4. Isn’t science fiction mainly for kids?
Let me illustrate what I mean when I say I have no answer to these; I will do herein what I generally do. :
Answer to 1: Oh, well, plots; well, you can find them almost anywhere. I mean, there’re a lot of plots. Say, talking to you gives me an idea for a plot. There’s this humanoid superior mutant, see, who has to hide himself because the mass man has no understanding of him or his superior, evolved aims — etc.
Answer to 2: No.
Answer to 3: I don’t know. I guess I’m a failure. What other possibility can there be? And it was lousy of you to ask.
Answer to 4: No, SF is not for kids. Or maybe it is; I don’t know who reads it. There’re roughly 150,000 people who comprise the readership, and that’s not a great number. And even if it does appeal to kids — so what?
You can see how weak these answers are. And I’ve had fifteen years in which to think up better answers. Obviously I never will.
The TV news announcer says tonight that a ninety-one-year-old man has married a ninety-two-year-old woman. It is enough to bring tears to your eyes. What do they have in store for them? What chance is there, every time they close their eyes, that they will ever open them again? The small and unimportant silent creatures are far finer and worth a great deal more than Robert Heinlein will ever know.
Loneliness is the great curse that hangs over a writer. A while ago I wrote twelve novels in a row, plus fourteen magazine pieces. I did it out of loneliness. It constituted communication for me. At last the loneliness grew too great and I stopped writing; I left my then-wife and then-children and took a great journey. The great journey ended up in Bay Area fandom, and for a short while I ceased to be lonely. Then it came back, late one night. Now I know it will never go away. This is my payment for twenty-three novels and one hundred magazine pieces. It’s no one’s fault. That’s just the way it is.
My mother shows her love for me by clipping out certain magazine and newspaper articles, which she gives me. These articles prove that the tranquilizers that I take do permanent brain damage. It’s nice, a mother’s love.
Under LSD I saw radiant colors, especially the pinks and reds; they shone like God Himself. Is that what God is? Color? But at least this time I didn’t have to die, go to hell, be tormented, and then raised up by means of Christ’s death on the cross into eternal salvation. As I said to J. G. Newkom [a friend of Dick at this time] when I was free of the drug, “I don’t mind going through the Day of Judgment again, after I die, but I just hope it won’t last so long.” Under LSD you can spend 1.96 eternities, if not 2.08.
In fifteen years of professional writing I haven’t gotten a jot or a tittle better. My first story, Roog, is as good as — if not better than — the five I did last month. This seems very strange to me, because certainly through all those years I’ve learned a good deal about writing. . . and in addition my general store of worldly wisdom has increased. Maybe there are only a given number of original ideas in each person; he uses them up and that is that. Like an old baseball player, he no longer has anything to offer. I will say one thing in favor of my writing, however, which I hope is true: I am original (except where I copy my own previous work). I no longer write “like Cyril Kornbluth” or “like A. E. van Vogt.” But in that case I can no longer blame them for my faults.
A publisher in England asked me to write a blurb for a collection of my short stories. In this country someone else writes them, usually someone who has not read the book. I would like to have started the blurb by saying, “These dull and uninteresting stories . . .” etc. But I suppose I had better not.
Thus endeth my thoughts.
“The Double: Bill Symposium”: Replies to “A Questionnaire for Professional SF Writers and Editors” (1969)
Question 1: For what reason or reasons do you write science fiction in preference to other classes of literature?
Its audience is not hamstrung by middle-class prejudices and will listen to genuinely new ideas. There is less of an emphasis on mere style and more on content — as should be. It is a man’s field, and hence a happy ending is not required — as in all the fiction fields dominated by women. It is one of the few branches of serious fiction in which humor plays a major role (thereby making SF more complete, as was Shakespeare’s work). Being one of the oldest modes of fiction known to the Western world, it embodies some of the most subtle, ancient, and far-reaching dreams, ideas, and aspirations of which thinking man is capable. In essence, it’s the broadest field of fiction, permitting the most far-ranging and advanced concepts of every possible type; no variety of idea can be excluded from SF; everything is its property.
Question 2: What do you consider the raison d’etre, the chief value of science fiction?
To present in fiction form new ideas too difficult or too vague as yet to be presented as scientific fact (e.g., Psionics). And ideas that are not scientific fact, never will be, but that are fascinating conjectures — in other words, possible or alternate science systems. World views that we can’t “believe” in but that interest us (as, for example, we find interesting the medieval worldview but simply cannot any longer accept it as “true”). So SF presents to us, in addition to the worldview, which we actually adopt, a great range of “as if” views: The possession of these have the effect of making our minds flexible: We are capable of seeing alternate viewpoints as coequal with our own.
Question 3: What is your appraisal of the relationship of science fiction to the “mainstream” of literature?
SF fails to explore the depths of interpersonal human relationships, and this is its lack; however, on a purely intellectual level it possesses more conceptual ideas as such, and hence in this respect is superior to mainstream or quality fiction. And (supra) it does not need to dwell on mere style as such but can range farther in terms of its content. But SF (excepting Bradbury) is for younger, more optimistic people, who haven’t yet truly suffered at the hands of life; quality fiction tends — and rightly so — to deal with the defeated, those who have lost the first bloom. . . hence quality fiction is more mature than SF — alas.
Question 4: Do you believe that participating in fandom, fanzines, and conventions would be a benefit or a hindrance to would-be writers?
A benefit, but not a very great one. It would be a benefit if the fans allowed the writer to do the talking, instead of trying to instruct him. It is the job of the writer to do the telling; he should not be turned into a listener. But the concepts in SF writing are not derived from fandom, from within the field, anyhow; they are — or at least should be — derived from the wide world itself, its far shores in particular. From everywhere but SF fandom.
Question 5: What source or sources would you recommend to beginning writers as having been, in your experience, the most productive of ideas for science fiction stories?
Journals that deal in the most advanced research of clinical psychology, especially the work of the European existential analysis school. C. G. Jung. Oriental writings such as those on Zen Buddhism, Taoism, etc. Really authoritative — as compared with popularizations — historical works (e.g., The Brutal Friendship). Medieval works, especially those dealing with crafts, such as glass blowing — and science, alchemy, religion, etc. Greek philosophy, Roman literature of every sort. Persian religious texts. Renaissance studies on the theory of art. German dramatic writings of the Romantic period.
Question 6: Do you feel that a beginning science fiction writer should concentrate on short stories as opposed to novels — or vice versa? Why?
Short stories first, to master this easier form. Then, very slowly, work toward longer pieces, say up to twenty-five thousand words. Then at last try a full-size (i.e., sixty-thousand-word) novel, based on the structure of some writer who is admired. I, for instance, based my first novels on the structure used by A. E. van Vogt. Later, when I was more sure of myself, I departed from this. Be sure, however, that you select a writer who is skilled in the novel form (for instance, don’t select Ray Bradbury).