LITERATURE: Stories for Late at Night – Media Method

I’m sure that just as with any anthology, this Hitchcock compilation does not reflect necessarily the best writing, but a story by C. L. Moore called Vintage Season just seemed about four times as long as it needed to be. 

One thing that struck me here is that most of these stories have been on the old television series in half-hour format.  If they stuck this one in, I can well see how it would have fit.  The majority of the narrative was in the description of odd people (time travelers) and the sensory descriptions of taste, scent, light, etc.  Thus, this story is more perfectly suited to the visuals of film than it is as text.  Frankly, the description–and I must add, the tendency of the author to reinforce the effects–got tiresome after a bit. 

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WRITING & REALITY?: Time

Not the usual meaning of time though, in that how much it takes on a daily basis and how to juggle the writing gracefully along with the less glamorous but more necessary doings of life.  I’m thinking of the time within a lifetime rather than the immediate balance.

Had I the confidence and ambition to pursue writing earlier–like decades–I’d be more willing to keep at it.  But with such intensity over the past six or so years that I’ve put into it, and with only self-satisfaction to show, I’m concerned about naming it as such a priority.  I’ve gotten a couple poems published, but no short stories and haven’t reworked the novel I started with nor started another.  On the short stories, I’m beginning to wonder how important they are to tell at all, yet I spend weeks on them, living them without quite getting it.  Though the writing has evidently improved, no resume letter has gotten me an interview, no legal correspondence has gotten resolution, no e-mail has invited closer communication. 

There’s a point in life when we stop, look within, and come to the conclusion that we need to give time to something that may be selfish, may be a mind-blowing change in pattern, but cannot ignore forever.  That was the writing.  But there’s also a time to look within and seek the truth.  My timing has always been off; after forty years I went to college.  After graduating, I note that the course programs have drastically changed and that they are much more in tune with what I would have sought.  Shall I go back and take another dozen courses? 

Time to regroup, rethink, and change direction.

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NEW MEDIA & WRITING: The Question of Parallel Time

In plotting out a new story that’s fighting its way out of my head, the question comes up right from the opening line: Mrs. McLaughlin woke up every morning at seven a.m. on May 23rd, 1997.

It’s not going to be hard to let the story emerge, but I found, as on the last story, that when one is not going straight linear, or linear with flashback, it becomes imperative to plot out the timelines very carefully.  With the above, while I thought it meant one thing when I wrote it, I find it could mean something else.  My interpretation was that for Mrs. McLaughlin, every day was May 23rd, 1997.  Now even this could mean several things.  Does she think it’s always the same day, or is it?  On another plateau, on May 23rd, 1997, Mrs. McLaughlin lived her entire life, every day happening simultaneously at warp speed with a normal (?) 24-hour day.  She could also be repeating the same day over and over again while the rest of the world moves along without her.

Interesting concept, and the idea of writing it out leads me to mapping, and mapping out a plot makes me think of fading in and out visuals, double exposures, transitioning, music accenting the drama.  Effects of audio and visuals would indeed make this story a prime candidate for a combination of sensory stimulation.

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INTERACTIVE FICTION: Book and Volume

Well here am I, feeling perky and adventurous, and I amble back into Nick Montfort’s Book and Volume.  Where I left off, I had all the original tasks complete but evidently missed on picking up some new ones as well as looking around for clues.  That said, still, I decide to go in blind and try to find home.  Directionally Dysfunctionals should always use a map.

I am now very sleepy but can’t lay down, in a padded room with no exits.

Boy, I’m really good at this, aren’t I?

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LITERATURE: On Munro

Ah, after a debate on the literary study of Shakespeare, I find I agree with Dan Green–at least in part–on Alice Munro.  He’s not a great fan; I am. 

The question of content is pretty much what he is defending here against Lydia Millett’s review of Munro’s latest, The View from Castle Rock.  Millett seems to feel that Munro’s interest are provincial, perhaps even a bit shallow in that the focus of most of her writing is character and personal event-driven.  Small potatoes, it would seem, against the war in Iraq, or the starving children in some third-world country, or genocide, etc.  Of course it is, but it’s the daily trials and tribulations we face that show our character; how we respond immediately to the drunk driver who broadsides us and how it affects us afterwards (not just in insurance rates alone), rather than what we think about the war.  One, we have control over, the other, limited if any at all.  What our values are is shown daily in interaction and communication with others, just like ourselves, who are caught in a bad circumstance that changes our lives. 

While I do feel that fiction is indeed telling of a society and history of a particular place and time, I think that the news, non-fiction, research, etc. will give us a form of media that we can decide for ourselves how to react.  Fiction can often go deeper within character to appeal or appall on a more accessible basis. 

Wouldn’t it be well to understand how your neighbor will react when you run over his dog before you fight beside him in battle?

While Millett admires Munro’s work, she seems to feel it is wasted on the mundane: 

"Surely the vast universe beyond the minutely personal is also of some little interest."

Yeah but, Munro doesn’t want to write about that.  And never fear, there are plenty of other good writers who will.  And this gentle admonition:

"And if this self-scrutiny is the chief work of our lives, does the rest of existence not drop neatly away?"

C’mon, Munro is a great writer, but she’s not the God of Literature that represents an era.  Honestly, I’m just waiting for the day when someone looks at the Mona Lisa and says, "he should’ve made her dress dark green."

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REALITY?: Update

My little problems yesterday were quickly solved.  Odd that both computer and car parts would crap out on the same day.  Odder still that they both would be fixed that same day.  The mouse was indeed the problem on the computer, and I bought a comparable Logitech rather than the Microsoft for ten dollars less.  I still have the original Logitech that I got with my first computer back in ’96.  The mouse that died (without a roar–let’s keep this weblog literary) happened to be a year-old Microsoft mouse.  More on Bill Gates and his money later today.

The car, on the other hand, is a ’97 Honda CRV which I bought new in March of 1997.  Jim called a few places and found a battery (no, at the age of the car, I’m not going back to the dealer) down in Canton, about three miles from me, and waited on the phone to hear if I could start up the car.  It came through, still high on the jump from the dudes who helped me at Staples.  Ran down to pick up the battery–still leaving the car running–brought it home, and Jim put it in (I could’ve done that, but this is what marriage is all about).  The battery that died yesterday, nine and a half years later, was the original.

Yay, Honda!  Yay, Staples!  Yay, Husbands!

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REALITY?: I’ve Had a Bad, Bad Day

Love that song, on the Waylon Jennings’ Album, Cowboys, Rascals and Dirt.  However, I really am having not an awful, awful, but not a good day.

Decided to run out to the bank, do errands, and stop at the Library while I was waiting for the next load of curtains to dry.  The bank trip went fine.  At the grocery, I forgot three things on my list (sure, I could’ve looked at it).  Then to the Tunxis Library to check on some literary journals only to find that they haven’t been updating them and I only found a handful at that (for shame!).  Last stop was Staples for a new mouse which I hoped was the problem with one of my computers.  Got the one I wanted, went out to the car, and the battery’s dead.  This couldn’t have happened at the campus one mile up the street and five minutes prior where I know people at least.  Luckily, two young dudes helped jump me and I was on my way home.

This is where I’m glad I live in a small town.  I figured if I’m out of wheels for a day or two, I best stop and get a few things.  Uptown, I could leave the car running while I run into the stores, since I was afraid to shut it off (I didn’t have my cables with me–I think they’re in Jim’s car). 

At home, I fixed the computer with no problem.  Now I’m going to walk out to get the mail and look for that job rejection letter I wish they’d just mail out and get it over with.

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REALITY?: Big Brother

Now I dearly love amazon.com so this is really not a big complaint.  Unlike my husband, they’ll remember what I like to read and what I want for Christmas.  They pay very close attention to my moods, and tease me with my own whims.  They know me better than my mother–or no, my best friend–ever did, and keep in touch with regular e-mails.  When I go to visit, they’re always so very pleased to welcome me, and have my favorite fare laid out to tempt my appetite. But their timing is what is most extraordinary of all…

About five years ago or more I purchased a couple books on drapery ideas, and a fine Waverly stripe material along with cording and lining material to make new window treatments for the living room.  In cleaning the windows, the blinds last week, and now the laundering of the curtains, I pulled out those books last night and looked through them once again but wasn’t super excited about any of the ideas.

And judging from my morning e-mail,  amazon.com knew this.

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STORIES: The Lady in Room 203

Mrs. McLaughlin woke up every morning at seven a.m on May 23rd, 1997.  For many years, she would put on her robe, stop to use the bathroom, and head down the stairs to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee and scramble two eggs.  For the last three years at Highview Manor, the aide brought eggs, toast with jelly, and a cup of coffee with cream into room 203 where Mrs. McLaughlin would dig into her breakfast with gusto.

Oooh.  I think I’m going to like this one.

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REALITY?: Straightening Day

Monthly ironing, easier to do it all at once all day than every little at a time.  ‘Sides, more laundry, ironing all the curtains for fall cleaning.  Windows, inside, outside, inside outside top and bottom, moving, reaching till all eight surfaces are washed of summer dust. 

Cleaning up the garden rows as well, pulling up the vines that gave their last, the weeds that hid beneath their leaves from me all summer.  Dill, cilantro gone to seed; another day or two and I’ll collect them for next year. 

And all the while I work, the yellow dahlia faces smile down at me and laugh before the frost.

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WRITING: Till it Hurts

When each sentence is scrutinized, paragraphs highlighted in yellow as if they weren’t awkward enough to stand out on their own, you know the rewrite’s going on.

The one that started after the first few pages were done but the story itself didn’t know where it was going.  The one that sometimes comes trough in strong yanks and pulls, other times in word tweaks and grammar checks.

Slowly, painfully, brutally it goes on, long after the story’s been finished, and finished, and finished again.

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LITERATURE: Stories for Late at Night – Roald Dahl

<em>The Sound Machine:</em> The premise is wonderful: a weird, geeky type building a machine to hear what’s beyond human range.  The structure is excellent, opening with the action of Klausner going out to his shed to work on it.  Moving to dialogue that tells us more about the protagonist as well as what he is doing as his doctor drops in on him as he works.  And little by little, we follow him as he tries it out, and hears–a rose being cut!  His excitement builds, and the natural inclination to go further, and we follow along:

He put the earphones on his head and switched on the machine.  He listened for a moment to the faint humming sound; then he picked up the axe, took a stance with his legs apart, and swung the axe as hard as he could at the base of the tree trunk.  The blade cut deep into the wood and stuck there, and at the instant of impact he heard a most extraordinary noise in the earphones.  It as  new noise, unlike any he had heard before (…)

With his fingers he touched the gash, trying to press them together to close the wound, and he kept saying, "Tree…oh, tree…I am sorry…I am so sorry…but it will heal…It will heal fine…"  (p. 78)

The simplest yet strangest of wonderings turns into a thing that can haunt.

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WRITING: Fumbling About

I suppose that when you reach a point where you don’t know why something’s not working, or if you do but have no clue how to fix it, it’s time to go back to the basics. 

Story arc:  the series of conflicts or plot points that build up to a climax that may need some sort of resolution reflected in a change.

Character:  developing a depth that reacts to a need or a desire; tied in with the story arc in that this conflict arises out of perhaps what the character is willing to do to gain or move forward.

Narrative structure:  timelines composed of flashback if called for, reinforcement or information necessary to understand what gets a character from here to there.

Point of view:  the angle from which the whole story is best presented.

Action:  movement of story in a series of actions/reactions to progress through the changes.

Voice:  the invitation of the narrator to the reader to become interested in what is about to be revealed, to take the time to make the journey.

Conflict:  man versus something that stands in his way.

I’ve done it before–gone over one of my own writings to map out the story the way I’ve been taught to find and learn structure and form in the stories of others.  I’ve tended in the past to just lose touch with a story and give up after a few attempts to repair in rewriting; having been too close and then too far away–similar to that transition of aging vision when even the bifocals can’t reach to clarify something held right here

So that’s what I’m looking to see–the blind spot.

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WRITING: Crap

Well, a fourth reader didn’t get it, so it’s time to go back over the elements of story.  One can get lost in language and tone and lost sight of structure and plot.

Questioning as well my tendencies lately to avoid conflict and resolution in anything but a subtle manner.  But then, subtlety is good; it’s more likely that my version of "subtlety" is closer to "vague." 

It seems I’ve come a long way from over-explaining and fallen into the trap of unresolved story, more like vignettes or slices of life, as if it goes on without end.

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WRITING & REALITY?: Plot

Easy to find plot in reality, harder in my stories I guess.  A friend just read my latest and found nice imagery, but little plot to carry the story.  Not easy to fix, based on the concept, unless I change the concept, or make it all very obvious.  Will have to think about it, maybe let it go (if I can!) for a couple more weeks until it gets workshopped.

In reality, it’s story and plot that’s all too evident and sadly dramatic:

Rather than repeat it all, I’ll link to Cosmic Variance’s post on the plight of the five nurses and a doctor, known as the Tripoli Six, imprisoned for five years and now facing execution in Libya for charges of bringing in HIV into the hospital and infecting 400 children.  Please do follow the links and spread the word to do what we can to prevent this travesty of justice.

Locally, a Burlington, CT woman has turned her planned Christmas tree farm into a refuge for foals, also slated for execution as a unnecessary side effects of impregnating mares for their urine which is used in the production of Premarin.  These horses are born up in Canada, and folks are trying to outbid the dogfood folks in buying and bringing them to safety.  While I’m not against all uses of animals to benefit mankind, there has to be a better way.  There’s a rescue Sanctuary with more information online at http://www.foalrescue.com.

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