Is it not the sign of the sheerest insanity that, while reviewing the notes I’ve made in my Farley file of characters for reference purposes (I confess I’ve done this: despite the enormous size of my head, not even IT can contain the encyclopaedic amounts of information generally shelved therein…which is to say, even the size of MY head has its limits*, so I do make notes and reference sheets for complicated novels, plots, ideas and even entire worlds) I find myself going off into entire tangents about each character, including their origins, experiences in their life which demonstrates what made them the ‘people’ they are today…To the point where there is literally another entire book/story/set of stories contained therein? For each character of note? It’s unending, and mind-wrackingly so.
While the ideas may be unending, my time is most certainly not; when looking around my brain, my first thought is, ‘I wish I could get a good editor in here’.
(Just like that, see? [points to the period/comma above])
To look at it another way, this is all either the blathering word-salad of a madman, or the ravings of brilliance.
While I remain unconvinced I’m possessed of actual brilliance, the alternative is far less attractive to me, so I prefer assuming the latter, while fearing the former is actually the case.
~J
--
*Hard to believe, I know.
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
On Characters
Creating original characters is, at least for me, fundamentally very easy: I've read too much, known such a large number of different people from such disparate walks of life (including different countries, 'social classes', what-have-you), to say nothing of all the garbage rattling around my dark and dusty mind that I've always got ample material to create fictional characters, no problem.
Creating original, INTERESTING characters is another story entirely: I am capable of doing so, and have done so (and will likely continue doing so, at least until my mind gives out entirely), though I don't see it as easy or difficult (it's both); and for a writer of fiction -- aka 'a storyteller' or less euphemistically a 'liar' -- it's a bit of a must, as writing about boring characters is, well...Boring. And who'd ever want to read it?
I suppose one of the benefits/hazards of having led an interesting life is (at least for a fiction writer) that it renders most of the characters one could think of sometimes rather tame, in comparison; of course, this, in turn, forces one to populate one's mind (and writing) with characters who are 'over the top', as it were; riddled with flaws which even I would check myself into a psychiatric facility over, people who have strange beginnings and (sometimes) horrifying ends...
And, well, to be entirely honest, I don't know how some of the characters I've created truly came about, so, like Poe's explanation for how he wrote The Raven (which no one, to the best of my knowledge, actually *believes* is how he wrote it, being merely a dissertation using logic to serve as a footpath for his true creative genius which he couldn't name), this particular essay of mine is bound to be just as disappointing (more so, given it wasn't penned by Poe :D).
I can say my favorite (and, I think, most interesting) characters come to me either entirely or mostly fully-formed, leaving very little for my conscious mind to do; therefore, I cannot give anyone much advice as to the creation of characters.
Of those which are not 100% formed, I've found that writing a few pages as that character quickly fleshes them out; one time I dashed off at least 10-12 thousand words which was merely a conversation between two characters, the writing of which revealed to *me* more about them than would ever appear in any story.
I suppose one thing I can say is when creating a character, know *everything* about them. I can think of one character I created who (partially) survived the Great Famine in Ireland in the 1840s by resorting to cannibalism; I can also tell you about his relationship with his parents, when he first kissed a girl, and who he had a crush on, though (almost) none of those things are even remotely pertinent to the story he is in, and therefore won't ever appear in writing.
I have another character I could easily write a book solely about (actually, I have a number), including his innate acrophilia, which led him to fly an Albatross for the Luftstreitkräfte in WWI, and (while never an Überkanonen, given his avoidance of combat wherever possible) his eventual ditching of that particular make (either a BII or CII -- my mind dims with age, obviously) only to fake his own death and pop up flying a Sopwith Camel for the opposing side -- and not because he had any desire to shoot anyone down, really gave a shit about who won or which side was 'right', nor was he eager to engage in aerial combat -- merely because he wished so very badly to be able to *fly*, and went to what would be, to any sane person, incredible and dangerous lengths to do so (particularly given that period of time). That little to none of the above information appears in writing connected with him is...What it is.
My point -- were I to have one, which I'm certain anyone reading this drivel would argue vehemently against -- is that, to make *real* characters, they must be real to the *writer*, first and foremost.
'If you're writing in the first person, you must be that person' and all that jazz. Obviously, if one is writing a story and one has two-dimensional characters, the reader will sense this *immediately* -- I know I have -- and when one has created compelling, interesting characters, that can make for an enjoyable read, even if the plot isn't as good as it should be (even if only from a purely Aristotelian perspective), while the reverse is not true: even the best plot will put most people to sleep if the characters are trite knockoffs/boring/garbage.
Perhaps the 'secret' to creating compelling characters, fully clothed, born in one's mind as complete and whole as Athena was when she sprang from the forehead of Zeus, is to have an overly full mind ;)
Creating original, INTERESTING characters is another story entirely: I am capable of doing so, and have done so (and will likely continue doing so, at least until my mind gives out entirely), though I don't see it as easy or difficult (it's both); and for a writer of fiction -- aka 'a storyteller' or less euphemistically a 'liar' -- it's a bit of a must, as writing about boring characters is, well...Boring. And who'd ever want to read it?
I suppose one of the benefits/hazards of having led an interesting life is (at least for a fiction writer) that it renders most of the characters one could think of sometimes rather tame, in comparison; of course, this, in turn, forces one to populate one's mind (and writing) with characters who are 'over the top', as it were; riddled with flaws which even I would check myself into a psychiatric facility over, people who have strange beginnings and (sometimes) horrifying ends...
And, well, to be entirely honest, I don't know how some of the characters I've created truly came about, so, like Poe's explanation for how he wrote The Raven (which no one, to the best of my knowledge, actually *believes* is how he wrote it, being merely a dissertation using logic to serve as a footpath for his true creative genius which he couldn't name), this particular essay of mine is bound to be just as disappointing (more so, given it wasn't penned by Poe :D).
I can say my favorite (and, I think, most interesting) characters come to me either entirely or mostly fully-formed, leaving very little for my conscious mind to do; therefore, I cannot give anyone much advice as to the creation of characters.
Of those which are not 100% formed, I've found that writing a few pages as that character quickly fleshes them out; one time I dashed off at least 10-12 thousand words which was merely a conversation between two characters, the writing of which revealed to *me* more about them than would ever appear in any story.
I suppose one thing I can say is when creating a character, know *everything* about them. I can think of one character I created who (partially) survived the Great Famine in Ireland in the 1840s by resorting to cannibalism; I can also tell you about his relationship with his parents, when he first kissed a girl, and who he had a crush on, though (almost) none of those things are even remotely pertinent to the story he is in, and therefore won't ever appear in writing.
I have another character I could easily write a book solely about (actually, I have a number), including his innate acrophilia, which led him to fly an Albatross for the Luftstreitkräfte in WWI, and (while never an Überkanonen, given his avoidance of combat wherever possible) his eventual ditching of that particular make (either a BII or CII -- my mind dims with age, obviously) only to fake his own death and pop up flying a Sopwith Camel for the opposing side -- and not because he had any desire to shoot anyone down, really gave a shit about who won or which side was 'right', nor was he eager to engage in aerial combat -- merely because he wished so very badly to be able to *fly*, and went to what would be, to any sane person, incredible and dangerous lengths to do so (particularly given that period of time). That little to none of the above information appears in writing connected with him is...What it is.
My point -- were I to have one, which I'm certain anyone reading this drivel would argue vehemently against -- is that, to make *real* characters, they must be real to the *writer*, first and foremost.
'If you're writing in the first person, you must be that person' and all that jazz. Obviously, if one is writing a story and one has two-dimensional characters, the reader will sense this *immediately* -- I know I have -- and when one has created compelling, interesting characters, that can make for an enjoyable read, even if the plot isn't as good as it should be (even if only from a purely Aristotelian perspective), while the reverse is not true: even the best plot will put most people to sleep if the characters are trite knockoffs/boring/garbage.
Perhaps the 'secret' to creating compelling characters, fully clothed, born in one's mind as complete and whole as Athena was when she sprang from the forehead of Zeus, is to have an overly full mind ;)
Thursday, November 20, 2014
Purpose of Fiction...Or Fictional Purpose...?
While my own opinion of my writing is I write very well (and, when it comes to things such as technical documentation, articles, and the like, the consensus has always seemed to agree with me), when it comes to the fiction I've written I confess to being entirely incapable of making a sound judgment as to its value or worth.
Of course, when discussing the 'value' or 'worth' of fiction, I know that's a broad enough area that each person could think of and probably has their own definition(s), and I'm not one to argue that, as I've little desire to get lost in the endless terrain of general semantics.
When I refer to fiction as having value, what I mean is how well it serves the purpose of entertaining. Period. Conveying lessons, espousing philosophies, etcetera etcetera -- sure, one can stick some of that into fiction, if so desired, though if it's not organic to the work itself, the reader will spit it out in annoyance much as a cat will a pill which is hidden so ‘dexterously (if ineffectively) in their favorite food’, which brings me back to my main point, that being the primary purpose of fiction is to entertain, with the pinnacle of achievement being to write something so enjoyable the reader cannot put it down, and which they find themselves blissfully immersed in, so much so, ideally, that they are likely to bother reading it more than once.
As a reader of some years, when I think of my favorite fiction books, regardless of genre, those are the qualities which define the truly great books from all the rest: the ones I can read and re-read, and never tire of despite knowing how they end; the ones I happen to glance at and, within minutes, am utterly swept back into; the kind I’d love to simply step into and never leave.
Kindly note my visual memory is exceptionally acute, to the point where I can generally quote lines of text verbatim (or nearly so, though no, I do not have an ‘eidetic’ memory) directly from books I've read, even many years later; that, combined with my disdain for any story regardless of medium which I can figure out where it’s going/how it ends within the first few minutes of reading it, and that should illustrate what I mean when I say for me, to read a book I’ve already read before is one of the surest signs I enjoyed it above all others.
I remain unconvinced I've yet to write anything which meets the above standards, which is to say, I'll just have to keep trying.
~J
Of course, when discussing the 'value' or 'worth' of fiction, I know that's a broad enough area that each person could think of and probably has their own definition(s), and I'm not one to argue that, as I've little desire to get lost in the endless terrain of general semantics.
When I refer to fiction as having value, what I mean is how well it serves the purpose of entertaining. Period. Conveying lessons, espousing philosophies, etcetera etcetera -- sure, one can stick some of that into fiction, if so desired, though if it's not organic to the work itself, the reader will spit it out in annoyance much as a cat will a pill which is hidden so ‘dexterously (if ineffectively) in their favorite food’, which brings me back to my main point, that being the primary purpose of fiction is to entertain, with the pinnacle of achievement being to write something so enjoyable the reader cannot put it down, and which they find themselves blissfully immersed in, so much so, ideally, that they are likely to bother reading it more than once.
As a reader of some years, when I think of my favorite fiction books, regardless of genre, those are the qualities which define the truly great books from all the rest: the ones I can read and re-read, and never tire of despite knowing how they end; the ones I happen to glance at and, within minutes, am utterly swept back into; the kind I’d love to simply step into and never leave.
Kindly note my visual memory is exceptionally acute, to the point where I can generally quote lines of text verbatim (or nearly so, though no, I do not have an ‘eidetic’ memory) directly from books I've read, even many years later; that, combined with my disdain for any story regardless of medium which I can figure out where it’s going/how it ends within the first few minutes of reading it, and that should illustrate what I mean when I say for me, to read a book I’ve already read before is one of the surest signs I enjoyed it above all others.
I remain unconvinced I've yet to write anything which meets the above standards, which is to say, I'll just have to keep trying.
~J
Thursday, November 6, 2014
"Accordingly, the [author] should prefer probable impossibilities to improbable possibilities. The tragic plot must not be composed of irrational parts. Everything irrational should, if possible, be excluded; or, at all events, it should lie outside the action of the play […].
“The plea that otherwise the plot would have been ruined, is ridiculous; such a plot should not in the first instance be constructed. But once the irrational has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted to it, we must accept it in spite of the absurdity.”
--Aristotle (Poetics)
I was considering documenting some of the strange thoughts which go through my head, yet I find many almost too strange to be properly documented; just in the sense that a picture says a thousand words, a single constructed universe, complete with characters, peoples, places, even a visual reference which remains in my head -- it would take me untold thousands of words to begin even describing it (which is precisely what one should NOT do when writing fiction); to set it down here, or even elsewhere, in print, would be a phenomenal waste of time...Wouldn't it...?
I suppose that's the point of my writing, here, in this poorly light, dusty little corner of the Internet; perhaps some of what I may come to say may serve someone else, or find purpose which others are yet to discover.
Still: it remains that, as I am doing writing elsewhere, less will be done here, and the reverse. Given I have a finite amount of time, that cannot be helped.
While it is tempting to comment further, I still await to hear more, so I shall attempt to exercise the virtue of silence, preferring neither to damn myself with excessive criticism nor false praise, both of which are equally pernicious if opposite sides of the same filthy coin.
There is something to be said for writing in silence; that is, creating in silence, free from critics, whether one's own internal one or critiques of others, and writing into a file (or into an otherwise quiet, audience-free blog) satisfies that well enough. Once creation is done, however, one must have criticism. That, or -- I suppose -- supreme confidence that everything one has created is perfect in every way. I am positive countless number of people have had such confidence; I am equally certain the larger share of them were wrong. For every William Blake, there are millions of us with nothing particularly useful to say.
~JMB
“The plea that otherwise the plot would have been ruined, is ridiculous; such a plot should not in the first instance be constructed. But once the irrational has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted to it, we must accept it in spite of the absurdity.”
--Aristotle (Poetics)
I was considering documenting some of the strange thoughts which go through my head, yet I find many almost too strange to be properly documented; just in the sense that a picture says a thousand words, a single constructed universe, complete with characters, peoples, places, even a visual reference which remains in my head -- it would take me untold thousands of words to begin even describing it (which is precisely what one should NOT do when writing fiction); to set it down here, or even elsewhere, in print, would be a phenomenal waste of time...Wouldn't it...?
I suppose that's the point of my writing, here, in this poorly light, dusty little corner of the Internet; perhaps some of what I may come to say may serve someone else, or find purpose which others are yet to discover.
Still: it remains that, as I am doing writing elsewhere, less will be done here, and the reverse. Given I have a finite amount of time, that cannot be helped.
While it is tempting to comment further, I still await to hear more, so I shall attempt to exercise the virtue of silence, preferring neither to damn myself with excessive criticism nor false praise, both of which are equally pernicious if opposite sides of the same filthy coin.
There is something to be said for writing in silence; that is, creating in silence, free from critics, whether one's own internal one or critiques of others, and writing into a file (or into an otherwise quiet, audience-free blog) satisfies that well enough. Once creation is done, however, one must have criticism. That, or -- I suppose -- supreme confidence that everything one has created is perfect in every way. I am positive countless number of people have had such confidence; I am equally certain the larger share of them were wrong. For every William Blake, there are millions of us with nothing particularly useful to say.
~JMB
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