Critiques and Commentaries

"Though St. John the Evangelist saw many strange monsters in his vision, he saw no creature so wild as one of his own commentators."--G.K. Chesterton

Hornets buzz in my blacked-out brain:
panicked, shrill, and harpy-sweet.
Hands clamp shoulders, press into stillness,
the motionless frenzy of deer before dogs
devour their entrails. 

I snatch bewildered maple seeds
 name them, squeeze my fists
 too tightly: the webbing tears. 

Two syllables as a question:
my name 
with the rising, falling he uses used.
I almost had his hand. 


almost  

A ton of feathers, 
too heavy, light,
blown apart in the breeze. 

Warm, clinging fingers wrap my wrist
,brushing the base of my thumb, afraid to hold
tighter lest I break and bruise.  My name—soft, like a prayer,
like he said it. Oh. Her. Pale, skittish, empty-eyed.
My chest tightens, accused by her resemblance. 

It’s no kindness, her comfort 
a black-edged telegram: cause of death
 accidental. Grant me gnawing guilt,
feast it with fire, anything but emptiness
and shared sorrow: stale snacks in
some psychoanalyst’s office.  

One of my classes this semester is Writing Capstone. It's meant to be the final class for writing and writing/literature majors, in which all your previous classes and work are drawn upon to produce the ultimate expression of your writing skill. So, no pressure there.  Because there are only five of us in this class, we all read and critique everyone else's work.  The above poem was my first piece written for this class.

What do you think it's about?

1. A romantic poem
2. A mental breakdown
3. A friend's death
4. I'm not sure

The "correct" answer, if one still believes that authorial intention is valid, is number three, a friend's death. Actually, it was mostly, if not entirely, based on the reaction of Eleven to the Ponds' departure in "Angels Take Manhattan" and John's response to Sherlock's fall in Reichenbach. Mostly the former, but some elements of the latter as well. The "she" in the last two verses is River, of course. I have complicated narrative headcanons for my poems, which are being removed during editing, but I just thought I'd share this. It was actually hilarious to me when we started critics, because all of the incorrect responses mentioned above were actual comments given by my peers. 

Metafiction and Reader Interaction: The World of Thursday Next

On one of my recent trips to the libary, I rediscoved Jasper  Fforde’s Thursday Next series. The first book, The Eyre Affair,  is set in an alternate-history England circa 1980, occurs in a world where cheese smugglers run the line between Wales and Britain,  Bacon apologists go from door to door, and the main character is a veteran of the Russian-English conflict in the Crimera.  But the story really gets going once Thursday’s uncle Mycroft opens a portal into the Bookworld…

Generally, I would recommend British authors any day for their wit, brief yet clear detail, and skill in sci-fi and fantasy. Fforde is no exception. Frequent shoutouts for stories from Kipling to Doctor Who fill the story, and the first novel revolves extensively around an alternate ending for Jane Eyre. The story involves several levels of metafiction—story that is actively aware of itself as a story.  By the sixth or seventh book, One of Our Thursdays is Missing, a fictional version of the main character goes to search for the main character and ends up rewriting her series to contain the truth of the Bookworld.  There are also frequent references to Jurisfiction, the internal law system of the Bookworld. 

Many discussions in Jurisfiction mirror real-world ideas.

“For many readers books are too much of a one-sided conduict of information, and a new form of novel that allows the reader to choose where the story goes is the way forward.
“Isn’t that the point of books?” asked Black Beauty, stampling his hoof angrily on the table and upsetting an inkwell. “The pleasure lies in the unfolding of the plots. Even if we know what must happen, how one arrives there is still entertaining.”
”(…)create a new form of book—an interactive book that begins blank except for ten or so basic characters. Then, as it is written, chapter by chapter, the readers are polled on whom they want to keep and whom they want to exclude. As soon as we know, we write the new section, and at the end of the new chapter we poll the readers again (…)we want to make books hip and appealing to the youth market. Society is moving on, and if we don’t move with it, books—and we—will vanish.”
—-First Among Sequels, a Thursday Next novel

Another example of this creeping phenomena is the existance of sites like Book By You. Clients simply fill in name, physical attributes, and minor charactertics, and then pay for the product. If that’s what people read, I’d rather they watch a well-scripted TV show with character development, such as Doctor Who. Another discussion of changes in book formats can be found here. As an author, I prefer plain, ordinary paperbacks, a reliable format that doesn’t need batteries or have breakable screens. 

As for metafiction, it can be overdone very easily, but when done well, I absolutely adore it.

Secret Sacrament

So many of my stories start with a picture: three roses darker than black and richer than crimson, a girl in a skirt of her own feathers. Some of my favorite published stories begin this way too, such as the Chronicles of Narnia and Dragons in Our Midst. Other times, the image is all that remains when the plot is forgotten.

One of these cases involved a proud man offering himself for the native peoples, then stumbling across the desert as he dies of self-inflicted fever. I couldn't remember the title or author, but only the ending. But this spring, I found that book in the library: Secret Sacrament by Sherryl Jordan. While the story itself was average, the ending was so powerful that I carried it in my mind for years. I think this can help remind authors of how important imagery is in stories.

Commuter to Reality: Conclusion

Reflect on the class and what has been helpful or meaningful to you.
I glare at the sheet of paper, blaming it for the past four months of headaches, screams, tantrums and tears. Two different classes, true, but the frusteration level was exactly the same.  What have I learned from this class?

• Concrete details are important.
• Consider your audience.
• Some people don't think fantasy is real literature.
• Some people only wantyou to practice writing 'real literature.'
• This professor cannot be pleased.

The last one summerizes it all, really. How else can I explain her notes of 'too many adjectives" on the first page and a conclusion that I did not have enough detail? Peer critiques were no help; she thinks I added too much thought and turned it into an essay on the spiritual state of the English church, while the peer critiques said it was too much of a travel narrative.  I have one week from tomorrow to finish edits on this and my poems from earlier in the class.
I want to bang my head against the desk until I have a concusion, but she wouldn't give me an extension on that account. I glance at the paper again. What I really want to to do is scrawl a big fat "NOTHING"  across the paper, or print it in 72-pt Hobbiton font and hand it in, but she wants 350 words minimum for 10 pts, and my perfectionist nature won't let  me squander the grade on revenge. Plus, I have her next fall. Can't burn my bridges just yet.
"Rule 1: The Doctor Lies."
 So do I. All the time. Have to. Spoilers"
--Amy and River, "The Wedding of River Song"
I feel like I've been lying to her the whole time. Lying that I liked this poem or that essay, that I agreed with this theory of writing or didn't really mind the assignment. Lying by omission, if nothing else. She talked about vulnerability yesterday, about being adventurious and unafraid before that, and I scrawled in my notebook,Of course you can say that, you aren't the one getting graded! You aren't the one who spends hours on a short story she doesn't even like and gets told it was lame! (even when it is lame. Let me use my ideas, then it won't be lame.)  If you want me to write about my world, acknowlege that it largely takes place in my head. And stop calling us apprentice writers! People act like they are treated. It's a self-fufilling prophecy that will we never be anything more than apprentices.
On Tumblr yesterday, I saw this quote:

Assignment A: "Write 1 page paper on this really interesting subject that you know lots about."

Me: *writes 5 page paper*

Assignment B: "Write 10 page essay on this really super boring subject that no one cares about."

Me: *writes two paragraphs before beating head violently against desk*

Exactly. This blog post is probably already close to the word count--(checks)--500 words. Five hundred words about how I don't want to write a 350 word refllection. Reflection is a funny-looking word, too, but I digress. And it's May 1st today...no, no more digressions. So, what should I do about this? I have roughly 25 hours to finish this assignment, which must also include sleeping, eating, and two more classes. Drats.

Commuter to Reality: Reality

"The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake. Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer.
Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?
We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La. They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle Earth."-
George R.R. Martin (paragraphs mine)

And that says it all. But in case you're intimidated by the long quote, let me state in the worlds of Owl City: "Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there."
Besides, if we're Christians, we should believe in another world, a reality beyond what we can see with our eyes. So why is it that only such a small box of writing is labeled "realistic?"

Commuter to Reality: 'Pulp Fiction'

Many--perhaps most--teachers of fiction writing do not accept manuscripts in genre, and I believe there's good reason for this, which is that wereas writing litary fiction can teach you how to write good genre fiction, writing genre fiction does not teach you to write good liteary fiction--does not, in effect, teach you "how to write," by which I mean how to be original and meaningful in words.--My textbook

I stumbled across this quote from the back of my textbook while glancing through it (finally arrived yesterday, much to my relief). Ironically, the professor mentioned the difference between genre fiction and "literature" in class today. Her points boiled down to:
1. Genre writing is plot-based, literary fiction is character-based.
2. Genre fiction does not have pyscological realism.
3. Genre fiction relies heavily on large, often unrealistic events.
At least, that's what I heard.

My response:
1. How do you show character except through events? Also, if you cannot take out the specific character and replace him without the plot collapsing, doesn't that imply a certian degree of character-basis?
2. To quote G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy/:

The fairy tale discusses what a sane man will do in a mad world. The sober realistic novel of to-day discusses what an essential lunatic will do in a dull world.

3. In certian worlds, big events may be quite reasonable.

And examples for all three (All from Doctor Who for consistancy)
1. The Doctor may enage in many adventures, but those adventures often stem from/are complicated by his nature. One episode that grows directly out of the Doctor's character is "Amy's Choice."
2. While no one now alive is responsible for the genocide of their home planet (we think), the Doctor shows the scars of that action even when he tries to hide it. One of the first things mentioned about him in the revived series comes in conversation with the Nestene Concious,

That's not true! I should know, I was there. I fought in the war. It wasn't my fault! I couldn't save your world! I couldn't save any of them!

3. In the Whoniverse, it is perfectly reasonable that aliens invade Earth (especially on Christmas) and are scared off by a screwdriver, because they know who they are facing.

Commuter to Reality: Sparrow Syndrome and Pessimism

What's good about sad?
It's happy for deep people.
--Sally Sparrow, Blink

Well, judging from the first two class periods, "Writing of Fiction" will give me plenty of material for blog posts, if not short stories. The series will be titled Commuter to Reality, because my muse is going to have to come in from my wide imagination into the little corner of it that is considered reality.

The second part of the title, "Sparrow Syndrome," comes from the Doctor Who quote. Sometimes, you just want to watch Aslan's death or the montage at the end of the last Sarah Jane Adventure because you want to cry. (One reason why 'School Reunion' has become one of my favorite episodes since Elisabeth Sladen's death in April.) Part of it is the relief of taking off masks, acknowledging that everything is not okay. Sometimes it's realizing that other people have it worse, even if those other people are imaginary. Tearjerkers can even be heartwarming, like the very end of 'The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe.'

On the other hand, there are sad stories that are merely depressing. For class, I read a story called 'Balancing Act.' The professor says that she assigns us certian stories to let us know what she might be looking for. Well, this story doesn't exactly inspire confidence in any of my ideas. It's about a husband and wife who gradually drift apart. The last sentences convey the whole tone.

Each walked a tightrope of need. That single afternoon, she later decided, was what had kept them together for another three full years.

Woop-de-do. Life in grayscale with no real hope of color or even sepia tone isn't sad, it's depressing. If sadness is rain, then stories like that are the nasty, stinging perceptation--not snow, rain, or even sleet--that you can barely see but grinds your face like pebbles. Rain can be poetic. You can dance in rain, watch it come down, let it water your garden. There's nothing to be done with the stingy stuff but dart inside and get out of the way.

Mining for Pomegranates

One of the most wonderful things about being an author is revision--the chance to look at your work through new eyes and see things you missed the first time. This is especially true when it comes to NaNoWriMo novels, which are written at breakneck speed.
In a way, it's like miners trying to break through a mountain. They don't care about scenery or stability. But later, when the dust has settled and we have time to use the more delicate equipment in our toolbox, we start looking closer. Perhaps we'll open a new passage because one part is unstable and prone to cave-ins, or we'll widen one tunnel for easier access. But the best part is when the lamplight reveals a cavern full of sparkling gems. Each gentle tap opens up even more wonders to our sight.
It's also like making a fruit salad. You throw in whatever you can find in the cupboard and fridge, and only on the third or fourth helping that you identify that delightful taste lingering in your mouth. Pomegranate seeds? You don't remember putting them into the bowl, but it's so delicious you don't really care.
So as you sit down to edit a story--any story--don't think of it as a dull, boring task. Think of it as an opportunity to find something new.

First NaNoWriMo Update

I reached 25k in seven days.
*breathes again* that's a new record for me, I think. And I'm not done yet. Just taking a break to get my speech assignment done.

Four Degrees of Inspiration

This post was inspired by K.M. Weiland's post 15 Degrees of Inspiration
Well, I have a much shorter work where I can trace the history, so I'll stick with only four.
1. Roverandom by J.R.R. Tolkien is a delightful children's tale of a toy dog who journeys to the moon and the sea.
2. The rhyme "Why the man in the moon came down too soon," also by Tolkien; from The Adventures of Tom Bombadil or The Tolkien Reader
3. A friend's comment:

The moon is a good hermit-hole for contemplating things that happen on the world below, and the earth atmosphere tends to be a bit thin. And if you want a third reason, I enjoy chatting with the man on the moon

4. My exhaustion after a week of orientation activities

Produced the poem "Hermit's Hidey-Tower." I'll only post the first verse to reserve rights if I ever want to publish it:
One night I found on a grassy mound
a shining silver stair
I stared in awe at what I saw
resting on the air
No rope or rail if I should fail
but stretching to the stars
stairs of light amidst the night
and a journey far

One Consuming Passion

One person with passion is better than forty people merely interested.
— E. M. Forster
One Consuming Passion
First of all, I must admit I am not sure if “passion” is the correct term for what I mean to discussion. Two other terms which came to my mind were “obsession” and “longing,” but a quick thesaurus search brought me to:
affection, affectivity, agony, anger, animation, ardor, dedication, devotion, distress, dolor, eagerness, ecstasy, excitement, feeling, fervor, fire, fit, flare-up, frenzy, fury, heat, hurrah, indignation, intensity, ire, joy, misery, outbreak, outburst, paroxysm, rage, rapture, resentment, sentiment, spirit, storm, suffering, temper, transport, vehemence, warmth, wrath, zeal, zest
~thesaurus.com
Now, that list could fill an essay in itself, especially considering the opposing pairs, such as joy and misery. But for now, I must settle for the word “passion” to describe my hunger for words. I love books—instead merely tromping back to my room to exchange the book I had in my purse, I stopped by the library to grab four more. (In my defense, it was a shorter walk.) I love writing—I recently filled a 160-page journal in thirty-two days. I spend hours on online writing communities.
Certain books fuel my passion—the death of Aslan for Edmund, the beauty and wisdom of North Wind, and many more.But passion is a fire that cannot be shut up or even expressed in solitude. It must be passed on to kindle other hearts.
In recent sessions, people have touched on the topic of passion in our Christian life. We need to hunger and thirst for God, awed by his love for us. Mel Gibson’s blockbuster film was rightly titled The Passion of the Christ. From Adam and Eve in the garden to the New Jerusalem awaiting believers, Christ is passionate over his people, even to the shame of enduring the cross. I want that type of hunger, but my skills don’t seem to transfer to real life relationships.
One of my favorite authors, Bryan Davis, recently posted a link to a speech “Passion in Writing” he had given at the Montrose Christian Writers' Conference. I immediately uploaded it—and something clicked. Not because of his humorous quips on the difficulties of publishing, or inspiring stories—although the speech was full of them—but because Davis talked about the passion required to get his first novel published.
“Write your passion, not the reader’s expectations. Write what makes you burn with holy fire, not what sizzles through the checkout lane.” I had never made the connection between my writing and passion, between my desire and the fervor God gave me. God wants passionate preachers. God wants passionate nurses. God wants passionate mothers and fathers. God wants passionate teachers.
But God also wants passionate artists. God also wants passionate singers. God wants passionate writers. He wants people who have hearts that burn for him and cannot be silenced from speaking his Truth with the tongues he has given. In his eyes, a passion for feeding the hungry, a passion for standing up for justice, a passion for telling stories, are all of equal worth. We should be willing to accept new tasks from him, and perhaps discover new passions in the doing.
For example, I recently volunteered at Feed My Starving Children, assembling meals to ship overseas for starving children. Even though I had never done it before, the opportunity to get involved in a hands-on way fueled some latent fuel into flames. To me, ‘volunteering’ was primarily associated with children’s ministries, cleaning, washing dishes and construction—some of which I enjoy more than others. But when the news is full of catastrophes, those local ministries, although necessary, important, and even fun, seem like a drop in the bucket.
In The Return of the King, Gandalf says “It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know…” Yet when the “fields we know” spread across the globe due to today’s technology, “what is in us” seems far too small to be useful. Where does one start?
At Feed My Starving Children, I found one way to answer. Statistics say 18,000 children die daily of starvation. But in two hours, our group packaged enough food to feed eighty-seven children for a year. The organization hopes to package 123 million meals in 2010. That is something I can get passionate about.
Today’s culture seems hopeless and hostile. But I don’t have to challenge the entire world. I can start with just one person. I read a blog post once that ended:
Someday, someone will look up at you, and at how far you have come in your journey, and will be encouraged to keep trying even though it is far from easy.
Today, write for that person.
I wish to end this essay with the lyrics of a Steven Curtis Chapman song, “Magnificent Obsession.” The line

I want You to be my one consuming passion

gave this essay its title. Read the lyrics slowly; savor them. God will take your passions and give the Secret Fire.

Lord, You know how much
I want to know so much
In the way of answers and explanations
I have cried and prayed
And still I seem to stay
In the middle of life’s complications
All this pursuing leaves me feeling like I’m chasing down the wind
But now it’s brought me back to You
And I can see again

This is everything I want
This is everything I need
I want this to be my one consuming passion
Everything my heart desires
Lord, I want it all to be for You, Jesus
Be my magnificent obsession

So capture my heart again
Take me to depths I’ve never been
Into the riches of Your grace and Your mercy
Return me to the cross
And let me be completely lost
In the wonder of the love
That You’ve shown me
Cut through these chains that tie me down to so many lesser things
Let all my dreams fall to the ground
Until this one remains

You are everything I want
You are everything I need
I want You to be my one consuming passion
Everything my heart desires
Lord, I want it all to be for You
I want it all to be for You

You are everything I want
And You are everything I need
Lord, You are all my heart desires
You are everything to me

A Quick Challenge

Okay, I have to work out a schedule for myself, which (I hope) will have room for blogging updates, but until then, a writing challenge.

A woman is going to tell her boyfriend that she wants to break up--on the same night he plans to propose to her. What happens?

P.S. Based on a true story shared about the dangers of dating too fast as college freshmen

JulNoWriMo Final Update

This is my final update on JulNoWriMo. I stopped counting words after reaching 50k, but I wrote probably closer to 60k overall. The majority of it was blind rewriting of Three Dark Roses, which is STILL unfinished and in need of work. But I also wrote a few short stories and random musings as well, which might show up here in the future. But anything written in WriMo starts out at draft zero and needs a lot of work. Hopefully I will be able to do NaNoWriMo this fall as well, with my idea Olympus Rising.
How'd everyone else do?

JulNoWriMo Updates #15-23

I WON!
And I am on vacation, so that is as much as you'll get from me presently.

JulNoWriMo Updates #14-15

Well, I have reached a milestone.
40k
(+11)
HURRAH! This is a new record for me. In my first NaNo, I got to 38k by the 18th, so this is really good for me.

UPDATE: Total for the day is 41, 104

JulNoWriMo Updates #12-13

I am at 33k and climbing. And now, to reply to your comments:
Thanks Chrystal. Who are you on JulNo? I am Nenya_s Wings. I found your blog through K.M Wieland--Wordplay--and think its good. I was homeschooled until high school, but still consider myself homeschooled.
Gwen, I will have access to a computer, but probably not much. It's supposed to be a vacation, after all.
And Evergreena, thanks for the encouragement. Hey, how about updating the blog sometime?

JulNoWriMo Update #11b

30K plus one.
Well, now I should be able to relax a bit more about vacation. That should help me out some.
Also, Gwen and Maggie, I accidently delated your comments. If you want to repost them, I'd appreciate it.

JulNoWriMo Updates #9-11

I have not worked on today's section at all, but I am at:
25,601 as the total.
Unfortunately, we leave for vacation near the end of this week, so my wordcout will not be updated for a long time. That is, assuming I do write more on vacation.
And Gwendolyn, way to go. What's yours about?

JulNoWriMo Update 8

Despite other activities today, I wrote 1.5k, bringing my total to
21,501

JulNoWriMo Updates #4-7

July 4th--family activities
July 5th--more family activities
July 6th--work
July 7th--(different) work.

Total for the first week:


20,001

How are you doing?