Back during the 80s in New York, as an indie book and literary magazine publisher, I moderated a panel of speakers at a writers conference that had as its panelists Ellen Datlow, Isaac Asimov, and a couple of junior editors from Tor. Of course the room was packed, filled with people who paid good money to hear what a rising anthologist, editors from a hot new publisher, and one of the most influential science fiction authors who ever lived had to say about the craft of writing.
Here and now, for free, I’ll give you the three most important points these sci-fi mavens brought up:
From Isaac Asimov: “All genre fiction-–including (and maybe even primarily) science fiction—begins and ends with characters. You might even say science fiction is a humanizing of what is alien."
From Ellen Datlow: “So many times, I fail to see a straight through-line of creator’s intent in a manuscript. It can be simple as proceeding from a confusing format: Are we to read this work as a completed book? Or only the outline or notes for a book? Or even worse, the pitch for a screenplay?"
From the junior editors at Tor: “Our biggest gripe about manuscripts in the slush pile (unagented submissions) is an excess of explanation and description, especially coming right at the beginning. After a couple pages of this, we just stop reading.” [By the way, the editors were describing what nowadays we call an “info dump”]
But alas, this isn't New York City, this is Eugene, Oregon-–the locus of spiritual death for ambitious creatives like Howard Libes.
This is how I came to review Libes book: I simply wanted to discuss writing with another writer in Eugene. I had just missed by one generation the heyday of locals Damon Knight, Kate Wilhelm, Theodore Sturgeon, and their visiting friends, Philip K Dick et al, and I was almost sick with longing (sehnsucht, the Germans call it) to share the real-time, real-life stimulating, mind-expanding camaraderie of writing science fiction. But, as with generations, a miss is as good as a mile, and the rich-in-spirit sci-fi world of the past is in no way like the shoddy and dishonest sci-fi world of today.
If it were, the conscientious industry of sci-fi trilogy author Howard Libes would be cultivated in this uncultivated/uncultivatible mudhole, instead of being relegated to a 4-hour booth at the local Local Authors Book Sale and a slot in Amazon and, maybe, guesting a few podcasts. (And where is Wordos? Right now, on Zoom.) Libes has introduced some very interesting (though already well-traveled) ideas in this book, (the first of a projected three) on resource depletion, interplanetary travel, the generational passing on of ancient knowledge, and The Ultimate Fate of Mankind, that deserve a good chewing over again.
If this scruffy, smelly, dopey, weirdly alienated ex-logging town could have only grown up right, the Whiteaker could have been another East Village or North Beach, and Howard and I would've had a nice long lunch at Ubon Thai (my treat) discussing, like a couple of equal literary colleagues, how to improve his books and his writing, but also his chances of reaching a wider audience, with very do-able recommendations from me: a better presentation-–a more "readable" cover, illustrations, maps perhaps, a character list, more descriptive chapter headings certainly. Nothing that Asimov, Heinlein and other world-building storytellers wouldn't acquiesce to, coming from a responsible editor.
In short, The Seeder trilogy appears to be Howard's single life's work, and so its ongoing development deserves more attention not just from the author, but from friends and fans who support him. My offer to review any later, hopefully improved, edition remains.
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