Alex Hughes - Author of the Mindspace Investigations series

Author of Mystery, Science Fiction and Fantasy

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Reader Question: Why Hasn’t Adam “Fixed” His Addiction?

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I had a reader contact me today with a question I’ve been asked a few times now, why Adam doesn’t just “fix” his addiction or have it “fixed” by the Guild Structure people. This is a good question! And I love that my readers are thinking deeply about the world and the rules of the world. Since I’ve been asked it a few times now, I thought it was time to go ahead and answer it on the blog in more detail for everyone.

Thanks to Frank, who wrote the text of the original question from today (copied below).

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Hello,

I am reading the first book in the Mindspace Investigations book, Clean and I have a question.

Currently I am just on Chapter 11.

 In Chapter 10, you describe Constructs as being able to ” If you want a criminal to literally not be able to think about molesting children again…” . If that part is correct, then why hasn’t the hero had this done to remove the ability to think of Satin to cure his addiction?

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Thanks for contacting me! Always great to hear from readers.

I’ve gotten this question a few times, and there are three major issues at play.

(1) Addiction is complicated, because it’s not just about the behavior. With an addiction to a substance, it’s usually about an emotional need or pattern as much as the substance. So the Guild has learned over time that blocking thoughts of Satin just leads addicts to seek out a new drug or new destructive behavior in the short term to meet those needs or patterns. In the long term, the patient often regresses right back to the addictive habits, often to new ones on top of old. It’s not specific enough a trigger to be adequately treated, if that makes sense. You can block the Satin but you can’t block the need that’s driving the addiction.

Even with the criminal treatment for convicted child molesters–which is to a very, very specific set of triggers and behaviors–the criminal will often act out in other ways to try to fill whatever need for control or lust he/she was getting through those sets of behaviors. The treatment and rehabilitation team will try to channel this into a form that is much less destructive, but it’s often very bad for the criminal’s mental health and future, or very bad for those surrounding the person. Sometimes with enough patience and determination, the criminal can even get around the mental block, which is also bad. For this particular set of criminal behaviors, the future society is willing to pay that price. For other situations the unexpected consequences could far outweigh the thing you’re trying to fix, and society may not be willing to pay that price. Humans are complicated, and messing with their heads is complicated.

For addiction, the Guild has by this point determined that Structural intervention just isn’t worth the trouble. Better the addiction you know about and can deal with in other ways than new addictions and new problems you can’t predict.

 

(2) Adam has Structural training. Any telepath who can “see” what’s been done to his/her brain has a much better shot that average of undoing what’s been done, and someone with Structural training can rarely be permanently “changed” without his or her active and ongoing participation. The problem with addiction is that Adam’s emotional needs will keep forcing him to “pick at the scab” and undo what’s been done. So “fixing” Adam isn’t really worth it if he’s fighting you, because it likely won’t work, or won’t work the way you planned.

 

(3) Humans don’t as a rule like having their brains altered. Like so many folks with bipolar disorder or other mental illnesses, they don’t “feel themselves” on drugs that change the brain. Sometimes the difference is worth it to the individual. Sometimes people go off the drugs as soon as they can. Sometimes it’s something in between. And drugs are a lot less personal and less invasive than having someone prodding around in your head. Not to mention that having that sort of thing done against your will–to alter who you are as a person–is traumatic. I imagine that “fixing” your brain is very much the same. If you actively consent and want the benefits from the change, perhaps it works because you’re willing to pay the price. But it’s a brain change, and is going to change how you feel overall and how you experience your mind and yourself. People as a rule don’t really like that, and will choose it only if the benefit outweighs the price.

For Adam, considering his desire for control and anger towards the Guild at the worst time of his addiction, he would be very, very wary of having anyone change his brain. He wouldn’t want a stranger poking around in his head and making wholesale changes. He fundamentally wouldn’t. So he’d have every reason in the world to fight and possibly undo what had been done, even if the Guild had somehow decided to go against their policies and intervene with the addiction.

 

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What about you guys? Would you choose to have someone go in and “fix” your brain? What unintended consequences do you think something like that might have?

Writing a Series

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As most of you know, the last few weeks I’ve been researching series writing as a way to get my head around not only my next book (no. 2 in a series), but also the next however many I get to write with this world and characters. As a reader I hate the series that fizzle or get repetitive, and it breaks my heart to see the ones that go off the rails. When you love something, you want to follow it to the ends of the earth – and my goal these past weeks has been to figure out how to write something worth loving, something that works past Book 5, that makes for a beautiful and interesting full series.  Here’s some of the initial thoughts and information that’s come up in my research.

The Question

A novel or short story should have at least one story question (often more) established at the beginning and brought through the entirety of the story. When all of the story questions are answered, the story feels complete. It’s over. Posing another question starts another story.

The rules are a little different for a series. With a series, there are some story questions it will take multiple books to answer. But, to make each book complete, there must be a central story question that applies to this particular book – a question that must be completely answered by the end. The relative weight of the answered questions vs. the unanswered questions determine whether the series feels like connected episodes or one long story – or somewhere in between.

Limitations – or, Consistency

A series has to hold together, meaning every book needs to feel like part of a larger whole. One of the chief ways this is accomplished is through the use of limitations. Basically, you can’t change the rules in Book Five to add ghosts to the world without some careful foreshadowing all the way back to Book One. And even then, you run the risk of losing readers as you change the rules on them. Basically, the universe you set up originally needs to be the universe that exists forever and ever – with new areas to explore, for sure, but with the same rules.

This applies to characters and plot in addition to worldbuilding. A character’s driving motivation (the two things that make him who he is) need to remain constant over the course of a series, or at minimum, change very very slowly and only one at a time. To give an example, in the series my friend James Tuck is writing, the main character’s family has been killed and his driving motivation for hunting monsters is the hope that one of them will kill him someday. (He’s Catholic and can’t kill himself.) A lot of things can happen to this character as he learns and changes. He can have a new girlfriend. He can face bigger, badder monsters, open a club, even adopt werewolf kids (not that I think this is in the cards for this guy). But if he stops wanting to join his family and die, it becomes a different kind of book.

In the same way, if the first book has a murder case (like mine does), the audience is going to expect a murder case in the second book. It can be a very different kind of murder, in a different location or social class. I could probably also get away with a difficult missing persons case, or a rape, later in the series. But it would be too far to stretch for the plot to lose the mystery element completely, to become a heartwarming story about a parcheesi tournament. It wouldn’t be a series book anymore. That’s what I mean about series – similar plot, style, character hotpoints, and even consistent worldbuilding all have to work together for the series as a whole.

Keeping It Fresh – or, Avoiding the Same Book Syndrome

We’ve all had that experience where a series we loved just stopped being fun. Sometimes this is because the books lose the energy they had in the beginning, or (worse) when they start repeating themselves. A lot of the research I did on series had to do with avoiding these two pitfalls.

A big part of it is character. If the main character(s) can grow and change over the course of the book and the series, that keeps things fresh and interesting. To accomplish this, every book has to matter. Every plot has to impact the character(s) in a personal way, and they will not be the same person they were at the start of the book – or the start of the series. Having authentic growth and change without changing the character’s hotpoints (see above) can be tricky, but it’s very possible. An example that a lot of authors in my generation point to is Lois McMaster Bujold’s Miles Vorkosigan series – Miles has very different adventures over the course of a lifetime, but as much as he grows and changes from book to book, he’s still Miles. He’s still clever and flawed in the same way he was at the beginning.

Most writers talking about keeping a series fresh point to plot elements: new challenges, new cases (for mystery/thrillers), higher stakes. Michael Stackpole even talks about what he calls an essential step to a good series, what he calls the “away game.” Taking the main character away from his/her comfort zone and support system for awhile shows you who they truly are, he says. Then, every book afterwards happens in light of this new understanding. Many of the writers in my writer’s group point to stakes: putting more in danger, making things more personal as you go through the series. The downside to this, of course, is that if you move too fast you’re in danger of worldwide stakes over and over again, which gets boring.

The last suggestion I’ve run across for keeping things fresh (while maintaining series limitations) is to pick up threads from previous books and plant threads in the current book, so that existing characters become more or less important, and people and ideas develop in a deeper way from book to book. Take something you thought was minor at the time and make it a big deal in the next book – this, I think, is one of the best suggestions I’ve run into.

 

I’d love to hear your opinion on what makes a series succeed or fail. What are your favorite series and what makes them tick? What are your biggest disappointments as readers of series and what do you think made them go wrong? 

What is Good Fiction?

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Ever since I’ve gotten back from Odyssey, I’ve been struggling with how to integrate their teaching with my own system of fiction. Since the system I wrote under originally sold two books for me, I wanted to hold onto it. But the central principles of Odyssey kept echoing in my brain, so that when I did something (on purpose) that was different, I had a hard time.

My sister, in a moment of brilliance, suggested that I write down my own system. After all, it’s hard to hit a target if you don’t know where it is. So I took two days and wrote down what I think makes good fiction.

Here’s my results, in general: the ideas by which I think books fail or succeed. I’ll be expanding some of these ideas in future blog posts over the next few weeks.

1. Good fiction makes you feel.

Whether it’s the excitement of a chase, the thrill of falling in love, or the burning anger of revenge, fiction makes you feel. Bonus points for the book being interesting and unusual, but if you don’t feel something, and feel something strongly, it’s missed the mark.

From this perspective, Twilight succeeds; while a lot of writers (and readers) make fun of it, the book makes you feel intensely for the characters and that’s a good, good thing.

2. Good fiction has characters that change.

This is what writers call a character arc. The person your character is at the beginning of the book is, in a greater or lesser degree, not who they are at the end. Events impact them and force them to show who they are (and are becoming) through the decisions they make. It’s not about a number of events or a structure of a story here – it’s about how the events and the structure impacts the character.

This requirement is why I like a good romance novel. While you know what’s going to happen plot-wise with the whole book, a good romance book has incredibly strong characters who, through meeting each other, change for the better. Who they are is unique, how they change is interesting, and the net result is a story that feels fresh every time. Making me connect and feel for the characters and showing me how they change as a result of the story is enough for me – however you chose to get me there.

3. Good fiction isn’t boring.

Maybe this one should have been Requirement #1. A writer can get away with practically anything if they keep this rule. Throw in an egregious car chase. Pick up a quirky character. Make someone die, or have a heart-to-heart at the worst of times. But if the prose is lagging, the characters aren’t moving, and I can’t remember the last time something important happened, I will put down the book. And I won’t buy your next one.

4. A good book doesn’t drop threads.

While it lacks the punch of my previous rules, this one’s just as important. If you bring up ducks four times in twenty pages, I expect them to mean something to the story. If you start the book as a romance and then it turns into a mystery (with no romance in sight), I get annoyed. If you introduce the world’s most interesting character and then they disappear, I throw the book across the room. Great fiction doesn’t drop anything; it pulls all the themes, all the elements, all the plots and subplots, all the way through the book to a real resolution. It keeps its promises to the reader.

Bonus: #5: A great book is creative and interesting.

If a book accomplishes Requirements 1 through 4, it’s a good book, regardless of a lot of other things. But I’ll be honest, the smell of something new, creative, and interesting makes me sit up as a reader and pay attention. A new approach to an old subject excites me. A surprise or a bit of cool information adds a lot of delight to my experience as a reader. Be as interesting and creative in your book as you possibly can – assuming you can accomplish the other four points. Otherwise, no matter how new and original you are, in my opinion, you’re missing part of what makes fiction good.

 

That’s my model. What about you? What makes a book great from your perspective?

Advice to New Writers – Part One

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Lately I’ve been talking a lot to new writers. People who are ready to follow their dreams, to really sit down and do the work, but aren’t quite sure how to get there. The good news and the bad news is, all it takes is desire, persistence, and willingness to learn. Continuously. Writing is a game you never win, an art you never master. But that’s the fun part. For those who are interested in what I have to say, here’s a list of advice for beginners. Part 2 continues the trend later in the week.

Your average person has the attention span of a goldfish. This truth is not disrespectful, just realistic. Your reader is taking time out of their busy day to read for fun: not for an assignment, not because they have to. But because they want an escape from real life they don’t want to work for. Treat your readers with respect, but also don’t waste their time. Be clear. Explain things. And get and hold their attention. That can be an emotional connection with a character or an action scene where you blow things up, but either way, keep your reader’s attention span in mind. On revision, cut away anything that detracts from your story.

Concept and drama will get you a long way. People will stick in there for an awesome idea in a way they won’t for something typical. Go for the visuals, the description, the big questions. But also make sure you have the craft to back it up. A strong character in an impossible situation is better than an impossible situation on its own. Go for the specific, strong details that sell your concept.

Strong verbs and nouns will sell anything. The refuge of the beginning writer is adverbs and adjectives, words that “tell” rather than “show.” Ask yourself whether you can show the timidity or the strength through a noun or a verb – the right noun or a verb.

Be active. People like people who do things, especially in fiction. Make your hero or heroine an active participant in their fate – give them hard choices and have them deal with the consequences. Also, use active voice (Jacob punched Nicolas) rather than passive voice (Nicolas was punched by Jacob, or worse, Nicolas was punched) unless you have a good reason to do otherwise.

Rewrite your beginning until you bleed – then rewrite it again. As a consequence of the whole goldfish attention span thing, a good beginning has to accomplish six impossible things before breakfast. A good beginning needs to (1) capture the attention of the audience, (2) show the important bits of the backstory and any information we need going forward, (3) establish the world and setting, along with any story rules, (4) show us what kind of book this is going to be including any genre expectations, (5) plus make us connect with the hero or heroine (6) without slowing down the action. Scared yet? It can be done, and when in doubt, study the people who do it well. Amazon will let you download a free Kindle app for your computer and you can see almost any book’s opener for free. Read several of them and take notes on what they’re doing and how they do it. Study the successes as well as the failures in several genres and ask yourself what you can learn from each. Extra points for debut authors, who often have to be more on point than the established ones just to get published.

A complete “story” asks questions and then answers them. Want to know if your ending is complete? Go back and find out what issues and questions you brought up in your beginning. If you haven’t addressed them all (even if the answer is open-ended or ambiguous), you haven’t finished the story. On the debate team in high school, the fastest way to lose was to forget to counter an opponent’s argument. You may have one all the big points, but one forgotten little non sequitor will float to the end of the round and assassinate you. It’s like that in fiction. Tie up all of your loose ends. Hint: in short stories, keep the strings tight – don’t ask a lot of questions.

What’s the most useful bit of advice you ever received as a writer?

What is Steampunk?

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So I’m taking a Steampunk class through an online writer’s community (6 months to a Steampunk novel class, actually) and when I posted this information on Facebook, I got a question from a friend. Pardon the stupid question, she said, but what is Steampunk?

Warehouse 13, I said. Gail Carriger’s Soulless series. She looked at me blankly. Ah, then, I shall attempt to explain. Strictly as a student, mind you, and one who has yet to begin the class.

What is Steampunk? Put simply, a mood. A genre founded in the feeling and ideas of the last great age of Western civilization – the Edwardian/Victorian era – mixed up with modern sensibilities and technology in a mix that is uniquely its own. You can take whatever part of those eras you like and mix them with whatever part of modern you like, and if the hybrid works and smells of delightful gadgets, steam-powered everything, amazing wonders and terrible dangers, you’ve got a Steampunk. There’s a lot of room to steal from different parts of the era, but think strongly of class systems, the Industrial Revolution with all the wonders and terrors thereof, the world that brought forth Frankenstein and Dickens, Sherlock Holmes and Francis Hodgeson Burnett, Heart of Darkness and Jekyll and Hyde, blimps to rule the world and machines that could carry you anywhere and do anything.

And there’s the operative word. Machines. Not gadgets in the modern sense, but gears. Gears and steam, glass and rivets, wonders and possibilities breathing the same air as terrors and evil, machines that are loved as well as feared, that may kill you – or take your arm – as easily as provide food for your family. Rich men’s playthings. A caste system with servants and masters and poor people who knew their place in the world and could never aspire to more. The first blush of the Dream, the old American (and British) Dream – not the car and the house and the 2.5 children but a chance to work from a shoe-shine boy to a Carnegie steel fortune. The horrors of tenements. The indulgence of the Scrooges of the world, the rich men and the stripes they bled from those who worked for them. The machines, and the people stuck in these huge cogs of machines that made up the whole world.

Because don’t forget, this is the mechanized world of the Deists. The idea that God set up the whole Earth, the whole system – including classes, masters and slaves – like one great machines with hundreds of cogs, and then stepped back. That the world runs literally like clockwork, like the internal gears of a clock, understandable and explainable and inevitable in turn. The wonder and terror of the birth of Science fit into this idea – that if you could understand the clockwork, well, then what? You could change the world perhaps, for good or for ill, or destroy it. Or perhaps do nothing but see your own death.

Steampunk is taking all of this – the good and the bad, the philosophy, and above all the Mechanized World – and adding the modern, the future, the bigness of our current world. Making the steam – and the gears and machines – come forward, with all the wonders and terrors therein.

I hope this answers the question. What is Steampunk to you, dear reader?