So, I did another writing exercise to loosen the bonds of writer's block. Luckily for you (or unluckily, depending on your perspective), I decided to share it here! I did this one using the same title generator as last time.
"The Parlor Alexander the Great"
© A.L.S. Vossler 2015
Rae sat down in the luxurious armchair in Mrs. Mulway’s house. She always loved coming here; Mrs. Mulway had a constant supply of delicious cookies. Currently, Mrs. Mulway was in the kitchen boiling water for Rae’s tea.
“Are your parents still fighting, dear?” Mrs. Mulway’s voice came from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Rae said. Mrs. Mulway didn’t know the half of it, but Rae didn’t want to talk about it. She hadn’t come over here to talk about her parents; she’d come here to get away from them. For just a little while, she could look over the nifty things in her elderly neighbor’s parlor. For just a little while, she could forget her parents’ screaming. For just a little while, she could forget the sound of her step-dad beating up her mom. She could forget how much she hated him.
The room was filled with all kinds of curios, some of which were under a considerable layer of dust. As Rae’s eyes traveled across the mantelpiece, she saw something new: a glass dome display case containing an 11-inch figurine, a little man who was dressed like he was from ancient Greece. Rae got up and stood on her tiptoes so that she could peer at the inscription that was on the base plate: Alexander the Great.
Rae tilted her head from side to side. He would have made a good friend for one of her Barbie dolls. Barbie probably would like his fancy armor. Rae glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Mulway was busy in kitchen still, but the kettle was beginning to whistle. It would be less than a minute before she would come back into the room.
No. Stealing was bad, and Mrs. Mulway was nice. It wouldn’t be right.
Rae turned back to look at the figurine again. She almost screamed when she saw that the little man was pressed up against the side of the dome. “Help me.” His voice was muffled through the glass. “You have to help me.”
“What will you do if I help you?”
“There is nothing I cannot do, young mistress. I conquered all of Asia Minor ere my eighteenth birthday!” He put his hands on his hips and struck a confident pose.
A sense of power swept over Rae. She wasn’t sure what Asia Minor was, but she knew what Asia was: it was the biggest continent in the world. A man who could conquer Asia was the most powerful thing there was, especially if he was so tiny. Forget not stealing. Forget right and wrong. “You’ll do anything I ask you to?”
“By the gods, I swear I will.”
Rae gritted her teeth. “I want you to kill my step-dad.”
Criticism (constructive or otherwise) is welcome in the comments.
Did you enjoy this piece of flash fiction? Take a moment to share it on your favorite social network.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Monday, January 26, 2015
Flash Fiction: A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures
If you ever frequent my other blog, The Lonely Young Writer, you may have seen my post on generating ideas. In that post, I recommend using a random title generator such as this one, and then write for ten minutes using that title as the prompt for your story.
The result is, more or less, flash fiction.
I was feeling stuck yesterday, so I decided to loosen up the writing muscles a bit by doing this exercise. The title generator spit out this monstrosity of a story title: "A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures." I was a bit flummoxed at first, but highly intrigued. I ended up spending 25 minutes or so writing it, rather than just ten, but I think it was well worth it.
As the story is speculative in nature (it has steam-powered rats; of course it's speculative), and as I haven't posted anything here since November, I thought I would share it. Constructive criticism is encouraged and welcome.
"A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures"
© A.L.S. Vossler 2015
Pain is all it knows. It sits in its glass prison, waiting, watching, hoping that the water dish and food will be returned soon. Instead, the people pour water into the reservoir on its back and shut the lid.
It hates the thing on its back. The thing on its back makes it hot, makes steam, and makes the metal legs move. It misses its old legs, the legs it could feel with, the legs it could move by itself. But the metal legs whirr and click: whirr like the tiny rotary saw tied to its metal tail, click like the buttons on the controller that moves them. They reach in with big forceps and lift it out, checking to make sure the limbs work.
They say it cannot lose the fight this time. It is better than last time. They will surely win.
The fights are the worst. Others similar to it, some with extra legs and big, sharp metal ears, or their jaws replaced with powerful vises, are put into the circle. It is made to fight with the others – fight with the others, or it is hurt by the others: scratched, cut, bitten, stabbed. Fight or die.
They say that it is time for the fight. They put it in the smaller cage and carry it away.
All it wants is to hide in the soft nest it once had; a soft nest lined with tufts of polyester and old gum wrappers. A warm and comfortable nest, surrounded by abandoned tops and jacks, a shiny tab from a pop can, balls of paper, a doll’s head, an old plastic ring: a beautiful nest filled with beautiful treasures.
A big voice echoes as they bring it into the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the battle of your life: incumbent champion, The Big Cheese, faces the challenger, The Packrat! Will The Big Cheese’s reign of terror end, or will The Packrat be nothing but a smear of blood and fur on the floor?”
It hates the fights.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.
If you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction, please take a moment to share it on your favorite social network.
Image credits: The image is a compound of "Silhouette Mouse Sitting," courtesy of Piotr Siedlecki at PublicDomainPictures.net, and "Steampunking It," courtesy of Randi Klugiewicz at PublicDomainPictures.net.
The result is, more or less, flash fiction.
I was feeling stuck yesterday, so I decided to loosen up the writing muscles a bit by doing this exercise. The title generator spit out this monstrosity of a story title: "A Steam-Powered Rat out of Treasures." I was a bit flummoxed at first, but highly intrigued. I ended up spending 25 minutes or so writing it, rather than just ten, but I think it was well worth it.
As the story is speculative in nature (it has steam-powered rats; of course it's speculative), and as I haven't posted anything here since November, I thought I would share it. Constructive criticism is encouraged and welcome.
© A.L.S. Vossler 2015
Pain is all it knows. It sits in its glass prison, waiting, watching, hoping that the water dish and food will be returned soon. Instead, the people pour water into the reservoir on its back and shut the lid.
It hates the thing on its back. The thing on its back makes it hot, makes steam, and makes the metal legs move. It misses its old legs, the legs it could feel with, the legs it could move by itself. But the metal legs whirr and click: whirr like the tiny rotary saw tied to its metal tail, click like the buttons on the controller that moves them. They reach in with big forceps and lift it out, checking to make sure the limbs work.
They say it cannot lose the fight this time. It is better than last time. They will surely win.
The fights are the worst. Others similar to it, some with extra legs and big, sharp metal ears, or their jaws replaced with powerful vises, are put into the circle. It is made to fight with the others – fight with the others, or it is hurt by the others: scratched, cut, bitten, stabbed. Fight or die.
They say that it is time for the fight. They put it in the smaller cage and carry it away.
All it wants is to hide in the soft nest it once had; a soft nest lined with tufts of polyester and old gum wrappers. A warm and comfortable nest, surrounded by abandoned tops and jacks, a shiny tab from a pop can, balls of paper, a doll’s head, an old plastic ring: a beautiful nest filled with beautiful treasures.
A big voice echoes as they bring it into the arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the battle of your life: incumbent champion, The Big Cheese, faces the challenger, The Packrat! Will The Big Cheese’s reign of terror end, or will The Packrat be nothing but a smear of blood and fur on the floor?”
It hates the fights.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.
If you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction, please take a moment to share it on your favorite social network.
Image credits: The image is a compound of "Silhouette Mouse Sitting," courtesy of Piotr Siedlecki at PublicDomainPictures.net, and "Steampunking It," courtesy of Randi Klugiewicz at PublicDomainPictures.net.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Accusation: A Short Story
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| Image courtesy of Jack Sparrow at PublicDomainPictures.net |
In my class "The Short Story and the Novel," we read Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis (Die Verwandlung). Now if you ever want an intersection of literature and speculative fiction, there it is. I absolutely loved it. For our assignment, my super awesome teacher Doug J. gave us two options: write a brief response paper, or, using Jane Smiley's "Gregor: My Life as a Bug" as an example, write a "sequel" or continuation of The Metamorphosis. If we chose the latter, we were to use it as a sort of explication of our understanding of the story. So, preferring creative writing to academic, I chose the second option. The following short story is the result of that assignment.
"Accusation"
© A.L.S. Vossler
Her screams jolted him out of sleep for the sixth time that week. She often behaved like this at night, seemingly deaf to her own screeches—and anything else around her—for despite his attempts to wake her, her eyes remained tightly shut and she continued to moan in terror or pain. Her flagellating arms and legs could not be made to lie still, and combined with her swollen belly, she reminded him forcibly of insects that, once laid upon their backs, cannot right themselves.
The first convulsion had happened on their wedding night, and it had frightened him to be certain, but he was of the philosophy that auspicious beginnings were a luxury in this day and age, and a working man simply had to take what he could get. He occasionally prided himself on his courage—after all, any other man would have already divorced the fragile young thing; but he, ah, he would stay beside her and somehow make everything right. He had watched her convulsions again and again, night after night; never seeming to come closer to discovering the cause behind them. She would always awake as her phantasm left her with a final shriek; trembling, she would cling to him and weep, all the while whispering, “Forgive me, forgive me.”
He always forgave her. But this was not the cure.
When he had first met Grete Samsa, she was a rosy-cheeked, beautiful creature: the daughter of an associate at the office. Mr. Samsa, by all accounts, had recently escaped some kind of medical misfortune; for where he had seemed wan before, he now appeared to be the picture of health. His once-rumpled uniform was now pristine daily.
“You look well as of late, Mr. Samsa,” he told his colleague one morning shortly after this peculiar metamorphosis.
“Thank you, Mr. Anklage,” replied Mr. Samsa, with a wide grin. “We have had a recent happy event at my household.”
“Might I inquire as to what that might be?” Anklage asked congenially.
A shadow crossed Mr. Samsa’s visage. “Well, perhaps it is of little consequence after all.” The lines that traced his brow furrowed, as though he was straining after a memory, but age or some other agent prevented it from being recalled. It was at that moment that Grete entered the scene, her rosy cheeks glowing with all the vitality of youth, carrying a basket which presumably contained Mr. Samsa’s midday meal. She kissed her father as she passed him the basket, but her eyes lingered with a bashful curiosity on Anklage’s face, and her rosy face turned a deeper crimson shade. Mr. Samsa smiled knowingly, and with a charming smile proceeded to ask Anklage to dinner.
Things between Anklage and Grete proceeded in clock-work fashion, and within months their marriage was in order. Everything seemed perfect, and Anklage could do nothing but predict for himself a happy and fulfilling marriage. But hardly had their blissful lives together begun when these ferocious dreams began gripping Grete during the early hours of the morning; after she awoke, she could say no words other than “forgive me.”
During their waking hours together, Anklage was loath to bring up the matter, for if he even mentioned the nighttime outbursts, Grete would cry out, bury her face in her hands, or in the most extreme case, take her fingernails and dig them into her own flesh until her blood, dark with unbalanced humors, formed stains of penitence on her white blouse. At times like these he attempted to restrain her, but she would not be appeased until the blood had successfully made its mark. Fearful of her reaction, Anklage kept the matter to himself.
As the months of their marriage progressed, Grete seemed more and more plagued by her nighttime visions, which now occurred six nights a week. Sometimes, she burst into silent convulsions at the breakfast table after a peaceful night; every muscle in her body grew tense, and her jaw locked; until a small trickle of blood (from her tongue which she had managed to bite into) emerged at the corner of her mouth. Then, only then, the fit passed.
Anklage’s alarm only continued to grow with Grete’s announcement of her pregnancy. He begged that she see a doctor for the convulsions, but she refused and started clawing at herself so fiercely that he was terrified to bring up the subject again for fear of his child’s life. As the baby grew inside her, the visions came with a startling new frequency; sometimes twice a night.
Now, as he watched her, swinging her arms about wildly as always during the paroxysms, he could do nothing but pray for the preservation his child and his wife. Her time was expected any day now, and he was afraid that she might go into labor at any moment. He spoke soothing words and stroked her swollen belly as the spasms racked her body, forever hoping that he might reach her. He could feel his unborn child too, suffering from the same agitated dreams that plagued its mother. The characteristic final shriek shook her, and she opened her eyes, terrified, and looked up into her husband’s eyes.
“God Almighty!” she cried. “Gregor, open up! I’m pleading with you!”
The atypical words affected Anklage with such shock he could barely react. “Who is Gregor?”
“I—” Grete’s eyes darted to and fro madly. “I don’t remember!” she screamed, and began digging her nails into her large belly.
With a bellow of terror, Anklage grabbed his wife’s hands away from their defenseless child. But only blood would appease her, and she fought him with preternatural strength. He allowed her nails to scratch deeply into her legs until she drew blood, yet even after this she still screamed as madly as ever.
“I killed him! I killed him! We all killed him! And did we weep in his passing? We were overjoyed! And he delivered us from debt, from debt...my brother...! Forgive! Forgive!”
“I forgive you!” shouted Anklage, over the noise of her shouts.
“Your forgiveness has no power! His blood is on me, my children...my children! We who destroyed him!” She began to scream unintelligibly, her body shaking as it had never done before, her voice attaining an unearthly, inhuman pitch; until with a snap, barely detectable amidst the chaos, her womb burst, and a cascade of polluted amniotic fluid spilled onto the bedcovers. Silence struck the room, as Grete’s panicked face froze.
Something inside of her distended body was stirring, ready to leave its prison.
Comments or constructive criticism are welcome in the comments.
Lamps and Mirrors is updated sporadically, so if you are so inclined keep up with my literary (or other) musings, use the form in the sidebar to subscribe.
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
An Exercise in Speculation
Since Lamps and Mirrors is a speculative fiction blog, I
thought we could engage in a little speculation exercise today.
Imagine, if you will, a world where the single most common
birth defect is a horrible, debilitating disorder. This irreparable defect manifests itself in
many ways. For some, it results in physical
deformation; sometimes slight, sometimes significant. For others, it results in crippling mental
disorders, including developmental delays and mood disorders. This defect prevents the sufferers from understanding
cause and effect. Their mental age is
roughly half their physical age, and that’s at the most.
For the most unlucky, it results in a combination of
physical and mental defects.
There is no therapy to make this defect go away. No surgery to correct it. No treatment will ever repair it, not even
the most advanced technology there is.
Imagine also that this birth defect, while impossible to
repair, is one hundred percent preventable.
You might be imagining a world like that in the movie
Gattaca, where people can order genetic designer babies with absolutely no
defects. No, this scenario is much
simpler than that. Instead, imagine that
doctors have developed technology that will guarantee that no baby will ever
suffer this particular birth defect. It
is the simplest thing in the world: all that a pregnant woman has to do is
carry a small, powerful box that prevents the defect.
She has to carry it with her every day. She has to have it on her person at every
moment, from conception to delivery. As
long as she has this box, she will be guaranteed that her baby will not develop
this devastating disorder.
Imagine further that this technology is provided to women
absolutely free of charge. There is no
cost. There’s no excuse not to get one
of these anti-defect boxes, because there are free anti-defect box vending
machines spaced every three feet no matter where you are in the world.
It’s practically a paradise; a world where mothers have
total control over protecting their children from this one particular birth defect,
no matter what.
Now imagine that there is a woman who decides not to use one
of these boxes. It’s scientifically
proven that her baby will be born with this disorder if she does not carry the
box with her at all times. Even if she
puts it down for just one day, her baby could suffer serious consequences.
But she doesn’t want to use this box. None of her friends have to carry a box
around. Life is so much more fun without
the box. Still, she feels guilty about
not using the box, so she tries to use it at least occasionally. This still won’t protect her baby. Every time she goes a day without the box,
her baby becomes worse and worse. Even
hours without the box can hurt the baby.
She doesn’t like the box.
She can’t take it to parties.
Plus, being pregnant is stressful, and not using the box helps her to
relax.
Imagine this world.
This world where the single most common birth defect is the only
completely preventable one. Now imagine
that mothers everywhere are refusing to do what will prevent it, for whatever
reason.
Open your eyes. This
is not the Twilight Zone. This is not
speculation.
This is our reality, and it’s
our reality today. The only thing
speculative about this is the anti-defect box. In reality, the answer is not a magical box; it's abstaining from alcohol during pregnancy. Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders are the single most common
birth defect in the world. It, and birth
defects caused by other substance abuse, are the only birth defects which are
one hundred percent preventable.
The only ones.
And all that the mother needs to do is not drink any
alcohol. It’s totally free. There is no excuse for drinking while
pregnant. Not because it makes you uncomfortable at parties, not because
drinking relieves stress, not because it’s inconvenient.
Everywhere, women know that drinking hurts their
babies. Everywhere, there are women who
still choose to drink while pregnant. Everywhere,
babies are being born into a lifetime of disorder and distress because their
mothers couldn’t stop drinking alcohol for forty weeks.
September is FASD awareness month. And even though we are moving into October,
this is something we cannot forget during the rest of the year. Encourage
the women in your life not to drink while pregnant. Tell the women (pregnant or not) who suffer
from alcoholism or other substance addiction that they can overcome their
addictions. Help and support them. Encourage them. They can’t undo the drinking they’ve done already
during their pregnancy, but they can prevent their baby’s FASD from becoming
worse than it already is. Tell them that
they are valuable and loved, and that you will help them while they struggle
against their addiction. Help them get
through their pregnancies without one more drop of alcohol, one more puff of
marijuana, or one more line of cocaine.
For those women who have FASD children, whether biological
or adopted, help and encourage them in their struggle to help their child have
as normal a life as possible. For the
guilt-ridden woman who drank during pregnancy, offer forgiveness and aid. Befriend any children and adults who suffer
from FASD. Let them know that they are
valuable and loved.
Together, we can prevent FASD and be a balm to the hurt of
those who already suffer.
It’s not speculative.
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| Image courtesy of www.mofas.org |
Learn more about FASD at these websites:
Please help me spread awareness of this important issue by sharing this post on your favorite social network.
In the comments, give a shout-out of support all those who suffer from FASD and addiction.
Lamps and Mirrors is updated sporadically, so if you are so inclined keep up with my literary (or other) musings, use the form in the sidebar to subscribe.
Friday, September 26, 2014
Poetry Friday: "Vines"
Late night sleeplessness and jasmine oolong tea seem to be good for the poetic muse.
"Vines"
© 2014 A.L.S. Vossler
Branches vine together;
twist and turn, turn and twist—
Fantasy, Reality:
symbiotic, synergistic,
distinct, yet intertwined—
different leaves and different blossoms,
with thorns both tangled tight.
One reflects and One defines,
One a host, the Other guest.
Dual trees of single root—
for what we label 'fantasy'
springs up from reality,
but what we name 'reality'
was once Creator's fantasy—
which is tree and which is shoot?
One a guest, the Other, host,
One defines and One reflects.
Both tangled tight with thorns,
different blossoms, different leaves,
intertwined yet so distinct—
synergistic, symbiotic,
Reality and Fantasy:
turn and twist, twist and turn—
Branches vine together.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.
Lamps and Mirrors is updated sporadically, so if you are so inclined keep up with my literary musings, use the form in the sidebar to subscribe.
"Vines"
© 2014 A.L.S. Vossler
Branches vine together;
twist and turn, turn and twist—
Fantasy, Reality:
symbiotic, synergistic,
distinct, yet intertwined—
different leaves and different blossoms,
with thorns both tangled tight.
One reflects and One defines,
One a host, the Other guest.
Dual trees of single root—
for what we label 'fantasy'
springs up from reality,
but what we name 'reality'
was once Creator's fantasy—
which is tree and which is shoot?
One a guest, the Other, host,
One defines and One reflects.
Both tangled tight with thorns,
different blossoms, different leaves,
intertwined yet so distinct—
synergistic, symbiotic,
Reality and Fantasy:
turn and twist, twist and turn—
Branches vine together.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments.
Lamps and Mirrors is updated sporadically, so if you are so inclined keep up with my literary musings, use the form in the sidebar to subscribe.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
347 Things You Should NEVER DO in Writing or Your Work Will SUCK Because I Said So!
Have you ever noticed that lots of writing websites and magazines are full of advice? They dole out instructions as though ex cathedra, all with the smarmy superiority that comes from knowing that what they say is how all writing should be.
Have you ever noticed how many great books flagrantly ignore these rules?
I am not saying that all of the rules are bad. Some are helpful. For example, avoid using adverbs and a weaker verb when you can use one stronger verb. That's helpful. That's good advice. Many take that and say, "do a search through your document and eliminate every thing that ends in -ly." (Lovely and only are exceptions, since they are adjectives and not adverbs.)
That, my friends, is bull crap.
At least in my opinion. Eliminating your weaker verb-adverb pairs, if you can, is a good idea. To flagrantly label all adverbs as some kind of satanic force lurking in your manuscript, causing you to suck as a writer, is stupid. Adverbs add flavor. They are good. Like spices, you don't want too many of them. But saying that all adverbs in writing are bad (and there are some who literally believe this) is like saying that putting spices in your food ruins your food. There is such a thing as too much spice, or the wrong kind of spice, but your food will be bland without it.
Again, all of this is my opinion. But then again, I haven't fed on the honey-dew and partaken of the milk of paradise that gives all of these writing magazines their divine authority to declare all things must be a certain way. Therefore, my argument is invalid.
Another helpful rule is to avoid flowery writing. Once again, this is a helpful notion. You don't want everything to be poetic to the point of being florid. However, some unilaterally impose the rule of ALL flowery writing is bad ALL the time NO MATTER WHAT.
Once again, bull crap.
Do I need to pull out the spice analogy again? Maybe a home decor analogy would be better. You don't want too much of a certain thing in your decor because it gets cluttered and over-the-top. But saying to get rid of all flowery writing in every instance is like telling someone they should live in a sterile white home with no color.
But hey, I'm not God like those writing mags, so I'm probably wrong.
There are hundreds of rules like this. Never use exclamation points. Use speech tags as little as possible. Don't let your characters become overly emotional more than once per book, because real people don't have multiple emotional outbursts very often. (That last one should win awards for the least accurate advice ever.) They go on and on and on, and articles on writing perpetuate them as though they are divine rules written by God Himself onto stone tablets at Sinai.
The end result of all writers following all of these rules exactly will be the single most boring period of literature heretofore in history.
Literature innovates. It breaks the rules. I'm not talking about flagrantly disregarding good advice, because all of these suggestions have some wisdom to them. It's the difference between saying, "wearing black has a slimming effect" and demanding that everyone must wear black or they are complete fashion failures.
Why do I use a fashion analogy? Because fashion changes from time period to time period. Why does it change? Innovators change it. Fashion would be boring if people didn't introduce new ones or experiment with it in some way.
That's what most of these 'rules' are. Fashion. It's not 'stylish' to do x, y, or z, so don't do it.
Funny how the people who make these rules are the ones profiting from them. They take something that one or two successful authors did, make it a rule, put it in a magazine, slap a price tag on that sucker, and then rake in the moolah as thousands of writers pay to learn how they too can NOT SUCK. (Oooh, that last one was a run-on sentence. Kick me out of the real writers club, because I broke a rule.)
With writing, there aren't rules. There are good practices that make sense, and in general, should be adhered to. There is plenty of wisdom to be obtained from the experience of others. But writing is not math, people. If you want a career field that is dominated by HARD and FAST RULES then you should be studying mathematics.
Even in math, though, innovators experiment to find new ways of solving problems. Do the 'rules' change? No. But mathematics still evolve.
If you're desperate for writing rules, I can't offer you any. But here are some suggestions:
1.) It is useful and important to know the 'rules'. You have to know them in order to break them. It's the difference between ignorance and intention.
2.) Take writing advice with a grain of salt. Trust your gut.
3.) Well-behavedwomen writers seldom make history.
Have you ever noticed how many great books flagrantly ignore these rules?
I am not saying that all of the rules are bad. Some are helpful. For example, avoid using adverbs and a weaker verb when you can use one stronger verb. That's helpful. That's good advice. Many take that and say, "do a search through your document and eliminate every thing that ends in -ly." (Lovely and only are exceptions, since they are adjectives and not adverbs.)
That, my friends, is bull crap.
At least in my opinion. Eliminating your weaker verb-adverb pairs, if you can, is a good idea. To flagrantly label all adverbs as some kind of satanic force lurking in your manuscript, causing you to suck as a writer, is stupid. Adverbs add flavor. They are good. Like spices, you don't want too many of them. But saying that all adverbs in writing are bad (and there are some who literally believe this) is like saying that putting spices in your food ruins your food. There is such a thing as too much spice, or the wrong kind of spice, but your food will be bland without it.
Again, all of this is my opinion. But then again, I haven't fed on the honey-dew and partaken of the milk of paradise that gives all of these writing magazines their divine authority to declare all things must be a certain way. Therefore, my argument is invalid.
Another helpful rule is to avoid flowery writing. Once again, this is a helpful notion. You don't want everything to be poetic to the point of being florid. However, some unilaterally impose the rule of ALL flowery writing is bad ALL the time NO MATTER WHAT.
Once again, bull crap.
Do I need to pull out the spice analogy again? Maybe a home decor analogy would be better. You don't want too much of a certain thing in your decor because it gets cluttered and over-the-top. But saying to get rid of all flowery writing in every instance is like telling someone they should live in a sterile white home with no color.
But hey, I'm not God like those writing mags, so I'm probably wrong.
There are hundreds of rules like this. Never use exclamation points. Use speech tags as little as possible. Don't let your characters become overly emotional more than once per book, because real people don't have multiple emotional outbursts very often. (That last one should win awards for the least accurate advice ever.) They go on and on and on, and articles on writing perpetuate them as though they are divine rules written by God Himself onto stone tablets at Sinai.
The end result of all writers following all of these rules exactly will be the single most boring period of literature heretofore in history.
Literature innovates. It breaks the rules. I'm not talking about flagrantly disregarding good advice, because all of these suggestions have some wisdom to them. It's the difference between saying, "wearing black has a slimming effect" and demanding that everyone must wear black or they are complete fashion failures.
Why do I use a fashion analogy? Because fashion changes from time period to time period. Why does it change? Innovators change it. Fashion would be boring if people didn't introduce new ones or experiment with it in some way.
That's what most of these 'rules' are. Fashion. It's not 'stylish' to do x, y, or z, so don't do it.
Funny how the people who make these rules are the ones profiting from them. They take something that one or two successful authors did, make it a rule, put it in a magazine, slap a price tag on that sucker, and then rake in the moolah as thousands of writers pay to learn how they too can NOT SUCK. (Oooh, that last one was a run-on sentence. Kick me out of the real writers club, because I broke a rule.)
With writing, there aren't rules. There are good practices that make sense, and in general, should be adhered to. There is plenty of wisdom to be obtained from the experience of others. But writing is not math, people. If you want a career field that is dominated by HARD and FAST RULES then you should be studying mathematics.
Even in math, though, innovators experiment to find new ways of solving problems. Do the 'rules' change? No. But mathematics still evolve.
If you're desperate for writing rules, I can't offer you any. But here are some suggestions:
1.) It is useful and important to know the 'rules'. You have to know them in order to break them. It's the difference between ignorance and intention.
2.) Take writing advice with a grain of salt. Trust your gut.
3.) Well-behaved
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Teenage Mutant Ninja Continuity Error
Heroes in a half…..whatever.
In order to begin today’s blogging adventure, I am forced to admit that yes, I do, in fact, watch Nickelodeon’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. However, the subject of today’s blog really is not so much about the show itself, but rather what the show exemplifies: the “willing suspension of disbelief.”
This is a subject which has been hashed and rehashed since the phrase was first used by none other than my good Romantic buddy, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. “The Phrase Finder,” a delightful British website that explores the origins of various idioms, offered this succinct explanation:
The expression has since been hijacked beyond poetry to any number of different applications, one of which, most notably, is the Science Fiction/Fantasy genre. In many respects, this makes a good deal of sense. If one is going to be reading about wizards, vampires, alternate realities, and various other things which do not exist or are simply impossible, one needs to overlook these absurdities and accept them as real. Ursula K. Leguin, in the introduction to her excellent novel The Left Hand of Darkness, humorously notes that when one reads a story, one temporarily becomes insane and believes in things that are not real.
This is why I think that the lean, green ninja team is such a good example of the willing suspension of disbelief. I mean, for crying out loud, it’s a show about teenage mutant ninja turtles! The title alone requires one to put reality aside. Of course, as fan of the Science Fiction/Fantasy genre, this is second nature to me. I am able to put the absolute ludicrousness of the show’s main premise and enjoy it a great deal.
At the same time, the threshold for the willing suspension of disbelief is highly individual. As with pain thresholds, each person has a certain level before they start screaming in agony. For example, my father, a lifetime reader of speculative fiction, absolutely cannot stand Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I asked him why, and his response was, “They make my brain hurt.” He is, of course, absolutely scandalized that his adult daughter watches and enjoys it. By the way, this only makes me enjoy it even more.
Perhaps it is the childishness of the show that turns my father off, but I think also that the premise itself strains his willingness to even try suspending disbelief. I can relate to this—for me, it’s the Twilight saga. The premise itself does not appeal to me, and therefore things that fans readily overlook drive me batty (vampire pun noted). In other words, Twilight makes my brain hurt.
This is something that all writers of fantasy need to keep in mind; sometimes the premise itself strains the imagination of the readers. Is your premise so strange that most people won’t be willing to give it a go? Given the wide variety of tastes in this world, you’ll never be able to win everyone, but a good premise should still appeal to quite a few people. However, even a good premise can tank if the execution is poor.
The biggest culprit for ending the suspension of disbelief is continuity errors. I don’t mean problems with the continuity of the plot line itself, though that is something undesirable as well. I mean continuity errors in the rules of the imaginary universe itself. For example, I am able to accept all of the silliness of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in all its goofy green glory, but one thing that drives me absolutely insane is the fact that there never seem to be any people in New York. If we are to take this universe that is set in reality but has supernatural elements like aliens, rat ninja masters, and talking turtles, we still expect it to follow the other rules of our “real” universe. One of these rules is that New York is absolutely packed with people, day and night. The idea that the streets are largely vacant at night is silly.
Note that it is this that strains my credulity, not, you know, the whole teenage mutant ninja turtles taught ninjutsu by a rat. It’s because I can suspend the disbelief in mutants; I can’t accept that in an otherwise “normal” universe, New York City magically seems empty anytime the turtles need it to be. I have an entire laundry list of things that bug me about that show—another of which is the whole “heroes in a half-shell” bit. They have an entire shell, people. I know you’re trying to be clever and cute and catchy, but the turtles have their whole shell!
Ahem.
The point is that continuity and consistency is crucial. If I’m supposed to believe that a=b and b=c, then I darn better well find out that a=c. If it doesn’t, it’s going to make me mad. In many cases, this will be a total deal breaker for the reader or the viewer. In the case of TMNT, I am willing to deal with my complaints because I like the show enough otherwise. I also accept that it is a kids’ show and kids have a much, much higher threshold than grown-ups.
Thus, while the topic of the willing suspension of disbelief has nearly been beaten to death, it is absolutely crucial that authors always keep it in the back of their minds. I like this thought that the website "TV Tropes" offers:
This is why consistency and continuity are so crucial to successful stories. Not all members of one’s audience are going to be that forgiving. Orson Scott Card reiterates again and again how vital rules are in speculative fiction.
So, while “world creation sounds like a marvelous free-for-all” (Card 36), it is actually an affront to your audience to be inconsistent. Some might be generous enough to accept the “a wizard did it” argument, a phrase which originated in the popular TV show The Simpsons. A lot of people don’t, though. "TV Tropes" defines the expression thusly:
Think about that for a moment. “Rightly angry.” Not “angry,” or “nit-picky,” but “rightly angry.” There is another phenomenon that can be insulting, known as “Bellasario’s Maxim.” It is: “Don’t examine this too closely.” According to TV Tropes it was
Okay, maybe we all have the urge to ask our audience to overlook errors, but when we don’t, they still will be “rightly angry.” Granted, I also like Quantum Leap in spite of its absurdities.
The willing suspension of disbelief is something which all authors rely on, but one must be careful not to rely on it too much. Never ask more suspension from your readers than you yourself are willing to give—and even then it’s important to stop and think about the rules of your speculative world from every angle.
As Card so beautifully sums it up, “The rules you establish don’t limit you; they open up possibilities. Know the rules, and the rules will set you free” (45-46).
-------------------------------------
Works Cited
Card, Orson Scott. How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy. Cincinnati, Ohio: Writer’s Digest Books, 1990.
Martin, Gary. "Suspension of Disbelief.” Phrase Finder. 17 Mar. 2014. [http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/suspension-of-disbelief.html ].
TV Tropes Foundation, LLC. “A Wizard Did It.” TV Tropes. 16 Mar. 2014. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AWizardDidIt].
---.“Bellasario’s Maxim.” TV Tropes. 16 Mar. 2014. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BellisariosMaxim].
---. "Willing Suspension of Disbelief." TV Tropes. 16 Mar. 2014. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/WillingSuspensionOfDisbelief].
In order to begin today’s blogging adventure, I am forced to admit that yes, I do, in fact, watch Nickelodeon’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. However, the subject of today’s blog really is not so much about the show itself, but rather what the show exemplifies: the “willing suspension of disbelief.”
This is a subject which has been hashed and rehashed since the phrase was first used by none other than my good Romantic buddy, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. “The Phrase Finder,” a delightful British website that explores the origins of various idioms, offered this succinct explanation:
This term was coined by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1817 with the publication of his Biographia literaria or biographical sketches of my literary life and opinions:
"In this idea originated the plan of the 'Lyrical Ballads'; in which it was agreed, that my endeavours [sic] should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith."
The state is arguably an essential element when experiencing any drama or work of fiction. We may know very well that we are watching an actor or looking at marks on paper, but we wilfully [sic] accept them as real in order to fully experience what the artist is attempting to convey.
The expression has since been hijacked beyond poetry to any number of different applications, one of which, most notably, is the Science Fiction/Fantasy genre. In many respects, this makes a good deal of sense. If one is going to be reading about wizards, vampires, alternate realities, and various other things which do not exist or are simply impossible, one needs to overlook these absurdities and accept them as real. Ursula K. Leguin, in the introduction to her excellent novel The Left Hand of Darkness, humorously notes that when one reads a story, one temporarily becomes insane and believes in things that are not real.
This is why I think that the lean, green ninja team is such a good example of the willing suspension of disbelief. I mean, for crying out loud, it’s a show about teenage mutant ninja turtles! The title alone requires one to put reality aside. Of course, as fan of the Science Fiction/Fantasy genre, this is second nature to me. I am able to put the absolute ludicrousness of the show’s main premise and enjoy it a great deal.
At the same time, the threshold for the willing suspension of disbelief is highly individual. As with pain thresholds, each person has a certain level before they start screaming in agony. For example, my father, a lifetime reader of speculative fiction, absolutely cannot stand Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I asked him why, and his response was, “They make my brain hurt.” He is, of course, absolutely scandalized that his adult daughter watches and enjoys it. By the way, this only makes me enjoy it even more.
Perhaps it is the childishness of the show that turns my father off, but I think also that the premise itself strains his willingness to even try suspending disbelief. I can relate to this—for me, it’s the Twilight saga. The premise itself does not appeal to me, and therefore things that fans readily overlook drive me batty (vampire pun noted). In other words, Twilight makes my brain hurt.
This is something that all writers of fantasy need to keep in mind; sometimes the premise itself strains the imagination of the readers. Is your premise so strange that most people won’t be willing to give it a go? Given the wide variety of tastes in this world, you’ll never be able to win everyone, but a good premise should still appeal to quite a few people. However, even a good premise can tank if the execution is poor.
The biggest culprit for ending the suspension of disbelief is continuity errors. I don’t mean problems with the continuity of the plot line itself, though that is something undesirable as well. I mean continuity errors in the rules of the imaginary universe itself. For example, I am able to accept all of the silliness of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in all its goofy green glory, but one thing that drives me absolutely insane is the fact that there never seem to be any people in New York. If we are to take this universe that is set in reality but has supernatural elements like aliens, rat ninja masters, and talking turtles, we still expect it to follow the other rules of our “real” universe. One of these rules is that New York is absolutely packed with people, day and night. The idea that the streets are largely vacant at night is silly.
Note that it is this that strains my credulity, not, you know, the whole teenage mutant ninja turtles taught ninjutsu by a rat. It’s because I can suspend the disbelief in mutants; I can’t accept that in an otherwise “normal” universe, New York City magically seems empty anytime the turtles need it to be. I have an entire laundry list of things that bug me about that show—another of which is the whole “heroes in a half-shell” bit. They have an entire shell, people. I know you’re trying to be clever and cute and catchy, but the turtles have their whole shell!
Ahem.
The point is that continuity and consistency is crucial. If I’m supposed to believe that a=b and b=c, then I darn better well find out that a=c. If it doesn’t, it’s going to make me mad. In many cases, this will be a total deal breaker for the reader or the viewer. In the case of TMNT, I am willing to deal with my complaints because I like the show enough otherwise. I also accept that it is a kids’ show and kids have a much, much higher threshold than grown-ups.
Thus, while the topic of the willing suspension of disbelief has nearly been beaten to death, it is absolutely crucial that authors always keep it in the back of their minds. I like this thought that the website "TV Tropes" offers:
Any creative endeavor, certainly any written creative endeavor, is only successful to the extent that the audience offers this willing suspension as they read, listen, or watch. It's part of an unspoken contract: The writer provides the reader/viewer/player with a good story, and in return, they…accept the reality of the story as presented and accepted that characters in the fictional universe act on their own accord.
An author's work, in other words, does not have to be realistic, only believable and internally consistent…When the author pushes the audience too far, the work fails.
This is why consistency and continuity are so crucial to successful stories. Not all members of one’s audience are going to be that forgiving. Orson Scott Card reiterates again and again how vital rules are in speculative fiction.
Before you can tell a meaningful story, you have to hone and sharpen your understanding of the world, and that begins with the fundamental rules, the natural laws. Remember, because speculative fiction always differs from the knowable world, the reader is uncertain about what can and can’t happen in the story until the writer has spelled out the rules. And you, as a writer, can’t be certain of anything until you know the rules as well (36). [Emphasis original]
So, while “world creation sounds like a marvelous free-for-all” (Card 36), it is actually an affront to your audience to be inconsistent. Some might be generous enough to accept the “a wizard did it” argument, a phrase which originated in the popular TV show The Simpsons. A lot of people don’t, though. "TV Tropes" defines the expression thusly:
The standard all-encompassing explanation for any continuity errors noticed by hardcore fans of any given fantasy show: If it doesn't make sense, A Wizard Did It. […] However, using it to excuse major Plot Holes that the creators really should've caught beforehand will make people rightly angry.
Think about that for a moment. “Rightly angry.” Not “angry,” or “nit-picky,” but “rightly angry.” There is another phenomenon that can be insulting, known as “Bellasario’s Maxim.” It is: “Don’t examine this too closely.” According to TV Tropes it was
Said by producer Donald P. Bellisario on March 17, 1990 at an SF convention in response to a persistent fan with very specific questions about the way things worked on Bellisario's series Quantum Leap. An unashamed admission of handwaving details unnecessary to the enjoyment of a show, and an exhortation to not let the obsession with those details get in the way of the story. Implicit in the Maxim is a request to understand that the story is being told by a small production team that (due to the limitations of the medium) has to work quickly, with limited budget and tight deadlines, and has to dodge Executive Meddling, all while trying to turn out the best product it can.
Okay, maybe we all have the urge to ask our audience to overlook errors, but when we don’t, they still will be “rightly angry.” Granted, I also like Quantum Leap in spite of its absurdities.
The willing suspension of disbelief is something which all authors rely on, but one must be careful not to rely on it too much. Never ask more suspension from your readers than you yourself are willing to give—and even then it’s important to stop and think about the rules of your speculative world from every angle.
As Card so beautifully sums it up, “The rules you establish don’t limit you; they open up possibilities. Know the rules, and the rules will set you free” (45-46).
-------------------------------------
Works Cited
Card, Orson Scott. How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy. Cincinnati, Ohio: Writer’s Digest Books, 1990.
Martin, Gary. "Suspension of Disbelief.” Phrase Finder. 17 Mar. 2014. [http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/suspension-of-disbelief.html ].
TV Tropes Foundation, LLC. “A Wizard Did It.” TV Tropes. 16 Mar. 2014. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AWizardDidIt].
---.“Bellasario’s Maxim.” TV Tropes. 16 Mar. 2014. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BellisariosMaxim].
---. "Willing Suspension of Disbelief." TV Tropes. 16 Mar. 2014. [http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/WillingSuspensionOfDisbelief].
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