The Story Writer and Richard Wilson’s Forgotten Contributions to Science Fiction
I picked up a DAW short story collection, one of their annual compilations that they ran from 1972 to 1990. They stopped a couple of years short of my birth year, but I’ll try not to hold that against them. This one, from 1980, is full of award-winning shorts from writers like George R.R. Martin and Orson Scott Card. It’s a humble story from a now forgotten writer that’s the star of this collection, however.
Most of the writers in this collection are young—I know it’s hard to associate “young” with George R.R. Martin, but this book came out almost 50 years ago. Richard Wilson is the exception, occupying the “gray beard” role that, well, Martin would play if a similar book were published today. In fact, Wilson is one of the foundational science fiction writers. He started writing in the 1930s and largely stuck to short stories, though he wrote some novels and taught classes.
He was also a founding member of a group called the Futurians. This was a fascinating bunch of writers and artists who all won multiple awards for their work in science fiction. When the group started in 1938 though, they were all no-names, living together in communal houses and published their own fanzine. Other members included James Blish, Damon Knight, Cyril M. Kornbluth, and Judith Merril. Their goal was to make science fiction seen as a legitimate genre of fiction, not the pulp magazine fare everyone saw it as. And it worked. Their stories and art laid the foundation for modern science fiction, with its emphasis on imaging a brighter future and exploring political themes. Most members were drafted by 1945 or had left New York City, effectively ending the group.
Wilson is the “forgotten” member of the Futurians. His work never gained the notoriety of his contemporaries. I can only speculate why, as I’ve only read one of his short stories. This might be because of the relative infrequency of his output. He “only” wrote three novels and 21 shorts over a 50-year career. He won only one award, a Nebula in 1969 for Mother to the World, though he has several nominations for Nebulas and Hugos under his belt. His biggest contribution is likely his work at Syracuse University, where he worked as director of the News Bureau from the 1960s through the 80s. He also convinced several science fiction writers to donate early drafts, papers, journals, and correspondence to the school’s library.
His last story, written in 1979 and the one that caught my attention in this DAW collection, is The Story Writer. As you’d expect from the title, this is a story about a writer. It starts perfectly, showing the life of William Wylie Ross, a retired writer. He never wrote the next great novel, something he’s slowly come to terms with in his life. He’s done well for himself though, writing several books and getting a job writing a popular TV show which still gets him nice royalty checks all these years later. The first third of this story is him enjoying his quiet life. He gets a small house in Uuuuuuuupstate New York, not Utica, no, Albany—and he’s chillin’.
One day he was helping a friend set up a booth at a flea market and noticed she had an old typewriter for sale. He sat down and started writing on it, when someone came up to him and he wrote a little story about her. Since then, he got his own stall he sits at with a typewriter, offering to write stories about whoever comes by for $1 (which I'm pretty sure was a small fortune during the time this story is set). He writes a couple of stories, including a cute one about a Polish kid trying to teach him the language. It’s great, a slow-paced, meditative look at what “success” is and how a man is trying to live a happy life.
As you wonder why this story is in a collection of science fiction, a stranger in a cowl appears speaking cryptically. Ross asks if he wants a story, but the stranger only says “you tell me.” Intrigued, he comes up with a backstory for him, calling him John Street, and that he’s an alien who lives in a parallel reality Earth. From there, the story becomes this bizarre, fourth-wall-shattering self-insert fan fiction as Ross (who is clearly Wilson) writes this elaborate story about Street and his people coming to him (Ross) for help, and in-story Ross has to figure out what they want and how to help them, while we sometimes cut away to real-life Ross (a stand-in for Wilson) talking to the stranger.
It’s a twisty, trippy story and easily the best in this collection. I guess it’s no wonder that a story about a writer loving the act of writing is my favorite. Thanks to this framing, we see the writer’s brain at work, coming up with this complex story on the spot and the feeling that Ross needs to tell it. He talks about the craft of writing, of getting the idea on the page and editing it later, calling back to other writers and stories, how he comes up with names and plot lines. I am absolutely here for that.
I want to track down Wilson’s other work. One of his few novels, The Girls from Planet 5, is about a woman getting elected President of the United States and being so good at her job that men freak out and all move to Texas and immediately declare their independence from the US. He wrote this book in 1955, by the way. They prove their manliness by dressing like cowboys and trading their cars for horses. Later, all-female aliens invade Earth, and the Texas man-babies get mad that the President doesn’t immediately declare war on them. Its cover is glorious, too.
I found a review from Galactic Journal for his 1969 short A Man Spekith, about the last human alive after something destroyed Earth. Stuck in a trailer with broadcasting equipment and a thousand gallons of bourbon, he and the trailer are flung into space at the last moment. He and a sentient robot float through space, drunkenly playing records and having philosophical conversations with the robot. I mean, I can’t not read this story now (if I can find it, anyway).
It would be easy to say that The Story Writer is an autobiographical work by an author reaching the end of his life. More than that, it’s also a final, gentle reminder from an important person in a genre’s history, and a perfect one at that. A portrait of a man who could write with ease, who experienced wonderful things, but was destined to do so in the background, out of the spotlight. It’s inspiring, in that way, and a breath of fresh air. Because despite his obscurity, the protagonist of The Story Writer is content with his obscurity. He knows his value, and he’s okay with that.
