Worlds Behind the Words

What’s the best question you’ve ever been asked as a writer? What's the worst? And what question do you wish you were asked but nobody’s ever asked it?

by Dietrich

Like any writer, I get asked about craft, inspiration, and the dark corners of my imagination. Some answers are almost automatic, while others leave me digging deeper. 

I think the best question I’ve been asked was “How do you find the humanity in a monster?” This was at Word on the Street in Toronto a few years ago, and the person in the audience wanted to know how I unearth the flicker of humanity under the layers of depravity. I explained that to my mind even the most heinous characters carry pain, fear and their own warped logic — not to mention, a belief that they feel justified in their actions. As a writer, it’s not about excusing those actions but understanding them and getting under the surface. All of which makes the characters seem real. 

When I think of finding humanity in a monster I think of characters like  Hannibal Lecter from The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. Or Tom Ripley from The Talented Mr. Ripley by Patricia Highsmith. Or Dexter Morgan from Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay. It’s almost scary to think we could root for such characters.

As my writing leans more to crime fiction than thrillers, I don’t think of many of my characters — the protagonists anyway — as monsters but more as likable villains. I love reading novels where this type of character lurks. I think of Ordell Robbie from Elmore Leonard’s Rum Punch. A smooth-talking, street-smart arms dealer with a laid-back charm, he navigates his criminal world with a grin. Even as he plots murder, his charisma makes you almost want to see him pull it off.

Or take Dick Ritchie from The Shark-Infested Custard by Charles Willeford. He’s a slick sleazeball and an amoral womanizer with a likability that comes from his breezy confidence. It’s like watching a shark swim easily through the water — right before it chomps down.

One of the worst questions I’ve been asked, “Why don’t you write something happy?” Or, “Why dwell in the grim when you could write sunshine and rainbows?” The simple answer is I choose not to sugarcoat the real world we live in, and an all-happy tale would run the risk of feeling hollow. 

Outside the page, it’s the small acts of kindness — people helping and caring — that remind me goodness isn’t fiction. But, a good story needs its conflict, and besides, the truth isn’t always happy, and life isn’t always uplifting. Storytelling’s a mirror to a human experience that’s often raw, chaotic and marked by struggle.

So, writing about violence isn’t just for shock value, it’s a way to look at some uncomfortable realities. I love diving into the grit and exposing the truths faced by my make-believe people.

And I think readers like to connect to a character’s authenticity, finding catharsis in seeing their own struggles reflected, even when it’s unsettling. A happy story might soothe, but a harsh one can ignite.

A Question I Wish I Were Asked: “What keeps you believing in the good after writing the bad?”

No one’s ever asked me this, but I wish they would. I’d love to talk about how writing the bad sharpens my appreciation for the good.  Even in the worst of humanity, there’s a spark worth saving. I’d tell the person asking it’s that kind of spark that fuels my writing.

Who's Got a Question?

 

Terry here, with our question this week: What’s the best question you’ve ever been asked as a writer? What's the worst? And what question do you wish you were asked but nobody’s ever asked it? 

 I’m going to start with the worst for a particular reason. At my first, ever, bookstore launch, which had a very healthy 35 attendees, a man asked me, “Why do you write mysteries? Do you think aren’t good enough to write literary fiction?” 

 When I tell people this, they gasp at his rudeness and audacity. But they don’t know me very well. I had an answer, because I’d actually given this some thought. I said, “I believe at the heart of every great novel, there is a mystery.” Then I cited Jane Austen’s PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, with its tantalizing mysteries—yes, more than one. Why is Mr. Darcy so angry at Mr. Wickham? What happened to Mr. Darcy’s ward in the past? Then there is CRIME AND PUNISHMENT—a towering accomplishment in the mystery genre. (Ooo, I can just hear the Literature Professors screaming). It’s almost impossible to imagine a really good novel without some kind of mystery if not driving the action, then revealing something about a character or about the past that is at the heart of the book. 

 What is it that makes a great novel? I’ll leave that for another, longer essay, but I will argue that in any genre there are great novels. 

For every great, lasting “literary” work, there are vast numbers of “pretty good” novels. The same goes for genre fiction. Take sci-fi. Ever read Ursula K. LeGuin? How about H.G. Wells? How about Ben H. Winters “Last Policeman” series. They write books that last. Same is true for the crime genre. Lots of pretty good books, and a few giants.

 I started with the worst question, because in some ways it was also the best. After the book event, the man came up to me all smiles and said, “That was a great answer.” I thought it was a great question, because it forced people to think—an important aspect of any good question. 

 Now, fast forward to Joyce Carol Oates’ recent snarky comment about a novel that she was reviewing. She said, in essence that it was a very good book and it was too bad the writer had constrained himself by writing a mystery. What? I mean, really? I can’t help thinking 1) this is snobbish, and 2) it’s short-sighted. Some of the best books I’ve ever read are in “genre” categories. If you’ve never read THE HOT COUNTRIES by Timothy Halllinan, read it. I’ll stack it up against the best fiction anytime. It’s full of angst and atmosphere, with characters you won’t forget. Does anyone dispute the literary genius of John Le Carre? How about Henning Mankell? Tana French? P.D. James? 

I would even go so far as to say that these days there are a lot more authors writing great fiction about serious issues, and part of this is because of the push be more inclusive in the publishing world. Read Wanda Morris or Coleson Whitehead! That’s serious fiction. 

 I never mind any questions. I love the ones about craft. Every writer is different and I like to talk about the way I do my writing, how I get my ideas (a much-maligned question, which actually has merit), my process. I love questions that make me think about what I’m trying to convey. At conferences, I get put on a lot of panels about small-time crime, and although there are some interesting to say about that, it doesn’t come close to questions about what I hope to convey in my novels. 

 So, if there was a question I’d like to be asked more often, it’s “Talk about your commitment to writing about social issues in your books.” I want people to know that in every book in my Samuel Craddock series, I’ve written about some serious issues. In my latest, THE TROUBLING DEATH OF MADDY BENSON, I tackle the question of the consequences of the Supreme Court striking down Roe vs. Wade. If that isn’t a social issue, I don’t know what is. I don't pretend to be one of the greats, but I do argue that my books stack up against a lot of so-called "literary" novels.

Questions on a Theme

What’s the best question you’ve ever been asked as a writer? What's the worst? And what question do you wish you were asked but nobody’s ever asked it?

Brenda here. I'm going to anchor this week's question around bookstore signings.

The best question: Could you sign my copy? Meeting readers and having them like my work enough to purchase a book or be willing to take a chance and buy one without having heard of me before is always hugely gratifying. It never gets old.

I met Tom at a signing on Saturday and he tells me that he's bought every one of my books, now including the latest being Who Lies in Wait.  Of course, I had to sign his copy!

The worst question: Can you tell me where the washrooms are? I've been asked this one often at store book signings. After explaining that I don't work in the store but am there signing copies of my books, the person disappears never to return. 

Would you mistake me for a store employee?

The question nobody's ever asked that I wish they would: Can I back my car up and you fill it the trunk with copies for my book club, friends, family ...? Yeah, that would be a pipe dream. It tends to be one book sale at a time, and it can take a lot of work to convince somebody to buy a copy. I have a great story though. I was doing a signing at a local Coles, positioned at the entrance to the store. A woman came out having purchased an armful of books. She stopped and asked me about my series, saying she hadn't noticed me on the way into the store. We had a nice chat and she disappeared down the mall. A few minutes later, she returned, walked past me into the store and had all the books she'd bought earlier refunded, She then came over to my table and bought the entire series.

I used to dread store signings because I found it difficult, and frankly horrifying, to ask somebody to buy my books. I'm not normally a pushy person and sales would never be my chosen profession. However, I've done enough of these now that I'm more comfortable asking somebody to have a look at my books. Rejection is always a risk, but I've met a lot of great people and the good has far outweighed the bad. I've sold quite a few books along the way too :-) 

Website: www.brendachapman.ca

Facebook & Instagram & Threads: BrendaChapmanAuthor

Bluesky: @brendachapman.bsky.social

Lone Wolves Get Lonely Sometimes by Poppy Gee

Do you see AI as a blessing or a curse for you as a writer?

For the past decade I have built up a small but robust editing business focusing on crime fiction. It employs one person – me.

I have a background in newspaper and magazine journalism, specialising in subediting, and a master’s degree in creative writing. My business is called The Lone Wolf Writing and Manuscript Appraisal Company. The name sounded dramatic, and it made me laugh. I think writers are like lone wolves, roaming majestically in our imaginations, happy to be left alone.

A writer pays me around $3000 for a copy edit of a full-length draft novel. It takes me about a week to do a job that size. I correct grammar, punctuation, and other bits and pieces, enhancing the clarity of the work.

$3000 is a lot of money.

Soon, if not already, writers such as my clients will be able to use cheap AI to obtain the service I’ve been offering.

That's going to remove a large part of my business. However, AI won’t remove a certain part, which is  probably the bit I like the most - working on the structural edit.

Writers crave human interaction. Most of us like having our work edited. We enjoy conversations that unpick the seams of our writing, we like hearing other people’s ideas on how we might deftly sew it back together so it’s even better. A genuine, constructive discussion about your writing is a wonderful experience. It can be confronting and raw, but it is often validating, inspiring and exciting to hear someone respond honestly to your work. I give feedback on structure, themes, characters, list other similar books I’ve loved, and help brainstorm ideas. My clients love the sincerity of this process, the depth of my engagement with their work, the conversations conducted over a series of emails, phone, zoom or in person conversations. Likewise, when I need feedback on my own work, I select who I share it with to get the specific nuanced opinions I desire.

Lone wolves don’t want to be alone all the time!

AI will not provide that service.

Regarding my work as a novelist, there are different considerations.

In January, Meta (Facebook) used a pirated database of more than 7 million books and 81 million academic papers to train its Meta AI model. My two novels, Vanishing Falls and Bay of Fires, were among them.

I’m no expert on AI law, but from what I understand, once your work is stolen, it’s gone. I can’t see how we can try to stop it.

What will happen next is a generation of wannabe-writers will ask AI to pump out any book they wished they wrote. People will type into a search engine something like: Karin Slaughter plot, set in Sydney in the 1980s, Lisa Unger complex relationships, Megan Miranda twists. No different to me typing in ingredients for a casserole and getting a recipe online - a sausage-factory spitting out AI-generated novels.

Personally, I buy books based on knowing a little bit about the author. Yellowface by RF Kuang and Erasure by Percival Everett wouldn’t be as interesting if they were written by AI. Eli Cranor’s novels crackle with emotional intensity because he has a personal connection to the Arkansas setting. I devour the work of David Joy who writes about small rural communities in the Appalachian Mountains where he lives. I crave to know what that experience is like, how the specific and intimate experiences of that life shapes people like the author. I know David Joy is real because I follow him on Instagram and see photos of him fishing, hunting, cooking squirrel stew, and worrying about the things that his characters worry about in his books. What he is selling is authenticity and people are lining up to buy that.

My current work-in-progress is set in the Tasmanian ski resort of Ben Lomond. A few hundred people skied there from the 1950s to present. I set the novel in 1994, during the alpine resort’s halcyon days, when my family spent every winter weekend skiing there. To my knowledge, no one has written about this era, which happens to be the final years in which homosexuality was illegal in Tasmania. I was in high school then; it was a controversial hot topic. Readers of this book are guaranteed a very personal story.

I suspect most readers aren’t that interested in the backstory of an author, they just want to be entertained. That’s ok. However, it does mean that a glut of mass-produced novels will soon flood the market.

When the AI-novel-sausage-factory gets going, what does it mean for me, personally, as a writer?

Nothing, really.

I’ll keep on writing. Even if I knew no one would ever read my work, I would continue to write. I like it. From the enormous challenge of trying to write a novel and hang it all together, to fiddling with sentences and word choice on a micro level, it’s my favourite thing to do.

"Strawberry Mango Forklift", by Catriona

Do you see AI as a blessing or a curse for you as a writer?

I genuinely couldn't think how to illustrate this post, so thank you, S J Rozan, for sharing Ken Chang's Fb post earlier today.

AI is an irrelevance for me as a writer, as far from impinging on my work as drink-driving laws impinge on my commute. (I write at home and I don't drink.)

Two caveats to that, though: I was talking about generative AI trained on large language corpora made up of stolen words, not those algorithms that make bone-headed suggestions about what I might buy; and I was talking about craft only. 

The bigger question - the impact of AI on whether I can make a living as a writer - depends on how much people care about the difference between created work and extruded product. I hope they care enough.

I think they do, some of them. Have you seen those silly photos that pop up on social media, purporting to be amazing landscapes from the far reaches of the world? Or unbelievably (this is a clue) adorable animals doing incredible (this is another one) things? Or X-rated creepy humanoid toddlers that have come pattering up out of Uncanny Valley to haunt our dreams forever, that we're supposed to find cute (but only ever make me wonder what would happen if I used the algorithm to Google "exorcists near me"?)

You know how it goes. The original poster gushes about how wonderful the world is. Someone in the comments points out that the image is AI-generated. OP, stung, says "So what?" Someone else in the comments points out that faked images don't show how wonderful the world is. OP, really annoyed now, says the reality-based commenters are spoiling everyone's harmless fun. And then a photographer pops in to talk about how much fun it is to pay their rent and OP blocks everyone and goes off to fume until a photo of a rainbow-coloured mountain appears on their feed and soothes them.

No judgement.

That was a lie.

So, like I said, our future as writers depends on readers. And, speaking as a reader, which every writer also is, I think we're going to be okay. How could someone care enough about justice and humanity to read crime fiction but be fine with the grubby business of LLM AI?

It's the output cheating, as well as the input theft, that devalues it all for me. The dishonesty. I was never very impressed with the Turing Test - where a human interacts linguistically with a hidden entity and tries to guess whether it's another human or a machine. The machine wins if the human gets it wrong and the human wins if they spot the fake. I always thought the TT would only be interesting if the machine had acquired its language after five years' exposure to babytalk, Sesame Street and seventeen different accents of five different languages from Grandma to the bus driver. Otherwise it's about as relevant as a Vaudeville horse that reads its trainer's cues and fakes arithmetic, about as meaningful as a psychic who cold-reads a customer, as soon as the money's changed hands. I mean, even Alan Turing himself called it "the imitation game" and knew it was unrelated to the question of machines thinking. 

Similarly, I think the grim, capitalistic emptiness of generative AI product makes it uninteresting, even if it gets so good at the imitation game that it tricks people. It's porn in place of sex. It's flavouring pretending to be flavour, colouring rather than vibrancy, preservatives mimicking freshness. It produces the same feelings in me as the fact that farmers grow food and instead of people eating it, big corporations buy it, strip it down, use some of the parts to make food-like substances and sell that to consumers who gobble it up along with antacids and laxative pills. (One argument in favour of industrial food is that it's cheap. My response is: not as cheap as it would be if the major shareholders could struggle by with just the one beach-house each; and also, cheap food so people can stay poor isn't a great argument; not to mention that it's not cheap in a society where you need a GoFundMe to cover your insulin.)

In conclusion, my question about generative AI in the arts is "Who, if anyone, is making the money?". It's no kind of surprise ending to reveal that I think it should be the artists.

Cx

A.I. = N.O.

 Do you see AI as a blessing or a curse for you as a writer?

I struggled a little to come up with something more than:

It's a curse. Full stop.

I think AI as a concept will prove to be an invaluable tool in the future. It's here to stay and can and will improve our lives in immeasurable ways through the tech sector, medicine, and every science on Earth. For creative pursuits? It's a death knell.

Why Silicon Valley is so obsessed with an AI takeover of creativity is not too hard to discern: they have none themselves and want an easy cop-out to feel creative and to devalue actual human creativity.

Writing is not unique in the battle lines being drawn. There are deep-pocketed companies with the goal of creating AI-generated art in all its forms, from music to painting to writing of every discipline. It's a continuation of the devaluing of art we've seen in the digital age. Music has become something an entire generation places almost no value in. Everything is at our fingertips, for virtually no cost. (none at all if they're on their parent's Spotify account) 

There's almost no way to talk about, let alone push back against, the devaluing of art without sounding like a cranky old man. In my day (yes, I said it) you had to save money to go buy a record or a book. You went to a retail store where they could physically only carry a fraction of what was available. As new books come out, they replace older books on the shelf.

Now, with everything available all the time and for pennies, that entertainment or art buying dollar is spread increasingly thin. And artists are suffering. And if those companies can remove the artist entirely...and subsequently keep all the money for themselves, well that's just good business, right?

But the result is that no one can make a living creating, then nobody will do it anymore. 

AI has benefits I cannot imagine. Creative writing is not one of them. The only ones it benefits are corporations and people who can't write a book. They want the easy way out. That goes for creating book covers and using fake AI-generated narrators.

It can be a tool in the box for things like graphic design, but to wholesale eliminate the humans from the equation, you end up with an end product that lacks humanity. When that happens, it's a short slide into people disconnecting with the art, then not choosing it and then we end up in a world without the arts and that's nowhere I'd ever want to live. 

The Future is Here, Watson

 

Do you see AI as a blessing or a curse for you as a writer?

Let me be your Hal, and simulate AI applied to the mystery genre. If you’re a Plotter, AI will be your Scrivener and help you with the mess of spaghetti called Plot. If you’re a Pantser stuck inside the web of your own design, AI could untangle you, summarize what you’ve done, and pitch a curveball twist because you can’t see yourself writing the story without help. AI is your Watson.

Cozy. AI can help with brainstorming Plot, and create herrings and world-building. What AI can’t do is get you beyond the massive treasure horde of familiar tropes because, by design, it summarizes all that is out there. AI is a spider that trawls the Web and returns with its kills. The ‘intelligence’ is that it elaborates on what it finds in the media, and ‘artificial’ in that it reflects a consensus on established trends. With time, AI will evolve and sound more human, and that frightens people. I’m not convinced that AI can generate that distinctive Voice fans of cozy mystery find comforting.

 

Hardboiled. AI can generate snarky one-liners, and paint-by-numbers a grim urban landscape. It can render a composite of the alcoholic PI with anger management issues, or the slinky and sultry femme fatale. The problem with AI writing hardboiled is the same problem any writer has writing hardboiled; it invites parody and pastiche. Nobody wants the Same-O Same-O for their mayo.

 

Noir. What I wrote about hardboiled applies here, too. Ditto on tired tropes. Ditto on snappy dialogue. Ditto on the atmospheric setting. Ever notice that humans are really good at going dark? We’re wired to marvel at the depravity in Dante’s Inferno and dismiss his Paradiso. It’s easier to imagine the Nihilist, and dismiss the Optimist. AI probably would do a great job helping the writer of noir with plot twists and double-crosses. I write both hardboiled and noir, but I don’t go so dark as to have a reader want to open their veins. Clean-up in Aisle Two. Dead Customer.

 

Thrillers. Let’s lump espionage, legal, and psychological under this rubric. AI can help with Tension aka Suspense with suggestions on structure and pacing. Thrillers work because they rely on novelty and understanding human psychology, more so than any other genre. There’s the risk of shallow and hollow characters, familiar arcs (sorry but not sorry, The Girl With a Secret Past), flat beats, and empty calories for satisfaction.

 

I mentioned that AI is a spider. Instead of a page of random links from the web search of yesteryear, with corporations waiting to monetize your mouse click, AI produces a summary page, in a conversational tone. It’s a descendant of Ask Jeeves. Remember Jeeves? I ran a medical report through AI because doctors wouldn’t explain it to me. Yes, AI was my glorified translator, and it worked. 

 

AI as blessing or curse sounds very Either/Or. I lean into gray.

Technology is Orwellian because humans monetize or weaponize tools.

Technology contains a Truth in the Lie, and the Lie has some element of Truth.

 

Both have unintended consequences. Air conditioning is relief from the heat, but the Freon inside ACs is an environmental catastrophe. Television was championed as the ultimate teacher and communicator, and it has been that and more; it morphed into propaganda, the highs and lows of entertainment, and a vector for enhanced consumerism. Computers automate routines and ‘think’ at speeds humans cannot. The internet killed newspapers and the paperboy. Notice how computers are now televisions? 

 

AI, like all technology, will evolve. The memory inside a cell phone today far exceeds the bytes required to put men on the moon and return them safely to earth. Technology was sold to create leisure time, but has it? We may not do the labor-intensive tasks of farmers or factory workers, but we work the same hours or more in the corporate cubicle. The white shirt replaced the pair of denim overalls, so manufacturing and muscle died, and Office Space is more than a satirical movie. Technology has become accessible, democratic, but it must meet the needs of users and turn a profit. Nothing is free. The post-truth of Tech is a film noir reality. We are all mined for data, worth X in international currencies, and we are either a Zero or a One, subject to obsolescence.

 

That AI, like all technology, must evolve instigates fear. The Kindle was supposed to make libraries extinct. Computers or robots were thought to acquire sentience and enslave humanity. The Truth and the Lie is that we are slaves to our dependencies. It’s inevitable that someone will rise up and shout, ‘I am Spartacus.’

 

That one person who speaks up is the creative individual. Writing is but one mode of expression. The paradox is you can replace the human, but not the individual’s expression. The paradox is Originality isn’t original, and yet stories are retold. This is why some writers are universally revered, regardless of their language, culture, or era. Their energy speaks through space and time.

 

I don’t think AI can replace Voice and Vision. The harsh Truth is some writers are better at it than others. There will always be some slick writer who will use AI to get a manuscript past an agent or publisher. Some will succeed, some will be fooled; others not. 

 

Good writing is good writing, and I do believe that isn’t subjective. Good fiction conveys something vivid, authentic, and it has emotional resonance. I’ve said this before: we each have our own unique relationship to language, and we use it in ways unique to us. There is that possibility that Alexa might be mistaken for a person, but I think that says volumes about us and society. We can clone our pets, but is it the same companion? 

 

The Lie is that Fiction is entertainment and superfluous.

The Truth is Fiction is about human connection and curiosity.

The paradox is that Fiction is not an essential to Life, yet it is.

The unintended consequences of AI is that, like any tool, it is how it is used.

 

 

Do you see AI as a blessing or a curse for you as a writer?

 

When I think of AI the first thing that pops to mind is all those movies that assured me that the idea of robots taking over seemingly innocent tasks to make humans everyday lives easier always end in disaster. I’m looking at you I Robot. If art imitates life, I say AI should be avoided at all cost. Now maybe that’s a bit extreme. I mean, who doesn’t love the idea of an Alexa like AI being able to manage our whole lives while we what, perma vacation?

 I’m not sure of the eventual goal of AI. A world where humans are basically there to provide upkeep to our new AI overlords? Or a world where humans, left with nothing left to do become isolated pods staring endlessly into our phones until our brains simply melt away? Or maybe somewhere in the middle where AI provides valuable support and assistance to improve the human experience by removing the thousands of mundane chores that we’re tasked with every day freeing us up to explore and enjoy the experience of simply existing?

That sounds wonderful. If AI can assist in medical research, improving transportation, or doing my taxes, I’m all for it. But where I do not believe AI has a place is in the arts. Not just writing, but all art forms. Art is and should remain a uniquely human experience. Art, the good and the bad, originates from distinctly human emotion.

You probably don’t have to, because you’ve done it yourself, but ask another writer if they’ve ever written a book, or an essay, poem, short story, to work through some kind of trauma, a breakup, a loss, or whatever, and I’d be willing to bet some of their best work came from that wellspring of emotion. AI can’t do that. Until it can, I feel like it has no business in that arena.

Have you ever read a book where you absolutely despised a character because of that character reminded you of a horrible person in your life? Or how about the one you fell desperately in love with and still remember with fondness when you close the book. I think of the kids in the Barrens from Stephen Kings, It, or the crew from the Last Ditch Motel from Catriona McPherson’s, Last Ditch series. I find myself thinking about those characters long after I’ve put down the book. Could AI build characters like that these that speak to the human emotion. I say no.

Maybe, I’ll be proven wrong at some point. Maybe, eventually, we can train inanimate objects to mimic human emotion enough to fool our senses. If we do, I say, what a sad time for humanity.