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Showing posts with label REALITY. Show all posts
Showing posts with label REALITY. Show all posts

Monday, February 21, 2011

FICTION IS NOT REALITY


Fiction is not reality. It is something slightly different, yet the same.

Like Mark Twain said, "Fiction has to make sense."

I.) Fiction reflects reality through a mirror darkly ...

A.) That mirror reflects society's face with all its ...

1.) Blemishes

2.) Scars

3.) Hopes

4.) Its dreams and the smiles despite the inner pain of most of the people you walk past on the streets.

II.) Fiction distills reality, revealing more truth than reality does in a shorter span of time.

A.) Fiction prunes out anything that doesn't propel the story and themes forward.

B.) Fiction is more intense and dense page by page than our lives are day by day.

III.) Fiction is a crucible ...

1.) holding our characters to the fire to purify and hone their spirits so that they are stronger, purer or broken or shattered at the novel's end.

2.) We are the blacksmiths, hammering our characters on the anvil of adversity. If our characters are having a good time, our readers grow bored.

IV.) As in reality, adversity introduces our characters to themselves and to the reader.

1.) Unlike reality, all dross events are sifted from the narrative.

2.) The best fiction reveals the characters of our players in what they do and why they do it.

3.) Shallow fiction makes prose puppets, forcing the characters to do things, not letting their actions flow from their inner natures.

V.) That is why everything in fiction serves multiple purposes. Like packing a solitary suitcase for a long trip, each item, each scene must serve multiple functions.

1.) Life is often haphazard, cluttered.

2.) Fiction must never be those things.

3.) Fiction ultimately relates seemingly unrelated items and scenes.

EXAMPLE :

a.) Parents give a gun to a young boy for his birthday instead of the bike he wanted.

b.) How does that relate to anything?

c.) It was the same gun that his older sister used to commit suicide.

d.) Based on a true incident from M. Scott Peck's PEOPLE OF THE LIE.

VI.) Like a skillful mother, an author should be doing 2 things at all times in the same scene or action.

A.) As in the prior example :

1.) The gun wasn't just an inappropriate gift to a young boy.

2.) It was a silent message : We want you to kill yourself, too.

B.) Likewise each scene should propel the story forward, upping the tension and suspense at the same time :

1.) As with the above example :

2.) Boy now knows his parents want him dead.

3.) What does he do with that knowledge? What can he do? He is just a young boy at the mercy of insane parents.

VII.) Each incident should ...
1.) Set the scene in the context of the character's thoughts.

2.) Reveal the hero's character by what he or she makes of the situation and what she does with it.

3.) Moves the story along with suspense and tension.

VIII.) A spear has no branches.

1.) Streamline your prose to chisel the story in crisp detail and image.

2.) Chunky paragraphs sink your prose into the sea of boredom.

3.) Don't tell the reader your character is this or that.

4.) Show your character in action, revealing his or her thoughts about the situation.

5.) When you have the reader make up his own mind about the character of your hero and villain, your story will become more "real" to your reader, making it take on a living existence for him or her.

IX.) As a woman is the echo of the girl she once was, by the end of the novel, your main character should be the result of his past decisions, realizations (true or false), and his actions.
***

Saturday, November 27, 2010

WE SEE. OR DO WE?











The Lakota knew :

to the seeing eye, magic was everywhere.

Each person is Legion : made of many people, all struggling for dominance. We writers even more so than most.

Can you see the hero, Don Quixote, or Cervantes in that legendary tale? It all depends how you look.

Life. Death. We can see both, depending if we squint or not.

Do we swallow camels, while choking on gnats?

Is the obvious truly that? Or is life more complex than we believe?

I think Angelina is beautiful, you all know that. Her humanitarian efforts on behalf of the world's children touches my Lakota spirit.

Then, I discovered Angelina Jolie hates Thanksgiving

and wants no part in rewriting history like so many other Americans.

A friend of hers says, “To celebrate what the white settlers did to the native Indians, the domination of one culture over another, just isn’t her style.

She definitely doesn’t want to teach her multi-cultural family how to celebrate a story of murder.”

According to some sources, Angelina Jolie is so disgusted by "Thanksgiving", she takes her kids out of the country so they are not around the madness that is embodied in the holiday.

Does Angelina Jolie have a point, or has she completely missed the point of having a holiday just to remind us to be grateful for the blessings in our lives? What do you think?
***


Wednesday, August 18, 2010

GHOST OF A CHANCE_CHAPTER 18_RIGHT TURN ON DEAD


{“We are all serving a life sentence in the prison of the mind.”

- Mark Twain.}


{Samuel Clemens, ghost, here.

Some of you out there wonder why I speak of Roland as if he were dead.

He is.

Died in the Shadowlands. All that remains of him is his slightly burnt journal.

I gave him my word I would take care of Gypsy and man his blog until his rent came due.

I’ve been posting entries from his smoke-stained journal, detailing what led to his dying in Marlene’s arms … and then, her being murdered by ….

Dang tears. Excuse me a minute.

Anyway, when we last left him …

Roland, the ghost of Marlene Dietrich, and I have finally shed Death. When she wasn’t frightening me near to senselessness, she was confusing the tarnation out of me.

Death has opened the dreaded Door of Nasah, (which I have since learned is ancient Hebrew for TESTING),

opening the way back to Meilori’s, that supernatural jazz club and possible sanctuary for us. Roland enters first. And I will let Roland carry on from there.} :


I heard both Marlene and Mark yelp in surprise as the darkness swallowed us. I went cold inside. I couldn't feel them inside my mind anymore.

I was alone.

And the blackness became alive.

What I saw taught me a terrible lesson :

We are all of us deceived.

Science tells us that the world is in constant motion.

It is but illusion. Reality is but static moments in time, placed one after another. All still as your last breath, they are frozen in the fabric of eternity, waiting for you to enter them.

As the darkness smothered me, my Lakota blood showed me one glimpse into life after another :

Along the trees of Piccadilly Circus, little girls in sprigged muslin giggled as they rolled their wooden hoops, the long navy ribbons of their straw hats fluttering in the spring breeze.

Along the Thames, half-lidded young women twirled their parasols and looked coyly at their young men rowing them across the calm waters.

In New York’s Central Park, a young poet sat beneath an acacia tree believing that life would be beautiful forever.

In one dark boardroom after another, fat power brokers sipped their brandy, smoked their expensive cigars, and dreamed of the world grasped firmly in their hands.

And alone, the ghost of Ernest Hemingway was sprawled motionless by my bed, his dropped cigar still smoldering.

And that last image was all that meant a damn to me.

He had been my friend. And no one killed my friends without paying the price. And if that meant me breaking my promise to myself never to kill again, so be it.

And with that grim resolution, the world came to life around me. I was in Meilori's again. In the very part of it where Toya had ambushed me. I looked about.

Neither Sam, Toya, or Bast was there. But there was someone I recognized. He was talking to a group of fascinated, admiring beings, some human, some anything but.

I went all cold inside.

There was a reason I recognized that person.

He was me.
********************