Friday, June 14, 2013

Writing, What People Say and Kurt Vonnegut

So, I've been editing. By editing, I mean, being sick but before that and after I got a bit better which happened pretty much in the last six hours, I've been editing. Or, thinking about it. I really haven't been editing all that much in the last month but I've changed locals and been ill and, worse than that, really confused about what I want to do.

See, I've read books on writing.

These can be very helpful.

They can also whisper poison words into your ear. Sweet words like; You shouldn't be in every character's head. You shouldn't know everything. You should show what they'r feeling.

I agree with this but I just can't seem to do this completely. Also, I don't know how right it is. I like to know what a scene looks like but I've also read that describing a scene in too much detail, or even at all, is unnecessary. I agree. I hate reading pages of description of a tapestry in a castle, I definitely do, but I like clothes and shoes. I like to describe them. They're characters too, I guess. In some squalid corner of my head, which is round by the way, not square so how can any of use think literally outside the box, I've decided that they are important, mute little characters.

It occurs to me that I don't have those writing books, being a lapsed avid user of the library system. I would like to get them. They were well written. I'd like to remember them and read them again. It occurs to me that some of those books were written more entertainingly than some of the fiction that their authors' created. I would like to write a writing book but I need to figure out what I know about writing first, beyond that it depends on whether you're drunk, silly, sad, dull, or wild and a bunch of other things.

I just found the author of the quote that I was looking for and, while searching for the quote, I found another one. I didn't tend to use semicolons much until I got a college boy friend to edit for me. He's more fond of punctuation than I am. Now I'm not sure how to feel about them.

“Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.” 
― Kurt VonnegutA Man Without a Country
Goodreads is apparently pretty good for quotes. 

Anyway, I think I will include bits inside the character's heads a little more and if this book is not so good, I will fix it next time. The point that many writers have put forth is that you have to write to create good stuff. You also have to write to create putrid, vibrant green, oozing filth that sticks to your shoes and cooks eyes in their sockets. So, I will continue!
And perhaps lay off the chocolate cake. It makes me weird. 

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Wordy Day 2 Mario Bernadett: Lost on an island. (Probably not a desert island, despite whining to the contrary.)

........Darn it! I missed another one again. Does it make things any better that I thought today was Wednesday?
If you were lost on a desert island, what would be your first thought?
Would you panic? Would you panic and then immediately go searching for water? Would coconutes be at the top of the list of things to find, or would you just walk along the edge, heedless of your waking nightmare of a shark suddenly deciding that it's time to try life on land just to eat a lil chillin. (I figure they'd talk without pronouncing any consanants hard, ya know, teeth. Way too many teeth makes it hard to speak and never mind that whole, head's kinda just part of the body so, no neck and probably no voice box.
They'd have to be sharks with translator collars but it wouldn't matter because they'd go on land and they'd. Eat. You! Aaaaaaaaaaah! That is what I'd think about. That's exactly what I'm thinking about so, even though it might be good to go out on the coast and try to get someone's attention, I'm sitting curled up on a rock, being as still as possible so that murderous gorilla monkey hybrids do not EAT MY FACE OFF.

My name is Mario Bernadett and I am a casualty of a yacht accident. It was my sister's yacht. I am twelve. I do not get a yacht. After this, I don't think I want a yacht. Unless my parents have a tracking device planted in my clothing (not in me, egh! I can't stand scalpels) and can send it to me RIGHT NOW.

I'm sorry if I'm shouting. I sorta thought that since this is in my own head, I wouldn't have to deal with critics.Who am I kidding. It never works that way. Give it enough time and my older sister, the one who GOT ME INTO THIS MESS, ah, sorry, will pop up in my head and start interrupting me.

"So, whatcha doing?" said a familiar, nasal feminine voice. My head sagged and the voice continued. "Curled up on a rock, how effective. Wait here long enough and I'm sure you will be found. Maybe they'll even tell you what a brave little boy you are." Her voice took on a tinkling quality, the nasal haughtiness fading away as she drove the point in deeper with fake sympathy. "Oh, I know. I'll go get help." She began to laugh and I frowned. She was only being Sybil, nothing new and in real life she really wasn't so bad.