Fiction School

Fiction School
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Sunday, June 15, 2008

Finally, I'm getting to the Werewolves and Mermaids


I read this really interesting article once in the New York Times about how every decade has a monster du jour—like a mythical creature that rears its ugly head in pop culture, then dies down so a new one can take its place. If memory serves, the article said the 70s favored mummies, 80s were all about werewolves, the 90s were vampires, and the new millennium thus far has been wild for zombies.

The author presented various theories about why this is, the details of which escape me now, but basically he implied that certain eras favor certain monsters because the creature speaks to us right then—it becomes the mascot for our unconscious thoughts and desires. For example, he argued that zombies are hot now because brain-dead consumerism and mind-numbing jobs make us feel like zombies, so we gravitate toward books and movies that speak to that.

Of course, some monsters just won’t die. I heard from a publishing insider that five or six years ago most editors were convinced that vampires were dead; Anne Rice had milked that trend to its limit, and the bloodsucking icon no longer had any selling power. Then Stephanie Myer came along with the Twilight saga and they had to admit they were dead wrong (ouch! Those dead/undead puns are just so bad! Forgive me…)

Lately I’m flirting with the idea of writing fantasy, or at least incorporating more magic into my realism. I’ve developed a certain yen for whimsical monsters of all sorts—werewolves, zombies, vampires, you name it—but my real love is mermaids. I wrote a story once in graduate school that featured a mermaid, and though one pretty out there girl totally dug it, most of my workshop classmates were like, “Jesus, what were you thinking?” Alarmed by their disdain, I backed off the mermaid thing. Now I’m reconsidering.

What do you think? Do you buy the hot-monster-of-the-decade theory, or is that just some New York Times reporter filling space in the Sunday paper? If you do think it’s plausible, any predictions about the decade ahead? Who will be the next Monster of the Moment?

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Neologism #3: Fanny Packery


Fanny Packery: noun (fan΄ē pak er ē) 1. Hideous lack of style, epitomized by wearing a fanny pack, though not limited to FP display. Other examples of fanny packery include commenting during movies on the characters’ emotions or motivations, wearing socks with sandals, and cutting one’s hair into any variation on a mullet. 2. Attitudes that express or embody said lack of style. 3. Philosophical stance characterized by caution, practicality and/or fear of the unknown. i.e. Did you hear that dude going off about how a skate park would bring drugs to the neighborhood? Man, that was some serious fanny packery!


Friday, May 30, 2008

Neologism #2: POOPHEMISM


Okay, I’m on to neologism #2 on my summer word-making odyssey.

Preamble to today’s entry: Someday I plan to have my own factory of words, with think tanks filled with bobbing lexiconnoisseurs (thanks, Cory, for that gem!) and high powered business meetings where we feverishly discuss the declining morale of the verb department and strategies for dealing with adjective inflation. This is all just my warm up before I conquer the world with invented language. (Mua-ha-ha-ha!)

POOPHEMISM noun (pōō`fə miz`əm) 1.The substitution of a mild, indirect or vague expression for one thought to be vulgar, especially those related to the excretion of bodily waste. 2. The expression so substituted: “After drinking that triple espresso, I felt a definite knocking on my cellar door.”

Epilogue to today’s entry: My boyfriend and I are experts in poophemisms. I mean lets face it, romance and bowel movements just don’t go together (unless you’re of a particularly marginalized subculture, which we aren’t, okay?). In an effort to communicate about these topics without totally killing the magic, we employ an ever-evolving arsenal of poophemisms.

Example:

Me: (barring bathroom door) Man, I wouldn’t go in there right now.
Him: Why not? I have to shave.
Me: Because I just had an enchanted April and it was really enchanted.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

NEOLOGISM KICK-OFF: Poptropics


Here's word numero uno in my Summer 08 Neologism (i.e. Gehrman-coined word) series. There'll be a new one every week, so stay tuned!


POPTROPICS noun (pop΄trop΄iks)
1. A land filled with beautiful people who dye their hair sorbet hues, display sparkly bellybutton piercings, and have icy beverages surgically attached to their hands. The weather is always eighty degrees, with just enough humidity to make hair dangle in desultory waves but never frizz. The region is also characterized by the constant presence of bad eighties music, remixed and pumped through gargantuan speakers with chest-rattling subwoofers.
2. Representations of such a place, as in film, design, fiction, or bad eighties music.
3. Of or relating to those who inhabit the Poptropics. See also Poptropicarians. (2008; ME Popp, ME tropic, fr. L tropicus, fr. Gk tropikos, fr. trope turn, as in a record)

Monday, May 19, 2008

My Big Summer Plans: Neologisms, Baby!


Okay, so I just started this blog and if you ever read my stuff on myspace or on rocketgirls you’ll have figured out by now that the posts below are somewhat random and recycled. My apologies.

Fret not, though! This is going to be a really cool blog. I plan to post reviews of YA novels and thoughts on the publishing industry (not boring thoughts, though—exclusively interesting thoughts, naturally).

I also want to look into werewolves and mermaids, since I’m toying with the idea of trying out YA fantasy and let’s face it, werewolves and mermaids are like the coolest mythical beings ever, besides zombies and vampires and sirens and stuff like that.

But here’s my big summer challenge: At least once a week (though I’m hoping for once a day) I’m going to create a NEW WORD. The fancy term for that is NEOLOGISM, and I’m going to go neologistic on your ass! (Okay, technically, neologistic isn’t a word—oh, which makes it a neologism, right? In other words, I just made it a word.) If you’re rolling your eyes, believe me, Shakespeare did it all the time, so don’t knock it.

If you have neologistic tendencies, send me your WORDS, man! I want them. I crave them. And yes, I’ll give you credit here, okay? I’m not a neologistic nabber, afterall.

Touring High Schools: Did it Hurt Much When You Fell From Heaven?


A couple weeks ago I did something no one should have to do: I went back to high school. Yeah, I know. Like that dream you’re always having—scratch that, nightmare—where you find yourself sitting in Algebra, naked from the waist down, totally clueless about the spelling of your own name, let alone quadratic equations. That was me, except I wasn’t dreaming.

I was promoting my first Young Adult novel, CONFESSIONS OF A TRIPLE SHOT BETTY. Standing there regaling my audience with Tales from the Writing Life, I cringed as they cracked their gum, yawned, and smirked at each other mercilessly. It was horrifying to face, but the evidence was right there: I wasn’t cool. All my old high school insecurities came back like a swarm of flesh-eating locusts.

Okay, to be totally fair, not all the schools I visited were like that. One was filled with kids so into reading and writing, I left with a serious contact high from their enthusiasm. Others were more like visiting a coma ward.

For these tougher crowds, I passed around a hat and scraps of paper so anyone too shy to ask questions aloud could scribble theirs down and deliver their query anonymously. Any idiot can see where this is headed.

“Okay then,” I said, fishing around in the hat. “Let’s see what we have here.” The first one I pulled out read “Can I stick two fingers in your butt and stroke your balls?”

Apparently, not only had I failed to impart the importance of reading, but (much more crushingly) I hadn’t even conveyed that I am female.

Ahh, well, details, details.

The next scrap of paper was even more cryptic. I read it aloud: “Did it hurt much when you fell from heaven?”

Here I thought I was so well versed in the language and customs of the under-twenty set, and so far one hundred percent of their questions were a total mystery to me.

The third one I more or less understood. It was a drawing, actually. It depicted the prominent feature of male anatomy in a state of excitement. When I showed it to the English teacher afterwards, she nodded. “Yeah,” she said wryly. “We get a lot of those around here.”

Putting the FUNK back in dysfunctional


A number of critics who have reviewed my novels categorize the families I write about as “dysfunctional.” I’m not going to be coy and pretend I don’t know what they mean, but I’m also not entirely sure I agree.

Sure, my characters often find themselves having dinner with their divorced parents and said parents’ bizarre lovers, sometimes with disastrous results. And yes, my characters’ family members often indulge in various forms of substance abuse and (sometimes under the influence of said substances) dole out questionable advice. Still, I’m not sure this makes them “dysfunctional.”

Looking the word up, it’s defined as “(1) impaired or abnormal functioning (gastrointestinal dysfunction) (2) abnormal or unhealthy interpersonal behavior or interaction within a group (family dysfunction).”

I don’t really think the families I depict are all that abnormal. Talk to just about anyone these days about their loved ones and they’ll admit their entire family tree, from the nuclear unit to the ancestral archives, is more or less fucked up. I’d say that makes those of us with a few kinks and eccentricities among our clans more normal (statistically speaking) than abnormal. And anyway, how often do you hear people refer to any family (their own or someone else’s) as “functional”? It brings to mind a home filled with factory workers, well-lubricated cogs in a slick, efficient machine.

I’ll take my offbeat characters—and my beautifully quixotic real-life family—over that sterility any day!