Fiction Friday

This is my first foray back into Fiction Friday in quite a while. Shameful, considering I help run the damn thing.

This didn’t really come out the way I wanted it to, but the no editing this is my own rule…

[Fiction] Friday Challenge for December 12, 2008:

Tell us the story behind this picture:
Fiction Friday Prompt

Y: What happened?
X: Oh…just a misunderstanding.
Y: A misunderstanding? That’s it?
X: Well, ok. A big misunderstanding.
Y: Are you going to elaborate?
X: It looks like your going to make me.
Y: No…I’m just…
X: Just what?
Y: I’m your friend right? I’m just making sure you’re ok.
X: I’m fine. It’s really not that big a deal.
Y: Are you sure? You seem…down.
X: I’m sure. He came over last night…he got a little…angry…and he left. That’s all.
Y: So he did it?
X: Yes. But like I said it’s not a big deal.
Y: I hope you kicked him out.
X: No. Like I said, he left.
Y: Are you sure you’re OK?
X: I’m fine. You don’t seem to be hearing me…it’s not a big deal.
Y: How could you say that? You love this place.
X: …huh?…
Y: …Do you get the feeling we’re not talking about the same thing?
X: All the time.
Y: So what are you talking about?
X: He broke up with me last night?
Y: Oh…Why?
X: You.
Y: Me?!
X: You.
Y: What’s wrong with me?
X: You want you and me to be us.
Y: Oh.
X: Thank you for not denying it.
Y: And he could tell.
X: Everyone can tell.
Y: Why did it bother him?
X: He thought that I wanted the same thing.
Y: Oh.
X:
Y: …Do you?
X: You’ve been wanting to ask me that for two years, haven’t you?
Y: Longer.
X: Yes.
Y: Huh?
X: I was answering your question…Yes.
Y: Oh.
X: You’re nervous.
Y: I know.
X: What were you talking about?
Y: What?
X: Well we’ve established what I was talking about. What about you?
Y: Oh. Your front window is broken.
X: Oh, that…
Y: What happened?
X: Nothing important. Just some kids and a baseball.
Y:
X:
Y: So…just a misunderstanding?
X: A big one I’d say.
Y: Quit smirking.
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The Holidays in Verse

Instead of answering yesterday’s post—by Janie—in her comments I thought I’d keep the thread going.

Unlike Janie, the written word wasn’t really part of my holiday tradition when I was young. Both my parents were singers, active not only in the church choir, but in Barbershop/Sweet Adelines as well. The holiday season was a hectic blur of rushing from one performance to another, often being drafted as an additional voice, or the head of an impromptu children’s chorus to round out the caroling. There never seemed to be any time to read.

For me the holiday stories that evoke the most vivid memories are the stories told in carols and Christmas songs, and the stories most often performed during the season—’Twas the Night Before Christmas, and A Christmas Carol.

I remember choir directors telling rooms full of people the stories of O Tannenbaum, Silent Night, and The Twelve Days of Christmas, and baritone-voiced pastors reciting ‘Twas the Night to spellbound kids.

Years later I started to seek out Christmas Stories to read, but generally not the classics. I’m a big fan of modern Christmas stories, and retooled classics—Scrooged is my favorite Christmas movie.

But to me Christmas has just never been about the written word.

This post was originally posted on Write Anything
where six writers talk about the trials and
tribulations of their writing lives. And each
Tuesday the soapbox belongs to me.

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Young at Heart

I’ve just discovered something about myself. I’m a great audience.

I’m a sucker for a story. It doesn’t even have to be a good story—just not a bad one. I realized this while going through my recent reading list.

To understand this it helps if you know a little about a popular theory of art called the Suspension of Disbelief.

The suspension of disbelief (also the willing suspension of disbelief) is an unconscious contract that a reader (or watcher, etc.) gives to the storyteller (or artist). It’s easiest to explain by example.

When you are in a theater watching the latest Indiana Jones movie you accept that the story you are going to be told is a little outlandish, that the hero will be the beneficiary of extraordinary luck, that it’s fundamentally OK that hundreds of people are going to die, and that there are limits to the level of special effects, and your mind makes allowance for these things as you watch the show.

The suspension of disbelief is necessary to enjoy the story being told. If you did not suspend disbelief you would question how it’s possible for a man with a whip to defeat an army with guns. And you’d be right. But you wouldn’t be enjoying the show.

So, a few days ago, while reorganizing my bookshelf—reshelving the ones I’d just read or pulled out to reference, pulling out other I had yet to read, or want to reread again—I realized that in the last month or so I’d read a lot of pulp.

I’m no snob when it comes to novels. True, some of my favorite stories came down from heavy hitters—Poe, Shakespeare, Dumas…—I also greatly enjoy the thrillers so often trashed by the literati. Heck, I actually liked The DaVinci Code…both times I read it. I think Stephen King is a master storyteller, no matter that he writes horror and bestsellers, both of which are a kiss of death among literature snobs.

I think what it comes down to is that I just enjoy reading so much that you’ve got to present me with a pretty bad book for me not to get caught up in it.

And I do get caught up.

I never figure out the killer before it’s revealed. The surprise ending that surprises no one, almost always surprises me. When an author kills off the secondary character that everyone liked, but that every other reader knew was going to die, I get upset.

See the thing is, I love stories. I love good plots, even if the characters are boring. If you’ve got no plot, but the characters are interesting you’ve still got me hooked. Even if those are so-so, but you’re a good writer, I’ll still enjoy the journey.

And to take it a step further, I love writing. One of my favorite books is about the impact of the Bill of Rights on modern life. Not much storytelling going on in there.

I suppose there are writers out there who would think this a weakness—that I can’t tell the difference between good and bad writing, or good and bad books.

I choose to look at it a little differently. I see it as a plus. I still love writing. I haven’t become so cynical that I have to look down my nose at what I don’t believe measures up to my standards.

Or to put it a different way…when I read, I still get to be a kid.

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NaNo Recovery

Well NaNo is over. Raise your hand if your glad.

But now that it’s all over, how do you get back your regular writing routine? It’s may not as easy as you think.

Odds are you fall into one of two camps. Either your sick of writing and sick of your story, or you’re really energized and just hitting your stride. If this last bit describes you, then you can read the rest of this post when you hit the wall.

You’re tired of your story, you’re characters are irritating you, your hands hurt, you’re tired, your plot has so many holes you’re afraid it’s leaking water…

Your earned a week off, haven’t you?

Yes. You really have.

But don’t you dare take it.

Have you ever run a print and stopped right after the finish? You can really hurt yourself. You’re supposed to coast to a stop. Warm down (that is the opposite of warm up, isn’t it?).

Do the same thing with your writing or you will risk a wicked writer’s cramp. If you want to put your story away for a week or two, that’s fine. Spend 15 minutes a day in your journal, or on a writing prompt, or jotting down idea for a new story…or blogging. But don’t take the time off.

Over the last 30 days you’ve developed quite a writing habit. This habit is one you shouldn’t break.

This post was originally posted on Write Anything
where six writers talk about the trials and
tribulations of their writing lives. And each
Tuesday the soapbox belongs to me.

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NaNo Wrap-up

NaNo Winner

I’ve officially won, NaNo. Even though there are five days left, I’m done, and well across the 50k mark. But unlike in years past I’m not really all that jazzed about it.

I think it’s because the story I chose was a spur of the moment creation, and not one of the stories I’ve already sketched out, and planned to work on. So it doesn’t feel like I accomplished something I’ve been meaning to accomplish, as much as it feels like I’ve added something to the pile.

But at least I can hand my hat on the fact that even when my writer’s block is crippling, I can always kick it into submission for a short while. The longer I write, the more sure I am that I need solid immutable deadlines.

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Chapter 4 of Chapter 7

On Friday, I mentioned a collaborative writing project I recently participated in called Chapter 7. Seven different authors tell a story in seven chapters.

I was responsible for Chapter 4, and it was published at Write Anything today.

Here’s a small sample:

John put his hand on his brother’s shoulders and waited until Bob met his eyes. “You love this girl.”

“No,” Bob replied reflexively.

“It wasn’t a question, Bob. You love her.”

“I do not,” he said rather more weakly than he’d intended.

You can read the whole chapter here, or if you want to read the story from the beginning head over to the story index.

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