Last spring I decided to have a portion of my novel take place in Los Angeles. One chapter would be closer to downtown, and two chapters would be in Santa Monica. I’ve never been to LA, so I did a bunch of research, found some locations that worked well for theme and ambiance, and went to town.
Then I found out AWP would be in LA this year. Perfect! I’d extend my trip a day, and see my locations in person. I could talk to people, get a feel for the community and the culture and really lend some authenticity to these chapters. Then the fires happened.
I don’t feel I need to go into detail as to how the fires have impacted the LA area, and how terrible the situation is. Everyone sees the news and social media posts. It’s bad, I acknowledge that, and I know the problem I’m about to pose is nothing compared to what they’re dealing with in LA.
What I’m struggling with is how this will impact my story.
The way I look at it, and this can apply to any setting where a significant event has occurred, is I have three options on how to proceed. The first is the easiest: pretend it never/hasn’t happened. I write fiction, so I can take liberties with the when of a story, or even the very world. I could set this pre-fires, create an LA that until very recently is the LA that most people know. All that would take is incorporating my trip research as I’d already planned, and either defining a year of the story (summer 2024 and earlier), or just pretend my areas were never impacted by the fires.
Option two is probably the hardest: incorporate the fire, including community impact. Given my knowledge of LA is based solely on media and research, this is the most daunting. When I go there in March, I’ll see firsthand the impact of the fires in the communities, especially the locations I’ve chosen to be in my story. By talking to people, I’ll hopefully hear what Santa Monica used to be like, the struggles they’re facing as they rebuild, and how they (individually and collectively) are moving on. My character’s family has a business on Montana Ave, so this could present a good opportunity to show community involvement, as well as allow for any creative liberties with building size and placement.
As daunting as effectively portraying that community will be, another concern I have is that it might look like I’m exploiting the community for my narrative. A terrible thing has happened, why not shove it into a story for emotional appeal? Right. Obviously that’s not the goal, as I’d already decided to use Santa Monica well before the fires. But I can’t deny that including the fire aftermath would inherently create an emotional hook for some readers. As writers, creating emotional connections with readers is the goal, the concern is that it might look like I’m taking advantage of a bad situation.
The third option is to have it take place elsewhere. I’d chosen LA because I needed a large city that wasn’t New York (where a healthy chunk of the book takes place), and I was looking for a certain vibe of wealth (Ch. 1) and then a nearby trendy shopping area with a more laid back feel (Ch. 2-3). I’m sure that combination exists elsewhere, but picking somewhere else would be learning a new location, researching it, adapting the narrative to account for it, etc. Definitely more work than option one, probably less work than option two.
So that’s the conundrum. How do I deal with a real natural disaster in my writing? Do I take the easy way and ignore it? Do I remove my story from the location entirely so the disaster has no bearing whatsoever? Or do I try and incorporate it, risk sounding exploitative and try to put some real truth into a piece of fiction?
AWP is at the end of March, so I still have some time to decide, but I need a completed draft by late April. Whatever decision I make, I’ll have only a few weeks to incorporate it. Maybe talking with locals will help make that decision for me. Maybe talking with other writers can give me some insight. Right now, I’m leaning toward including the fires, to have a very real way to tie my character into the community, but we’ll see.
I’m a couple of weeks late on this, and for that I’ll, without reserve, throw my kids under the bus. Just before and just after New Years I went to the emergency room twice (one a piece), and there’s just been a surplus of vomit in the house. Totally their fault. Especially since my wife and I got incredibly sick after that. And then the grandparents. Norovirus is nasty. Also, an unconventional way to kick start a New Years weight loss goal.
2024 was a big year, more on the life side than the writing side, but there’s always going to be a balance there. This biggest change was I have a new baby. She’s nine months old now, and since I’m stay-at-home-dadding, those nine months have seemed very long. Kara is now crawling (she fully figured it out when her brother was opening presents on Christmas Eve and she wanted them), and I can tell she’s itching to walk.
We also found out in March that two of my brother’s wives were also having babies in 2024. Knowing that, I tried really hard to talk a third brother into having a baby this year. He literally ran away from the conversation 🙂
I also started my MFA thesis this fall. I picked a project I’ve been thinking about for at least five years, the first of an eight book fantasy mystery series following a dark elf private detective. Feedback from my advisor had been great so far, and I’m about to start draft two as thesis wraps up this spring before graduation.
My most exciting writing news of 2024 came right after Election Day (which was a very timely piece of good news). I’ll give a brief bit of backstory first. Two years ago at AWP, I saw a literary magazine called F(r)iction. They fully illustrate their entire magazine, and beautifully so. I knew immediately that if I could be published in any magazine, F(r)iction would be it.
So I sent off a story to them immediately. I didn’t realize at the time that they had themed submissions, and so after nine months I got a rejection, saying it wasn’t a fit for their issue, but to please submit again. So when I saw one of their upcoming themes was Oceans, I had just the story for that (I stole a character from one of my novel ideas and tweaked their story a bit).
I submitted it on Nov 4, and on Nov 7 one of their editors reached out and said he loved it, and wanted to work with me to present to his higher-ups for consideration! Hot damn, was I excited. Then I did edits. And more edits. And was sent to the next level up. And then I did more edits. Finally, the week before Christmas, the story was pitched to the editor in chief and they said yes. I’m going to be in one of F(r)iction’s 2025 issues! Validation!
And not at the same level of excitement, but still exciting, another of my shorts was sent up the line in a different magazine, one where they do full audio productions of the pieces. So if that bears fruit, that’ll be amazing as well.
Sort of bookending the 2024/2025 holiday season, I worked with Water~Stone Review and the Scholastic Writing Award. For Water~Stone I helped screen fiction submissions for the upcoming issue. For the Scholastic Writing Award I was one of the regional judges for the high schoolers who entered their writing. Both had pieces that surprised me (pleasantly and otherwise), and offered good insights into the minds of other writers and their worlds.
Looking forward to 2025, a huge milestone will be finally completing my MFA. I started before covid, and only going one class per semester, it’s certainly taken some time. But when I finish, I’ll be ready with tools and time to really dive into this goal of writing as a career. Kara will be in day care starting August, so I’ll be able to have actual workdays where I can write uninterrupted. With no homework and no kids, I’m going to be more productive than I’ve ever been.
I’ll be going to AWP again in 2025. This year it’s in LA. I’ve never been to LA, and only last year went to California for the first time when my wife had a business trip in San Diego. I’m hoping with momentum from F(r)iction, as well as the other pubs I’ve had in the last couple of years, I’ll be able to make some good connections and find some doors to open.
TLDR: 2024: Had a baby. Started thesis. F(r)iction said yes. 2025: Graduation. AWP. Full-time writing.
Hope you all had a better (healthier) New Years than I did, and stay tuned for more news, books reviews, and random thoughts.
I want to start this review off with a disclaimer: I am in no way professing to be a Shakespeare expert. Am I smarter than the average bear regarding The Bard? Yes. Evidence: I subbed a high school English class a few months back and they were studying Romeo and Juliet. A couple of kids said they were shocked by the ending, and I was like, what? He literally told you it was going to happen. At the beginning. Like a bad movie trailer. Then I recited the prologue from memory.
While not an expert, after majoring in English and Theatre Arts, I’ve got a healthy bit of Shakespeare under my belt. And of all his plays, my favorite is The Tempest. I, for kicks and giggles, rewatched my Blu-ray copy of Helen Mirren’s Tempest a few weeks ago. I have a fairly detailed character work-up and world-building done for a Tempest retelling of my own I’d like to write. L. Jagi Lamplighter’s Prospero’s Daughter trilogy is on my shelf, patiently waiting its turn. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard about Jacqueline Carey’s Miranda and Caliban.
My first exposure to Jacqueline Carey came back in high school when Kushiel’s Dart was published. It’s an alternate history set in France, with fantasy elements. It was steamy. And BDSM-y. 2001 me definitely was not expecting what I’d stumbled across. Kushiel’s Dart was Romantasy before that was even a term. So when I picked up Miranda and Caliban and saw their physical closeness on the cover, you can imagine the expectations that bloomed in my mind.
Those expectations immediately ran into a brick wall. For those who haven’t read The Tempest, let me give you a very truncated version: Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, and his daughter Miranda are marooned on an island, having been nefariously exiled by his brother Antonio with the help of the King of Naples. On the island with them are Caliban, a monstrous-looking native, and Ariel, a powerful sprite, both of whom serve Prospero against their will.
With Ariel’s help, Prospero conjures a storm that shipwrecks his usurping brother, the King of Naples, and the King’s son Ferdinand. Prospero orchestrates events to lead Ferdinand to fall in love with Miranda. Meanwhile, he confronts the conspirators, leading them to repentance, avoids an assassination plot by Caliban, and ultimately forgives his enemies. He renounces his magical powers, frees Ariel, and prepares to return to Milan to reclaim his dukedom.
All’s well that ends well.
The problem I had at the get-go was this line from The Tempest:
Filth as thou art, with humane care, and lodged thee
In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate
The honor of my child.
Act 1, Scene 2, Lines 349-351
Basically, we learn that Caliban at one point tried to rape Miranda. And that he’s not sorry about it. So with this line in mind—with Miranda and Caliban being a love story—Ricky Ricardo started shouting in my head: “Carey, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”
I never want to give spoilers, so I’ll just say what my expectation was for how this could work out. Prospero is the one who says Caliban tried to rape her, and Caliban (who is said to not have the greatest command of English) says he wishes it had happened. Miranda does not corroborate Prospero’s claim. The only way I could see this working was that they were in love and were just about to do the dirty, when Prospero walks in. He assumes it’s rape, when in actuality it was consensual.
That was my guess. I won’t say how it played out, except that Carey’s story makes sense regarding that line. There was another sticky part that I hadn’t thought about initially, though its problematic nature became very clear. Prospero and Miranda have been stranded on the island for twelve years. She was three when they arrived. That means she’s currently fifteen years old. Caliban was already there and living on his own, and he’s now nineteen years old. For them to have a relationship, especially a physical one… that’s a bit dicey.
With Carey’s retelling focusing on everything leading up to The Tempest, we’re able to see Miranda and Caliban’s relationship grow and bloom into something almost beautiful, contrasting well with the island and the demands of Prospero. What I enjoyed the most was the integration of magic into the story. In the play, Prospero does *hand wave* MAGIC. No explanation, nothing beyond the play telling us so. In this novel, we learn how the magic works, and what all the characters go through as a result of this magic.
It’s also fun to get internal monologues, character reactions, and thoughts to give deeper meaning to their relationships. Yes, actors can convey much on stage, but the text of Tempest, as with plays in general, is limiting. It’s the nature of the medium. But here, instead of actors conveying the story, Carey does so via the novel.
The only quibble I have with the novel is regarding the relationship logistics and my modern sensibilities. When they’re younger, we know there’s an age gap, but all their interactions are innocent. Friendly. As they get older, we learn the exact gap: four years. Of course, there can be the arguments of being historically accurate, or accurate based on the source material, but with adaptations, there’s always room for leeway. Creative liberties. Every reader’s sensibilities vary, but for me, the age gap might have been a good area to fudge.
And that brings us to the topic of the day: adaptations.
We’ve all seen direct adaptations of books: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Gone Girl, etc. You’ve likely even seen direct adaptations of Shakespeare, like the Leonardo DiCaprio Romeo and Juliet, or the Keanu Reeves Much Ado about Nothing. I want to talk about adaptations that use the source material as a springboard as opposed to a script.
Version 1.0.0
An interesting adaptation that comes to mind is Wicked. Gregory Maguire’s novel was adapted from the original Wizard of Oz novel. Specifically, the story of how Elphaba came to be the Wicked Witch of the West. Wicked was then adapted into a musical. That musical is now being adapted into film. But if we’re talking about Shakespeare, look at Lion King. Or 10 Things I Hate About You. Those are adaptations of Hamlet and Taming of the Shrew.
But what’s the point of adaptations? Why do we have them? It’s hard to speak on the motivations for others, but for me, it’s about the love of the story and characters. I doubt Christopher Moore woke up one morning saying, “Man, I hate that King Lear garbage. I should do it better. And raunchier.” More likely, given the sequels, he has a love for Shakespeare and wanted to share that love with an audience that may not have been as open to The Bard.
That’s another reason right there. Audience. This can work two ways. First, it can tap into a fan base that already exists. Had I picked up A Thousand Acres and read about a dying farmer and the drama revolving around what’d happen to his farmland, I’d have chucked that across the room and not looked back. But when I was given it and told it was King Lear, I was all, “Ooooh, interesting…”
The flip side is introducing readers to Shakespeare who have zero interest in him. You wouldn’t believe how much groaning and complaining I hear during the Romeo and Juliet sections in high school classes. But If I gave the kids who like dick jokes a copy of Fool, and the ones interested in modern fiction Shylock is My Name, all of a sudden you’ve got people invested in the stories of Shakespeare.
What makes an adaptation though? In Miranda and Caliban, Carey created a whole narrative to give context to the relationship between the titular characters, something portrayed in the original text as him lusting after her. Moore’s Fool takes us through the events of King Lear, but through the eyes of Pocket, and takes great liberties with the fool’s relationship with the other characters. Smiley’s A Thousand Acres’ setting is completely separate from King Lear’s, but runs through the same plot and character concerns. Each is an adaptation, and each is done differently.
As someone who has plans to write a Shakespearean adaptation, I can say that my goal is to introduce new readers. There’s not a ton of overlap with sci-fi and Shakespeare, so that could be a fun demographic to tap into. Also, as I said at the beginning, The Tempest is my favorite of his plays, so a love of the source material goes a long way.
So, with this broad understanding of the purpose of adaptations, how does Miranda and Caliban hold up? How does it fare with the Author’s Arsenal?
For exceptional character development, giving new depth to established characters, I award The Seal. For world-building and setting, giving life to an island and magic almost entirely unspecified in the play, I award The Scroll.
For non-Tempest readers, Miranda and Caliban is an engaging introduction to the world of the Tempest. For Tempest fans, it adds much more depth to the characters, Prospero and Ariel included. Jacqueline Carey has done a fantastic job of creating a narrative that will satisfy those familiar and unfamiliar with Shakespeare alike.
That’s all for now. As always, let me know if you have a book I should review.
So it’s been a while since my last post… I’ve got to try and make this more of a habitual thing. Whenever I forget to do something my wife asks what the point of the fancy Apple Watch on wrist is if I can’t even set reminders. We’ll see how this goes.
But for the exciting news bring me back: I finished the first draft of my novel yesterday. Yes, nine months into it (with breaks for childcare in the summer and from a literally break of my arm) I’ve finished the draft.
Without giving too much away, the genre is something that I’ve never seen done before, nor have people I’ve talked about it with. That being said, my next step is to read a bunch of genre adjacent books before my re-write. Hopefully I’ll see fun strategies as well as things to avoid.
Eric Taveren 