Sometimes the world opens and things fall in. This far down, we rarely see them. This is something you will remember all your life.”

Tiny things floated through the air all around him. He stretched out his palm and kept it motionless long enough that one drifted to be trapped in his palm. A seed, a brown seed. Attached to one end a tuft of hairs, fine and feathery, to carry it along. Carefully he raised his hand, examined it more closely. So small. As it neared his eye, it became no longer brown, ridges and swirls marked its surface in grays and greens and reds that somehow blended together to create the impression of brown from just a few inches farther away.

He closed his fingers around it, meaning to keep it. But it was so small that it wafted away even as his fingers moved.

He’d only seen things fall into the abyss. But these, so light, sometimes moved upward or downward, sometimes tugged sideways as though snatched by invisible hands. Thousands and thousands, swirling through the air.

He picked several from the ground around his feet. Gingerly, he put one between his teeth, crunching down.

The seed gave way, falling into woody shreds, tasting like nothing he’d ever tasted, a sweet roundness mixed with sharper, angrier notes. Not unpleasant, but awake. He swallowed the fragments, feeling them rough in his throat.

He gathered a painstaking handful, picking them from crevices. Other people were doing the same. How often did you get something like that without cost, like a gift from the universe?

He and his father stood for hours on the platform, hands resting on the stone balustrade, watching it. Almost everyone in the city came to see the phenomenon, even if their children had to carry them. People did not speak much, simply watched, as though storing it up.

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