From: Annie Harlow (antediluvian.annie@gmail.com)

With Octavia Butler's untimely passing, I was curious if you had any thoughts on her work -- I often associate you with her (and a few other authors) who really challenge the stereotypes of women in sci-fi.

Butler's KINDRED absolutely blew me away. More than any other experience it brought home to me the viseral reality of racism. It totally changed the way I saw the world. I was there, feeling the horror of it, the fragility of the recent veneer of politeness that keeps what is America (mostly) holding together. If that's all she'd written, I think she would deserve all her honours and awards.

Octavia Butler, however, wrote a lot more than KINDRED. Some of it was, in my opinion, good, some of it was bad ( for example, Butler herself disowned SURVIVOR) and some of it was rather cool and distant. For someone of her immense talent and fearlessness her relentless refusal of lesbian and gay characters is a little perplexing.

I suspect that her work is often misread. I know that the first two times I read PARABLE OF THE SOWER for a New York Times Review of Science Fiction piece, I completely misinterpreted the concept of hyperempathy, and took her to task for a failure of imagination: why, I wanted to know, did Lauren feel others' pain but not their joy in things like sex? Part of my misperception was very likely based on assumptions springing from my reading of Butler's previous work: in the Xenogenesis series, for example, sex was a purely biological act, and in her other work when sex had emotion attached to it at all, the tendency was towards sex as oppression, a source of pain, fear, and bondage. However, part of my misreading was that I simply got it wrong: I hadn't read carefully enough. I'd missed the fact that Lauren's hyperempathy was to some degree imagined rather than actual (a very neat concept, when one thinks about it; wish I'd come up with it). Lauren's lack of sexual joy in others' sex could be seen to be not a lack of imagination on the part of the author but a lack of experience on the part of the character. When I realised my mistake I was mortified. I'd read the book twice, carefully, for review, and I still got it completely wrong. I felt like a dork.

I had dinner with Octavia Butler two or three times. I liked her. I didn't know her. She was intensely private. I'm sorry I won't ever have the opportunity to know her better. But I believe one's work is a signpost to one's inner world. The best way to know her, probably, is to read her novels. But with care.

From: Annie Harlow (antediluvian.annie@gmail.com)

Actually, one more question. I know I'm in the minority, but I prefer Ammonite/Slow River over the Aud books ... I know you're working on an Aud sequel, but is there a chance of another stand-alone coming our way? Thanks!

I'm not sure that you are in a minority--but whether you are or not is incidental. Personal taste is personal taste. Some people like red better than blue. It's what keeps life, ah, interesting.

Naturally I'd prefer it if all my readers said: Wow, we love what you do so much we'd read your packing lists! But I know that's not how a lot of the world works (I tell you, my list of What To Fix when I'm Empress of the Universe grows longer every day). I know that, speaking purely for myself, there are times when all I want to read is a big fat historical novel, or a sword-and-pony fantasy; times when I simply can't bear the notion of a sly and/or clever and/or cynical realistic novel.

However, as I've just finished ALWAYS (a draft of it, anyway, which I've sent it off to editor and agent for comment) it's certainly more than possible that my next book will be something different. What, exactly? I don't know. I have so many ideas: a fantasy, a memoir, a story collection, a historical, some linked novellas, a graphic novel (maybe Aud: The Beginning or something similar), some kids' illustrated books, a couple of anthologies (and, yes, they'd be arealistic, or fantastic, or speculative--pick your adjective). At this stage of a novel I tend to get a bit, er, floaty and unrealistic about what's possible: I can do anything! On the other hand, I'm so tired I want to do nothing. But a week from now I'll be like a squirrel on a lawn, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and running about knowing, just knowing I'll find those nuts...

From: Sly (esmatt@gci.net)

You said in answer to another ANQ: "I'm always months behind on these Ask Nicola questions. Partly it's that I get tired, or busy, or distracted. For example, between answering the first two questions and starting in on this one I've finished a massive chunk of ALWAYS, spent three weeks in England, had two nasty viruses, and generally gone on strike against the world, in protest at how...how bloody large and overwhelming it can be, sometimes. But I'm back. Partly I'm behind because I'm lazy. Partly it's, well, I'm not sure how to put this without writing a whole essay on the subject and/or freaking anyone out, but every now and again I wonder at the wisdom of talking about myself in public this way. I don't believe I'll stop doing it but it's very un-English and sometimes gives me pause for thought."
***
Firstly I'm glad you're back home safe!

You list a lot of things here that I struggle with also, including the lazy part. But mostly I get distracted and forget that I have certain obligations which I've imposed on myself that I get to feeling so guilty for not doing whatever it is that I'm unhappy for a little while and have to do things to divert my attention and then of course I forget the thing again. It's a vicious circle. I sometimes wish I had a deadline imposed on me like you do as a writer. But that is like way too invasive for me to have anyone else call the shots. ;-)

The part about talking about yourself in public the way you do is I think one of the things that has endeared me to you as a person, I like caring about you. I was hooked by your writing and now I can read your real thoughts not just your imaginings as a writer. I appreciate that greatly! That's true for Kelley too as we discovered through the virtual pint because of her poem Strings that we share an appreciation and a 6 degree separation thing about a certain violin player. This kind of thing is really a high for some people like me who are disabled and basically house bound.

I'm quite mad for a singer/song writer who I can't get enough of and so every time I find anything where she actually talks about herself I am like the person in the desert without water coming upon an oasis. I'm acquiring all of her CDs and I just got the DVD she did of their trip to France. Last night I found a little video of her doing a song at one of their gigs, damn I just can't tell you how much that means to me. I know I will never meet her and even if by some fluke I did I wouldn't want her to look at me and pass me over without ever getting to discuss the music because of how I look. Although I don't think she is that shallow that's just my own insecurity wailing on me. I would love to read your thoughts regarding; "it's, well, I'm not sure how to put this without writing whole essay on the subject and/or freaking anyone out, but every now and again I wonder at the wisdom of talking about myself in public this way."

But anyway all of this to say please don't stop giving of yourself if it's a matter of feeling silly for doing it or does it make you feel too vulnerable? My curiosity is aroused and of course I always want to know what you think about this or that or the other. :-)

(just in case your curiosity is aroused about who the singer, song writer is, it's Patricia Barber) http://www.patriciabarber.com/discs/index.html

It's not that I feel vulnerable when I talk about myself in this forum (though I do, sometimes--but writing fiction can make me feel more so), it's that it feels...unseemly. It's difficult to describe because when I'm feeling it, I dn't want to talk about it, and when I'm not feeling it, I don't know what the hell I mean. Okay, quick try: I grew up believing that private life should be private, and that it was self-absorbed and egotistical to talk about oneself, to even think that people wanted to hear what went on in my head. Perhaps it's an English thing

And sometimes I do like to talk about what I think and how I feel. In fact I've been liking it in certain circumstances and under certain constraints so much that I'm seriously toying with the idea of a memoir--an odd, untraditional variety of the form but a memoir nonetheless. I've been talking about this a little on my Yahoo list and it seems to me that there are very few lesbian memoirs that don't involve childhood trauma (incest, abuse, addiction, oppression). I thought it might be fun to mess with the form a bit. More about this when I know more.

Meanwhile, I checked out Patricia Barber and enjoyed the wee video very much. Thank you.

From: jack (jeanopat@aol.com)

Dear Nicola, I'm a mystery junkie and want to tell you I enjoyed the two Aud novels immensely. She reminds me somewhat of Spenser, but much more coldblooded and unpredictable. I read on your website there was a great hullaballoo about your staying in the U.S. I'm a Conservative and I just wish people would leave other people the hell alone and let one lead the life that makes them happy. Off the soapbox. Besides, anyone who enjoys a pint (or three or four) with a good book is aces with me. Take care of yourself and hope to see a new Aud soon. Best regards to you and yours.

The new Aud is finished, for a while. That is, I've finished a draft--and, oh, it's a big one: 850 typescript pages, about 180,000 words, i.e., nearly twice as long as Stay--and have sent it to my editor (Sean McDonald at Riverhead) and my agent (Shawna McCarthy at McCarthy Literary Agency) and am now waiting for their comments. When I get their comments I'll either despair (if they're bad), hurt someone (if they're really bad) or have a beer and then make small fixes (if they're good and have a few helpful suggestions). Then I sent it back. Then I fix it again. Then the copy-editor has a go at it. Then I have apoplexy. Then I undo all the copy-editing (I'm English, dammit; my narrator is Norwegian, I'm *not* going to say "looks out the window," she will always "look out of the window"). Then I start wracking my brains on what I call the poster, i.e. the one-line description/teaser of the book. This is one of the most important things a writer can do for her book.

Usually what happens is that Kelley and I go to the pub, we order a pitcher and start making shit up. For example, for Ammonitewe came up with "Change or die." For Slow River it was "Who are you when you have nothing left?" Unfortunately, I was so freaked out at the notion of writing a book that wasn't SF that when The Blue Place was done, I didn't take the time to come up with the poster. And when I was finishing Stay my sister died and book stuff just didn't seem that important. But this time, oh, this time there will be so much drinking and thinking that Seattle might just blast into orbit. Right now I'm thinking, "What makes us human?" or something like that, because this book is where Aud, while not losing an iota of her skills, acquires warmth and humanity.

As for the hullaballoo, well, it was mainly the Wall Street Journal with some political axe to grind, and I and a few other people simply got in the way. They didn't care about me particularly (they called me a kook) but I, that is, my case, was conveniently to hand. I actually really enjoy the WSJ (I'm a subcriber) and am now thoroughly used to their tirades on this and that. Mainly they amuse me, though occasionally they are short-sighted in the extreme, irritating, and even dangerous. I do enjoy Sharon Begley's science column on Fridays, though. (It's where I learnt about mirror neurons--amazing things that gave me an explanation for what I knew to be true but had no way to describe. Feeling that *snick* of understanding is, well, I don't know how to describe that, either. But it feels good.)