I Write Like Somebody, Maybe

I saw some tweets, most notably from Nick Mamatas, about a site called I Write Like, which supposedly, given a text, analyzes it and spits out who you write like, out of a limited selection of authors (I wonder what the male/female ratio is; probably a high ratio of white males, to be honest).

So I started pasting some texts that were either public or that I didn’t care about any more, and this is what I got.

Seal Tales‘ beginning, no matter what POV rewrite I use as the input text, reads like Rudyard Kipling. I can see why, since it was going for a folk tales feel, but man, I hate Rudyard Kipling so much. On the other hand, I might be a closer match for some other author, but Rudyard was the guy I got stuck with because of the limited selection. Still, I think the pretentiousness of this passage doesn’t suit me, and that would probably explain why I tend to go nowhere expounding upon it.

At least the consistency of the result despite the POV changes seems to indicate there is actually something behind the algorithm, whatever it is.

15-and-4 reads like David Foster Wallace. That’s interesting. I’ve never read him. Though apparently David Foster Wallace writes like Steven King according to I Write Like, so it can only be trusted so far. I wonder what seed texts it was using? Technically you ought to be able to get like to match with like for any sane algorithm, right?

Oh well, even if it is wrong, it’s at least consistent. Because the next input text I used was Christmas in a Strange Place, which also apparently reads like David Foster Wallace—or at least, like the computed style that the program labels, for better or worse, “David Foster Wallace”. I will shorten this style to DFW’. Whatever style DFW’ is, both “15-and-4″ and “Christmas in a Strange Place” are both what I think of as my honest writing, when I’m not trying to be, for lack of a better word, pretentious (or even precious) about my writing.

What about something out of left field like I Killed Cthulhu’s Cousin in the Library with a Nerf N-Strike Barricade? Reads like Douglas Adams. And yes, I can see it with this story, which is really odd for me. Points for going somewhere stylistically close, I Write Like.

As for I’d Rather Be in Love, it reads like Anne Rice apparently. I’m pretty sure the phrases that affected the scoring most were references to darkness, owls, and night. I’ve never read her, though, so I don’t know what other little tells triggered this particular scoring.

And for my last text, I used The Saddest Superhero is a Turnip. The result? ERNEST HEMINGWAY. For reals. GO READ IT. TELL ME HOW THE HELL IT’S LIKE HEMINGWAY.

By the way, I might need to question my sanity, since this blog post reads like H. P. Lovecraft.

I can’t write and I’m not worth anything

Maybe I should get rid of this category on the d20. I haven’t been able to “write write”, that is, write fiction. I lost a friend through my own fault (what does it matter if I blame myself? It still happened, it was still my fault, and I learned nothing, and I’m a base creature who learns nothing from her experiences, so why should I be alive? And so on), and so far it’s tanked my desire to do anything of the nature I had been doing up until that loss.

On the other hand, I can blog. Kinda. That’s been coming back gradually, though I doubt I’m ever going to do change logs again. It just hurts too damn much. In fact, I think I’m going to cry for a while after this entry.

If blogging comes back gradually, then maybe the writing of fiction can too. If it does, it’s going to come back irrevocably changed; there’s no way I can write a jaunty little romance tinged with sadness. I’m going to open a vein all the way, instead, and spill it on the paper. Or the screen. You know what I mean.

It’s a shame. I have an iPad I enjoy writing on (at least, the writing I can do right now) and I wish I could fill its days with something.

Of course, I have a tendency to do the exact opposite of what I say I can’t do. It’s a quirk of mine that I guess people don’t understand. I don’t really understand it myself.

How did I ever get away from my parents?

Commit log #137

I saw the bartender today. We talked about a few things, such as my breakdown on New Year’s Eve, and my current extreme loneliness and need for frequent hugs.

We talked about how anger was a more appropriate feeling for the stage in life I’m currently at; that it’s better than being taken by the fear (common as that is for people who’ve been through traumatic experiences). At this point I started crying and saying that I didn’t want to be angry, because that would focus the memories, and I didn’t want that.

And my bartender pointed out that I would be remembering the memories anyways. That I couldn’t simply forget them, any more than a war victim can put aside what s/he experienced. So I might as well be angry, and possibly channel my anger into something constructive.

As for the loneliness and need for hugs, the bartender wants me to expand on my social network and also to forge in-person relationships. I don’t know how to do this, really, in a world that involves occupations instead of scholarship. It’s easy enough to make friends with classmates (well, relatively easier), but you get into dangerous territory when it comes to coworkers. Conflict of interest if things go poorly, for one thing. And human relationships often do go badly, even if it’s only for a little while.

I have thought about how to channel my fear and possibly anger. I will channel it into my writing—not directly, not writing angry stories or whatnot, but to use that energy to power my writing efforts. I’m not entirely sure how to do this either—it’s like alchemy, turning crap into gold through some mysterious process. Anyways, once I feel more comfortable with what I have, I can move on to creating a tumblr and posting the work there.

Anyone want to beta-read? It’s a fantasy about a disabled seal-turned-transman (extending upon Inuit mythology, not the selkies per se, though there is a relationship there I may explore in the future) and his adventures. I have chapter 1, tweaked quite a bit and mostly final, though when it’s put onto tumblr it’ll be broken up into smaller pieces. Chapter 2 is going to take some reworking, but I have the basics of what I want there in a previous draft. (I have some 16 drafts of all this, taking drastic changes in plot here and there. I should be able to manufacture a complete story out of them, somehow.)

Advent: December 6

Ken Liu is a new and upcoming voice in SF&F these days. Liu’s work has an elegant, heartfelt charm that lulls you into whatever story he’s currently weaving for you. He won the Hugo Award for “The Paper Menagerie”, which you can listen to on Escape Pod; listen, and tell me if his writing has that soul that sits with you and spools a story into your ear—not sly, not pandering, but so open that you fall in.

And just because his work has that comfortable charm about it doesn’t mean that it can’t reach out and strike you through the heart and mind, bite your sensibilities and make you weep. That reach would be incomparably demonstrated in The Man Who Ended History: A Documentary (Free PDF) (Kindle). But perhaps that would not suit your taste today.

Fortunately, today, featured on io9.com is “The Perfect Match”, a story that’s probably been ironically shared through all the social networks by now. If you’re wondering what “Il Sospetto”‘s first movement (Allegro) sounds like, there it is above. Spoiler: if you’re not conversant in Italian, this is what it means. This paragraph is FULL OF IRONY.

Not only is Ken Liu an awesome storyteller, he’s also a pretty boss translator of works such as that of Xia Jia’s “A Hundred Ghosts Parade Tonight” and Ma Boyong’s “City of Silence” (part 1 and part 2).

You can follow more of Liu’s stories at his website.

Advent: December 5

girl-who-ruled-fairyland

The Girl Who Ruled Fairyland — For a Little While
by Catherynne M. Valente

Yesterday we covered Valente’s version of The Arabian Nights in The Orphan’s Tales; today we’ll be covering one story in the body of work that eventually landed her on the Times Top Ten Books for 2012: Valente’s Fairyland series.

While the first volume, The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, and the second, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There, are not free to read, you can get a sublime taste of the series through the free story on Tor.com, The Girl Who Ruled Fairyland—For a Little While.

Valente possesses the wonderful ability to turn out her own mythology and folklore in a believable fashion, drawing upon a wellspring of cultures and yet creating something original in the making, rather than just a dolled-up version of Japanese folktales or Russian mythos or—in this case—European fairy-tales. In “The Girl Who Ruled Fairyland—For a Little While”, Mallow meets with fanciful big cats who carry the winds, encounters a carriageless horse that Lewis Carroll would be proud of, and cast-iron ducks who feed on sparks and oil. Her imagination weaves new worlds in the nature of more familiar ones, which I think accounts for the popularity of the books.

As well, Valente’s writing skills in weaving description in the right amounts and when needed, and in setting a certain nature of storyteller’s style and pacing, are more than up to the task; her books and stories are filled with lovely, wistful passages that capture the ephemeral and dreamish state of European fairy-land in the best traditions of classics like Hope Mirrlees’ Lud-in-the-Mist, John Crowley’s Little, Big, and Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell.

Another aspect I really admire about the Fairyland series are the leading characters; September in the books and Mallow in the story are, rather than boys or men walking into or otherwise encountering fairyland, instead girls. There’s a certain trope about men being strong enough and smart enough to withstand the feckless rules of fairyland, and women either living there or being carried away to be rescued. In Valente’s story, it is the girl who takes action, the girl who does the rescuing, the girl who is the active player in events. There’s also never any feminine-shaming for neither September nor Mallow; they are not weak just because they are not engaging in traditional masculine quest-seeking.

If you’re looking for a playful and yet suspenseful time in the world of Fairy, Valente’s stories are a perfect addition to a well-told tradition, bringing something new with the comfort of revered tradition.

Advent: December 4

Originally posted on Tor.com.

In the Night Garden

The Orphan’s Tales:
    In the Night Garden
    In the Cities of Coin and Spice

by Catherynne M. Valente

A mysterious girl in the royal extended family, some say a demon because of disturbing markings around her eyes, is banished from the palace. A very young prince discovers her living in the gardens on the kindness of servants.

Like all princes, even ones that don’t reach the waist of their eldest sister, he wants to save her. But the only way to remove the demon’s markings from her eyes is for her to tell, bit by bit, the stories written upon them.

Thus begins The Orphan’s Tales, a well-woven tapestry of fairytales-within-fairytales in the world of Ajanabh, both like and unlike its inspiration, The Arabian Nights.

The stunning Orphan’s Tales, by Catherynne M. Valente, is a two book work (in the way that Lord of the Rings is a three volume book), comprised of In the Night Garden and In the Cities of Coin and Spice (both Spectra Books). Her writing is a study in classicism—the rich retooling of stories either centering around or inspired by a wide variety of classics, from Asian folklore like Japan’s The Grass-Cutting Sword to fairy tales from England to Germany, from Norway to Russia, from the Middle East to Africa. The versatility of Valente’s knowledge shines bright as stars.

Cities of Coin and Spice

Unlike most modern retellings, she preserves the style and sense of world inherent in the originals—not simply copying them, but adopting them to an almost parallel world; they have their own histories and world-building. In Ajanabh the myths are quite different, leading to sensibilities that are familiar without merely mirroring their fantastic analogues.

The most striking difference is the base creation myth: the Night Sky was a black mare who tore stars into her skin—holes that filled with shining light from her blood. When she escaped the sky to explore the earth she created, she abandoned the stars. And, lonely and frightened, in despair, innocence, and arrogance, the stars descended to follow her—and thereafter ignite the beginning of storylines spanning continents and eras.

The familiarities to our fairytales and fantasies adapt to this setting beautifully. Because Valente draws upon many different wells of inspiration, we not only have dragons and talking (sometimes transformed) animals, but also kitsune and kappa, firebirds and ever-fruitful gardens, horse and witch tales paleological in origin, slave wizards and a sainted pirate—and still more.

These elements intertwine with the new stories of the stars, the latter the weft that holds together the warp of the former, in a dangerously addictive weaving. A kitsune grows up to be a pirate after she assists a dying star; orphaned children don’t end up in the woods, but in a disturbing undertow of the real world, working in sweatshops that generate money from the bones of the dead; a shaman of a horse tribe confronts, years later, a wayward questing prince as an old witch in a cottage.

Valente is also quite cruel in adopting the interleaving story-built-upon-story structure from Arabian Nights. There are four major stories in the two books of The Orphan’s Tales, and in all of them there are cliffhangers and lead-ins to other tales that drive the reader (or the frightened prince into staying, or the cruel husband into not chopping your head off) to read, and read, and read.

Not all sensibilities of the old tales are imported into The Orphan’s Tales. There is a sympathy for monsters and princesses, turning them into deeper characters with their own personalities and struggles, rather than simply the next item to check off on a quest. An ugly witch spearheads the first of the four major framing stories, introducing a quirky and humorous leucrotta1, and a princess who is creepily monstrous2. The leucrotta acts as a Jeeves to a literal kingfisher. A serpent goddess’ slaughter at the hands of an unwise and fearful husband3 is the undercurrent for much of the world’s mythology. A manticore is captured as a kitten and escapes to be part of a traveling play. And so on.

A tour de force of new fairytales, The Orphan’s Tales will absorb you into itself, only to let you go two books later, and you will miss it. Like all good stories.

1 A little-known creature from Ethiopian folklore, whom most people would only be familiar with through a Dungeons & Dragons monster manual.

2 Begins as a stepmother story, goes places that a stepmother story usually doesn’t with respect to character development. Or non-development, as the case may be.

3 This nicely turns the tables on the royal husband and disobedient wife stories.

Commit log #123

Three good things.

1. Started my little vanity story that may never see the light of the day. It’s indulgent, and while I’m doing my best to apply all the Good Storywriting Things to it, it’s too… trite, say. At least the way it is right now, although it’s a bit early to tell…

2. My incredible headache that kept me from writing much yesterday and messed up my commit log schedule is gone! For now, at least. I think it’s at least partly a head cold, because I still feel like absolute crap, but that has its own goodness (home, bed, reading, away from passive-aggressive project managers).

3. Put up the fiber-optic Christmas tree for the first time in a very long time. It’s undecorated, and apparently I never bought a tree-topper for the thing. It’s got a lovely skirt around it though.