Category: Thoughts on Life (Page 3 of 3)

Ignoring the Internal Critic

September 24, 2018 / Kyle A. Massa

My Internal Critic is a jerk. So is is yours.

Everyone’s Internal Critic says the same things in different ways. It tells us we’re not good enough, that we shouldn’t publish our work, that other writers are better. Internal Critics are those voices in our heads that remark, “I don’t think I would’ve used that adverb.” I’m going to date myself here, but I imagine the Internal Critic as a mini Simon Cowell.

Yes, the Internal Critic can be a jerk. And the truth is, you’ll never quite silence it. However, I believe you can learn to listen to it less. Here are several ways to do it.

Take a Break

Internal Critics love criticizing current projects. Nostalgia usually prevents them from lambasting older projects; anticipation does the same for future projects.

Therefore, guard your current project by making it a past project. Take a break. Let your Internal Critic forget about the mistakes of the past. The Internal Critic is usually an opportunist—it likes going after whatever’s closest. Put down your project, then come back to it.

But make sure you come back to it! Don’t let your Internal Critic talk you out of your work. When you return, you’ll probably be more objective than you were before. There will likely still be problems, yes, but you’ll also spot delightful bits you hadn’t noticed before. That sharp line of dialogue will jump off the page. That sick description will spark your imagination. It will impress even the Internal Critic. So don’t miss this opportunity!

Remind Yourself of the Next Draft

Hey, Internal Critic. There is such a thing as a second draft. In fact, the first draft is always bad. So don’t criticize it so harshly.

Reiterate this to yourself (and your Internal Critic). The first draft is bad, yes, but it’s also just the beginning. Criticizing a first draft is like criticizing a team at their first practice. Of course it’s going to be bad. Of course there will be mistakes. Expecting immediate perfection isn’t just unfair—it’s downright unrealistic!

Improvement is an iterative process. If your Internal Critic forgets that, remind it.

Listen (A Little)

It might sound odd, but sometimes it’s beneficial to take the Internal Critic’s advice—at least at the beginning. For example, imagine you’re writing a novel with multiple point of view characters. Four of them work great, but the fifth feels increasingly unnecessary to the plot. Cue the Internal Critic.

“Hey buddy. IC here. Listen, I’ve been wondering. That fifth POV character. Umm…why?”

Despite the obnoxious tone, you might try considering the Internal Critic’s critique. Treat it like you would any member of your writer’s group. If it’s helpful advice, use it. If it’s just the Critic being critical, discard it.

A Few Exercises to Try Against Your Inner Critic

When you feel your Inner Critic pushing you, push back. Evaluate all the reasons your Inner Critic is wrong.
Hey Internal Critics! Just because you aren’t the best doesn’t mean you’re not good. That would be like saying Scottie Pippen is bad at basketball because Michael Jordan’s better. Pippen’s still one of the all-time greats, even if he’s not the greatest. So, even if you aren’t as good a writer as Margaret Atwood or Kurt Vonnegut, that doesn’t mean you aren’t a good writer. And if you work hard enough, maybe someday you’ll become better than both.
If your Inner Critic constantly reminds you how hard writing is, say, “Yeah. You’re right!” Writing is hard. Writing is very hard. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. In truth, it’s a good thing. Because most of the best things in life require dedication. Easy tasks are forgettable. Difficult ones are meaningful.
Remind yourself that everyone has an Inner Critic, and that everyone’s Inner Critic is hardest on themselves.

Let’s ignore those Internal Critics as much as possible. Who needs ’em, anyway?

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats. His stories have appeared in numerous online magazines, including Allegory, Chantwood, and Dark Fire Fiction.

Originality is Overrated

March 26, 2018 / Kyle A. Massa

There, I said it. This is a thought I’ve had for a while now, though it’s been difficult to find the right words to express it. I hope I’ve found them here.

As writers, the works of other writers are equal parts inspiration and limitation. Stephen King might inspire you to become a horror writer, yet you might avoid writing a novel set in a haunted hotel. That would be too much like The Shining, right? It wouldn’t be original.

You know what? Screw originality. Write what you want!

So many writers decide not to pursue ideas simply because they believe it’s already been done. But so what? If your idea’s been done before, do it differently. Do it better. Do it with that personal touch only you can provide.

I’ll give you an example. One of my best friends told me he always had this idea for a story. You know the theory that humans only use a small percentage of their brain power? In my friend’s story, he imagined a character who takes experimental drugs which grant him access to the rest of his brain. This character develops hyper intelligence and extrasensory perception.

However, my friend told me he’d never write this story. Why? Because of the film Limitless. If you haven’t seen it, it’s almost exactly the same idea my friend had.

Hearing this really bummed me out. My friend was so excited about this story, yet the film killed his dream of writing it. I’m sure you’ve observed (or even personally experienced) a similar phenomenon.

Want my opinion (even though it’s not entirely original)? A similar existing work should never, ever stop you from working on a great idea.

The film Limitless, by the way, is based on a novel called The Dark Fields by Alan Glynn. But did you know that Ted Chiang published a similar story a decade earlier entitled Understand? His was also about a normal guy who took a drug that granted supernatural intelligence. And if we go back even further to 1959, we’ll find Daniel Keyes’s Flowers for Algernon, yet another story about a scientifically sharpened intellect.

Though the methods and general mechanics might vary from story to story, each bears a core similarity to the others. I don’t necessarily agree with those who claim there are no original ideas. I just think writers can always find ways to take existing ideas and make them their own.

We see this all the time in fiction. People say dragons are overdone in fantasy, yet George R.R. Martin writes A Song of Ice and Fire and suddenly they’re resurrected. People say you can’t do anything original with zombies anymore, and then The Girl with All the Gifts becomes a hit.

Don’t let an existing story preclude you from writing something amazing. If your idea is similar to another, make it your own. Put your personal spin on it. Most important of all, write it.

Originality is overrated. But individual creativity—now that’s something to strive for.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his fiancee and their two cats. His stories have appeared in numerous online magazines, including Allegory, Chantwood, and Dark Fire Fiction. To stay current with Kyle’s work, subscribe to his email newsletter. He promises not to spam you.

Why the Divide Between Speculative Fiction and Literature?

November 27, 2017 / Kyle A. Massa

Literature | ˈlit(ə)rəCHər | noun | Written works, especially those considered of superior or lasting artistic merit. – New Oxford American Dictionary

According to a certain stuffy pocket of the literary community, science fiction, fantasy, and horror, collectively known as speculative fiction, don’t qualify as literature. Decent stories? Maybe. Cool ideas? Sure. But in the eyes of this snobbish literary elite, speculative fiction just doesn’t measure up to stuff like The Grapes of Wrath and Moby Dick.

Would you ever read Moby Dick willingly? Yeah, neither would I.

Take the 2003 National Book Awards as an example. That year’s winner was none other than Stephen King, who of course mainly writes horror. The literary elite wasted no time in attacking him, no doubt because he’s just a lowly genre writer. Here’s a quite from critic Harold Bloom.

“The decision to give the National Book Foundation’s annual award for ‘distinguished contribution’ to Stephen King is extraordinary, another low in the shocking process of dumbing down our cultural life. I’ve described King in the past as a writer of penny dreadfuls, but perhaps even that is too kind. He shares nothing with Edgar Allan Poe. What he is is an immensely inadequate writer on a sentence-by-sentence, paragraph-by-paragraph, book-by-book basis.”

You forgot chapter-by-chapter, Harry, but whatever. I disagree with you.

In an episode of my favorite podcast, The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy, host David Barr Kirtley led a panel on this very debate. Recorded to promote Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015, edited by John Joseph Adams and Joe Hill, the panel featured such influential SF figures as Adams, Hill, Carmen Maria Machado, Seanan McGuire, and Jess Row.

It’s interesting; Adams and Hill have starkly different opinions on the purpose of the volume. On the one hand, John Joseph Adams thinks of Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy as a vehicle for speculative fiction to prove its worth to the literary mainstream. In his own words:

“I and other science fiction fans believe that the best science fiction and fantasy is on par with or better than any other genre. My goal with The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy was to prove that.”

Joe Hill, however, argues that speculative fiction has already merged with literature, and that it did so a long time ago.

“The instruments of science fiction and fantasy—the tools in that genre toolbox—have been out there in the literary world and being explored for at least a decade now, in work by people like Jonathan Lethem, Michael Chabon, Margaret Atwood, and Cormac McCarthy. Science fiction and fantasy is part of the literary mainstream, and has been for a while now.”

At first glance, Hill’s argument resonated more with me. There are so many novels out there—The Road, Fahrenheit 451, Cloud Atlas, and 1984, just to name a few—that are generally considered literary, non-genre works, yet are so clearly speculative fiction that it’s difficult to argue otherwise.

The more I’ve thought about this debate, the more I’ve started to like a decidedly different answer.

Why doesn’t the literary mainstream accept speculative fiction?

Why does it matter?

Let’s refer back to our definition of literature for a second. In the grand scheme of things, does The Lord of the Rings have “superior or lasting merit”? I’d say so. Since the trilogy’s publication in 1954, it’s been an enduring classic for generation upon generation. It’s been translated into 38 different languages (not sure if Tengwar counts there). Furthermore, it’s a story about enduring human ideas: friendship, tyranny, power, greed, love.

Does The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy have lasting merit? Does Dracula? Does Slaughterhouse Five?

If you’ve ever read any of those books, you already know the answer.

Truth is, we don’t need to speak up for speculative fiction. Speculative fiction speaks for itself.

Are you a fan of speculative fiction? Me too. Check out some of my speculative work here.

The Omnipotence Paradox Revisited

July 3, 2017 / Kyle A. Massa

God the Father

And the Philosophy Student said unto God, “God, if thou art so great, canst thou create a boulder even thou cannot lift?”

And God said unto the Philosophy Student, “Don’t be a smartass.”

What is the Claw Machine Doing with My Luck?

December 16, 2015 / Kyle A. Massa

You’ve probably heard of the phrase “your luck has run out.” Sounds like something a Saturday morning cartoon hero might say to her greatest nemesis just before securing victory.

But sometimes I wonder if there’s really something to that phrase. Could luck be a finite resource, like coal or petroleum or Magic: The Gathering trading cards?

I don’t have any real evidence for this claim other than those days when you’re lucky enough to wake up on time despite your alarm malfunctioning, yet unlucky enough to hit a huge traffic jam and end up late for work anyway. In those moments, it feels like you were only given one token of luck, and you spent it on the alarm clock.

All this is why I fear the claw machine at arcades.

Let me explain. I have tremendous luck with the claw machine at arcades. The one where you press a red button on the end of a joystick to make a four-pronged silver claw descend into a sea of plush toys. It’s that machine that you quietly curse when it drops the toy you so carefully plucked, almost as if it was on purpose.

I’ve won the claw game three times in my life, which I consider the equivalent of hurling a basketball from the opposite side of the court with my eyes closed while balanced on a unicycle and draining it. And I don’t consider this bragging because, like hurling a basketball with eyes closed while balanced on a unicycle and draining it, the claw machine has nothing to do with skill. It’s just sheer dumb luck.

(By the way, what is dumb luck? If there’s such a thing as dumb luck, does that mean there’s also such a thing as smart luck, or straight-Bs-but-tries-really-hard luck?)

Anyway, I wonder if I’m wasting all my luck, dumb or otherwise, on the claw machine. What if I never played the claw machine, never won that dalmatian with the fireman helmet or the mini Chicago Bulls basketball or the orca whale, and instead put that luck toward something that’s actually useful, like a lottery ticket?

And that’s maybe the worst part of luck. You can’t know when you’re using it, or how much you’re using, or whether or not it’s about to run out.

Back to that “your luck has run out” phrase. It’s usually followed by some misfortune directed at one person or another, like death or something. Which is funny, because I don’t think dying is unlucky. You wouldn’t have to be lucky to win the lottery if everybody won the lottery, right?

Then again, could luck just be an explanation for the unexplainable? I mean, if you’re unfortunate enough to find yourself in class on the day you didn’t do the reading, and then, out of the entire lecture hall of a hundred or so students, your professor chooses you to answer her question, how would you explain that.

Just bad luck, I guess.

Likewise, if you win the lottery, beating out all the thousands of other entrants whose numbers might be a digit or two away from yours, how can you explain that?

Must be good luck (or smart luck?).

So do I really even believe in this thing called luck? I guess not. It probably isn’t this intangible that we all use every day, and that can run out at any moment. It’s more likely that it’s just the word we use to describe the unlikely, or the nearly impossible. Really, luck is probably nothing more than a word, right?

Still, just to be safe, maybe I’ll stay away from the claw machines.

A Eulogy for the Book

August 11, 2014 / Kyle A. Massa

Do you ever miss the feel of the page? The artwork on the cover? The smell of the paper, the texture of the spine, even the satisfying whisper of the page as it’s turned? The written word thrives as it ever has—but seldom on the printed page.

I have an e-reader, and I like it well enough. I like taking it on planes and having access to as many books as I want, and I like how much space I save by bringing it along. What I miss are the things I’ve described above: the pages, the spine, the front and back covers, the weight of a heavy volume in my hand. Media changes with technology, advancements are made—but books should never die.

There are many valid arguments for having an e-reader. I’ve mentioned some above, but there are certainly more. I myself like that I can get public domain books for free on my Kindle, whereas I’d have to pay around ten dollars for a physical copy. The variable font sizes are also valuable for anyone who has trouble reading small print. Many have backlit screens, eliminating the need for external light sources. Lastly, electronic books are, on the whole, cheaper than real ones.

But there is a social aspect to reading that some might overlook, an aspect which is completely ruined by the advent of the e-reader. Imagine reading in a public space. A stranger notices the title or author of the book you’re reading on the cover. This stranger might ask you how the book is, and you might say something like, “It’s good so far, but I really don’t know what’s happening yet.” Or, you might hate it, or love it, or feel ambivalent toward it. Whatever the case may be, you and this friendly stranger have started a conversation because of the book in your hand.

Now imagine the same scenario, only with an e-reader. The friendly stranger will notice that you have a Kindle in hand, but will not be able to read the title of whatever it is you’re reading. He or she will therefore probably not ask for the title on the off chance that he or she has read the same thing. Some may say that this is not reason enough to spend more money on books, and perhaps it isn’t. My intent here isn’t to get readers to buy books. It’s to remind everyone of what we’re missing.

And what about book sharing? So far as I know, buying an electronic copy of a book only allows users to read it on their own device, unless multiple devices are connected to the same account. With a real book, however, one can purchase a copy and then share it with anyone. My mom loves to do this, and it’s one of the other social aspects of reading real books. Afterward, you can discuss the book with whomever gave it to you, perhaps exchanging ideas you hadn’t thought of before and thereby expanding your knowledge. This is not really a possible scenario with an e-reader, unless you don’t mind loaning your Nook out all the time.

Furthermore, don’t we rely on electronics enough already? I personally use multiple devices each and every day—my computer, my phone, my iPod. I love my electronics and I’m glad I have them—but once in a while, it’s nice to give all my focus to something that doesn’t have a digital screen.

The book is timeless. From the day the first Gutenberg Bible was manufactured on the printing press, books are how people have been sharing ideas. Now, however, they’re on the brink of extinction.

Perhaps it’s time we did something to save them.

Lana Del Rey’s “Ultraviolence” is an Excellent Listen, But…

August 5, 2014 / Kyle A. Massa

Lana Del Rey

I usually don’t do a lot of music reviews on my blog. However, I wanted to talk about the new album Ultraviolence for two reasons. One, Lana Del Rey is possibly the only modern artist I’ll listen to, and two, because I’ve never had this sort of reaction to an album before.

Musically, I think it’s marvelous. The melodies are haunting and instantly memorable, and the instrumentation is solid. You have to hand it to Del Rey; she’s produced an album without a radio-friendly single and without the electronic beats most popular artists use today. I think she’s a truly unique artist–no small feat when you look at all the clone pop stars around now.

Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys provides veteran support on guitar and production. His low-key, sombre chords fit the music quite well, particularly on “Brooklyn Baby” and “Ultraviolence.” Del Rey’s lyrics layer flawlessly over top, painting black and white noir scenes in the mind of the listener, scenes filled with empty west coast homes and alluring femme-fatales.

So much to love, and yet…

While most of the lyrics are wonderfully moody and atmospheric, some are downright troubling. Take for instance, the following lines from the title track:

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that Ultraviolence

Some will argue that Del Rey sings as a character, and that these lyrics are merely lines in the David Lynchian domestic hyper-drama her character stars in. I’ll admit, that’s not a bad argument; no one would fault a filmmaker for portraying violence onscreen, as long as that violence is necessary to the story, and (in most cases) as long as it isn’t glorified. But what troubles me about these particular lyrics is that Del Rey’s character seems to be welcoming the abuse as affection.

Furthermore, “Ultraviolence” clearly references the controversial 1962 pop song “He Hit Me (And it Felt Like a Kiss).” Originally recorded by The Crystals and produced by Phil Spector, the song received limited airplay for obvious reasons. Here is one of the more shocking verses:

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

He hit me and I knew he loved me

If he didn’t care for me,

I could have never made him mad

But he hit me and I was glad

Wow.

When it comes to art, I don’t get irked by a lot. I almost always support an artist’s right to create and exhibit his or her work, no matter how sensational or controversial it might be.

But this song is just hard to listen to. Its lyrics are made even worse by the bright triangle chimes in the background and the vocal harmonies that seem to cheerily echo the song’s twisted message.

Of course, “He Hit Me” was written long before Lana Del Rey was even born. But she’s referencing it without really condemning the message. On the contrary, she seems to be promoting it.

It’s 2014. Haven’t we come farther than that yet?

Some may argue that these lyrics will set a bad example for young listeners; that young girls might think their boyfriends don’t love them unless they hit them, and that young boys might strike their girlfriends in an effort to show affection. I personally don’t buy this argument. Kids are smart. For the most part, they already know what’s right and wrong. In most instances, music, video games, TV, or anything else really aren’t going to change their behavior too drastically.

Ultimately, it’s up to the listener to decide what she or he thinks. What I will say is this: I really like Ultraviolence. I think it’s an excellent album. But I’ll probably never listen to it without a certain hesitancy.

And I’ll definitely never be comfortable with singing along with the lyrics.