it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

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It's not a love song. It's the last song.

hernewshoes on how bulemia can kill you, too, and why you might just let it.

What she said.


In other news, I see two fine writers of my acquaintance (jaylake and specficrider) are kicking the corpse of SFF and/or slipstream at the IROSF. (registration required.)

It's an interesting article, and one I'm largely in sympathy with, even if I feel that the debate is largely academic. Theropods and chickens, here we go again; where do you draw the dividing line between birds and dinosaurs? Well, the more you learn about birds, and the more you learn about dinosaurs, the blurrier the line in between them gets. (Yes, I'm a notorious lumper and arranger-by-spectrum-rather-than-category. "Nobody really needs more than two species of Austalopithecines! All this shit is the same shit, only different!")

I dunno. The insistence that SFF as genre and SFF as technique not develop (which is not what Jay and Ruth be insisting about over there!) seems to me largely of a piece with the people who insist rock died with Buddy Holly. In any sensible society, we'd pat them on the head and move along, because any fool knows if you don't lift techniques from other genres, you aren't playing jazz, and anyway chickens are just allosaurs with feathers. Having been accused both of being one of these freaky slipstream people, and of being a genre hack with a complete and total lack of any innovative ability, I have a tendency at this juncture to take it all with about a quart of miso and a couple of headache pills.

Which does not, of course, diminish the deep and atavastic thrill I feel when a reader or a critic gets it, but frankly, that's what it's all about. Communication and comprehension and AHA! and the lovely moment when the squids match up just right and you know you made them laugh out loud, or sniffle, or just sit back in their chair and flip back ten pages and read that bit over again to make sure you just did what they think you did.

Yep. That's the whole point of writing. That, and paying for the catfood. The rest is just chrome.

Of course, my own personal obsession is picking apart the fossilized remains of genre tropes with a toothpick and gluing them back on the card in subtly altered shapes, so I'm probably not the right girl to ask. But I also don't think you can properly disassemble something unless you love it to bits first--enough so so that it annoys you on a deep philosophical level. And I do love SFF, and I do love pretty writing, and I love a good thriller and a good mystery and a good mainstream book.

Hmm. You think they're done with those chicken bones?
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