Creative Colleagues: David Annandale

David Annandale

David Annandale

Every now and then, I pester my creative colleagues with a few questions about their work. Most of these folks are friends, a few are secret enemies, and one has been blackmailing me for years.

David Annandale is an Internet friend-of-a-friend. When I saw he shared my afflictions of academia and tie-in fiction, I immediately warmed to him. When I saw he shared my devotion to Universal horror monsters (and those fabulous Aurora models), I considered him a blood brother.

Apart from a few Facebook chats to confirm he was, in fact, geek like me, here’s our getting-to-know-you conversation, to which you’re invited to participate in comments. Buying either of us a drink is strictly optional, but we both hope you’ll look for your opportunity at a convention

You’re an academic who writes tie-in fiction. Aren’t you ever afraid the professors will stone you in the quad? How has your academic background fed your game-related writing, or how have you used your love of pop culture in teaching?

I’m very fortunate in that my colleagues in the Department of English, Film, and Theatre at the University of Manitoba have always been very supportive of my work on both the writing and the academic sides, and I have never been made to feel that my work was in any way dubious. I’m proud to be a tie-in writer, and I do find my two jobs provide fuel for each other. My academic specialization is specifically horror but more generally popular culture, and so I teach courses on video games, exploitation films, Eurohorror, disaster movies, comic book adaptations, and so on. In other words, I get to teach what I’ve always enjoyed reading, watching and playing. And I’m writing in the very field of my study, so I consider myself very lucky indeed. My academic research influences my creative work too. The ideas of Slavoj Zizek and Terry Eagleton had an impact on my interpretation of Chaos in The Death of Antagonis, for example. I often have Julia Kristeva’s conception of the abject in the back of my mind when I’m writing about things like bodily mutations (hello Chaos Space Marines!). And as I spent half a decade labouring over a thesis whose goal was to show how horror works via the theories of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, that understanding shapes my written horror, which in turn plays a big part in my fiction for the Black Library, with The Damnation of Pythos probably being the most full-on horror novel I’ve written in that universe so far.

Whenever I chat with a fellow film nerd, it’s hard to resist asking for recommended viewing lists. From you I request five films that are perfect for inspiring game sessions (any genre).

Great question! I’m going to go with these five:

  • For a war game like Warhammer 40,000: Patton(1970). I went with this rather than the perhaps-more-obvious Starship Troopers because Patton is one of those rare war films that gives us the massive battles in a way that is very clear to follow, without losing the human element. George C. Scott’s incarnation of Patton at times comes across as a gamer himself, playing with real-life armies. And how can one not get geared up for epic conflict when one hears the memorable and appalling line, “Compared to war, all other forms of human endeavour shrink to insignificance”?
  • For a fantasy RPG: Jason and the Argonauts(1963). It was a toss-up between this and one of Ray Harryhausen’s other fantasy films such as The 7th Voyage of Sinbad, but this is probably his greatest achievement, and all the elements are there to inspire a campaign: meddling gods, a heroic band of nomadic adventurers, and one encounter after another with terrific monsters.
  • For a horror RPG such as Call of Cthulhu: In the Mouth of Madness(1994). John Carpenter’s film is, I think, the best H.P. Lovecraft film not actually based on an HPL story, and the narrative of investigation and escalating horror is a perfect mood-setter.
  • For something SF/post-apocalyptic: Logan’s Run(1976). The film has been on my mind lately, as we’ve just done an episode about it on the Skiffy and Fanty Show, but this has been a film that has haunted my imagination since I first saw it when I was 10 or 11. Sure, it has its weaknesses, but it also creates a big world with adventure around every corner. It would be a wonderful sandbox in which to play.
  • For a completely alien SF setting: Fantastic Planet(1973). This French animated film boasts an absolutely surreal landscape, wild monsters and an uprising of the underdogs. I think as an imagination primer, it would be hard to beat.
Cover by Phroilan Gardner

Cover by Phroilan Gardner

As a teacher, what works or periods of capital-L literature would you recommend to those who read for escape?

Ooh, another great question. I have a real fondness for the works of the Long Eighteenth Century (1660-1830). Lots of rollicking stuff here, whether it be the corrosive satire dressed up as delightful fantasy that is Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels; or Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones, which not only pretty much defines “rollicking” but features a plot that has the Swiss-watch precision of a farce despite its epic length. The Gothic novels are not to be missed, especially for readers of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, as her book, coming late in the Gothic period, plays with the conventions of the earlier novels in interesting ways. So Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho is a book one can disappear into for a long, long time, and Matthew Lewis’ The Monk is still a roaring, lurid, blood-and-thunder horror novel that is enormously sleazy fun.

You maintain a website and co-host a podcast. How much of those activities are an expression of your own fandom, and how much a necessary arm of promotion?

My initial ventures into podcasting were largely promotional—I was a guest talking about my latest work. But very quickly my stints on The Skiffy and Fanty Show became much more an expression of my fandom. I loved the chance to talk about movies and with other writers. I had always enjoyed listening to the Torture Cinema segments and leapt at the chance to be part of that fun. And now Shaun Duke (who brought us all in to Skiffy and Fanty) and I have started the Totally Pretentious podcast together, where we get to scratch our movie discussion itch even further. Podcasting is huge fun, and I’ve made some great friends this way, so no, I don’t find it draining. If anything, it’s a reward at the end of the day for making my word count. I would say, overall, that it has an energizing effect. In a related vein, so does interaction with readers, which is a reassuring reminder that one isn’t typing into the void during those long hours in front of the screen.

You mention a few general influences from academia finding their way into your writing. Can you come up with a couple of specific examples for those readers who have yet to experience the joys of Deleuze?

Ever since I first read it, I’ve thought of Deleuze & Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus as one of my desert island books. It is endlessly dense and fascinating. One of my favorite chapters is even written in the form of a horror story, modeled on (and by the end quoting extensively from) H.P. Lovecraft’s “Through the Gates of the Silver Key.” Alain Badiou’s two-volume Being and Event (Being and Event and Logics of Worlds) has had a similar impact on me more recently, one I am still sorting through and that is certainly influencing my fiction and my academic writing.

Zizek’s In Defense of Lost Causes or Living in the End Times are huge fun to read. They’re infuriating too: I’ll be nodding my head vigorously one moment, yelling at the page in the next, sometimes within the same paragraph. For instance, I do not for a second buy his argument that 300 represents “the real Hollywood Left” (as opposed to V for Vendetta), but what wonderful argument fodder!

Carol Clover’s Men, Women and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film was a crucial work for me when I was working on my doctorate, and its influence in horror film studies would be difficult to overstate. It’s an absolutely essential text.

And Barbara Creed’s The Monstrous-Feminine is really important too, forcing the reader to ask all sorts of hard questions.

Do you find your creative process differs significantly between tie-in fiction and your original work? For instance, do you outline one and pants the other? Are you a more vigorous self-editor in franchise or original fiction?

For me, the single biggest difference between my tie-in fiction and my original work is deadlines, and everything that flows from that. Beginning a tie-in project means committing to a firm date, which imposes a necessary discipline, and means the work gets done, and done quickly. The luxury of time with original work allows for more self-editing, but paradoxically finding the time to write the draft in the first place is much more difficult. But having said that, my approaches to the actual writing of the two is fundamentally the same. My trunk novels and my first published one (Crown Fire) were pantsed. All the others since have been outlined. I keep tweaking the outlining process, but I swear by it. I never find it confining—quite the opposite, in fact.

What are some of the key differences in writing prose fiction as compared to plays? How do your experiences in one of those mediums influence your work in the other?

Fiction has an unlimited budget. Plays do not (most especially Fringe plays, where I was footing the bill). And though one could certainly write a play about burning galaxies, one has to work out exactly how this will be conveyed. Dialogue, of course, is the most important aspect of the script. Yes, stage directions play a role, but what I visualize in that regard could well change once the play is mounted. I’m not a director—and having seen what is involved in directing a play, I am so very glad I never tried to do that myself, but left it to the people who knew what they were doing. So as a playwright, the only part I have control over is the dialogue. One of the challenges there is avoiding “as you know, Bob” exposition. Crafting dialogue for the stage is great practice, too, in sharpening it for prose. I find it easier to hear the voices of the characters in my head, and their exchanges.

Locate David’s current coordinates at his website.

 

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