WRITING & REALITY?: Character

First of all, my heart goes out to the families and friends of the victims so senselessly slaughtered at Virginia Tech.  I find it strange to sort out the reactions.  The grief I understand.  The only other character that may be easy to understand is the killer; whatever set off a disturbed young man coupled with access to weapons was always a likely possibility.  I’ve yet to hear or read the full report on him, but I’m sure it’s just one more sad nut case.

What I find disturbing is that even before the perpetrator was firmly identified, speculation circulated about the stress college puts on students.  Mere finger pointing back at establishment when thousands of students manage to get through just fine.  He was just one man and I doubt society did anything to make him do what he did.

I’m not a mother so I can’t say what it’s like to lose a child or even think of it.  Though I’ve seen the pain in my father’s eyes when my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I’ve seen another sister go through the fear of her own daughter’s brain tumor operations.  I’ve had a sister-in-law go through labor knowing she was delivering an already dead baby.  I’ve heard my mother’s last breath, I’ve told a friend dying of cancer that it wouldn’t be much longer, I’ve done unsuccessful CPR on a neighbor who’d just a half hour prior put a bucket of sand on our icy driveway. Somehow I’m most disturbed when I learn of the loss of a teenager or a young adult.  I don’t really know why.

It’s hard not to be affected by a murder spree, especially of this magnitude.  What we must remember though is that it’s not a common occurrence.  The rarity of it in fact is the one thing that allows it to happen; we can’t live in a police state to eliminate all danger from all directions. 

Funny, but when the attack on the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and the plane of 9/11 resulted in thousands of deaths in one day, I thought as well in grief of a man who may have suffered a heart attack in an office building blocks away, a child killed by a car running a red light downtown, a young man dying of knife wounds in an alley half a city away.  Nothing about their deaths that same day made it any less sad.

And the murderers themselves:  what makes it more horrible for one man to kill thirty people in one day, than for a serial killer to murder the same number over a period of years?  Tragedy is tragedy; and unfortunately, it will always be a part of the human experience.  We can only grieve and carry on.

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LITERATURE: At Swim-Two-Birds – Critique

Ah, what would a novel be without an editor?  O’Brien amazes us once again by providing our narrator with a critique on his novel from his friend Brinsley.

From a perusal of the manuscript which has just been presented in these pages, he had expressed his inability to distinguish between Furriskey, Lamont and Shanahan, bewailed what he termed their spiritual and physical identity, stated that true dialogue is dependent on the conflict rather than the confluence of minds and made reference to the importance of characterization in contemporary literary works of a high-class, advanced or literary nature.  (p. 230)

Of course one can’t help but find it amusing that even while plowing new trails in contemporary literature, O’Brien provides his own critiquer to explain the rules of "advanced" literarary nature.

But is his character correct in his opinion?

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LITERATURE: Pulitzer Winner

So very glad to hear that Cormac McCarthy has won the Pulitzer prize for fiction for The Road.

Now I’ll have to read it and see if I agree.

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LITERATURE: At Swim-Two-Birds – Metaphor

Well either I’ve reached a slightly more accomplished level of reading, or I simply don’t have a clue and made a mountain of a molehill.

My last posting made a point of the threads of conversation in the inner world of narrative.  The almost melody of several themes going on in parallel streams were wonderfully natural in this unnatural world.  O’Brien, after getting us to the endpoint of the characters’ journey, jerks us out and plops us into the primary world of the narrator in the middle of a meeting of his uncle and a few friends at the house.

The perfectly normal situation of a committee meeting planning a event becomes a metaphor for the more restricted bonds of society as the uncle demands adherence to the rules of order.  This is nearly laughable; communication among a group of men of similar background and interests–at its simplest, human–needing to follow methods of communication.

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WRITING: Material

I know a man who writes wonderfully warm stories about characters and places and events that are based on some small memory that has itched in his mind for a long time.

Some of us just start typing. 

In the past couple of years, and in particular, the past couple of weeks, reality has offered so many stories, so many characters and character changes, so many dramatic moments of conflict, intrigue, love, hate, secrets, greed, and some damn near criminal actions.  All within my own little piece of space.

Odd though; I just can’t write any stories about it.  Even twisting things around, even just  drawing on the actions or switching characters.  I’m sure as it all sinks into the pool of experience it will emerge somewhere in story, but I don’t know that I’ll even be aware of the metamorphosis.  Characters reincarnate in strange new environments to jostle with a new set of problems, a different scenario.

Will they behave as expected? 

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REALITY?: Acts of Kindness

041407rRough day for Susie Psychologist; weaving words like armor to avoid the wounds of words.  E-mail confrontations over stuff that’s really only stuff yet sentimental means it means much more.  The ring is gone, I tell her, I told you that; she took it long ago.  I pray she drops the topic, subtly focusing on other things because if this one blows it can blow her very heart away.  Things I cannot tell her, things that hurt me once just knowing how badly it would hurt her if she knew.  Finally it’s smoldered down to ashes.  I’ve taken a bit of blame but she will never know how close she came to devastation.

And then a man walks in the shop and presents me with a dozen coral roses.  Thanks for the framing, he says.

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CURRENT AFFAIRS: You Better Watch Out…

A friend just e-mailed me a Polish joke.

I’m trying to reach Sharpton right now.

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REALITY?: Double-take

Ah, double-entry bookkeeping.  I understand the concept well. So I attempt to unravel the large figures into smaller ones that have some meaning.  Many simply don’t; made up in the head of a bookkeeper with a purpose.

The lawyers, she figured, won’t want to go through it and she’s right.  But they know I love playing with numbers so they’ve asked me to.  Baffle ’em with b.s., she figured; no, we’re smarter than that.

But there is a method to double entry, and there has to be justification.  I’ve handed it out as a game to a couple of friends to see who can figure out the answers first. 

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LITERATURE:At Swim-Two-Birds – Delight

I am so very glad that I was intrigued, embarrassed, teased, intimidated, and frankly pushed into continuing on with this novel.  It is a true delight for the mind and ear.

They also did not hesitate to promise him sides of hairy bacon, the mainstay and the staff of life of the country classes, and lamb-chops still succulent with young blood, autumn-heavy yams from venerable stooping trees, bracelets and garlands of browned sausages and two baskets of peerless eggs fresh-collected, a waiting hand under the hen’s bottom.  (p. 184)

Sight, scent, taste, touch, and hearing (if read aloud); all senses fully satisfied by the above which is just a small portion of a scenario in which the travelers (Pooka, the Good Fairy, cowboys, etc.) are simply attempting to "beguile" a man into walking on his own two feet.

In the meantime, at least two separate conversational threads are still going on among the members of the group, and from there (hypertext alive and well!) the discussions can turn off onto a different path on a single word.  This is such a touch of realism (think of your own conversations with friends) smack dab in the middle of a totally unreal setting (monster, fairy, cowboys in a strange land of jungle and thorns). 

Absolutely delightful.

 

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BLOGGING: Responsible Blogging

I love this piece at Wired by Tony Long:

Before you can expect a bunch of utterly spoiled, self-indulgent bloggers (i.e. the kind who indulge in their online mudslinging) to practice civility, you might try restoring a bit of it to what passes for civilization these days.

It does seem like the anonymity of the internet has given everyone a chance to vent, and vent they do. Often without any basis for argument–but that’s fine, as long as it’s not offered as fact. 

As Long brings out, the social circumstance in face-to-face dealings has long lost it’s sense of civility; writing to the entire world from a secure position has only made the dealings nastier since there’s little recourse to the offense. 

Here’s where I’m at with this:  I’d love to help everyone in the world too, but the ones who likely need it most are unreachable from either my little plot on earth or via internet.  I’m trying to do it in my own small way, by not hurting, by helping, those I can.  No sense ranting about how you think we should feed starving folk in Africa when there’s a beggar on your street corner you pass by every morning without offering even a smile.

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LITERATURE: Damn.

Vonnegut died.

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REALITY?: Coincidence

Weird.  Today I said that I hadn’t used Excel in years but would have no problem picking it back up.

Tonight I’m putting together an Excel spreadsheet for a deadline tomorrow morning for the attorneys.

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SELF ANALYSIS: The Interview

It’s been a long, long time since I wrote in this category, but today’s interview has me thinking more about our perception of self versus what we project.

I’ve never been afraid of interviews before–and I admit it’s been a while since I’ve been on any type of interview, much less one for employment–though I’ve never managed to squelch my fear of testing, regardless of five years of college classes.  But I wondered why I was so uncomfortable in this one, and it leads me back to some tendencies coupled with, or even exacerbated by years of experience.

The tendency is that I am not comfortable talking about myself or my accomplishments–oddly enough, this is in conflict with my need for validation.  Oh I can talk myself up among friends or within a like-minded group, but in attempting to impress a group of superiors, I’m lost.  The added factor that made it worse is that yes, I have plenty of experience behind me in all the areas required by this position. 

So why the discomfort?  Because it sounded like bragging.  Like well, hell, of course I can do this, I’ve been a business owner, an executive secretary, etc. etc.  I was turned off by what was coming out of my mouth.  I mean, in a job interview, you’re supposed to point out your experience and accomplishments.  I remember starting out into the business world and I remember the nervousness about going for a job for which I wasn’t fully sure I was qualified.  This is almost worse.  I sounded downright pompous.  Its not an easy transition to make; self-assured in my own world and trying to be accepted by those in another.

And then you go and flub up the typing and filing tests.

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WRITING: Versus Talking

Just got home from a job interview and analyzing the scenario. 

Despite my love of jeans and flannel shirts, I dressed in black slacks, cream jersey, 100% Scottish wool herringbone jacket, brandy-new shoes, and had colored my hair to blend some of the grey.  I looked smashing.  Or at least the best I’ve looked in a while.

The typing test was completed with shaking fingers and the filing test was a case of fumbling folders.  It’s been a while since I went out on a job interview.  But this wasn’t the worst…

In a roundtable interview with five members of the search committee, I babbled relentlessly.  This is why I write.  Any attempts at humor fell flat.  There were a few friendly faces, and needy sprite that I am, I couldn’t help but gravitate towards them. 

Honest, I’m so much better online.

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LITERATURE & WRITING: At Swim-Two-Birds -Voices

Getting back on track here with the literary life; spring birdsong and sunny evenings albeit cold can overcome the deepest down of soul.

Voice is a bit of a question; voices often come from characters themselves if that is their way, if they are self-created.  So if story is in first person pov, then author–writing in this manner, just what he is told–has a different job to do.  He has to get the tone, the emotion, the thoughts and values of the character put down in words that display those traits and ideals.  No, he can’t write down everything the character says because here the author must be editor instead. Then too, he must provide the fill-in narrative, how the character moves and acts and reacts to what is going on.  He is a mouthpiece, only drawing upon his own skill to relay a story.  He must do his character proud.

I love the way that O’Brien lets his characters take over in At Swim-Two-Birds.  There is so much to learn here that it is almost overwhelming to read it in all the capacities a reader can employ.  For besides the many voices among the pages of the novel, are all the voices in between–those of the reader. 

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