Hi, My Name is Mark, and I'm Internet-Dependent

What I love most about Google is not that I can, if asked, find pictures of the neighborhood where I lived briefly in Berkeley, Ca, but rather if I stray into the more powerful tools like Google books and Google scholar, I'll find all sorts of useful information tucked away in books and papers I would have never otherwise thought to peruse.

One of the best examples of this is my current Golden Age Boxer project. A quick Google of "Sailor Tom Sharkey" gives me nothing to work with that I don't already have (and may I just say, a pox on those websites who just glom onto other sources and present the same info over and over again ad nauseum). But if I type that name into Google Books, I start finding mentions of him in old, very out-of-print memoires of then-famous referees, or write-ups in collections of one sports writer's columns. I have found this type of information to be invaluable, since it was usually written during Sharkey's lifetime, and even as anecdote, it's a measure of how he was seen in society. Very, very cool.

Google Image, How I Love Thee

Today I was working on something that required a bit of photo reference, in this case of the Montgomery Street BART Station in San Francisco. In pre-internet days, that would have required at least a trip to a library, or more than likely an actual journey to San Francisco with a camera in hand to take a few shots myself. Now, thanks to the magic of Google Image search, I turned up many images online, not just of the platform (both with and without trains), but the escalators leading up from the platform, the mezzanine, and several of the street level entrances. I was able to load the script up with links to exactly the shot that I had in mind, something that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago.

I mentioned this online, and Willingham asked how writers in pre-internet days were able to write, without having recourse to Google Image. And honestly, I didn't know the answer. It's gotten to the point that I can't imagine writing without having access to internet searches, not just for image reference but for research and data.

How about the rest of the Tick-Tock Gang? Have you become as dependent on the internets as Bill and I have?

A Few Random Notes of Possible Interest

I'd like to mention just a few things before delving deep into the writing hole for a while. First of all, I'm bone tired of being behind on all of my deadlines, and remember fondly that (nearly) one whole year in Vermont when I was actually ahead on all of my deadlines. So I have decided to take a fairly radical step in correcting that.

Starting today (as soon as I finish this note, in fact) I'm going to embark on a 30 scripts in 30 days writing marathon. In the past I've been able to complete a single comic book script in a day, without killing myself. Now I'm going to see if I can do it for many days in a row.

Blame Matthew Sturges for this ridiculous stunt. He so inspired me with his 100k words in one month triumph that I simply had to try something comparable. It really was a triumph too, in every sense of the ancient tradition. Matt rode into Rome on a gilded chariot. He wore a crown of laurels, which he continues to wear every day while writing. He had an honored slave riding in the chariot with him, whispering in his ear: "Remember, all glory is fleeting."

I want that too. Especially the slave, because my house needs lots of cleaning and the yard is looking a bit ragged.

But take note that, although this is a silly stunt, it's not a contest or a competition. We've done writing contests to death in this blog and we aren't doing that any more -- not now that we've finally succeeded in recasting this blog into what I'd wanted it to be all along: a never-ending convention panel discussion about the art and craft and joys and horrors of the writing profession. So no one else among the Tick Tock Men and Woman will be joining in. In fact, they are forbidden to take part, or do anything but cheer or jeer (or comment) from the sidelines. So there.

And, in order not to derail the conversation here, I will not be posting updates here. I will do that via Twitter. So follow me there, if you are at all interested in keeping up. I imagine this sort of like the Jerry Lewis Telethon, where half of the fun of watching it each year was in watching Jerry slowly melt down as the event wore on. You can watch as my Twitter posts slowly get less cogent and more deranged over the coming month or so.

I say "month or so" rather than the precise 30 days because I have written in a few strategic days off into the schedule for this damned fool stunt -- for holidays and friendship maintenance and such. So really it's more of a 30 scripts before the new year thing, but that doesn't have the same sort of poetry in it, does it?

But on each actual work day I do plan on completing an entire comic script. That's the part that makes this a bit more than just a "I plan to work harder for a while" sort of event, which really has no pizazz at all.

Okay, on to other things.

The New York Times Holiday Gift Guide for Graphic Novels has come out, and out of the eleven books listed, two of them are Fables books. Yes, I am bragging. Yes, I know how unseemly it is to do so. But since the universe decided long ago that I don't get to be Jennifer Connelly's favored play toy, I need something to cling to. You can go here and see what I'm talking about.

I bought books.

I recently purchased our own Daryl Gregory's Pandemonium for the second time, because I lost the first one while I was only half-way through it. It worked out well though, because I was able to get Daryl to sign the second copy and he wrote a wonderful (and woefully undeserved) dedication to me in it, which was made doubly gracious when the story turned out to be so wonderful. I didn't see the twist coming, Daryl, but in hindsight it's the only way it could have happened. Lovely job.

I just picked up Never After, an anthology of fantasy stories by Laurell K Hamilton (who must be the designated heavy hitter, because her name appears about three times as large as any of the other authors), Yasmine Galenorn, Sharon Shinn and our very own Marjorie M Liu. I haven't read it yet, but I'm starting with Marjorie's tale, which is called The Tangleroot Palace. So I hope these stories don't have to be read in order.

I bought Return to the Hundred Acre Wood, by David Benedictus, who does a reasonable job of following the genius of AA Milne, and by Mark Burgess who illustrates the new book in the style of Earnest H Shepard. But I have one BIG complaint. The credits read: Decorations by Mark Burgess. Decorations? Seriously? Were you trying to be whimsical, or glib, or what? In point of fact, by designating these terrific illustrations as mere decorations, you were being dismissive and insulting. And I'm talking about insults in the ancient tradition, where spilled blood is needed to correct the matter, else the wonderful Clockwork mechanisms of the Heavens and the Earth will be forever after misaligned. How dare you assholes do that! Mark Burgess, if you need a second when you demand redress, I'm your man. I've many good blades, if swords are called for, and guns if it's to be pistols.

And to my everlasting shame and embarrassment, I bought Richard Castle's new book, Heat Wave. Yes that Richard Castle. It even has his picture on the back. As you will note by the material above, I am perfectly willing to go along with a good literary stunt. Judging solely by the first page, this story may not suck.

I'm off to start my first script in the marathon. I'll post here from time to time, but it's likely not to be too often. In the meantime, the other eight will have far too much to say to inform and enlighten you.

Hard to fly, easy to fall...

I love what I do. But, occasionally, I fear that I will kill what I love.

I was cruising the web the other day, and found this blog entry about how and why businesses, even successful ones, fail. The five stages of decline pertain to almost any profession -- but as a writer, I found them particularly relevant.

STAGE 1: HUBRIS BORN OF SUCCESS

So, let's enter a fantasy world for a moment. Pretend your first book is a critical and commercial success -- you're at the top of the dog pile, and miracle upon miracle, your next book does just as well. And the third, too. You're, like, a genius. Right? You can't not write a gem. Easy breezy.

Uh-huh. Start sweating. Put your feet back on the ground, darlin'.

Look at it this way: You wouldn't expect Michael Phelps to keep winning Olympic gold medals without training. You wouldn't expect, at all, that he could spend a year on the couch eating nachos and jelly beans, and then dive back into the pool and break more world records. You'd call him a fool if he tried.

Don't let success, however you measure it, turn you into a fool. The work never ends. All that changes is how you approach the work -- whether you come to it with dedication, love, a little insanity -- or whether you treat it carelessly, as something you are entitled to and can coast through. You might be able to fake the goods for a while, but eventually you'll slip.

Heck, you might slip even if you write another gem, a masterpiece. Life happens. Sales fall. Readers find some other bright new star.

STAGE 2: UNDISCIPLINED PURSUIT OF MORE

Taste success, and you want more. Makes sense. The problem is when you allow the visceral rewards of success to become all that matters -- when the rush that comes from doing well matters more than the work itself.

Again, step back. As a writer, you must push your limits -- explore the edges of what you're capable of -- but be practical. Think. Plan. Practice. Be disciplined about your expansion. Quality matters more than quantity (excluding, for a moment, a discussion about the practical and monetary reasons for writers to create more than what they're always comfortable with).

STAGE 3: DENIAL OF RISK AND PERIL

This is what happens when the bad reviews start coming in, or your sales figures drop. I could add some other things to the list, but those are the two that kill most writers (figuratively, and literally). Now, in defense of authors, some of that is out of our control. Placement, covers, bad copy, bad marketing -- all kinds of things can affect sales. And reviews -- oh, man -- you can't anticipate what people will love and hate. You do your best, and you move on.

But let's also be practical. If your reviews are bad and numbers are dropping, you need to accept that maybe, just maybe, you're doing something wrong. Seriously, take a look. Some authors can't handle that kind of responsibility. They attack readers when reviews are bad, rather than stepping back and giving their books a good, hard, look. They blame publishers and booksellers when sales figures head down the drain (sometimes the blame is well-deserved) instead of asking themselves whether it's possible that maybe their book just isn't that good.

Are you slipping? Are you self-aware enough to notice? Are you humble enough to listen when people say that you need to work on your storytelling?

STAGE 4: GRASPING FOR SALVATION

At this point, you're no longer at the top of your field. You've slipped. And you're frightened. It's not too late to climb back up the ladder, but it's going to take hard work, and self-reflection.

Instead, you want a quick fix. So you do something crazy. With a writer, that could be anything. Maybe you change publishers, change genres -- but you do something radical that gets you all that attention you've been missing. Maybe it works. Maybe it works for only a short time. But either way, you're motivated by desperation, rather than cold calculation (there's a difference, I assure you).

STAGE 5: CAPITULATION TO IRRELEVANCE OR DEATH

Start thinking of a new pseudonym, friend. You've ruined the one you've got now.

The good thing is, if you've got some heart and courage left over, you can start again. You can always start again, no matter what you do with your life. As George Weinberg says, “Hope never abandons you; you abandon it.”

But don't let it get to that point, okay? A little self-awareness, humility, and common sense go a long way. As writers, we're called out on a long journey that will be full of ups and downs -- but how we approach our work (and our own selves) will determine whether we fall, merely stumble -- or fly.

Six Word Stories from the Tick Tock Men (and Woman)

I want to respond to all of the posts below from those who've responded to my "What do we owe the readers?" question, because I've still got more to say about it, especially about the fact that so few weighed in on my following question, "What do we specifically not owe the readers?" which granted could be just a touch incendiary, depending on the responses, so I don't really blame the others for not jumping on that grenade.

But all of that will have to wait because it's time, as promised, for our six word stories, and here's what we found out: Six word stories are fun. Before this I thought comic book writing left no room for wasted words and run-on scenes, but I was wrong. Now I see that comics are positively fat with room for leisurely prose, for slow and deliberate character development, for almost glacial building of plot and tension. The six word story is where the really terse and bare bones writing is done these days.

But it seems even this isn't the acme of the short story. As you'll see below the new guy, Daryl, thought that was one word too many -- that the six worders contained too much room to ramble on. Or maybe he just thought he could show us up again. Regardless, we now present a selection of six word stories (and one five word story) for your enjoyment.

Chris Roberson

Librarian of Alexandria seeks overdue books.

Matthew Sturges

1) A stitch in time saves Lincoln.

2) We're all dead? Good. Let's eat.

3) The universe ended this morning. Again.

4) THIS virus, however, is totally safe.

5) I ate her brain. She reciprocated.

6) No, the aliens ARE the ocean!

7) Dad: fangs. Me: stake. Oedipus: schadenfreude.

Marc Andreyko

1) they married. he died. she's rich.

2) the asylum doors broke open. crap.

3) the diagnosis was bad. he partied.

4) satan: "So?" walter: "It's a deal."

Paul Cornell

"It's my vagina, my dear Watson."

Bill Williams

The ball bounced. I leapt. Score.

Daryl Gregory

"Daylight savings," Van Helsing answered.

Marjorie M Liu

1) I only have eggs for you.

2) Never date Amish vampires. No bite.

Mark Finn

1) Sports fisherman accidentally kills Moby Dick.

2) Slot machine of Dorian Gray malfunctions.

3) Sam Bowen becomes Godfather of Chinatown.

4) Clockwork Storybook expands. Publishing world contracts.

5) Disgruntled elf sleighs Santa. Christmas sucks.

6) Sex therapist's new hobby turns deadly.

7) Biographer rewrites his own life story.

8) Ambrosia unknowingly served at convenience store.

Bill Willingham

Traditional Horror: "What curse? I can't read hieroglyphs."

Modern Horror: Chop! Chop! Chop! Stab! Stab! Stab!

Fantasy: Dark Lord missing. Final battle postponed.

Sword and Sorcery: He came. He saw. He cleaved.

Traditional Romance: "It's not love. It's something more."

Modern Romance: "It's not love. It's something less."

Western: The outlaw drew first, but missed.

Mystery: The butler didn't do it. Yet.

Traditional Lit: Scoured the moors, but she'd departed.

Modern Lit: Suffering ennui, he ended the affair.

Science Fiction: Fleet never surfaced. Hyperspace is fickle.

Historical: Albinus stepped hesitant into the Rubicon.

War: Zulus attacked in waves. "Volley fire!"

Adventure: "One chance! See that rooftop? Jump!"

Children's: Itsy bitsy bug, needs a hug.

"New" Fiction from Finn

Well, it's only new if you weren't around in the Halcyion days of Clockwork Storybook. But it's with great pleasure that I will direct new and old Tickwits alike to that wonderful website, Revolutionsf.com, where you will find an updated and expanded and revised version of the Condorks sequel, The Chance of a Lifetime. The novel will be serialized weekly, so you can read it as it appears or save up a few chapters and read them all at once.

For those of you who don't know about the Condorks, Larry, D.J., Burt and Turk, I will point you in the direction of the first novel, The Transformation of Larry Croft. And yes, both of these books are available for free on RevSF. Is this a great country, or what?

Trusting the Unconscious

I've been thinking about Chris's post below, about Eric Brown's Ten Tips for writers. In some of the other tips, Brown talks even more about the unconscious and how important it is to the writing process. So in coming up with a response, I started out thinking about how instinct and intentionality play into my own work.

I used to outline everything ferociously. Especially with my comics work, what with it being such a structured medium, I would panic if I didn't know exactly what was going to happen every step of the way. I understand the fear that Brown talks about: you worry that you're going to make a misstep, go off in the wrong direction, write yourself into a corner. These are all symptoms, though, of an underlying fear which is the fear that you don't have anything to say.

I find that as I spend more time writing, I spend less time staring at a blank screen. In fact, it almost never happens to me anymore. Part of this is planning, and the other part is overcoming that fear. The mistake that I made as a beginning writer was that I'd sit down in front of the computer having no idea what it was that I planned to write about. Just staring, waiting, praying for some inspiration to leap up and grab me. Or if I did have an idea, being afraid to leap into the fray and start writing it. I wrote as though every word was sacred, every press of the delete key an affront.

At some point in the process, you start to realize that stories are expensive, but words are cheap. What I mean by that is that you need to have some idea of what it is that you're doing before you sit down and start typing. But you don't need to know exactly what you're going to say. I'd think, "How do I start? How do I come up with the perfect opening sentence?" I don't think that anymore. Now I just plow on in. Grab the first sentence that comes to mind and go with it. If it doesn't work, so what? I can always start over, and I'll probably learn something in the process.

Nowadays, I work out the general layout for a story long before I sit down to write it. I ponder stories while I'm lying in bed waiting to go to sleep (which often takes me hours to do, insomniac that I am), in the car, in the shower, watching TV. I don't start typing until I know where I'm going. But--and this is an important but--I don't wait for every little piece of the puzzle to fall in place. You can spend your entire life doing research and plotting and planning and never write a single word: that's the fear working its magic.

So once I sit down, I've already spent a good deal of time working out where I'm going. But then I start typing, and often whatever it is I've planned goes out the window. Sometimes just a little, sometimes utterly. There's a kind of magic that happens when you have a direction and just start typing toward it. All sorts of little things start popping into place as your unconscious mind gets a hold on things. The more you put down on paper, the more it has to chew on. Things start to happen.

You'll often hear writers give that old chestnut that "the characters just took on a life of their own." It is, of course, nonsense. Characters are just ideas in your head, and they have no life of their own. What does happen, however, is that your unconscious mind is always back there making connections. And it's very good at emotions and personal relationships. Sometimes you'll have a scene in mind where character X wants something and character Y wants something else, and as you're writing it, you'll realize that what character X really wants is something completely different, and that character Y's reaction ought to be something else entirely. As the chain of cause and effect from writing to thinking to un-thinking goes around, all that new information stirs up new ideas. That, I think, is the magic of writing.

Sometimes I'll read something I've written and think, "That's just wrong." Something doesn't click; it doesn't feel right, and you can't put your finger on what it is. I think often these jarring disconnects come when your conscious mind has forced a story into a situation where it doesn't belong, and your unconscious mind, your instinct, is back there bleating wordlessly at you, telling you that it doesn't belong there. To me, the unconscious is a big mess of images and words and phrases and emotions that can't speak clearly; it can't speak up for itself. So when you sense that wrongness (or rightness, which happens sometimes, too) you have to really listen to it. Go back and examine what you've done, line by line. When does the screaming become the loudest? Is there some key sentence or bit of dialog that really gets it going?

Often you already know the answer, and you're afraid to admit it because fixing it would take so much effort. I recently had a situation in the novel where the character that I wanted to have in the book just didn't belong in it. I was trying to shoehorn her in because I liked the idea of her. But she created more problems than she solved. She was, ultimately, unnecessary. Every time I read a scene with her, I started to get bored. At the same time, there was another character who really needed to be there, but seemed kind of one-note and uninteresting. At one point, I found myself writing a scene for the unnecessary character, and when I went back to look at what I'd written, I realized that in two places, I'd typed the other character's name unintentionally. And there was the answer. I went back and excised the unnecessary character, blending her in with the character that needed to be there, and that feeling of wrongness completely vanished. I got rid of someone who didn't belong, and I fixed a character who was broken, all in one fell swoop. But I had to own up to the fact that what I was doing wasn't working, and I spent an entire day correcting that misstep. But boy was it worth it.

So, to put this in geek terms: plan carefully for your assault on the Death Star. But when you get there, don't be afraid to turn off your targeting computer and rely on the force.

And if your unconscious talks like Alec Guiness? Boy are you lucky.

Eric Brown's Ten Tips for Aspiring Writers

Science fiction author Eric Brown has posted a set of ten (well, tenish) tips for writers on the blog for Solaris Books, and while in general it's a worthy list, the same sort of thing you'll often see established writers trot out for the neophytes, he says one thing in particular that I found interesting. It was second in his countdown.

2. Trust in the subconscious. Beginning writers are beset by fear. I was. I overcame the fear - i.e., the doubt that I had anything to say, the tools to say anything - by writing and writing and trusting in the subconscious. Write long enough and the old SC kicks in. Try it.

Check out the rest of Brown's list for the rest of his advice, but this one I thought might merit discussion. I know that I have often been rescued from some nettlesome plot point by ideas that bubbled up my from subconscious, or discovered at the eleventh hour that some part of my brain was working out the mechanics of a plot without me being consciously aware of it. I've set up mysteries without knowing the answer, only to discover that the obvious solution was in front of me all along, and more than that, I had been seeding clues as I went along.

I think that learning to trust your own instincts, or to rely on the unconscious parts of your brain while writing, is an important step in the development of any writer. What about the rest of the Tick-Tock Gang? Is this something that resonates with you?

My Veterans Day Post

Some of you, while you were out and about today, might have noticed a small table, set with an odd selection of items, set out, usually in the entrance to a restaurant. I saw it today at the local Applebee's, which offers a free meal for all active duty and vets today, which I think is a very nice and generous gesture. Of course I came unprepared with my camera phone, or I would have snapped a picture of it.

It's called the Missing Man table, and each item at the table is there for a specific reason. Here's an explanation of what each item symbolizes:

The tablecloth is round, to show our everlasting concern for our missing men.

The plate is white, symbolizing the purity of their motives when answering the call of duty.

The single rose, displayed in a vase, reminds us of the life of each of the missing, and the loved ones and friends of these Americans who keep the faith, awaiting answers.

The vase is tied with a red ribbon, symbol of our continued determination to account for the missing.

A slice of lemon on the bread plate is to remind us of the bitter fate of those captured and missing in a foreign land.

A pinch of salt symbolizes the tears endured by those missing and their families who seek answers.

The glass is inverted, because they aren't here to share today's toast.

The chair is empty... they are missing.

What can I add to that, but my thanks to our veterans, those still missing, those who've paid the ultimate price, and those who were prepared to, who took their turn when it was their turn.

What do we owe the reader? A coherent plot, for one thing

I keep thinking about what we owe, and what we don't, and I don't have a good answer yet. The other Clockworkers' posts strike me as well-reasoned. But I will say this, since Matt brought her up: JK Rowling may have kept some of her promises, but she broke a big one--that her plots would make a lick of sense. Instead, they make less sense the longer you think about them.

Voldemort: Here's the plan, Barty. You disguise yourself as Mad-Eye Moody for nine months, then sneak Harry's name into the goblet of fire, and then rig the contest in such a way that Harry is guaranteed to win.

Barty Crouch: What?

Voldemort: You see, the trophy is really a portkey! Ha ha! It will transport Harry outside the school, where my minions can subdue him and then use his blood to ensure the final phase of my resurrection.

Barty: Okay, but...

Voldemort: You dare to question me?!

Barty: Why don't I just, you know, hand him the portkey?

Voldemort: [Stares blankly]

Barty: I just walk up to him, hand it to him, and poof, he's teleported out of the school. We can do it tomorrow.

Voldemort: Barty. Barty. I'll overlook this because you're new. But you obviously have no idea how to be the FRICKIN' LORD OF DARKNESS, okay? That's MY job. Now drink the frickin' polyjuice potion, and I'll get back to you in June.

Now, this kind of sloppiness is not uncommon. How many breakneck adventures have your read, how many X-Files or Heroes episodes have you seen, how many comics have you inhaled that you enjoyed in the moment, but about 30 seconds after putting down the book or turning off the TV, you thought, Wait a minute...

Rowling particularly annoys me. Not just because her stories depend on some kind of attention-deficit disorder dream logic, but because she has sold so many books, and made so many children happy (including my own, and soon Matt's, I'm sure) that it's clear her readers don't care about the plot. They forgive her, or they don't notice, because they like hanging out with Harry for 800 pages. Which goes to show you: charm and wonder trump craft every time. Now: Would anyone like to discuss A.E. Van Vogt? Or the second drafts that PK Dick never wrote? No?

What We Owe Our Readers: My Caveat

Having read over Chris and Matt's entries on the subject, I find that I agree in bulk with what they have said. Matt's notations about an ending summoned up all of the rage I felt at the end of the Sopranos, and the terrible disservice David Chase did to his viewers, and most importantly, himself. If, as he contended, he was disappointed with the American viewing public because everyone liked Tony Soprano, that was his own fault. And he should have taken his story back and had Tony killed, or put in jail, or something to show us that crime doesn't pay, or that sociopaths are bad, or whatever. I guarantee that, as potentially upset as some of his viewers may have been with a Tony Soprano assassination, everyone would have accepted it because it was a conclusion that was borne out of the narrative. I told you that to tell Matt this: Kelly Link did her ending better.

I wanted to add something to the big "Ditto, Guys" that I just laid down in the paragraph above. I think we also owe readers a point of view. I don't think every book has one, nor do I think every author does this, but in my own reading experience, the best authors, the books I most remembered, the ones that stick with you and become your favorite reads, all have a strongly dileneated point of view.

This need not be through the eyes of a character, either. All of Tom Robbins books are very obviously and intentionally written with the authorial point of view in the fore, so much so that I would contend a goodly number of his characters fall into the sock puppet category. Likewise, Stephen King, when he's good, has a strong point of view in his writing.

A number of the Texas Weird authors like Joe Lansdale, Howard Waldrop, and Neal Barrett, Jr., have very strong points of view; they are actually known for it. Sometimes it comes across as a sensibility in the writing. Usually it's the stuff that makes you look up from the book and shake your head and wonder how they ever thunk that up in the first place.

Donald Westlake, my favorite mystery writer, was very good at moving his point of view around from the main character to the supporting characters in ways that were significant and effortless all at once. Even though the vast majority of his work is set in the modern world, it's always a world that you have no idea about. His crime fiction is a dark and mean place. As a reader, it takes less than one chapter for Westlake to establish that you've gone through the looking glass.

This is not to say that I don't value narrative in a good story. But I read for two reasons: to educate myself or to entertain myself. I have found that the best reads do both at the same time. In non-fiction, it's always a bonus, as it makes what you are reading far more digestable. In fiction reading, the entertainment value usually comes in the form of the author's point of view.

What Do We Owe Readers?

I've been thinking about this "What do we owe readers?" business for a little while, and while I think Chris more or less summed up my feelings on the matter, I've got a bit to add.

I think we owe readers what we promise them. A story makes promises early and often and what we owe our readers is to follow through on those implied promises. And that's pretty much it.

The cover art makes a promise, as does the blurb on the dust jacket or the back of the book and whatever author quotes might be found. Hopefully whoever wrote the blurb was able to communicate the essential promise of the novel. We writers should pray that they do, because that text can return your book to the shelf before any reader ever even sees all those pretty words we wrote.

With any luck, the potential reader has made it past the cover unharmed, or has had the book recommended by a friend or a reviewer (who have already made promises to this reader over which you have no control whatsoever) and doesn't bother to inspect it. Then your reader goes and orders a latte and sits down to read the first few pages before she decides to buy it. (My reader is female and she orders a latte. I don't know who your readers are or what they order.) This is where our promises start.

From the very first sentence, our stories tells its readers about what kind of story it is, and what they ought to expect from it. Assuming the readers make it past the first few pages, they're going to expect that we deliver on those promises. And that, I think, is what we owe them.

Consider the opening of the first Harry Potter novel (which I happen to be reading to my daughters at the moment). In the first ten pages you get: a buffoonish family, a coterie of silly wizards, and a baby with murdered parents and a great destiny. What do these pages tell readers? They promise that this story is going to be a story about magic and wizards, that it is going to contain farce, and that in its pages, a boy will discover and confront his destiny.

Say what you like about the Harry Potter books, but one of the reasons these books are so satisfying is that they deliver exactly what they promise. Rowling has told her readers precisely what to expect from her story and then she follows through. Give me that and a character I can root for, and I'll let you get away with plot holes, narrative gaps, and pedestrian prose until the cows come home.

I'll quibble with Chris on one point--I don't think you owe the reader an ending. Well, let me be a bit more precise: you always get an ending (every story stops sooner or later), but you don't always get a conclusion. And I'd argue that you don't always owe one. If you promise the reader a conclusion, then you have to deliver one, but if you never make such a promise, then you don't.

Consider Kelly Link's magnificent story "Magic for Beginners." The story claims to be a description of an episode of a television show, which focuses primarily on the personal lives of a few teenagers who spend most of their time watching a television show of the same name. The story makes no implied promise of a payoff; it doesn't adhere to a traditional narrative structure. It instead wraps up its readers in its crafty mysteriousness, drives them out to into the woods blindfolded, dumps them there, and then drives off cackling. Readers at the end of this story are left to wander in those woods. The story has no conclusion; it just stops. But I'd argue that while it doesn't conclude, it ends at a beautiful moment. Kelly Link knows (my guess is that she knows it intuitively) when to stop, when not to explain, understanding that in the worlds she creates, to explain is often to ruin.

To further illustrate, let's look at a story that fails catastrophically to deliver on its promises. When I was a teenager, I read the first few volumes of Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I loved 'em. He wrote four of them, waited for a long while, and then wrote three more. And at some point in the interim, he totally forgot what it was he was supposed to be doing.

The book opens with a stellar, simple premise. A gunslinger is chasing a man in black. We don't find out for a very long time why he's chasing him, and we don't care. But this is the central story that spans all seven volumes: the gunslinger chases the man in black in a world that has moved on. This world is connected to our world somehow. Fair enough. But in setting up this premise, King has made a huge promise: at some point, the gunslinger needs to catch this motherfucker. And guess what? He never does. After twenty years and seven books, the gunslinger fails and we're never told why.

That's pretty inexcusable. I read an interview in which King described the ending he provided. (And here, okay, I see that there's an exception to the notion that all stories end. The Dark Tower doesn't actually end at all. If you followed it to the last page, you know what I mean.) He claimed in this interview that his ending was the only possible conclusion. But this is madness. There was only one possible conclusion to this story and for reasons we may never guess, he deliberately chose not to provide it.

But there are other crimes here. Long about the sixth book, King goes off on an insane metafictional tangent in which King himself and his books appear in the narrative. I have no problem with metafiction. I love it and have indulged in it myself. The problem is that at no time in the first couple thousand pages of this massive story was there any hint given that metafiction was going to come into play. This was not in the contract. It's as bad as if you were reading a Sam Spade mystery and at the climax you discovered that the murder was committed by the Loch Ness Monster.

I could go on and on, but the bottom line is that The Dark Tower is a deeply unsatisfying story for the simple reason that it breaks all of its promises. Mr. King, sir, I fell in love with your story and then it broke my heart and pawned the engagement ring.

So that's my answer. What we owe the readers is what we promise the readers. No more, no less. Readers, like lovers, will forgive a great many sins as long as we remain faithful to them.

Edit: Now that I think about it, I can't remember if he catches the guy or not; it's all kind of a blur. Does anyone know? Either way, when he finally gets to the Dark Tower, it's a pretty big letdown.