Reading Update

So, I’ve read The Great Gatsby. Um, it was good – short, well-written. There may be several reasons why I don’t understand why it’s considered the greatest American novel – and probably all of them are true. First, I’m not well-versed in American novels; Victorian English is more my speed, for reasons unknown. Second, as I mentioned in an earlier post about music, I like books for different reasons, and I can’t really see myself saying: “This one is the only best book out there.” I can’t see comparing Jane Eyre and Red Storm Rising for instance, two of my favorite books. They’re completely different, and serve completely different purposes. Third, I may have shot myself in the foot – or at least grazed it – by surrounding my reading of Gatsby with fantasy novels. I was kind of in that mode, you know? To then go suddenly to realistic fiction….it’s all about context, you know.

So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I decided to go back to Paksenarrion after Gatsby. There are several things to note, after 150 pages of Divided Allegiance: First, it reads much more like a genre fantasy novel – lots more spells and magic and random beastie encounters. I don’t know if that had anything to do with the publisher, or Miss Moon herself. There is still, thankfully, a sense of days-in-the-life, which I really enjoyed about Sheepfarmer’s Daughter. There is, however, a greatly added sense of adventure, which kind of works both ways. It does add to the D&D feel, but it also captures a part of Sheepfarmer’s that I really liked, where Paks and some friends are trying to escape to go warn the Duke. There is still no real sense of where the plot is heading as a whole, which is interesting and well done, I think.

But what struck me the most, and what I’d like to spend the remainder of the time discussing, is that there is not the typical rehash that you see in almost all sequels. What Elizabeth Moon does give you in the way of reminding you what has gone before, and what everyone looks like, is so subtly interwoven that you don’t even realize it’s happening.

(You do know what I’m talking about, right? The most blatant example is The Hardy Boys mysteries, where you find out in the opening pages of every story that Frank is black-haired, the brains, and 18, and Joe is blond, the brawn, and 17.)

As I realized she wasn’t doing that, I began wondering: “Why does that happen so often? Do people really pick up a book in the bookstore/library, and say: ‘Hmm. Book Two. I think I’ll start reading here.’?”

And I can see, perhaps, for the first generation readers, after two years they might need to be refreshed; but aren't the proceeding generations probably the larger audience? And is it that difficult to refresh yourself – if it’s been that long – by going back over some of book one? It’s annoying, sometimes! It’s really annoying, especially as one of the proceeding generations, who are reading the books back-to-back.

(As a pseudo-interesting side-note, I’ve never come in on a series before it’s finished. I could’ve with Eragon, but I didn’t like it that much…)

So, I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ll say it again as a way of recommendation: I’ve found that Paks’ world doesn't end with The Deed of Paksenarrion, and there’s even a book about Gird, a holy Saint in Deed, showing what he actually accomplished in his life. I will be reading those later on. These are by far the best books I’ve read in a long time.

Emotion du jour: Curiosity

Unfortunately, I have to be a little critical right off the bat. I don’t generally like doing that, because it sets a bad tone sometimes for the rest of time – but today’s emotion is a perfect example of where Mrs. Hood misses the mark, in my estimation. In her book, she intro’s the emotion and discusses some of the pitfalls – today, specifically talking about how curiosity can bleed over into nosiness and other “curiosity gone bad” scenarios. Then she’ll give some bad examples and discuss why; finally, she gives good examples. Only, sometimes it seems the good examples aren’t that good. Today, for example, there were slight allusions to perhaps past curiosity; but the examples themselves displayed no curiosity whatsoever. I’m not trying to slam the book; in fact, I recommend it. But, as with any book you read (even mine), it’s not necessarily true just 

because it’s in print.

And I say this before I even attempt to show curiosity. But I have a special treat for you: instead of writing something totally new, I’ve decided to pull something from my book. I hope you enjoy it.

The party stood atop the hill, gazing speechlessly at the village below. But then, as time passed, they realized that though the flames towered over many of the buildings, still they did not burn down. Slowly, as questions overcame their shock, they made their way down the hill toward the nearest building.

Corith approached one, his sword drawn. Though the rush of the flames almost deafened them, there was no crackling of wood; and even up close, no heat emanated from the fire. Corith poked at the flames, but his blade stopped a hand-width from the fire. He stepped forward and pressed his palm against something solid, but invisible.

“I think someone else discovered your wind-trick, Sarah,” he said, still pushing with his hand. Sarah stepped forward, gingerly reaching out with a finger; when it struck the same invisible wall Corith encountered, she pulled it back.

“So it would seem,” she agreed.

“Let’s see what we can find, if anything,” Haydren said, drawing his sword. “Spread out, but be wary.”

See you tomorrow. Thursday’s prompt is Desire.

Doing New

Crazy times. Sorry for missing you guys Thursday and Friday last week. Holidays, and all: Candlelight services, cookie-baking, and visiting relatives and all. Should have seen it coming.

But here we are, the last week of December – the last week of 2011. Funny: so many people are thinking about new plans for the new year, new resolutions – yet, by all rights, March should be the new year, if December was the tenth month of the year. We’re funny creatures, setting “appropriate” times to do something new: today is a new day, January 1^st is a new year – time to turn over a new leaf. It works so rarely, trying to “drive our stake” at some auspicious time, as if doing so will make that stake more secure. It won’t. Mental stakes are tenuous things, and no “time” in the world makes them more secure. No one says: “I’ll start living when someone close to me dies;” but how many times does it take just such an event? “I’ll start doing the right thing, when the wrong thing so clearly leads me to chaos.” “I’ll start driving responsibly when my irresponsibility causes me to kill someone.” Those kinds of events have a way of securing that stake – but it’s still a mental move.

Or maybe: “With this diet/exercise plan, you’ll see the weight melt away!” Do you know what exercise plan works the absolute best, and has a 100% guarantee? The one you commit to. It’s funny to see all these different work-outs claiming to be more effective than others. The only thing that makes them remotely close to effective is if their uniqueness lends to your actually doing it. Exercise half an hour to an hour a day, and don’t consume more. Your body will want to, but don’t let it. Do the hip-hop based workout, or the martial arts based workout, or the muscle confusion based workout – it really isn’t going to matter. The only difference is cardio versus muscle building. Everything else is about your commitment and effort.

The same with everything else. Want to pursue God in the new year? Pursue Him now. Want to run away from Him? You probably already are. Want to pursue a career? Life begins in the next second. Don’t wait. Live now. You’re breathing now; your mind is functioning now; you can decide now, and you can live now. Waiting for New Year’s Day isn’t going to do anything magical, to make you do something you wish you could.

For me, I’m starting one last revision process on my book. I have a checklist of 18 pieces I need to fix. Some constitute changing one line; others are a process of inserting a couple scenes across several chapters. Some are concrete; others are incredibly nebulous. My goal is to finish this week. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’m also finishing The Great Gatsby today, and starting probably on East of Eden – then perhaps I’ll get back to Paksenarrion, which is proving itself to be a fantastic read. I’ll let you know how that progresses as well.

See you tomorrow.

This Is Why I Read

I mentioned somewhere some time ago that there are musicians whose entire discography I want to own, yet there are no authors whose entire bibliography I greatly desire to own. I realized yesterday, after pulling away from Elizabeth Moon’s Deed of Paksenarrion, why exactly that is. And it may seem obvious.

I don’t approach both mediums the same way.

See, I can usually give a hoot about the lyrics of a song. Honestly. I listen to music for the sound – which is probably also why I have quite a number of video game soundtracks and Celtic instrumental CDs. Even when I sing along with them – and this is absolutely true – I often can sing the entire song, and not know what it’s about. And I don’t mean I don’t understand the artistic language; I mean I don’t actually know what the words are saying. This stumped me for a while, till I realized I wasn’t memorizing the words. See, it also takes me forever to learn the lyrics to a song. Because what my mind is actually doing is memorizing the sound of the words, and mimicking that sound back. Often that happens without me really paying attention to the words. Now, it’s not as pure as I’m making it sound; there is of course recognition of words, or I would never actually learn the lyrics. But my mind is engaging it at any deeper level than sound.

So when I “like” an artist, I like their sound. I like the melody and the flow of the lyrics – and it stops dead right there. One exception might be Casting Crowns, because their message resonates so clearly with me. But overall, I just don’t pay attention to the words.

But books? Books are different. Books I read for the story. I don’t really care how the writer writes – to a point, unless they write badly. What matters to me is what the story is about. Which means, faithful followers, an author might write really well, but I won’t like the story. If I don’t like the story, I’m not going to own the book, and thus I will not own the entire bibliography of an author.

Then we get to Elizabeth Moon. I’m always skeptical of how much I like a book depending on the circumstances surrounding my reading of it. I read Lord of the Rings when I was in Iraq, after several months of never reading a printed word – I drank Tolkien’s words like spiked lemonade on a Pennsylvania summer day. Now, I’ve just come off two admittedly bad fantasy books to Sheepfarmer’s Daughter, book one of The Deed of Paksenarrion. It is incredible. I’m already thinking about reading it again, and I’m not even done with it yet. Her descriptions are amazingly tight, it isn’t genre fantasy, and it doesn’t even have a terribly overt plot-line. There’s something coming together now, two hundred pages into a 315 page book. But even so, Moon isn’t rushing ahead to the climax. This is a days-in-the-life book, and every important moment is savored – even ones that don’t seem (to someone coming off two bad fantasy books) that important. It took me a while to get into it, because it was so radically off of what I anticipated. Now, I’m looking forward to a re-read, so I can read it right.

But don’t worry, I’m still plugging away through my reading list. Finishing Sheepfarmer’s today, then picking 

up The Great Gatsby, a book, I admit, I should have read a long time ago.

See you tomorrow.

Emotion du jour: Contentment

Serving up another helping of fictional emotion, today we look at contentment. Peace. Satisfaction. Completeness. Not so much joy or exuberance or excitement – those are sharper feelings. Contentment is a more general placidity. The Pacific Ocean smacking a rocky cove is exuberance: Crater Lake in the fall is contentment.

But contentment is personal, isn’t it – especially the contentment that is 100% synonymous with completeness. As such, it is contextual. In a novel, contentment for a character should depend on the thing they’re about to lose, or the thing they want to gain. When you watch a movie, see how many start out with scenes of contentment: Eragon – and probably myriad other fantasy stories – are prime examples. Eragon begins at the farm, playfully rough-housing with his cousin Roran. We don’t even need to be told that this will soon end, and life will irrevocably change for Eragon. Other stories end with contentment: “They lived happily ever after” is not clichéd by under-use, after all. But good stories with happy endings, I would argue, give us glimpses of contentment along the way, foreshadowing the resolution of the story. Because, you see, it is difficult to know the protagonist is content at the end of the story unless we know what contentment looks like to the protagonist before the end of the story. However, since I’m only doing a snippet of fiction here, I’ll do the best I can. 

Enjoy.

His had been a long life. Not that he was old – well, a twenty-something kid might call him old. But his had been a life full of long days. Winters in Buffalo, New York meant waking up early to dig out the sidewalk and car, and summers meant working first shift at the factory. He lost a son to war twenty years ago, and a wife to cancer five years after that. His mother and father were long gone, of course, and the rest of his family had never been close.

But he’d put in his time. He’d made it. Five years ago he met Aggie, and they soon married. They sat now, hand in hand, on a porch swing in Colorado; his front yard extended across rolling hills to the Rocky Mountains, and hired landscapers kept the verdant lawn between the house and the driveway at a pleasant height. Pale shadows from shimmering, billowing clouds slid across the green ranges to the west, and a mild, cooling breeze ruffled the grasses. Wind chimes on the far corner of the house lent deep, sauntering tones to the evening, blending time into insignificance.

As the sun lowered, and another day of his life was closing, he drew a deep breath. “What do you think heaven is like?” he asked quietly.

Aggie smiled and squeezed his hand. “We’ll be a lot younger,” she replied.

See you tomorrow.

Channeling Ann Swinfen

As in, In Defense of Fantasy. Great book.

Well things are progressing nicely, over here. The tree is up and abundantly festooned, clearing much of the living room floor of decorations; I finished book two of six of my reading list this morning, and the next book should be done by Wednesday; and my friend/mentor has completed the first pass through my novel, and given excellent feedback in a number of areas.

So the first two books I’ve read this break – fantasy books, too – have gone, I suppose, as well as could be expected. One was a Christian fantasy, the other a genre fantasy. Interesting divergence; both were marked by bad romances – the Christian because of how clichéd and unrealistic it was, and the genre because of how much suggested sex there was – and both had their moments of unashamed fantastic elements. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it just is. Dragons of Chiril by Donita K. Paul, a Christian fantasy, had dragons whose sole and primary purpose was to make traveling faster. They were, in essence, fantasy aircraft. I don’t know if the fear was in making it too fantasy, and appearing escapist and deceitful. Then there was Wulder, Chiril’s version of God – also rather transparent, possibly probably again to avoid appearing deceitful. There is, too, the good chance the book is intended for younger crowds, and the author and publisher don’t want to confuse the poor tykes further.

Dragons of Winter Night by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman is a D&D novel. Need I say more. Okay, it has the kender who thieves, loves adventures, is horribly inquisitive, and – to be absurdly blunt – is a bit Peregrin Tookish. There are the reclusive elves who hate humans, the human men who appear weak and yet have a certain strength – it’s Lord of the Rings, okay? Different names, different places, but LotR through and through, in a D&D environment.

It reminds me of the woman’s struggle, against which Ursula K. Le Guin spoke at Mills College, back in the 80’s I think. Whether women submit to men or stand in opposition to them, they are still defining themselves by them. Le Guin argued women need to define themselves by themselves.

It seems like fantasy has taken a similar route, only it defines itself by Tolkien – whether in submission to it, or in opposition to it. Fantasy books so often are trying to duplicate LotR, or refute it, instead of defining itself by itself. Or, like Paul, are trying to use fantasy to reach people just because it’s popular.

I would like to see respect for fantasy as a genre. I understand I’m biased, since it’s the genre I write. But we do books a disservice first by noting it only in how it relates to Tolkien, or by noting only its popularity – and not on its own terms. There is a fine yet distinct line between fantasy and allegory, and while I agree fantasy is a perfect realm within which to discuss concepts that may be unapproachable in “reality,” I do not argue that fantasy should be allegorical. In fact, I vehemently oppose it. The elements within a fantasy novel should be there to support the framework of the fantastic world, not to support the framework of some outside world – and yet, the fantastic framework can be used to suggest an outside, real framework for “hypothetical” consideration. For instance, R.A. Salvatore suggests – firmly within the framework of his own D&D-based works – that the “god” a person chooses is based on their own characteristics: a war-like god for warriors, a benevolent god for healers, et cetera. Fine idea, and somewhat true – those with high intelligence are likely to make reason their “god,” that is, the thing that will “save mankind” from the evil we see in the world. (The American public school system is somewhat predicated on that notion as well – that, with enough knowledge – boys and girls will grow up into well-functioning adults.)

But that’s an aside. The point is, fantasy in today’s skeptical society is a perfect avenue to open the possibility of something outside the world which we can put an instrument on and test. If you think that’s ludicrous that anything exists outside scientific study, take a look at psychology and social psychology for a couple minutes: measurable electronic impulses only tell us so much; there are yet parts of human psyche and emotion that cannot be accounted or predicted for. Just ask Lieutenant Commander Data.

See you tomorrow.

Back, and Forward

So, I’ve been away for a while. Some of you might have noticed odd silences on Facebook of Twitter. See, it’s Finals Week – or, it was. It’s over now. And I’ve survived seven Finals Weeks thus far – less than some, but more than others – and I’m getting a handle on what it takes to get through them. This year, with five papers and two tests due within three days, it meant putting my head down and not letting myself get distracted. Even by this blog. Or my fiancée.

That went well.

But now, though not entirely out of the woods, I can step back and breathe a little. My reading list for 

Christmas break is now up to six books: Dragons of Chiril by Donita K. Paul; Dragons of Autumn Twilight by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman; Sheepfarmer’s Daughter by Elizabeth Moon; The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald; East of Eden by John Steinbeck; and The Life of Pi by Yann Martel.

I’m still getting advice and comments on my book from my friend, so the official revision won’t begin till probably the first or second week of January. But, sensing that I probably won’t be able to last that long, I may start tinkering in the next week here or so. Then it’ll be time to start agent-hunting again.

I spoke with my adviser on Wednesday about him reading my book, and about looking for agents. We did a quick search on agentquery.com for agents looking for Christian and Fantasy, accepted email queries, was a member of AAR, and who are actively seeking new clients. My adviser said we might get fifteen hits, if we were lucky. We got two; and one of them wasn’t working as an agent anymore.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately…) getting rid of the “Christian” modifier expands the search to a whopping 35.

So, that’s how I’m moving forward. Let’s all have a good Christmas, or whatever holiday you and yours celebrate this winter solstice.

See you Monday (promise).

What to Write When Nothing's Left

Writer’s block: we all get it, and there are probably hundreds of books that talk about how to beat it. Maybe I’m trying to be a prophet: just inside the front edge of five final papers, I’m perhaps anticipating a little writer’s block coming my way by week’s end. What I’m not trying to give you here is a comprehensive list that will reach all writers for how to get rid of their block. Sometimes, quietude is necessary; I don’t know how many times I’ve stopped trying to push my writing and went for a ride – only to find my muse again. She doesn’t like being pent up in the house all day either, I’ve found. And you need to leave to find her.

Oftentimes, though, she’s hiding in the roots of my desire to write. Just as many times, I’m sure, when I take a step back to remind myself what my book (and series) is trying to do, I find my voice and desire once more. One peer critic in my creative writing class noted that my story was an example of writing a story around a theme instead of pulling the theme from the story – and said it in a bad way. Now, they just didn’t quite understand what was going on in the plot so they didn’t see a story. Others did, and this warmed my heart; but I think it’s a very post-modern thing to write a story and hope it has a theme – or perhaps just a purely wrong thing to do so. A writer can usually never tell whether the theme will speak to the zeitgeist, and that’s where they may say: “I just hope this strikes a chord in people” or some such statement. But the books that last are ones that aren’t just randomly a story – that’s why there are great writers, the majority of whose professional works are all good, not just random books. They have a point beyond telling a good story – they last through time because the basic human condition lasts through time, and their work can speak to successive generations.

There is another way to go, though, as I’m discovering through a work I’m reading now. It happens to be a Christian book, but any book is prone to this: and that is to push past trying to promote a theme and outright preaching. And yes, evolutionary atheists can preach too. I am with Tolkien who “cordially disliked allegory,” except I may more than cordially dislike it. For one thing, it insults the reader’s intelligence by assuming you can’t talk about your topic in straightforward terms.

And yet, I am promoting my ideas through my writing, and at times I need to squelch it a little from a desire not to blow my reader’s ears off. But when I take time to remember what cultural ill I am trying to address, and more importantly remember my passion in addressing it – that’s when the writing comes.

See you tomorrow.

Emotion du jour: Confusion

Confusion – but to show it without confusing the reader. According to Mrs. Hood, relying on sensory overload of the character is cheap, and bad, and rarely realistic. What she doesn’t discuss, but what I see in real life, are the different levels of confusion. I see the sharp, disorienting kind that hits you when you’re trying to understand a difficult concept, and someone’s “helpful” suggestion is not so helpful and just makes you more confused; and a more overwhelming “state” of confusion, usually attending life decisions. The “state of confusion” is more diffuse, less sharp, and ebbs and flows along with uncertainty – but is still different from pure uncertainty. My character spends time in both kinds of confusion, so it’d be good for me to get these right. For the sake of space, we’ll stick with a sharp, momentary confusion: and let’s see what we can do.

Thank you so much for the wonderful time, that night. You reached down when I was at my lowest point, and you pulled me up. I didn’t want to move to Oregon without you knowing that.

Brad flipped the card over; was this for real? For Christmas? Merry Christmas; your wife cheated on you. The address was correct: Brad and Stephanie Pelmont, 325 Circle Drive. He had never given someone a wonderful night, had he? Brad shook his head violently: not Dave Paulos. What the heck?

He read the card again: Merry Christmas, thanks for the wonderful night. The last time they had seen Dave was six months ago, at Chris’ birthday bash at Backdoor Tavern. He and Steph had gotten a little tipsy, sure – but she had never left his elbow, had she? Not long enough to….

Brad glanced over the card one more time, and then it caught his eye, way in the corner: Jenny.

A grin split Brad’s face. Whoops.

Tuesday’s prompt, so far, is Contentment. See you tomorrow.

Emotion du jour: Anxiety

Anxiety. We all have it, at one point or another; chances are, however, we’re not really paying attention to how it manifests itself. Wouldn’t that make it so much easier for writers to portray it, or any other of a host of emotions? If anyone needed out-of-body experiences, it would be writers, at least once for each emotional episode they have. That would be cool.

But, perhaps the best any of us can do – at least to start practicing – is to recall a time we were anxious, and try to recreate the feeling – not so much the event itself – of what it was to be anxious. As I have a somewhat morbid attraction to anxiety, let me dip into my personal experience once again.

He never should have had coffee; it always sat like a ball of aluminum foil in his stomach, distracting him. This was not the day to be distracted, or the week, even. He sat back from his computer, trying to recall what was coming up. Three classes tomorrow, each with a reading due; but that was easy, he read through books like a chimp swings through trees. There was, however, a seven-page paper due by next week; and as much as he loved writing – and loved History of the English Language and its attendant professor, Dr. Wault – seven pages were a lot. Especially after a mid-term: that had been yesterday.

Some tests were easy, and he felt good about them when he was done. There might be one or two answers he wasn’t sure of, and a few he was only fairly certain of; but most he felt confident about. Not yesterday’s mid-term. Not to say the majority of them were a guess; but there were so many good answers, and no “all-of-the-above”s to make him feel good.

That was it. Personal, Intentional, Effectual Revelation of Reality. PIE-ROR. Well that was one he missed. Who structured an entire class around two papers and two tests? What other questions did he miss? That was the problem; he could have missed any of them. He could have even missed all of them.

He leaned forward again, trying to get the mid-term out of his mind. It was over now, wasn’t it?

He shouldn’t have had coffee. But wait; he hadn’t had any today.

See you tomorrow.

Genre or Literary

In my last post, I mentioned the fiction with “genre-“ in the vanguard, and I thought I’d dive a little deeper into that today. It’s an interest of mine, because “fantasy” is a kind of fiction often arbitrarily attached to “genre-.”

Now, don’t get me wrong: I know that “genre-fantasy” is real, it’s alive, and it’s rampant in America today. My academic advisor has intimated – well, in truth, he has outright said this; I’m not sure that’s a holistic definition for him or not. But he has indicated a belief that all fantasy is genre fantasy. I don’t think truly discerning critics will see no difference between Dragonlance and Lord of the Rings. And there are books out there trying to firmly divide asunder the difference between literary fantasy and genre fantasy. Let me try to briefly give my own views, and one goal I am working personally toward with my book(s).

Genre fantasy is fantasy in which the author and reader live firmly in the knowledge that they are reading a fantasy world. A great example is Dragonlance: Dragons of Autumn Twilight. I have both the book and the movie, and both are good in their own ways. But the characters’ worldview is one in which heroes are “Chosen” and go on quests and adventures, and defeat great evil. And to an extent, even the characters in Lord of the Rings acknowledge this – but its more from a sense that they are living in a great and terrible time, and great deeds must meet great evil in order for everyone – or even anyone – to survive. The characters’ hesitancy is not: “I’m not a hero,” as it is in Dragonlance. Rather, their hesitancy is simply in their feeling of inadequacy to meet the challenges before them. No real human being is ever going to say, in the midst of a real-life circumstance or struggle, “I’m not a hero.” They may very well say: “I don’t think I can do this,” which is in Lord of the Rings.

That, I believe, is the key to literary fantasy – and constitutes my goal when writing my book. I want my readers to reach the end and think something along the lines of: “I understand this has dragons and magic in it; but why is this labeled fantasy? It seems like real life to me.” In different words, I don’t want my characters to live in the knowledge that they are in a fantasy world. It’s fantasy to us, because the creatures and some of the rules in it are fanciful, and don’t actually exist in reality. By definition alone, the world in the book is fantasy; the characters, however, should be real. I want the book to say: “You will never fight a Cerberus; but you will encounter a circumstance that seems to overwhelm you, that you feel completely unequipped to fight, and may paralyze you with terror; and this is how you may feel. But with strength and friends, you can overcome it.”

That is what genre-fantasy ignores: it says that this world and these characters are fantasy to you, and to the characters. It doesn’t acknowledge that the fantasy world is normal to the characters – there’s always some assumption at some level by the characters that things aren’t real. Not our real, anyway.

See you tomorrow.

I Think This Book Is Not A Home

I’m at an interesting place with writing my book. Like Professor Grady Tripp (from the movie version): “It’s done! Well, basically; I’ve still got a little tinkering I gotta do…” Now, of course, that will change if it ever finds its way into the rending claws of an editor; but for now, I’m finding places here and there where adding a line or a short scene, or extending a particular scene, or cutting some lines or a scene, all just tweaks the story a little bit, and brings in elements that I’m realizing I want/need.

And it’s fun; kinda like building a huge house, and all the plumbing and electrical work is done – now I’m just decorating and painting the walls. Maybe the walls are even painted. It’s ready to “live” in, it’s just not a “home” yet, filled with all my personal knick-knacks, and maybe some floral arrangements. I’m secure in my manhood, and some greenery brings life to what might be an otherwise dull home.

And I’m not saying my book is a dull home – I rather like it. But I’ve also been living in it longer than any of you, and I’ve gotten quite used to it. I know where everything is, and I like it there; and I think I have a few interesting gewgaws tucked away unobtrusively in the corners that some people touring might notice and think: “Wow, that’s really cool!”

But I have been living in it longer than any of you – even my fiancée, who has declared to me that she’s ready for me to move on; I mean, she has read probably five versions of chapter one. And I’m uncertain if anyone else might enjoy living in it, even for a few days. So I’m opening it to some select, discerning friends to take a tour of the house, see if it’s ready for the market.

That, at least, is one place where the metaphor flips: people looking for a nice house are looking for somewhere to stay. And, in a sense, with an entire series planned I do want them to be comfortable enough in my world to want to stay. But, really, the true measure might not be how long they stay, but how quickly they tour the house. “I just couldn’t put it down” is, after all, supremely higher praise than: “I just couldn’t pick it up.” I can’t say I’m looking for people to lose sleep over it – the best book I’ve ever read, Card’s Ender’s Game, was absolutely riveting; but it still took me two days to read it. At the same time, I hope they return for the knick-knacks and floral arrangements – those little tweaks I’m working in now that give the book its “replay value,” to mix in a gaming metaphor. Games with low replay-value are ones where the gamer catches everything the game offers in one play-through. Books with low re-read value are the same way – and generally have the suffix “genre-“ attached to them. Games with high replay-value, on the opposite hand, are games which are so expansive and so detailed in gaming and plot that there is no earthly way to get everything out of just one play-through.

I would suggest – not argue, just yet, but suggest – that books with high re-read values are the ones that are so “true” that a reader’s context will change their perception of the book. That a scene, read ten months after the first reading when the reader’s life and circumstances have changed, will carry new meaning that it could not carry – not for that individual reader – when it was first read ten months ago.

So that’s what I’m trying to do: add contexts, details, ideas and themes that will resonate differently at different times in a reader’s life. We’ll see how that goes.

See you Monday.

Emotion du jour: Anger

Even though I started with apathy, I realized this would be a lot easier to just go through the book alphabetically. And perhaps more fun, as I can let you know what the next emotion is.

Today, as you can see, is anger. Anger, as Hood writes, is a difficult emotion as well – though perhaps still not quite as difficult as apathy. A lot of writers can get anger across; but to get it across effectively and realistically, that’s the rub. Anger is one of those ones that rarely come alone – usually, it brings friends, or friends bring it: frustration, exhaustion, and sadness to name a few, are usually in close cohorts with anger. So to have characters suddenly yelling at one another, or punching one another, is not terribly effective or real. So let’s see what I can do to bring this emotion alive.

Jason sat with his head on the desk, trying to breathe as the sharp edge pressed harder against his chest. The world, it seemed, was intent on denying him sleep. A shadow framed the edges of his vision, and he looked up: Dr. Langer stood in front of him, looking sideways at another student as the paper dropped from his fingers.

“Thanks,” Jason mumbled. He didn’t feel it, and hadn’t for a long time, but still he said it. As Dr. Langer smiled and moved on, Jason picked up the paper and glanced over it. Dr. Langer was one of the few professors here who graded with a pencil. It was so non-confrontational, the soft lead scrawling notes of praise and condemnation equally. As he read, Jason was glad the notes were not in red, where everyone could see them – there was, in the margins, probably more essay than what he had written.

He continued to flip through the ten-page diatribe, skipping over the sparse exclamations of “nice!” and getting to what mattered – the parts where he fell short. There were a lot of those. Somewhere around page eight, Jason stopped and flipped back a few pages.

It can’t be this bad, he thought. He read an instruction, and looked at the paragraph it annotated. But I meant to do that! he thought. Dr. Langer really couldn’t see that? Of course it stuck out – so had the piece of Xenophon’s speech.

Jason flipped forward again. Another condemnation, falsely leveled at what was actually the more brilliant part of the paper, Jason thought; as was a note on the next page, and the next. By page eight, he was barely paying attention to what was written.

Whatever. This guy obviously just doesn’t get it. Jason flipped to the last page, and set his jaw. Add another C-plus to the stack, he snapped in his mind. He pushed the paper into his backpack, not caring that a folder snagged a few pages and bent them upward. He yanked the zipper closed, turned back to the desk, and put his head back down, feeling the edge of the desk crease his ribs once more.

Just some sleep. Can I just get some sleep?

Still feel free to leave a prompt in the comments, if you so desire. If I don’t get some other inspiration, Tuesday we’ll be looking at anxiety. See you tomorrow.