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Showing posts with label HAMLET. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HAMLET. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

THE MONKEY OR THE WRENCH?


What comes first for you as a writer? The person or the problem?

Your main character or the crisis of your novel?

Probably it can go either way for you, depending upon the inspirational stimuli.

For me, it is always the character. After all, how a problem is handled stems from the unique personality of your main character.

Take this scenario : An avalanche has stranded a small group of tourists in an isolated ski lodge. That night the tourists are murdered gruesomely one by one.

Someone in their midst is the murderer. But who? And who will be next?

Now envision four different novels detailing that night. One stars my Samuel McCord. The second Sherlock Holmes. The third Dexter. The fourth Hannibal Lector.

Hannibal Lector has no qualms or difficulty in killing everyone in the ski lodge to make sure he has killed the mysterious murderer. In fact, he makes a game of it, casting doubts in the minds of the couples that one is planning to kill the other.

He watches the disintegration of relationships with cruel amusement.

Dexter, bound by Harry's Code, cannot follow Hannibal's plan. But being a brilliant serial killer and a blood splatter expert, he can use his experiences in hunting down the killer. He, too, finds pleasure in the cat and mouse game.

Sherlock Holmes, after the first murder, has a good idea of the identity of the killer. With the second, he is certain of it. After that, the game is afoot, for the murderer knows that he knows. And two cunning minds are pitted against one another with helpless lives in the balance.

Elu, McCord's blood brother, is bound to the mirror world, meaning he can look through whatever mirror he wishes to. (And he has become something of a Peeping Tom.)

Bringing Sam into the mirror world with him, the two go from one room mirror to another. It is a race of mirror-peeping to find the murderer before he can kill again. And once they find the astounding identity of the murderer and the motive, they find themselves in a quandry -- they sympathize with the murderer!

Same set-up but each novel goes down different paths because of the main characters.

Think back on your favorite novels. What springs first to mind? The main character or the situation? Your answer probably reflects what first comes to you when you write your novels.

Look at the classics : Hamlet. Ivanhoe. Oliver Twist. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Kim, The Brothers Karamazov, The Great Gatsby, Elmer Gantry, Harry Potter and (fill in the blank.)

The characters pervade their novels so much that their very names became the titles to the books.

(What about WAR AND PEACE, WAR OF THE WORLDS, 1984, CATCH-22, LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA, you say? Hush, or I'll sic Gypsy on you!)

Let me talk about the anti-hero :

Too many movies and books have mistaken cool for character. Anti-heroes have a place in fiction --

but only if they are presented as admirable in some major way --

take DEXTER, mentioned earlier -- a serial killer who only preys on serial killers.

There is no place in fiction for your hero to be a back-stabber, a coward who betrays those who trust him. Readers want ESCAPE.

That is why too depressing a novel wilts on the shelf. I can get depressed for free by living my own life, thank you very much.

The reader has his/her own griefs and failures. That is why colorful, never-say-die characters are magnets to the readers hungry for triumphs in their own lives.

Not perfect by any means but the hero learns about his flaws along the way. He may discard some and cling to others.

But he becomes stronger, more admirable, even if he stays a thief or an assassin because of the decisions he makes in the novel.

Life is so grim for so many. Be the light of laughter in their dark lives.

Let your hero wince with the pain of the struggle but find humor in the storm if only to help the weaker ones struggling beside him/her.

Readers are gypsies. Be their haven to find refuge from the storm of their lives. Be that -- and your audience will find you.
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Sunday, September 19, 2010

GHOST OF A CHANCE_CHAPTER 34_TO FALL INTO DARKNESS


{"I could a tale unfold whose lightest


word

Would harrow up thy soul."

-Shakespeare : HAMLET I. v.}



{Ghost of Samuel Clemens : I should have gone with Roland.

I followed. But too late. Too late.

His charred journal tells us Roland saved Epona, the last unicorn,

only to see her race off deeper into Hell.

Are all our strivings merely empty boxing with the wind?

DayStar was mocking Roland when we last left him ....}



Behind me, DayStar chuckled, "All know the way to Hell but none know the way out."

I kept watching Epona until she blinked out of sight over the smoldering horizon, and I kept on watching for a moment more as I called back over my shoulder.

"I'm considering the source of those words."

"As you yourself once told me : the best lie is sandwiched between two truths."

I turned around and smiled sad. "You just challenge me to figure out what's the lie and what's the truth, is that it?"

He studied me like a scientist would a glass slide under a miscroscope. "That would be telling. And the scant amusement you afford me is watching you stumble over the truth right in front of you."

"Well, just so long as I have a purpose in life."

Something disturbing flickered deep within his eyes, then died before I could catch what it was as he murmured, "Oh, yes, primate, you have a purpose."

"Cue the spooky music," I muttered and turned to walk to my left, but his hand settled firm on my shoulder.

"You insist on scattering myths about you."

He glanced to his left. My eyes followed his. I stiffened. Epona. Or really an after-image of her, rearing and pawing at the darkness with her hooves. I shivered at the joy in her eyes.

I shrugged his hand off my shoulder. "I have a friend to get out of Hell."

The shadows masked all but his gray eyes, and even they seemed to be full of darkness. "In the hour you will die."

"Staying alive's not part of the job."

He cocked a brow. "Winning by dying?"

"Been done before."

He smiled like a satisfied wolf. "Your own personal Alamo, is it?"

"There are worse fates."

"You have a most peculiar code."

"Look who's talking."

"I have no code."

"Non servium."

"Oh, that. In that case, welcome to the club."

"Well, considering where I am it would seem to fit."

DayStar's face was suddenly hidden by shadow as if he did not want me to see it. "You have never fit, never conformed. It is why you will soon die."

"Probably so."

"But you will not relent, will not surrender."

"Probably not."

"In that case ...."

His eyes flared with actual flames, as his right hand gestured like a sword, "Go to Hell!"

Blackness swallowed me as I felt myself lifted off my feet and hurled down, down, down. I tumbled head over heels in billowing clouds of darkness and mist.

Faintly from above, I heard DayStar's bitter words, "The true pain, DreamSinger, is not the fall but the surviving it."
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