Tag: creative writing

Deep Questions about Deep Literature

Do you remember literature classes in high school? How you would spend hours every day discussing the symbolic value of the billboard in The Great Gatsby and analyzing what each character represented in The Lord of the Flies? A spade is never just a spade in lit class. There is always a deeper meaning.

So can anyone explain to me why all the books students have to read are so dang depressing?

Looking back, this is what I feel that we were doing: Taking a beautiful flower and plucking its petals and cutting the stem and digging up the roots to see why it was a beautiful flower. And we very scientifically removed everything beautiful about it.

But darn it, we got educated about great literature. We knew what metaphor was. And allegory. And the subtle social critiques and genre deconstructions that mark all literary classics. We obtained knowledge! We justified our tuition!

There are people who make their living by reading stories and telling other people whether they are good or not. And their word is law, because there is no such thing as an opinion they understand the rules that govern quality writing. Where they obtain this arcane knowledge is unknown. Presumably, they dissected enough flowers.

Good stories seem to be a case of majority rules. If enough people say it’s good, it must be good. Maybe. But I didn’t like The Great Gatsby, so does that mean it’s not a good book or I’m not a good writer? Or perhaps if I had read it on my own time instead of being forced to analyze that darn stupid billboard I would have liked it.

What does it matter what color the curtains are or what suit the one character is wearing in each scene? It matters because somebody important says it matters, but what if it’s not the author saying it? Are we seeing what the writer put there, or what we think is there? Are we seeing meaning where there is none, or is the meaning not what we think it means? Does it mean what people say it means, or does it mean something else, which means that what I want it to mean means that it means the wrong thing from what everyone else thinks it means? Because that’s just mean.

Or maybe we’re just really good at gaslighting ourselves into thinking a book somebody wrote to pay their bills is a magnum opus. The writer wings it, hears what critics say, nods sagely and says, “Yes, that’s exactly what it means.”

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Kid at Heart

What does it mean to be a kid at heart?

Probably not screaming when you don’t get dessert and walking into the house with mud covering your shoes.

“Kid at heart” is one of those curious expressions we use and don’t give much thought to. There’s a general consensus that everyone knows what it means, but do we really know what it actually means? Kids are selfish, loud, noisy, sometimes smelly, and generally very expensive. They are also seen as innocent, full of potential, and the future of civilization. Which may or may not be true (especially that part about innocence).

So, what does it mean to be a “kid at heart?” Perhaps it simply means to not let go of youthful vigor and enthusiasm. To not be jaded, as kids so rarely are, and to see the world as something fresh and new every day, as kids so often do. Kids are as flawed as adults, so I don’t think we should see childhood as a perfect little utopia long lost, but rather as a time when we were willing to have a little more joy in our lives and a little more willingness to learn.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Taking A Risk

What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?

I’m not much of a big risk-taker in general, but then again, everyone’s definition of “risk” varies. What’s mundane for you can be nerve-rattling for me, and vice versa.

A friend of mine runs a podcast and has invited me to join it one day. For me, that’s a risk, not because I really stand to lose anything, but because I’m the nervous sort. Podcasts aren’t the same as public speaking, but they are public, and I’m neither the most photogenic nor the most outgoing person. The risk, then, would be the risk of me making a fool of myself across the Internet, or the corner of it that listens to my friend’s podcast, anyway.

There’s a lot of fear, there, but that’s what makes it a risk, right? And maybe someday I’ll muster up the courage to take him up on his offer.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Putting Stories into the World and Learning to Let Them Go

Stories are precious things, especially to those who write them.

We write stories for all sorts of reasons: to tell a message, to work through a grief or hardship, as a gift for friends and family, or simply for the sake of doing so. Regardless of why, stories are very personal things.

And we all have a vision for our stories. We see it for what we want it to be. We see it all – or so we think. And then the moment of truth comes: time to publish. It’s out there, others are reading it, and they don’t see what we saw.

That’s applicability for you. We plan and plan, but readers make the story into something else, because they see themselves in the story. We all see ourselves, and so the narrative comes into focus through the lenses of our own lives.

It’s hard to let go of what we create, and even harder to hear others’ opinions of our work. They claim to understand and comprehend the deep analogies and whatnot, and we tell ourselves, “That’s not what I meant at all!”

It’s life, I suppose. And it’s something all writers will have to deal with sooner or later. But it’s not all bad. The words of readers reveal other lenses, other views and new possibilities. To be a writer is to spend so much time locked up inside yourself. Letting your story go out into the world allows you to see beyond your own mind.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Persist

Persist. Persistence is needed in life. Get out of bed, go to work, clean the house. Balance your checkbook, cook dinner, take your kids to sports practice. Every day, there is the routine. Keep at it. Always keep at it, even when you’re screaming inside.

Because you know what? Today you feel rotten, tomorrow you feel amazing. Today is hard. Working is hard, writing is hard and even picking up your socks is too much. Tomorrow, the misery clears away and you can take on the world. Persist.

Sometimes, you need to be stubborn. Your job sucks, you want to go home. Endure it. Stubbornly do the work expected of you. It won’t last forever, you know.

Persistence is refusal. Refusal to give up hope, refusal to give in to discouragement. Persistence doesn’t care about feelings or being in the zone. Persistence does, whether it wants to or not. Whether you want to or not.

So persist. Persist in achieving your goals, persist in improving your life, persist in getting through another day.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

The Sound of Inspiration

What would your life be like without music?

A life without music would be dull, that’s easy enough to say. But for me, it would also be a great deal more difficult to write anything noteworthy.

It is my belief that music is the purest expression of emotions and feelings available to humankind, just as written words are the purest expression of structured ideas. How do we describe good music? Moving, exciting, stirring, heartbreaking, uplifting, thrilling, contemplative. Music makes us feel. Words can, too, of course, but where a written story might give us a good shove now and then, music slaps us in the face – in a good way. Take any scene from a movie or stage play and remove the music. What do you have left? A bunch of people yelling and prancing around, usually. But add the music, and your heart beats to a gallop, or sinks in defeat or halts in anticipation. You no longer see something silly, but an experience of deep sincerity.

So what does this have to do with my writing? Simple. I listen to music for inspiration. Lots of people do, and I’m one of them. If you’re a writer and haven’t tried music as a way to come up with new ideas and work through the details of current ones, then I highly recommend it. Music stirs up emotions into a bubbling well, and from that well I draw my inspiration to fuel my projects.

I suppose that music and words go hand in hand. Two different forms of passion that perfectly compliment each other.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

Tips on Draft Writing

Drafts are a vital part of any writing project. Very, very, very rarely is any book released on its first draft. You need to pour over your work many times to make sure it’s ready for publication. But, the question often arises: How many drafts should you write? Three? Four? Eleven? How many is enough?

There’s no hard and fast answer. It depends on the author. Different strokes for different writers.

Even so, I’ve come across a few general tips that can help you decide how long to spend in the drafting stage.

  1. Set yourself goals for each draft. Pick one specific thing to improve for each draft you write. Your first draft -the vomit draft, as I like to call it – is just getting your story onto paper. Your second draft, perhaps, can center around developing story and characterization. For the next one, pay attention to grammar and sentence structure. Whatever you choose, each draft sees definite and specific improvement, and you may find yourself not needing to go through as many as you expected.
  2. Don’t expect perfection. You’ll never get there. Drafting is about improvement, not reaching an ideal but unattainable state of “perfection.” Even the greatest writers make mistakes. Focus on refining and polishing. Every time you go through your story, you’re making it better. Each draft builds on the previous one.
  3. Pace yourself. Sometimes, wrapping up one draft and jumping straight into the next isn’t a good idea. Give yourself a few days to let your subconscious mull over things. A little break can be great for your writing as you begin anew rested and with a fresh perspective. You find yourself more easily spotting errors and opportunities.
  4. You have to publish eventually. If you want to release your book to the public, you will have to stop drafting at some point. You have to tell yourself that your story is ready. Remember: Refining and editing is all well and good, but if you never stop, then you will reach a point where you’re doing more harm than good. You lose sight of the whole and get buried in nitpicks that add nothing. A sculptor who never stops chiseling the marble ends up with nothing but gravel in the end.

Some people love the drafting stage, other people don’t. I find it a useful and interesting process. I not only clean up the chaos of my first draft, but also discover new things about my characters, new storytelling techniques, and just plain mature as a writer. However many you find necessary, remember the most important tip of all: Have fun with it!

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My City of the FUTURE

How would you design the city of the future?

Well, for starters, I’d figure out what the heck is meant by “city of the future.”

I mean, hypothetical, futuristic cities designed in the 1950s look a lot different from what we 2020ers think they should look like . A lot less art-deco and a lot more Apple aesthetic. Lots of white and curved corners. In fifty more years, the city of the future will probably be imagined as made of recyclable plastic or something.

But this is my city, right? I can do what I want. So, futuristic means pretty, practical, and maybe even a little sustainable.

First thing’s first, its streets are based on a grid system. I want a city that’s easy to navigate with no silly, loopy streets going every which way. If we live in the future, we should be able to make our own cities easy to drive in, a least. Also, wide streets. My city will acknowledge the existence of heavy traffic and anticipate it. Wide streets that can accommodate, oh, let’s say six lanes.

But I’m also going to offer incentives to not drive cars everywhere. Because we’re in the future, right? And cars are a thing of the past. Well, they might be. It’s the future, who knows what’s going to happen?

So, I’ll have elevated rail lines for the train and also lots and lots of rental stations with electric bikes. Just put in a quarter and ride your rental for an hour or so. Also, I’m bringing back trolleys. Trolleys are a great idea, and I’ll fight the gas companies to make my city’s public transportation system the best in the world.

Since my city is on a grid, I’m thinking it’ll be shaped like a big square or rectangle. In the center is where all the skyscrapers will be located; the major businesses and corporate headquarters will have their places in the center, and they aren’t going to be big blocks of glass. I want some curvature to these buildings, something a little softer on the eyes. No hard corners. Also, solar panels. I’ll coat the upper floors of these skyscrapers in solar panels. Fancy, futuristic solar panels that are transparent or something, so you can still see out the windows. Not possible? Well, guess what? It’s the future!

Ah, speaking of power, I’m also going to install revolutionary new generators under the city center sidewalks that convert the kinetic force of footsteps into electrical energy. That’s right, I’m going to design a city that generates power from people walking down the sidewalk. Impossible, you say? Need I remind you? Future!

The most vital part of my city design is trees. Lots and lots of trees. The streets will be lined with trees, and there will be dozens of parks. Big parks, little parks, flower gardens, all scattered throughout the city. The very center of the city, smack dab in the middle, will be the biggest park, with a lake, a sports field, a walking loop through the woods, and more. Trees are important. They provide fresh oxygen and help calm people who otherwise are trapped in an artificial world. My city of the future will have nature in it.

That’s about all I can think of. A nice, pretty city that’s livable. And preferably cheap to live in. It needs lots of incentives for businesses to come in and employ people, but I’m just the designer, not the economist, so I can’t answer that here. But I’m sure my revolutionary sidewalk power generators will cut down on costs somehow.

I took the time to describe my basic idea to AI and got this image spat out in response.

Not bad, actually. I was expecting worse from AI. The buildings aren’t quite what I wanted, but I like the distinct lack of traffic and lots of bicyclists. Also, trees. Yes, that many trees.

There you have it. My city of the future.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

A Story’s Skin: Setting Limits for Yourself as a Writer

We as human beings don’t like to hear about “limits.” We want to do our own thing without anything holding us back. But consider the breadth of human imagination and all the choices you have as a writer and ask yourself, “How do I even know where to start with my story? Where do I go with it? How do I keep it organized?”

The truth is, stories need boundaries. That’s the difference between a story and rambling. Stories have a point, and they stick to that point. Telling a story about shopping at the grocery store is not going to include what your kids did at school that day. And a story about grocery shopping isn’t going to take as long to tell as, say, the history of Great Britain. Different stories have different limits. But they do need limits.

Some of us like to meander. We have so many ideas and we want to shove them all in. It’s fun to type away at your computer and watch the words flow. But knowing when to stop – ah, there’s the rub.

Here’s a metaphor for you: Imagine your story is like the human body. It’s made of many different complex parts. But all those parts are able to stay together and function properly because of the skin. Skin covers the body and keeps it in place. If we didn’t have skin, we’d just sort of … ooze all over. And who wants that?

It’s the same with writing. You have an idea, or two or three. Great! Now stop. Organize those ideas, don’t add to them. Stories have a beginning, middle, and end. A triggering event, rising action, climax, and epilogue. In other words, stories have structure. And structure, by its very nature, is defined by boundaries and restrictions. They aren’t bad things. They’re necessary for anything to make sense and have form.

Outlining your story ahead of time is a great way to know what your story is about, to know what to put in and what to hold back. Yes, things will shift and change as you go through drafts. But don’t keep adding and adding and adding. Know when to stop and refine what you already have. Put a skin on your story.

If overwriting is a major problem for you, then put a limit on your word count. Something miraculous occurs when you suddenly have a ceiling you can bump your head on.

When we are deprived of the freedom to do everything, we discover a new well of creativity. We choose our words more carefully. We find focus. Words matter more, so we experiment until we find the right ones. We cut away cumbersome paragraphs and sentences. Knowing there’s a cap on our writing makes us pay extra special attention to dialogue, plotting, pacing, and everything else.

Limits are good. They force us to be better writers.

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

No, It is Not Genius. You’re Not Genius. There is No Genius Here.

What is a word you feel that too many people use?

I have … several … words that I believe have seeped into the social fabric as overused and overrated vocabulary. Words used so often they don’t have any meaning left except as placeholders or hollow props to push a point. But one word I, as a storyteller and writer, really, really, really, really tire of seeing used at the drop of a hat is this:

Genius.

I see it everywhere online.

“Look at that camera shot! Genius!”

“Did you read this cool one-liner in this comic book? It’s awesome! Genius!”

“Look at what she’s wearing! I love it! The designer is a genius!”

“This music pumps me up! It must be genius!”

No, it’s not. It’s not genius. It’s likeable and memorable and probably technically very skillful. But it’s not genius just because you personally like it.

If I’m coming on strong with this, it’s because I don’t like it when people’s vocabulary is reduced to a handful of expressions and words to communicate a vast and varied array of feelings and situations. It cheapens words. Wait, what am I saying? Words are expensive. They must be, because so many people can’t seem to afford to learn any more.

Genius is a word with a history. The ancient Romans believed the genius was a type of spirit. Genii watched over people and resided in objects and locations. They were entities that guided and assisted people. They were an abstract, animistic concept with concrete benefits.

Genius evolved to mean an individual possessing remarkable and unique creative or intellectual ability. Geniuses are singular in their talents. They are rare, and often leave a significant impact on the world beyond that of simple aesthetic or crowd pleasing. Their minds are quantifiably beyond that of others.

Note that I said “rare.” Geniuses, true geniuses, don’t sprout up like dandelions. And yet, somewhere down the road, society lost the plot. It loves to attach the word to anything. And, I suspect, not because one truly believes the person or the work has intellectual or creative worth, but because of personal gratification. Genius is whatever you want it to be. Genius has become relative.

Maybe it always was? Maybe. But were Einstein or Turing or Leonardo da Vinci merely relatively smarter than the average joe? Or were they actually making remarkable and unprecedented achievements in their fields through learned and innate skill that is extremely hard to match? There’s nothing relative about genius. It is either present, or it isn’t.

This is not to tread over the achievements of others. Not everyone is a genius, but there are many, many skilled people in the arts and sciences who have produced amazing things for people to enjoy and benefit from. They should not be put down. And geniuses work hard, too. It’s the hard-working ones that we know about. But for the love of apple pie, please stop throwing the word around like confetti! Let it hold some meaning.

On the other hand, linguistic drift is a thing. Tragically, “genius” may very well go the way of so many other words with rich histories and meanings and become just another toy in pop culture’s box.

But not for us bloggers, right? Right?

Many thanks for visiting my blog. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.