What remains...

Memories link, one to another, and form the playing field upon which we walk. Think about your last ten years…You don’t remember every detail. Some memories waft through your mind, sparked by a current circumstance or something someone said, or even a scent. A certain berry bush has a distinct smell that takes me way back to daycare, when I was very small. Every time I smell it, I’m suddenly only three feet tall. Music is the same. It takes us places, like the sci fi portal into another dimension. It’s odd, the things that remain in the memory. Some seem so disconnected, yet there they are. Every memory finds its way into the present because it is connected somehow. Without the connection, it is lost.

Now think of all the books you’ve read. What is it that has remained of those books? Do you remember the words that were spoken? The witty little phrases? Maybe. Do you remember how the book felt in your hands? Or the image on the cover? Well, I suppose that one might remain long, especially if you are a visual learner. Some stories remain because they touch us, where we live. We can relate. We feel them. But we don’t remember the exact words…in fact, in some cases, we don’t even remember the title of the book. What we remember is how we felt, while walking in the character’s shoes, or how they looked while we watched them from within the story. We remember how we felt when they said something to us or reacted and we wanted to stop them or slap them or hug them. We are relational creatures. If a character touches our lives, our hearts, our minds, they will remain. As writers, we have the opportunity to reach into the lives of people we’ve never met and touch them, where they live, to leave an impression that will link with their memories and remain a part of them. How cool is that?

Point of View

My writing coach told me to try different things in my writing, as often as I can. It adds variety and depth to your stories. It is kind of fun to experiment. Scenes that are not written omnisciently, I find, are actually a little more engaging, sometimes. Write the scene, perhaps, from the point of view of the baby who is sitting on a lady’s lap. Or maybe from the dog’s POV, as he is lying on the carpet – you know, sideways and from the floor. Or soar in from the sky, over the rooftops, through the branches of the tree, under the overhang of the porch and into the lap of the old woman who is rocking on her old country porch. Or what about this…? How about writing the story or scene from the viewpoint of an autistic child? Or a blind man? Or the crazy squirrel who is hanging on the screen door, panicked and wild eyed? I know, I know, you’re supposed to keep the same POV throughout the story. I ask, ‘Says who?’ Break the rules little now and then. Writing is an expression of your soul. And it is intensely fun to let it out occasionally to speak its mind.

My favorite experiment, so far, with this type of skewed viewpoint is a very short clip that has to do with the death of a martyr. The reader is brought in through a raindrop that falls gently over the leaves of a low plant. From there, the scene takes place around the hems and boots of the people watching the young girl get burned at the stake. You move forward until you’re face to face with the girl…and the demon who taunts her. Then, in the last breath, you explode into the sky and view the scene from the sparks that ride on the night wind. Great fun! Go ahead, express yourself!

The Art of Asking Questions

In writing fiction, one has a tremendous opportunity to address the deep questions that we have – questions about life, about death, about love and about who we are at the deepest levels, when everything else is stripped away. Is man basically good? Or is he basically evil? Is there, perhaps, the potential for both within us? What does it take to push a man over the edge? And how does a ‘good’ person come to a place where he unravels? How does another man hold the line against all odds and still remain standing when the world around him crumbles? What makes a hero?

The good authors that I have read have presented engaging stories, with real and memorable characters who must deal with circumstances that come at them in their daily lives, and evaluate their own response to those circumstances. Who are they, really? And what does their response show about what they truly believe? When push comes to shove, what are they made of? What are WE made of? What would WE do, if in their shoes?

The art of asking questions through the observation of another’s life is very much like brush strokes on canvass. Line upon line, stroke upon stroke of the artist’s brush, the author leads us down hallways and around corners until the moment of truth is suddenly before us and we gape at the character in dismay or we applaud and whistle in approval. We experience these moments. We take away with us the memory of what they told us about ourselves. And this, I find, takes place, even if we disagree with the author.

Fiction is an entertainment medium. But the deeper purpose is seen in the art of asking questions.

Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott: A Review

A friend of mine bought me tickets to go see Ms. Lamott when she was in town. I had no idea what I was getting, as I had never, I am ashamed to admit, read any of her books.

I think now, after reading Bird by Bird, that this is the most valuable writer’s aid that I could have happened upon. The book, itself, is masterfully written, and includes humor that catches the reader by surprise, and poignant little stories and lessons that cause you to stop and pick your chin up off the table. Her earthy delivery hits right home because it is real. She tells you what you knew, deep down, but hadn’t fully understood yet.

The art of writing is woven together in her witty style until you have a tapestry of instruction laid out before you, clearly seen and easily digestible – if you like to eat tapestry, that is. Trust me; you’ll want to eat this one!

Is Every Man Capable of Ultimate Evil?

Thr3e, by Ted Dekker

Thr3e was my first excursion into the mind of Ted Dekker. This book takes a look at evil in the heart of man. Is every man capable of ultimate evil? And is that evil already there, living within us, or does it come from some outside source? Left to ourselves, would we do only good?

Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. We can all identify things we’ve said that are ultimately evil. Things that hurt others, because we intended to cause hurt. This is evil, is it not? And does it not come from within first, where it was conceived in the heart and mind?

Noah Webster’s Dictionary of the American Language, published in 1828, (www.FACE.net) defines evil as the causing of an injury. Hm. I always thought of evil as something demonic. Something NOT close to my heart. This definition brings it a little closer to home. Try reading the book of Genesis with this definition in mind…

If you pay attention to the messages being delivered in our current day media, and in our schools, perhaps even in some of our churches, you will hear that ‘we are basically good.’ We also often hear that we are merely a ‘product of our society.’ I’ll just step out on a limb here and say that this sounds suspiciously like it is giving us permission to blame others for how we turned out. Its underlying belief says that we are good. All we need is a good environment. Good circumstance. Do I really want to teach my children that it’s ok to ‘go off’ when things go badly for them? This is the ultimate conclusion from such teaching. It is, truly, blaming the devil, because he made me do it.

If, on the other hand, my heart is filled with evil and must be governed by an unshifting principle that defines right and wrong, then I must answer for my actions. And I must consider to whom I must answer. How is it that we seem to often instinctively know the difference between good and evil? And if I find evil within me, what do I do with it? Dekker does a good job of looking at these questions from thr3e distinct angles, ‘the good, the evil, and the person caught in between.’ He does this through the life of a young man who is being stalked by a killer. Shiver.

Catch the movie, too. It’s nearly scene-for-scene with the book.

Writing is scary

Writing is scary. It puts you out there, bares your soul before the reading world. It reveals your beliefs, your hurts, your temptations. It shows everyone your weaknesses, your hopes deferred and your failures. It opens you up to severe criticism. The exposure is profound.

Yet, in the nakedness, the writer also just might find him or herself. In the writing, the deep reality of self might be revealed in a way that nothing else can. It is a sort of self-portrait, a looking glass into the alternate universe from which you came. And it shows who you wish to be, if only you could.

All of us, in this life, reveal only what we must and hold dear that which is tortured, or uncertain, or afraid. We put our best foot forward, and wear a mask to disguise the part of us that easily unravels.

Writing is scary. You can unravel along with your character. You can takes risks and be afraid. You can triumph where you thought you never would. You can lose that which you hold dear and feel the tear rend your heart…and still live.

In writing you can become who you are…and it is okay. So you ask yourself…how can I NOT write? Perhaps in the writing, you can learn to unmask and live like you’ve never lived before.

The Adventure of Writing

Books have the ability to take you away from today, to make you cry, to make you laugh. In books, you can fall in love for the first time, or even again. You can fly, or run like the wind, become royalty or a homeless wanderer. Life can be experienced from a different angle, and you can see truth that couldn't be seen from the perch in your current circumstance. Stories bring home things we only knew deep inside and help us recognize our own image in the mirror of a character with whom we identify.

Writing stories is like spinning yarn, or crocheting a blanket. Stitch upon stitch, the vision unfolds until finally we can see it all, and in seeing it all, we are completed. Even the writer could not see it until the last stitch fell into place.

I've heard it said that good writers merely follow their characters through the story. The characters come to life and lead the writer through their choices, their mistakes and their triumphs and their realizations. This is good writing. I have a long way to go, but this is how I want to write. I want my readers to fall apart in the betrayal, right along with the character, and to feel the release when forgiveness is granted, to taste the fear when monsters loom.

There is a certain power in the written word that the author relishes. When I told my coach that I cried while reading one of his co-authored books, he said "well, then, I've achieved a good thing." To have the reader identify...this is the adventure of writing.