A Dreamer's World: The Strange Horizon by G.L. Didaleusky

        I’m trying something new with the blog this week. Rogue Phoenix Press, which will be publishing a new version of The Power Club in October, hosts weekly “blog tours” to get its authors involved in promoting each other’s books. It’s a novel concept to see if increased exposure results in better promotion and (we all hope) sales. The book featured for this week is The Strange Horizon by G.L. Didaleusky.

A "Collage" of Short Stories

            The Strange Horizon is billed a “collage” of short stories, and like a collage of pictures, it evokes many different images and moods in its 23 offerings, some of which are only a few paragraphs long while others span 4000 words. While the stories run a gamut of genres (see the banner, above), there are certain boundaries Didaleusky will not cross. “There isn’t any profanity, gore, or sexual innuendo in any of the stories,” he tells us in the introduction. Indeed, the seven or so stories I’ve read so far could easily by read by or shared with young children. In fact, many of them feature children as protagonists.

            This ties in nicely with a running theme of the book: If you do the right thing, you may be rewarded in unexpected ways. In the opening tale, “The White Pigeon,” three boys enter an abandoned building so they can capture and sell the pigeons which roost there. However, a mysterious white pigeon arrives just in time to save one of the boys from falling through a rotted plank, causing the boy to change his mind about capturing and selling the pigeons. In “A Christmas Visitor,” two spoiled children are sent by their father to volunteer at a homeless shelter. While there, they encounter Jacob, a homeless boy for whom there is no room at the shelter. Ashley and Aaron, the two children, bring Jacob home without their parents’ knowledge; he lives in their playroom until they can find a shelter that will take him. The twist of the story (I’m not giving away spoilers, I trust) is that it appears the elf-like Jacob has visited the family before.

Possibilities for the Imagination

            The stories are rife with possibilities, but Didaleusky touches on only a few of them and in ways that are intended to fill young readers with mystery and imagination. From an adult perspective, I was left wondering about some of the unexplored possibilities, such as the practicality of Ashley and Aaron bringing a boy they’ve just met into their home. Such stories may give children the false impression that if you do the right thing, it will always turn out well for you in the end. Anyone over the age of, say, 12, knows this is not the case.

            However, the stories do have considerable merit for young readers. They could be used by parents to foster dialogue: “Did Ashley and Aaron do the right thing by bringing Jacob home? What were some of the risks they took? What would you do in their situation?”  The stories can also lead to an exploration of what exactly the right thing is to do in certain situations, and how hard it can be to do the right thing. In “A Kind Heart,” for example, down-on-his-luck Jeff (an adult protagonist) finds a wallet with $8000 in it. Initially, he wants to keep the money for himself, but a chance encounter with the wallet’s owner convinces him to help a homeless mother and her son whom he had previously met.

            Didaleusky’s protagonists are not always human. In one story, a ladybug named Lily helps a boy who is sad because his friend moved away.

Writing Style

Author G.L. Didaleusky

            In addition to the charm and simple messages of the stories, there are other reasons to read The Strange Horizon. Didaleusky uses great economy of language, keeping his stories brief but using effective descriptions when necessary. In “A Kind Heart,” for example, this is how he introduces us to Jeff and his surroundings:

The streetlight poles sparkled with garland and twinkling Christmas bulbs. A mixture of holiday music from various storefronts created a festive and joyous atmosphere for the northern, small town of Clemens. His tethered coat, stocking cap and cloth gloves kept him warm from the cold.

       The last sentence provides a vivid contrast between how Jeff is dressed (or underdressed) for the season and sets him apart from the festive shopping district. Throughout the book, Didaleusky tells us what we need to know to get the point of the story, though he does vary the approach from time to time (one story is told in present tense, another shifts between past and present events), demonstrating both the tautness and flexibility of short stories.

   Stories to be Cuddled

          As an adult reader, I haven’t found any stories so far which challenged me as a reader or upended my worldview, though doing so is not Didaleusky’s intent. In the introduction, he tells us the reactions he expects: “You may smile, chuckle, express a tear or two, feel a sudden chill, or feel a warmth at the end of the story. Emotions are in the mind of the reader and the heart cuddles or rejects those emotions.”

            Like a new puppy, the stories in The Strange Horizon are meant to be cuddled.

Photos courtesy Rogue Phoenix Press

Is Your Writing too Vanilla?

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned recent political comments regarding rape and abortion and wondered if breaching such topics in a blog aimed at promoting a forthcoming YA novel was going too far.

I received no comments on that post, which is not unusual, yet November was my most successful month ever in terms of page views (835!), so I must not have offended too many readers.

So, here I go again.

My intention is never to directly offend anyone; however, writing, if it is to matter, must occasionally risk offending some. Writing that does not stick its literary neck out can become bland and boring—vanilla, to borrow a term from a work-in-progress belonging to a member of my writer’s group (thanks, Rachel).

What’s wrong with vanilla?

Nothing, really.  I like vanilla, but I also like chocolate, orange, lemon, and other flavors. A strict diet of vanilla—in either ice cream or writing—is safe and predictable. Writers who create a vanilla world in which their protagonists never face controversy or risk offending segments of their audience do their readers—particularly young readers—a disservice. Readers (whether you want them to or not) will look to your characters as models for how they are supposed to be in the “real” world.  

Characters who never have to deal with difficult problems give the impression that the reader shouldn’t have to, either.

What prompted this line of thinking was spending last night on Facebook. Far from being an addictive waste of time, as some claim, FB has become a valuable sociological experiment. People from diverse backgrounds all across the globe “friend” each other and interact. Most of the interactions are silly or conversational, but occasionally real discussions take place.

And any time a real discussion takes place, disagreements are bound to ensue.

The other day, I posted a link to a petition that’s been making its way around the Internet. The petition seeks to urge the government of Uganda not to proceed with legislation that would criminalize homosexuality. Regardless of whether you believe homosexuality is natural or not, a sin or not, no one should condone imprisoning or executing people because of their sexual orientation.

Yet the FB friend of an FB friend responded, “not our country . . . not our problem.”

In our discussion which followed, the poster claimed he was not apathetic. He just didn’t care about what went on in countries other than the U.S.

I resisted the urge to post a link to Merriam-Webster’s definition of “apathy” and let the conversation drop. After all, he makes a valid point. It’s certainly his right (and anyone else’s) to care or not care about a particular issue. And there’s nothing wrong with focusing his attention on battling intolerance in this country (which he claimed he would do).

But his attitude represents, I think, a rather narrow definition of “us” and “them.”  “I only care about us,” this attitude proclaims. “Us” can be defined in terms of national borders, as in his case, but it can also be defined in terms of race, sexual orientation, politics, gender, social cliques, and any other distinction one cares to identify with.

In other words, the “us and them” attitude promotes a vanilla world in which all of “us” are the same.  

But in a world which is becoming increasingly connected through technology, trade, and travel, there is no “them.”  There is only “us.”

I differ with my new FB acquaintance in that, where he sees division, I see connections. Our signatures on the petition may have no effect on a government half the world away. Yet hope and a desire for a better world (not just a better country) compelled me to try. Assuming the government of Uganda wasn’t prompted “merely” by hatred of homosexuals but rather by a desire to protect its society from something it perceives (wrongly) as a threat, then making our opinions known may educate others who have more influence.

There are also connections between “the real world” and writing.

So, you want to write escapist fiction or fantasy? Great. So do I. But even escapism is a product of the real world and reflects that real world back upon the reader.

It all boils down to this: Do you want to immerse your reader in a vanilla world, or do you want to open her palate to other flavors?

Character Sketch: The Powers We’re Born With.

Denton Neumeyer daydreams of being able to fly, of being super-strong, and of running super-fast, but he can’t do any of those things. Instead, he creates darkness. It’s not a bad power, as far as powers go, but it’s not cool. And Denton wants to be cool. He even changes his name to “Damon”— after a character in a movie.

But he can’t change his power.

Damon is the central character of my novel-in-progress, The Power Club. When we first meet him, he’s six years old and has discovered his power only a few months ago. He’s the only kid in his neighborhood with a power, and he uses it to amuse his friends: creating a “darkspace” in which they can run and hide. But when one of his friends blindly runs out into the alley and is nearly hit by a car, the government learns of his power and does what the government always does : It “encourages” Damon and his family to move the district, the place where people with powers live.

For the next five years, Damon grows up alongside other kids who can do amazing things. One of his classmates can freeze objects by breathing on them. Another possesses radar vision. But it’s the kids in Damon’s new neighborhood he most wants to be like: a teleporter, a speedster, a giant. Even the girls have more fascinating powers: one can fly, another can see the future.

But we don’t get to choose our powers.

Some people are born with musical talent. Others can draw. Some are good at organizing. Others have people skills. Some have an aptitude for mathematics. Others for medicine.

Where do powers come from? God? Genetics? Can anyone master a given ability? I think not.

I’ve tried on at least three separate occasions to learn guitar. I know where the chords are, and I can play the melody lines of a few songs. But Eric Clapton and Ritchie Blackmore have nothing to fear from me. Somebody once told me that I didn’t persist in my efforts to learn music, but I know when it’s not going well. I know when I’m not enjoying it enough to do the work.

On the other hand, I’ve spent my life learning to write (no one ever truly masters writing). I enjoy it, and I think I’m reasonably good at it. I may never be the next Stephen King or Orson Scott Card, but I don't have to be. I'm content to be the first me.

In other words, my gifts lay elsewhere.

Damon may never get to fly or bench press a Hummer. But he has been given a wonderful gift he can develop and use to help others or cause great harm. Which path will he choose? To answer that question, he must first know himself better.

The Power Club will take him on that amazing and terrifying journey.

How did you discover your gifts?

The foregoing is © 2011 Greg Gildersleeve. All rights reserved. Unlawful use will result in the culprit being placed in the darkspace for an indeterminate period of time. And we don’t want that to happen, do we?