Author Mike Resnick has won more Hugo Awards for short stories than any other author. So the other day, I asked him “How do you know when you’re writing a story that it is going to be Hugo-worthy?”
His answer surprised me.
He said, “Usually, somewhere about the middle of the story, I’ll start to recognize that this is a good one. I can see that it’s turning into a powerful story, that it will have a strong emotional impact.”
He paused, and said, “Then, of course, it has to have a strong element of surprise.
“On top of that, I have to look closely and ask myself, ‘Does it have strong characters?’ Because, of course, in a science fiction story, the story isn’t about the science. Ultimately, it’s about how the story makes you feel.”
His answer surprised me, because ultimately it doesn’t differ much at all from what I look for. Sure, I want some interesting concepts to a story. I want some originality. I’ll take it for granted that I want a story that is beautifully written, where the author has fine control over his tone and voice and has an interesting style.
But ultimately, the story that makes the reader cry the most, the one that gives the greatest emotional impact, is likely to win over other tales that are written at the same high level.
That element of surprise, though, is also important. It can play throughout a story. For example, you as an author can have surprising word choices throughout a tale, and surprising metaphors and similes, so that every paragraph offers some new treasure. Just as importantly, you can give your characters surprising motivations, so that they make unconventional choices when trying to solve a problem, and the results of each attempt to resolve a problem can surprise.
In other words, that element of surprise is wonderful, but it a story that delights us because of its witty style and tone will tend to come in second to a story that affects us powerfully emotionally.
Now, this isn’t all that I look for in a story, however. There are other things.
One thing that I look for in a story, for example, is the message of the tale. Does it address current issues in a way that makes me see the world anew? In other words, is there a message to the tale?
I don’t write merely to push an agenda. I try to write stories, not diatribes. But I don’t want the story to be meaningless, either.
Let me give an example. Years ago, I wrote a Star Wars novel called The Courtship of Princess Leia. When I was writing it, I realized that there weren’t any powerful women in the Star Wars universe. So I created a planet called Dathomir, which was run by powerful force users called “The Witches of Dathomir.” The idea was to create a pool of strong female characters that other authors could also use as a source for future heroines and villains, and it worked fine. The witches of Dathomir were used in the Star Wars animated television series, in videogames, and so on.
But one fan at the time wrote a nasty review saying that I was a rabid feminist, and encouraged others not to read the book.
Now, since I don’t like to be called names, I began to write a response in which I explained that, “Yes, I’m a feminist, but I don’t think that I’m rabid.” You see, if I were a rabid feminist, I’d be the kind of writer who always makes feminism the focus of every piece that I write—and it’s just one topic among many that I write about. However, as I patiently began to explain why I’m a feminist, I became more and more angry at this ass until I finally ended up saying something like, “And if you don’t like it, you idiot f–er, get the hell off of my planet!” (Of course I didn’t send the letter. You should never respond to critics. You can’t fix stupid.)
Well, I realized then that I am a rabid feminist—if you try to corner me on the topic. I feel much the same way on the topic of equal rights for minorities, and for gays, and so on. But that’s not all that I write about.
For example, in the Runelords series, I’m interested in writing about greed—in exploring the way that it can canker the human soul, taint otherwise good people. Sure, I deal with other issues, but that’s the focus. So, for example, the fact that my hero and heroine have dark skin is really so minor, as far as I was concerned, that very few people even noticed. The cover artist didn’t get them right, but I didn’t throw a fit over it.
Yet, in looking at how other people critique stories, it seems obvious to me that very often a person sitting next to me is using very different criteria for judging than what I am. While I look for emotional power as my #1 criteria in judging a tale, another person might say, “It must be a feminist story first.” Or, “I only like stories that promote gay pride.”
In other words, some critics have agendas that they push. And that’s all right. Personally, I think that the world does need to change. Perhaps someday, when enough stories have been told, we will reach a concensus.
But I wonder if this could be the reason behind the recent division over the Hugo Awards. Let’s say that a critic were looking at the stories and came up with his own list of how to judge. He might say.
- Promotes social change
- Includes powerful elements of surprise.
- Has powerful emotional and intellectual payoff.
That critic could easily look at a slate of five stories and choose the one that I feel is the least worthy to win.
In other words, two people can judge the same set of stories using only a slightly different ordering of criteria and come up with radically different results.
So, a powerful story that deals with greed, for example, might not seem a reasonable choice for an award to one critic, since it doesn’t address the critic’s personal agenda.
Instead, a story that does address his or her agenda, so long as it is beautifully written, might seem to be the “obvious” choice.
Right now, there is a huge controversy going on about the Hugo awards. I’m not going to get into it here, because quite frankly it would take a couple of days to even figure out what is going on. But I do want to point out that even among eminently reasonable critics, you can get ten people to look at a slate of stories and each will still come up with his or her own order.
Discover a new approach to storytelling in just 100 days!
Unlock your FREE copy of ‘Daily Meditations: Writer’s Tips for 100 Days‘ and embark on a transformative writing journey. Click to begin!
