A Moment with Christopher Cornell

Why did you choose to write speculative fiction instead of another genre?

We live in a world of miracle drugs, robotic companions and extraplanetary exploration. Likewise, we struggle with adaptive viruses, technological exploitation and diminishing privacies. Speculative fiction gives birth to many aspects of the modern world before they became part of everyday life. To read and write within this realm is to consider the possibilities of life, both great and horrible.

To speculate is not simply to imagine worlds that do not and will never exist. Imagination allows the reader, as well as the writer, to consider reality in a new light. Sometimes we reflect on the society we want to build; at other times, we spin cautionary tales that manifest our fears of what may come. Whether our heroes and heroines are from other worlds, or rooted firmly in our own, they can serve as markers for our progress as a society. Whenever Big Brother is referenced in a discussion of modern surveillance, or Judge Dredd considered the exemplary of a fascist police state, I am reminded of the role of speculative fiction in steering societal discourse. Many who have shaped our world grew up with Homer and Verne and LeGuin and Huxley. There can be little doubt these diverse voices have fueled the endeavors of those who turn fantasy into reality.

I write speculative fiction because it is more than a cataloging of the familiar. It’s an invitation to deconstruct the world and redeem it with what works, or damn it with what doesn’t. A work of fantasy or science fiction is the personal exploration of an idea, on a scale of one’s own choosing. Though some are tempted to consider such works frivolous entertainment, history proves otherwise. The dialog of our future begins within the pages of books and magazines. To continue that tradition is a true privilege, and provides impetus to continue expanding my own views on the world at large. These ideas need not become truth to accomplish their most important goal: broadening the discussion of where we are headed and what comes next.

I can’t begin to imagine what wonders of our near future have already been revealed within the pages of other authors. Where are the cars, submarines, elevators and satellites of the twenty-first century? The possibilities make reading fun. And heck, it’s pretty fun to write about, too.

But I’m still waiting for my flying car.

Christopher Cornell is a writer, musician, interface developer and somnambulist in California's East Bay. He has also studied film and television, and is a graduate of the Viable Paradise writers' workshop.

More information and inane anecdotes can be found on his website and Twitter.

Confidence as a Work in Progress

by Christopher Cornell

Ask most writers about self-confidence and be prepared for heavy sighs. The industry is set up to accommodate failure more often than not, and even the most confident artist or wordsmith must deal with disappointment on a regular basis. The road to every acceptance is paved with rejection slips. Judging by several conversations with well-established professionals, the struggle does not end with a bestseller or glowing reviews. And, in this most solitary of pursuits, the need for positive reinforcement is readily apparent.

This problem is near and dear to me as I make strides toward becoming a professional writer. Maintaining enthusiasm is often harder than turning out a good read. Here are a few things I’ve learned from thoughtful others (or am attempting to learn, in spite of myself):

Write, write, write. Submit, submit, submit. The more you write, the less attached you become to each individual word. The more material you submit to markets, the less those individual “no thank you” letters matter. (Also, the more chances you have for an acceptance. Sounds logical, but I have to remind myself every so often.)

Remember the good. Keep good feedback on hand to pull out when the sea of rejections and bad notices reaches a high tide.

Have confidence in the reader. When you’re creating an entire world on the page, it’s easy to get caught up in wanting to convey every detail. Readers appreciate bring allowed to figure things out for themselves. And it’s okay for the story to hold different meaning for someone else. Of course, too much/not enough is a delicate balance. But once achieved, they’ll respect you.

Constructive criticism for the win. When someone tells you what doesn’t work for them as a reader, they are helping you strengthen your work. As long as noted problems are specific and fixable, everyone wins. “It sucks” doesn’t help, but “I lost interest at this point” certainly does.

People will hate your work. This can’t be helped. As a colleague recently impressed upon me, wanting to be liked by everyone is the mark of an amateur. Do what you do, and find your audience. Everyone else can read something else, and it’s just fine.

The interwebs are best served with a grain of salt. It’s a fact that people who are dissatisfied with something are far more likely to express their feelings. And sometimes it gets ugly. The perceived anonymity of the internet encourages some to indulge in behavior they wouldn’t dream of in person. (As an artist friend noted, “Whenever I start feeling too good about myself, I read reviews online.”) You know the drill: don’t feed the trolls. And don’t stoop to that level in return.

Write what you enjoy. If you love your work, others will, too. Then the trick becomes finding those others.

Failing that, Scotch works well. In moderation.

Christopher Cornell is a writer, musician, interface developer and somnambulist in California's East Bay. He has also studied film and television, and is a graduate of the Viable Paradise writers' workshop.

More information and inane anecdotes can be found on his website and on Twitter.