J P Smythe’s Website.

I’ve increasingly become concerned of late, when reading about blog fiction, that people (including myself, since writing it) are pigeon-holing and narrowing the field of what can and can’t be blog fiction. So, I want to set aside my own prejudices about what I think blog fiction should be, and address what it actually is. That doesn’t mean that this won’t have my opinions in it – how could I escape them? – but, rather, it means that I won’t pass judgement on if things said/done are right or wrong. Although, I probably well, so tell me off when I do. And, if possible, I’d really like this to be a proper conversation/discussion (which would be immeasurably useful for the PhD, pop-pickers). Oh, and I’m doing this over a few posts over a few months, probably– it’s going to be a pretty big topic, I think. So, please, join in the discussion below. So, let’s start at the start, and go right back to zero.

*****

Wikipedia (which, as we all know, cannot be really trusted, but is probably the best source for stuff like this in the whole world) tells us that blog fiction came into prevalence after the advent of the major blogging sites in 1999, and is influenced by Charles Dickens, Lawrence Sterne, Arthur Conan Doyle and Henry James, all of whom were major proponents of serialised instalments of fiction. Now, stylistically, I get it, and I think that for some people a return to the concept of serialised fiction is paramount. But for the majority it really comes down to the form and how it is used. You write in a chunk, and you save it. It’s natural to want to present your work to the world. So, it gets uploaded to the site in a chunk. In order to cope with the standardised formatting of most blogs – that is, newest posts first – many writers adapted to the format, and, taking into account the use of blogs as diary, simply made their fiction take the form of missives.

If we look at the history of the use of various stylistic literary implementations in fiction, we can see that people cannot help but be influenced by the time in which they live. Henry James’ The Ambassadors, for example, was in twelve sections, knowing that it was to be published over the course of a year. The format was adapted to fit the presentation of the story – no chapter could be the length of half the book, for example, or of less than x amount of pages. If we look at e, the 2003 novel by Matthew Beaumont, we can see, too, here, how the formatting forces the tale – the story is pushed by the use of basic time signatures and presentation options. There are interesting surveys waiting to be done – and I would do them, were even a tenth of the people that I have emailed about their blogs to reply to me – concerning blogs, their style and the influences they have gathered (Danielewski vs. Dickens, for example). And whilst you can trace a line of influence and be argumentative (The Observer, on Sunday, argued about the lack of influence that Nirvana and Prince have had on music, saying that the influence hasn’t come from them, but from those people that they idolise and imitate, and golly, you might argue, but in literary circles this can be more than true), you also cannot ignore a) Zeitgeists and b) trends amongst the ‘trendy’.

I am a great lover of the concept – not necessarily the implementation – of belletristic fiction. I love the idea of writing to be pushed by the aesthetic, but am left cold by much of the writing that occurs from this style. And as people became bored with basic hypertext writing – that is, the use of links in text to push readers to other media – they began looking for places to enhance their text, because that it is (one of) the joy(s) of the internets. So, as Postsecret becomes a phenom, so fiction blogs start littering their words with imagery. As LonelyGirl13 tears holes in youtube, so fiction writers start adapting and contemplating how to add video entries to their words. And, as ARGs have more influence and sway (more, even, than I Like Bees and The Beast) amongst the general public, and in how advertising occurs, so writers try to think of ways to play games with their readers.

Then, of course, there are the blogs that break themselves down into chapters, and present themselves as a standardised format story. First of all, there are semantic issues. If we look at the roots of the word ‘blog’, do they actually conform to the Webster’s definition of “an online diary or chronology of thoughts”? For the most part they do not, instead choosing to use the blog publishing format – a very different kettle of fish – to present their work, utilising the formatting graces afforded by blogging tools as opposed to struggling with HTML or the like. Are they blogs, though? Should they be eligible for the previously mentioned Blooker? Not for me to say (but, Damn you, self imposed non-judgemental rule!). But, when taken as blogs, do they conform to commonly held opinions of the format (which, if we look at the example given in Webster’s, is “Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author”)? And, for the most part, how have these blogs assimilated or been influenced by their peer blogs (or anything down that chain of influence)? One of the finalists of this year Blooker prize essentially wrote a novel, broke the chapters into web pages, called it a blog and then self-published it. And in terms of influence it would be arguable that there was anything taken from the world of web fiction, in any of its forms.

So, in essence, Blog Fiction seems to be, nowadays, a kind of catch-all term for Web fiction. That is, if you write fiction and present it on the internet in a form – any form, really – you can term it blog fiction. Which is horrendously vague, given that analysis above, but the vagaries of the form and the products that result from it mean that there is little choice but to make such a broad, sweeping statement. However, one thing can be said for certain: just because it’s blog fiction doesn’t mean that it is interactive. Interactive fiction is something else altogether, and I’ll address that another day.

Next time round – which might not be for a while, and in a few posts: The reverse influence that blog fiction has had upon traditional print literature, and how fiction bloggers might adapt their work to suit publishers and Joe (no pun intended) Bloggs.

I have – probably naturally – a great deal of affection for fiction writers who use the internet as a means of publication. There’s a sense of pride that you can get from internet fiction that is sometimes missing when something gets published through more traditional means. That isn’t to say that print-published writers are less proud of their work – rather, it’s about the visible pride, that pride that you can see. When fiction writers get the chance to tell others that their work is available now, for free – no monies! – and that three hundred people have read it so far, there is something tangible there. You never look at the Guardian literary supplement and read about this writer who is just really, really happy that Harper Collins are offering him a two-book deal. It isn’t news. On the internets, however, that’s a pretty big thing.

At the end of this post will be some links to fictional blogs, writers who write about fiction, and that sort of thing. You probably owe it to yourself to look at them, even if it’s just a cursory glance, to see if they are your sort of thing, and to see if you would maybe buy it and read it if it were in the shops. Because, in this day and age, how can we believe that we don’t have an influence?

Case in point: someone in a comment on this here blog alerted me to The Daily Monster, which is sort of out of my safety zone, but we’ll hang convention for a second. This site features artwork of a new monster created daily by a chap called Stefan, and then the readers of the blog are invited to create background stories for the characters in the comments. Great idea. It is fictional (kind of), and community generated (which we all love, right?) and, more importantly, is going to be published. Why? Well, I’m willing to bet that it’s because it’s pretty popular. If enough people shout about something then the ‘right’ people (whomsoever they might be) invariably sit up and listen. Just look at Postsecret (which, incidentally, I am still dying to find out more about re: their problems with fiction writers, storytellers and liars – do they just assume that everyone tells the truth?).

God, look at the examples given by this year’s Blooker awards! I am very much of the Believer school of thought here – as I have said many times before – and I would rather not single out anything for negative reasons. But some of the writing of the winners/runners up is patchy at best. Some of it is great and heartfelt and passionate and actually intelligent. But some of it is substandard. And this is the benchmark completion, “our” Booker prize! Until, that is, you look at the criteria. See, it’s actually the LuluBlooker prize, and is actually sponsored by self-publishing gurus Lulu. Lulu is a great site: they claim that they aren’t vanity publishing, and use very vague terms about what they actually do, but, essentially, you give them a book, some money and a cover design and they will stick your book on shopping search engines and sell it for you. And some people are making money by selling stuff through it, and there are, inevitably, some really good writers there. But there are issues.

I’ve always been told that any publisher worth their salt will never make the writer pay for anything. There’s no such thing as “reading fees” or the like in the publishing world. And you don’t pay “preliminary editor’s fees”. They give you editors. For free. And that is the problem with Lulu, and, simultaneously, the problem with web/blog fiction: Editors.

I’m lucky. I have a PhD tutor and a really good writer friend (also doing a PhD) and a girlfriend with a good eye to help me edit my stuff at the moment. That’s three people who will see my novel before I send it to agents and publishers. But some people don’t have those people. And I think I’m a pretty good editor as well. I have two types of feedback – feedback for those who write for fun and feedback for those who want to make a career of it (and the former is mainly dominated by “Did I like the story?”, the latter by “How was the story, writing, style, spag etc, and would people read this?”). But many people either don’t an editor, or don’t actually want one – self-belief can be a terrifying thing.

And this is the issue with the Blookers. Lots of news outlets reported on them, and that’s fabulous, as there’s some real publicity for a format typically ignored by the mainstream. But then if you clicked through to the blogs and read some of them blogs that were nominated you might be put of the form forever (and there’s one, in particular, that was a runner up and is really quite appallingly written). But when you look at the remit – the top blogs that have been turned into published books – you assume that this is giving credence to their efforts. It doesn’t make it clear anywhere that they can be self-published to count! And that’s the ridiculous thing: I could turn around tomorrow and publish this very blog here via Lulu and submit it for the competition. Would that make me a ‘published author’? Only by the very skin of rather negotiable teeth!

And I think that people aren’t terribly willing to shout about quality as far as the internet is concerned. If you went onto someone’s fiction blog and left a comment that tidied up some language, or made writing tips, you’d probably be termed ‘teh troll’ (or some-such similar insult). But you’re only giving advice! So, what to do? Well, that’s well out of my hands, and yours, and probably anyone else in the world. There are very few ways to legitimise the use of the internet as a mass-publishing tool, no ways to enforce quality controls on things that you aren’t uploading to your own servers, and no ways to stop people doing things that they enjoy (as that distinction between fiction writers I mentioned before, the “for fun” and “for reals” ones? That exists here too, and, let’s face it – this is the perfect place for it). And I would never dream of telling anyone to stop what they are doing. But for those of us for whom it matters, there must be another way. Anyone want to suggest it?

*****

So, onto some links. First off, shout outs to one of the two people who have pimped their blogs in the comments of this site over the last few months. The simply-titled Stories is somebody’s blog where they write short stories. Simple idea, simply presented, and they may be your kind of thing. For myself, I think it’s great to see someone write short fiction on the net and not get bogged down by the presentation and hypertextual niceties. Next, Horton’s Folly, which I may have mentioned before – I can’t remember, such are the many words I have written for this here site – but it’s great. It’s comedy fiction, funny and stylised and, on occasion (or, actually, most of the time), veers further from the fiction than the comedy, but, regardless. It’s worth checking out. The Doorbells Of Florence is quite the thing as well, some beautifully written stories each hidden behind a doorbell. Great idea.

Then, there’s those sites about blogging that are worth visiting. Novelr is superb, and really good for keeping up with these things. Then there’s Betsy’s Journal (or, as it now seems to be called, Betsy’s Phony Bologna). Betsy and I are doing our theses on pretty much the same topic (hers is on general blog and web fiction, mine is on the corellation between blogs, ARGs and the internet and printed fiction, but, really, they do cross over an awful amount). I’m going to start sticking far more links up at the side of this blog as I really start looking at my Critical Component to the thesis and revisiting many of the blogs that I have links to and may have ignored over time.

Visit them all, and tell them I sent you. They won’t know who I am, but it might make them feel warm inside.

At what stage in the development of a project does interactivity begin? I am currently writing my on-line fiction blog, which I shan’t link to here just yet, and am trying to decide when to start inviting people ‘in’. You see, I want commentary on the blog, all in character, and the dream would be that people wouldn’t realise that they were commenting on fiction in the first place (or would realise but would choose to play along, eager to see where the story took them). Only, there are two issues. The first is that the story isn’t actually all that zippy – it can’t be, because of the format – and it isn’t a thrill-ride – I want this, after all, to read as if it could be real. And the second issue is getting people to read in the first place, and to want to inter-act with the story of that character’s life. And that’s a far, far harder task.

My friend Jeff asked me a few weeks back where interactivity began, and what difference it has with ‘active engagement’, and in a very short conversation with myself I realised that it began at point zero, at the decision to read something. Critics and writers debate the issue, and the designers of Args and web-fictions seem to fight to make their hypertext-heavy tomes stand-out, and they all strive to highlight the differences between what can be achieved on digital information that cannot be achieved on paper. But they miss the crucial similarity, I think: if you can’t get someone to read, you may as well not bother. Now, I have one major criticism of the internet as a presentation tool for writing: it’s vile to read through – and that may change in the futures with the advent of liquid paper (or whatever stupid name they have given it nowadays (I like to imagine reading a newspaper by staring into an over tray filled with liquid, and tilting the tray to turn the page, but that’s just me)), but I doubt it. People won’t forsake paper because it’s so lovely. It’s paper! So, how do we harbour that interactivity that we are so desperate for in our lives? When does (buzzword coming!) Novel 3.0 (that’s right, 3!) begin?

Well, life is like a Fighting Fantasy novel: you never know what’s coming next. Except, you actually do: what’s coming next is another page. And another, and another, until finally, you’ll reach the end, and close the book. Well, what is what’s been missing is the other bits? Here’s a basic interactivity lesson. By picking up the book in the first place, the reader has made a choice. The cover/blurb/marketing/word-of-mouth combo? It informs their decision. Opening the book to read page one? Another choice. Choosing not to put it down before the end of chapter one? Another choice. Fine, so the questions (“You have reached the end of the page. If you wish to continue, please turn over. If not, have a nice cup of tea and watch Entourage.”) aren’t printed there for you, but you can give up, stop reading. It is a choice. It is, in the truest sense of the word, interactive.

Sure, you could argue with that – it’s stretching the point, really, isn’t it? Is watching a film interactive? – but how is it less more linear than choosing which page you read next? In Fighting Fantasy, you used to choose whether to hit the orc with your sword or not, and you drove the story that way. And there was a right and a wrong answer – the wrong one would drive you to death. So you backtracked, and chose the right answer, because you wanted to know where the story went. It was linear as hell. If you chose to leave your character dead after page four, well, that was your choice. It wasn’t a good choice, I don’t think, as you lost the story. So, you invariably backtracked. And looking at the example of “interactive fiction”, as in, “You are in a room with a chair and a window to the North”, and you tell it where you want to go, well, that’s surely only as interactive as the writer’s make them? And I’ve been writing one – an experiment I’ve been trying – and it’s bloody hard, and, ultimately, just as linear as a printed novel (if not under a veil of free will). I mean, fine you give the reader/the player the chance to pick up a candle or not, but if they don’t they can’t see what’s in the room with them. Or maybe they pick it up but don’t light it? They have no choice, or they can’t see what’s in front of them. And you can bet that they will either have matches, or have been forced to pick some up earlier in the game.

So what choice do you really have? And why are these players termed as ‘players’? Why aren’t they just ‘readers’? And when you ask that question, where does being a ‘reader’ stop? Does playing Gears Of War – a linear story that requires that you fight a war over five levels with no freedom of progression or choice, only requiring that you use great hand-eye co-ordination to successfully shoot creatures – does playing it instantly drag you further away from this concept of an interactive novel? I mean, sure, its closer to a film, and I would never dream of suggesting otherwise, but that level of interactivity is insanely high compared to the non-linear choice of picking up a candle, and Gears is the least linear game that I can think of. So, what would be a true example of interactive fiction? Well, something like B.S. Johnson’s The Unfortunates makes a good case for itself (with the pages published unbound, and readable in any order that the reader likes, even though it is arguably to the detriment of the story itself). It was innovative at the time – I think it’d probably still be innovative now, were such gimmicks not horrifically overused – and it represented a true break from conventional novel structure. I imagine that, as a reader of the time, when presented with the novel, one had to sit down, arrange the pages, work out where to begin. Your choice to begin with a random page meant that you dictated where the rest of the novel went. You instantly made more of an interactive choice than choosing whether to blow out a candle when you finally make it through a door to the north.

And so, to the internet. Is it more interactive than paper novels? Well, it can be. It should be, if we’re honest. But for the most part it gets suffocated by grand ideas. I still pick up novels I have never heard of based on their covers, and I reckon I discard a third as many as I finish (usually because of bad writing, such is my incessant snobbery). But I am making that choice. I am putting them down, closing them, much as I would a film I disliked or a game that bored me. And I choose to turn the pages with the novels that I do persevere with. I make the choice to read chapter two, or to partake in the literary puzzles it presents me with, or to read the end first if I so choose (which I never choose, incidentally – why would you do that to yourself?). And that’s how I am most interactive.

And yet, there’s so much more. My novel has taken huge swathes of ideas from the internet, in much the same way that writing from all ages informs and educates the literature of the time (just look at the huge 19th century trend of belletristic fiction for evidence). I have taken forms, aesthetics and typography, as well as writing it in short chunks, bursts, designed to be consumed in as little or large parts as you like, and added leaps in time, flights to other pages that serve as research, distraction, even, perhaps, non-sequiteur (much as the majority seem to use the internets). Have I done it well? God knows. As I have said time and time again, the most important thing isn’t the gimmick, but the story told, and that’s the part that I am happiest with. So it has the raw ingredients: where does Novel 3.0 start? Well, it starts in the spin-off. Jonathan Lethem has recently published a novel that is sort-of about filesharing, and he is sort-of making it public domain (in that, in five years, people will be allowed to use his characters and text however they see fit). Now, this relies on people liking the novel enough to want to use the characters and novel – and, frankly, caring enough to use it in this way when there is absolutely no financial or real-creative gain to be had in the long run. But it’s a noble idea (though so much of it is marketing and spin, I don’t know how Lethem will feel if his characters appear in a novel that sells better than his one has, possibly doing things that he would never have dreamt of doing to them). And my novel kind of hits that same marker, only it guides. The linearity of the freedom that I want to offer to the reader is far stricter. There’s a blog, and a character, and that character is looking for something, and readers of the blog can either help of hinder them in finding it. And, if all goes to plan, it’ll be true interactive fiction: I don’t know if that character will ever find what they are looking for. I don’t know if I want them to. But I want readers of the blog to guide me. And if they’re read the novel, they will be able to assist me far, far easier. Or hinder. Whatever they choose. It’s more interactive than turning a page, but the ultimate choice, the choice to follow or not, to continue or turn back, that’s still theirs.

*****

It’s been a while since I last posted, so thanks for sticking with me and being patient, if you are still reading this. For what it’s worth, I’ve read some great stuff lately – including some blogs – and I’ll be posting about those later this week. So, if you’re a fiction blog that I don’t know about, let me know the address in the comments and I’ll shout-out to you pretty damned soonish. Unless you’re about Vampires. Then, you should just assume that it won’t be for me.

*****

Battles’ Atlas, Wilco’s Sky Blue Sky, the new Polyphonic Spree (amazing), the new Rufus Wainwright (lots of pomp), Candie Payne, Moon Maan, The National, new Guns And Roses songs, Dan Deacon, Clutch and Chromeo: All these things are awesome. Oh, and that new Manic Street Preachers album would be good, as an old-school Manics fan, were the lyrics not so shabby (Autumn Song? Christ.).