{"id":4948,"date":"2020-01-09T22:03:15","date_gmt":"2020-01-09T22:03:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/?p=4948"},"modified":"2023-05-24T17:56:12","modified_gmt":"2023-05-24T17:56:12","slug":"something-only-your-soul-knew","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/2020\/01\/09\/something-only-your-soul-knew\/","title":{"rendered":"“Something Only Your Soul Knew”"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

An Interview with Dan Simmons \u201970<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When WM <\/em>first interviewed best-selling author Dan Simmons \u201970 in 1998, he had written 16 books in 11 years, including the Hugo Award\u2013winning science fiction masterwork Hyperion<\/em>. He would start a new book just three days after he completed the last. Simmons researched meticulously and wrote across the genres, occasionally confounding publishers and alternately stirring, inspiring, teaching, thrilling, fascinating, and scaring the hell out of his readers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

All that work took its toll. \u201cEmotionally, I just bottomed out,\u201d he told us from his cabin in the Rockies that day. He took a couple months off and \u201cgot my brain back,\u201d he said. Some of his most acclaimed writing followed. Since that return, he has published 16 more books, including in 2007 his bestselling horror\/historical fiction novel The Terror<\/em>, which Stephen King called \u201ca brilliant, massive combination of history and supernatural horror.\u201d In 2018, it became a 10-part series on AMC, with critics calling it \u201ca near-masterpiece of survival horror\u201d and \u201cone of the scariest shows in years.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Twenty-one years ago, Simmons told us one of his life goals was to see one of his books made into a film. We wondered whether The Terror <\/em>on AMC fulfilled that dream, and that\u2019s where we started in the music room of his Longmont, Colorado, home with fresh snow on the Front Range:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

WM<\/em>: The first time we spoke, you said that one of your dreams was to see a book of yours on the screen, but you said you wouldn\u2019t believe it until the lights went down and you were . . .<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Simmons: <\/strong>. . . eating popcorn, yes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, did AMC\u2019s The Terror <\/em>count?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, I want the big screen. I want the Technicolor movie screen. I want people sitting in the dark eating popcorn around me. I\u2019m still looking forward to that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I enjoyed seeing it on the small screen. It was fun on all sorts of levels. My primary reaction was not, Ooh, my story is on the screen<\/em>, but What are they going to do with it? <\/em>One guy sitting alone wrote the book, but now you have a gaggle of writers, directors, showrunners, actors, special effects people and others adding in their two cents. There can be a team of 200 people working to get a limited TV series made. That fascinates me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, what was it like, watching your work on the screen?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

They sent us DVD\u2019s before the series was released, so my wife, Karen, and I sat in the living room and watched it. Our most frequent comment was probably, \u201cWell, that was pretty nicely done.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had assumed it would be a kick to watch other people saying the lines I\u2019d written years earlier, and it was. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some novelists want their book to appear almost verbatim on the screen. I\u2019ve argued from the beginning, that\u2019s not possible. A novel is such a thing unto itself that the only way you can properly experience a novel is as a novel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I think the AMC people did a good job visually. We were really lucky with the actors involved\u2014Jared Harris, who played Captain Francis Crozier, is just a damned good actor, but those in supporting roles also did well. I\u2019m still in touch with some of them. Writing-wise, I know we were lucky. The showrunners really believed in the project and they brought what they thought was the heart of the novel to the series. I think they largely succeeded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many of your works nearly made it to production. Several are being considered now. What is it about The Terror <\/em>that got the green light while others are waiting?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

God knows. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I do know that I hadn\u2019t fully appreciated all the steps necessary for any project being green-lit. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When it comes to any novelist\u2019s work being adapted as a movie or TV limited series, many are called and so few are chosen. Unless your name is Stephen King, in which case you have to beat the movie people off with a stick. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s really nothing you can do as a writer, once you send those children out into the world and try to find a home?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not really. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

One small way to help is to serve as executive producer and talk to a showrunner, a director, or a writer, or an actor when they want something in the novel clarified. Another way is by being flexible and listening to their ideas and not saying, \u201cThat\u2019s not in my book, you conniving bastard!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harlan Ellison told you, at what you thought would be your final attempt to get your work considered: \u201cYou know you\u2019re a writer when a writer tells you you\u2019re a writer, and you, Simmons, are a writer.\u201d He died a year ago last June. What did that relationship mean to you over the years?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I loved Harlan Ellison. I\u2019d like to say that he was a mentor, but in truth he never really helped me with the writing side of things. He knew I could write. Instead he told me, \u201cGo get published, Simmons. You\u2019re able. Quit stalling. Go do it.\u201d At some point in every writer\u2019s career, that\u2019s exactly what they need to hear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I soon got to know Stephen King and other well-known writers, but Harlan was my first important friendship with a published writer, certainly one as outspoken on so many aspects of the craft. He loved challenging others to think more sharply, to write more clearly, and to never\u2026never\u2026be satisfied. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Going to Harlan\u2019s seminar in that summer of 1981 was supposed to be my swan song, a farewell to my quixotic dreams of becoming a full-time writer. Instead, he changed my life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019ve written that he told you you were a writer, that \u201cfew heard the music,\u201d and that you heard the music?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes. And on that same day he said, \u201cThere\u2019s this professional writers\u2019 conference called the Milford workshop being held next week, and it\u2019s the best SF writing workshop in the world and only published and professional writers are invited to it. And next week you\u2019re going to be part of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All these writers I\u2019d known only by reputation\u2014George R. R. Martin, Ed Bryant, Connie Willis, and so forth\u2014were there. To spend a full week critiquing their work and having my own work critiqued by these professional authors\u2014none of them pulling any punches\u2014was one of those rare and extraordinary openings of a door that occurs perhaps once in a lucky person\u2019s life. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Meeting professional writers right away, getting that critique, not being coddled\u2014you\u2019ve talked about that before as being pretty necessary for a writer . . .<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I drop by a college or university and there\u2019s a workshop, I have to warn whoever is running the thing that I\u2019m not going to be totally supportive. Usually they\u2019ll say, \u201cWell, we have to be supportive. These are young writers. You can crush them.\u201d My reaction is, if you can crush them with an honest critique of their work, they\u2019re probably not cut out to be professional writers. Imagine what it\u2019s going to be like when they\u2019re being published and thousands of people can swing at them and their work with a baseball bat whenever they want to. They\u2019ll be hiding under their beds all the time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Having your work critiqued, to me, has always been like taking a newborn baby, setting it out on a curb, leaving it, and seeing what happens. If you\u2019re not ready to do that, then in some ways, you\u2019re not ready to be a professional writer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Being a full-time writer requires the confidence of a Doc Holliday with three aces up his sleeve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever asked you about your writing process . . .<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I avoid talking about it, especially when young writers are around, because I don\u2019t believe any writer\u2019s process is transferable. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think too many teachers of writing say, \u201cIt\u2019s all in revision. That\u2019s where the real writing happens.\u201d To which I say\u2026 \u201cNaw!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t do whole rewritings of a manuscript. I\u2019ve never written a whole second draft. I don\u2019t start with, \u201cGee, now the rough draft is finished so now I can start on the real book.\u201d I work on a sentence or paragraph or page until I think the damn thing sounds and feels right. Then I\u2019ll go to the next and wrestle with the language until things there feel good. There will always be some later review and revision, but that\u2019s minor compared to the original work. That\u2019s always been my approach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One thing we often hear at writers\u2019 workshops is, \u201cJust generate and turn off the inner editor.\u201d Your editor is on right from the beginning?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Absolutely. Why generate merde<\/em>, even temporarily. From the moment I\u2019m typing that sentence or paragraph for the first time, if it doesn\u2019t sound right, I\u2019ll know it, I\u2019ll stop, and do my damnedest to fix it. The further away you get from hearing that wrong note, the harder it is to go back and find exactly where it was and why it was wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You sound like a composer, fixing that wrong note the minute he plays it, hears it.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

John Updike had a character say this, but it is true for me in life, as well as in literature: \u201cI\u2019m neither musical nor religious. Each moment I live, I must think where to place my fingers and press them down with no confidence of hearing a chord.\u201d That touches me because it\u2019s true in life and learning, but especially in art. When you\u2019re trying to master a difficult discipline, which is what writing fiction is, you\u2019re dealing with a hundred different facets. The key early on, for me, has been hearing the false notes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m convinced the ability to write fiction flows from one\u2019s reading. As a young person you read everything. After a while, you begin to discern what\u2019s worth your effort and time. That\u2019s how you create the feedback loop to hear not just the notes, but the melody and measure, the rhythm and the tempo. In the beginning, it\u2019s important to hear the wrong note as well as the right one, to know when you\u2019ve committed a good sentence as well as a terrible sentence, to hear the music of a phrase, a paragraph, or an entire page.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You were a teacher for 18 years. How did that shape the way you look at life? And how does the much more solitary writer\u2019s life shape the way you come at the world?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Writing is just damn lonely. If you\u2019re doing it right, it\u2019s lonely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I used to love The Dick Van Dyke <\/em>Show in the 1960s. Rob and Sal and Buddy would sit there, coming up with ideas for skits, jokes. It was a great collegial effort. You can\u2019t write a novel like that. At least I couldn\u2019t. Whereas with teaching, you are working with people every day. That\u2019s the essence of your art.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You described having your work critiqued being \u201clike putting a baby out on the doorstep and waiting for somebody to come.\u201d Do you really consider your books your children? <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve published books. I have a daughter. As a teacher I\u2019ve spent thousands of hours with other people\u2019s children. Even the best book you\u2019ll ever write can\u2019t compare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think what these writers mean when they talk about their books being children is, \u201cI put a lot of time and effort in this and it gives me an emotional reward.\u201d But you don\u2019t have a child just to have an emotional reward.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Simmons ponders the universe with his grandson, Milo.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Since we last talked, you have a grandson, you have a granddaughter. Has being a grandfather surprised you?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

No matter how prepared I thought I was, my God, what a wonderful surprise it\u2019s been in every way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This sounds pompous, but I\u2019ll say it anyway: Any well-written book or story, no matter how negative its themes might be, is a celebration of life. That\u2019s what the writing impulse is about. That\u2019s what it\u2019s trying to illuminate. But it doesn\u2019t hold a candle to a child or grandchild. That\u2019s the ultimate celebration of life to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the Black Death, the Dark Ages, the Great Depression, World Wars I and II, the long Cold War, people still celebrated having children. It\u2019s what the human race does, not only to propagate itself, but to forge a sense of hope, to state unequivocally that life can be better for our children and grandchildren and we\u2019ll bust our proverbial butts to make it that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where else do you find hope?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can be a pessimist about a lot of things, but even as I grow older I remain astounded at all the sources for hope there are in the world. It\u2019s like Easter morning to me, and all the hidden places where you\u2019re going to find hope, whether you want to or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I find it with good authors and fine writing\u2014there\u2019s always a sense of hope, even when the story seems to be giving a dismal message. The fact that it can be beautiful, the fact that a piece of writing can reach down and tell you something only your soul knew before that\u2014what is hope other than that connection?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Surprise Ending<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Simmons had nearly finished The Terror <\/em>when his wife, Karen, decided it was time for a break.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe had been working long and hard on the book, and I thought he needed a breather to help finish it,\u201d she says. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Karen had booked a cruise in Quebec, but before that, a surprise\u2014a stop in Quebec City art gallery with some of the finest indigenous sculpture in the country. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey had this wonderful sculpture of a mythical beast\/demon\/god. Looks pretty human, but scary: Sedna,\u201d Dan recalls. In Inuit mythology, Sedna has several origin stories. In one, she becomes the ruler of the monsters of the sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe got that sculpture as a gift for me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In more ways than one: the myth of Sedna would come to inform the backstory of the Tuunbaq, the monster\/demon Simmons imagined for The Terror.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI knew the myth, but when I saw the sculpture I realized Sedna was perfect, both in the reason it was scary and the appearance it would take. I thought, That\u2019s it<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the only time I\u2019ve celebrated before I was finished with a project, and Karen\u2019s thought was that it would get me to the end of the story. It literally did; it added that piece of the puzzle that had fallen off the table and rolled under the couch, the one I couldn\u2019t find. When I got the Sedna piece, it clicked.\u201d <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

An Interview with Dan Simmons \u201970 When WM first interviewed best-selling author Dan Simmons \u201970 in 1998, he had written 16 books in 11 years, including the Hugo Award\u2013winning science fiction masterwork Hyperion. He would […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":16,"featured_media":4950,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4948","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-billboard-features"],"w_featured_image_url":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/15\/2020\/01\/dsc_0690-1024x690.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4948","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/16"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4948"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4948\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4956,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4948\/revisions\/4956"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4950"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4948"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4948"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.wabash.edu\/magazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4948"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}