A great article I came across by science fiction maestro, Stephen Baxter.

 

Writing science fiction is a true test of the imagination as authors create not only characters and plots, but often new creatures, cultures and even entire worlds. As long as the logic of your story remains consistent in the world you have created, you really can do anything and the stars are the limit.

Films and TV shows have shaped perceptions of the genre, but the best stories in any medium can capture the imagination of a wide audience. Good science fiction not only describes an imaginary world but throws up a mirror to our own. It should also inspire a sense of wonder in the reader and, in some cases, can even predict the future!

In this session, Stephen Baxter (author of Titan, Voyage, and the Xeelee series of novels) explains how to approach writing science fiction and will cover:


Finding inspiration
Developing your ideas
World-building
Future and alternate histories
How to inspire a sense of wonder
Plus his top ten SF short stories

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One Small Step...

Science fiction is one of the few literary fields in which the short story form continues to flourish. In fact, some aficionados would say that it is in the short form that science fiction is at its best, with startling ideas polished to an economical brilliance.

For a new writer, the existence of short story markets is a good thing. It's a lot easier to figure out how a good story works than a novel - and wasting two weeks on a story that fails is a lot better than wasting a year on a bad novel. And it is a way into more ambitious projects: science fiction publishers do track the short-story markets in search of new talent.

By 1987, I'd been writing stories for some years, without success in placing anything for publication; I'd even tried a novel. I'd tried to study the craft - notably, in those days, Larry Niven, and I was a great fan of stories like The Hole Man, which was written in such a lucid style that studying it helped me figure out how such pieces work.

The core of my first published story, Xeelee Flower, was a Niven-like jeopardy situation: I had an image of an astronaut, stranded in orbit around a sun about to go nova, sheltering behind an energy-soaking 'umbrella'. To develop the idea I did some technical research, to figure out just how much energy each square metre of the umbrella would have to absorb.

But I also figured out the background. Who was this guy? How had he got stranded there? Where did the 'umbrella' come from? I came up with the notion of powerful off-stage aliens called the Xeelee, whose purloined artefact, the Xeelee Flower itself, would save my hero's life. Accompanying this was a vague idea of a galaxy full of minor species, including ourselves, living in the shadow of the Xeelee.

All this was very playful; I wanted the tone to be light and fast-paced. I worked on the story in the early summer of 1986. I remember sitting up late to watch soccer matches in that year's World Cup; when the action was dull I would progress the story a little more.

I sent the story to Interzone, which was then and is now Britain's top science fiction short story magazine. The magazine had an upcoming new writers' issue, with a slot just big enough for Flower. That was a bit of luck, but I'd been pushing on a lot of closed doors for a long time. One of them was eventually going to open for me.

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Ideas for Free

I don't find it easy to answer the question, 'Where do you get your ideas?' as the truest answer is, 'From everywhere and anywhere'. Science fiction is a literature which deals with the universe, and its impact on humanity - there is no limit to the subject matter, and so no limit to the sources of ideas.

For example, I once watched a natural history programme about creatures who survive in rushing rivers: an environment in which life is all about catching stuff being washed down from upstream, and, most of all, hanging on. I was intrigued by the idea. What if humans were stranded in a similar situation? That simple notion became my short story, Downstream.

In a sense you should turn your whole life into a kind of low grade research exercise. I read voraciously - a lot of pop science for me, as science and technology are my subject matter - but also a heavyweight newspaper, daily, from cover to cover, as well as histories and biographies.

You should watch TV - particularly documentaries - but the factual density is so low that you'll find you invariably have to do backup reading on anything that catches your attention - I turned to the local library to find out more about life in rushing streams. Keep cuttings files, and notebooks with entries on anything that catches your attention.

If your ambition is to write hard science fiction, you ought to be prepared to go to the primary sources: the technical journals. The Science Museum Library in London offers free readers' cards, and many university libraries offer similar facilities. Today the internet is a valuable resource, of course, but rather like TV, I often find it wide but shallow.

What kind of ideas are you looking for? Again, it's impossible to answer definitively. Anything that looks as if it might form the seed for a scene, a story, a character, or a novel. Anything that strikes you as interesting, surprising, ironic, or illuminating.

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From Dreams to Reality

So you have your core idea, but how do you develop it?

Perhaps the key difference between a science fiction story and a 'mainstream' story is that your science fiction story may be set in a whole new world, such as a colonised Mars, or Earth of 2237. When you're world-building, you have to reinvent everything, from the ground up - history, biology, geology, economics, even how the sewage works.

The extraordinary situation of Downstream had caught at my imagination, and from that seed I developed a new world by addressing a series of questions. What if people tried to survive in such an environment? I imagined primitive colonies, clinging to rock faces. How did the people get there? The answer to that became a key feature of the plot. There could be no two-way communication up and down the river, and perhaps the evolution of isolated colonies would diverge, so I imagined the corpses of differently-evolved upstream para-humans washing down the stream over the heads of my protagonists. And so on.

Happily you don't have to work all this out in advance. You can imagine it all bit by bit as you go along. None of my prior research on Downstream focused my imagination half so well as the moment when my lead character opened his eyes and took his first look around.

Which brings me to the characters. Research and world-building alone aren't sufficient, of course: research can only provide a background, against which - as in every good story - sympathetic characters, in conflict with each other and their environment, ultimately reach a climax and resolution.

So after building the world of Downstream I had an interesting scenario, but as yet no story to tell because nobody had a problem to solve. So we have people living in a stream. So what? Ask the Hollywood question: 'Who's it hurting?' My answer in this case was the guy who lets go, and is washed downstream, unable - ever - to return to his family. With that as the core of the story's tension, I developed a plot designed to dramatise the features of my invented world.

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A Sense of Wonder

Why do we read science fiction in the first place? For the sense of wonder it gives us. But it doesn't happen by accident, and it seems to surprise some readers that science fiction writers work consciously at making their stories wondrous! This sense of wonder can come from:


Changing the reader's perception
Dramatic revelations of the nature of the new world
Rushes of extrapolation from the central idea
Changes of scale or perspective
Multiple levels of meaning in the central idea

The last is maybe the most important. As you work on your fiction you should always be aware of levels in the story above and beyond the bare physical idea: the river in Downstream, for example, could serve as a metaphor for the one-way progress of time. Such levels of meaning provide the story with a deeper significance.

But when working it's best consciously to concentrate on telling the tale: let deeper concepts inform the work, rather than distort your tale by bringing them out overtly. You're an entertainer, not a preacher!

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Future Histories

After that first short story, The Xeelee Flower, the Xeelee continued to be very important for me. In my next story I posited humans in a four-dimensional cage, put there by another lot of powerful off-stage aliens. Eventually I realised that if I made the aliens the Xeelee, I had the beginning and the end of a future history, a story of mankind's future which grew organically from that point.

A future history is a body of fiction set against a consistent background of events and characters, and spanning significant intervals of space and time. Examples include Isaac Asimov's Robot and Foundation series, Robert Heinlein's Future History, and Larry Niven's Known Space series.

A future history provides an explanatory framework for the development of a consistent future, sometimes (but not always) starting from the present. Thus my own Xeelee sequence of linked novels and stories follows the expansion of mankind across and out of the Solar System, our interaction with a complex community of alien species dominated by the enigmatic Xeelee, and finally the revelation of the universe's central conflict and the destiny of humankind.

But why are future histories so popular? For the bookseller, a future history is a way to tie in the reader to the rest of an author's work. And in return, with the most successful histories, cross-reference and context can provide the loyal reader with a magical glimpse beyond a single piece of fiction and into a fully integrated future. As for the writer, a future history schema is a way of tying together ideas which are, perhaps, disparate, and it is also a framework which can stimulate new ideas. Quite often science fiction ideas are just too big for a single story, or even a single novel which is why series are so popular. I suspect that the best histories are grown organically, allowed to develop alongside the author's deepening exploration of their own subject matter.

What about the constraints a future history places on a writer? Of course it's true that working within a unified background leads to problems of continuity and, as future histories grow like coral, such limits tend to grow ever tighter. Asimov described the difficulties of providing essential background detail for readers of later Foundation episodes, and in one notorious case he showed a young teenager writing out a school essay on her world's history!

In fact, perhaps because of the various constraints - and perhaps because an author's interests evolve - writers generally seem to visit their future histories less and less as time goes on. Whatever the difficulties, however, the judgement of readers and marketplace alike is that future histories continue to have a great deal of appeal.

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Alternate Histories

Science fiction is a literature of worlds other than our own, an exploration of answers to the question, 'What if this were so?' We tend to project such new worlds into the future. But there's no reason why you shouldn't extend your 'what if?' exercises into the past, to discover how things might plausibly have been otherwise.

Alternate histories explore worlds differing from our own by a small but conceivable change to the past. The fascination is in the detailed working-out of the new destiny of people, nations, even species, in worlds that might have been.

The first major alternate history in science fiction was L Sprague de Camp's Lest Darkness Fall, serialized in 1939 in John W Campbell's Unknown magazine, in which a 6th century time-traveller tries to prevent the collapse of the Roman Empire and the onset of the Middle Ages.

The most popular historical branch points tend to be decisive and dramatic events such as battles and wars, in which the alternatives generated by different outcomes are reasonably clear-cut. Alternate historians' favourite source of turning points is probably World War II, and imagined worlds in which the Nazis triumphed (for instance The Man in the High Castle by Philip K Dick and Fatherland by Robert Harris) tend to be grisly places. There is still room for a few twists though, and Stephen Fry's Making History suggets a world where Hitler was never even born.

Some eras are visited more frequently than others. Steampunk science fiction is set against a 19th century background, especially Victorian London. In my own Anti-Ice, I imagined my version of Isambard Kingdom Brunel getting hold of an energy source as dense as, yet more manageable than, nuclear power: There are glittering monorails across the English Channel, land liners rolling across Europe, and aerial yachts flying to the Moon, complete with gas-lamps, dinner services, and clockwork celestial-navigation tables...

The possibilities are literally infinite. Alternate history provides a sense of the extraordinary fragility of the here-and-now: it might so easily have been different. And, more than anything, alternate histories are fun.

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Rules of the Game

 
By far the most important rule of all, for any writer who wants to be a professional, is finish your work properly, and submit it to a paying market. If you submit, you might not sell. But if you don't submit you definitely won't sell.

The second is don't give up. When your story doesn't sell first time, try it somewhere else, and somewhere else again, while you're working on another story in the meantime. It is hard work to become a writer, as it is to become a brain surgeon or an airline pilot, or anything worthwhile. But persistence will pay off.

Use the first draft of a story or novel as an adventure of exploration for yourself, a way of finding out what the tale is about. You can fix any inconsistencies in later drafts, when you're done discovering.

If you write what's called hard science fiction, as I (usually) do, it's best to avoid breaking the laws of physics!

Following the lead of H G Wells, I find that One Big Idea is generally enough for a story, and everything should progress from that single seed.

Show, don't tell. Even though the seed of the story may be your new world, the story is actually about the characters, with their world as a backdrop. If you want to point out some neat feature of your world it has to be relevant to - or better still, a significant element of - the story.

There comes a point in many science-based tales in which the explanation of technical elements comes into conflict with the needs of your fiction. The fiction has to win - you're writing entertainment, not text books.

If a story idea doesn't evoke wonder in you, don't write it.

Let your imagination run riot: it's your world, after all, although be sure to take the reader there with you.

The last rule is: there are no rules. Or rather every 'rule' in fiction is there to be broken, which is exactly what the most innovative writers do. But I'd advise walking before you try to run!