I blogged a bit about character-driven stories a few days ago. What I tried to say in one big post the great Anthony Burgess sums up in a few sentences. But then again, that’s why he’s Anthony Burgess, and I’m not. Anyway, it’s a great post over at Silver Birch Press.

Silver Birch Press

“There is, in fact, not much point in writing a novel unless you can show the possibility of moral transformation, or an increase in wisdom, operating in your chief character or characters. Even trashy bestsellers show people changing. When a fictional work fails to show change, when it merely indicates that human character is set, stony, unregenerable, then you are out of field of the novel and into that of the fable or the allegory.”

ANTHONY BURGESS, introduction to A Clockwork Orange

Note: In 1998, The Modern Library ranked A Clockwork Orange #65 on its list of the 100 best English-language novels of the 20th century. Anthony Burgess wrote the dystopian novel in just three weeks. It was originally published in 1962.

Photo: Dominic by Rich (::bigdaddyk::), ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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How It’s Done

A little taste of Halloween for you all:

Something had awakened him.

He lay still in the ticking dark, looking at the ceiling.

A noise. Some noise. But the house was silent.

There it was again. Scratching.

Mark Petrie turned over in bed and looked through the window and Danny Glick was staring in at him through the glass, his skin grave-pale, his eyes reddish and feral. Some dark substance was smeared about his lips and chin, and when he saw Mark looking at him, he smiled and showed teeth grown hideously long and sharp.

“Let me in,” the voice whispered, and Mark was not sure if the words had crossed dark air or were only in his mind.

He became aware that he was frightened–his body had known before his mind. He had never been so frightened, not even when he got tired swimming back from the float at Popham Beach and thought he was going to drown. His mind, still that of a child in a thousand ways, made an accurate judgment of his position in seconds. He was in peril of more than his life.

“Let me in, Mark. I want to play with you.”

There was nothing for that hideous entity outside the window to hold on to; his room was on the second floor and there was no ledge. Yet somehow it hung suspended in space…or perhaps it was clinging to the outside shingles like some dark insect.

–An excerpt from Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot

‘Salem’s Lot: Illustrated Edition (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And that, folks, is how it’s done. No vampires who sparkle in the sunlight, no urbane, world-weary blood-suckers, just cold, disturbing, dark horror. Aside from Bram Stoker’s original, this is the greatest vampire novel ever written. Please, tell me I’m wrong.

C.T.

Related articles

• Vampires for the century after Stoker (infocult.typepad.com)
• What Makes a Good Scary Movie for a First Grader? (susannahartigan.com)

Why We Write: Graham Greene

“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”  –Graham Greene

Graham Greene. (Photo credit: Richard Kenworthy)

Greene isn’t the first person to equate writing with therapy, but hearing it come from him is a big deal, if you know anything about his novels. They’re full of madness and melancholia (and warfare, and leprosy, and loneliness). But I guess that’s his point: It’s supposed to be down on paper. If it isn’t, it’s in your head. And I’d hate to be living The Power and the Glory or A Burnt-Out Case in my head.

I’ve often described writing not as therapy but as catharsis, as a steam valve for the thoughts in my head. (Thoughts, folks, not voices!) I need to get it all out—the plots, the scenes, the characters—or my waking thoughts will be consumed by them.  So I write. I pour them all out, some unformed, some partially assembled or requiring reassembly, some even in working order and worthy of the printed page. I write it all down, and it’s cathartic, relieving, healthy.

And I think this catharsis, or this therapy, in being a writer exists due to the inherent creative nature of writing. In the madness and melancholia of the human situation, we are not simply dealing with the difficult, we are creating something new. We do not merely cope, we create. And in that notion is something powerful. Call it being proactive, or attempting to find light in darkness, or whatever else you’d like. I just think coming to the end of a situation with something new rather than nothing at all is a net positive.

You may have heard it said that art is destructive, or heard someone highlight some aggressive, revolutionary spirit regarding art and destruction. It’s likely derived from Picasso’s quote: “The urge to destroy is also a creative urge.” (One can see a strong Marxist impulse in those words.) I’ve never really bought that. It always just struck me as something artists say to appear avant-garde and rebellious. And in a world where destruction so often reigns, it seems odd to me, pointless even. Deal with pain and suffering by creating rather than destroying. You might even find the whole process to be therapeutic.

Perhaps I’ve gone too far. In theology we call it eisegesis, reading your own opinions into someone else’s words.  But I guess this is the sign of a good quote: It itches those fingers on to keep typing.

Any thoughts? As always, all are welcome.

C.T.

Related articles

• Thoughts About Writing by Graham Greene (silverbirchpress.wordpress.com)
• How writers turn journal entries into novels (onewildword.com)
• Quotes to make (or help) you think: Graham Greene, Bertrand Russell and T.S. Eliot (larrysmusings.wordpress.com)
• Creativity ‘a mental illness’ (bbc.co.uk)

Settings for Your Stories

It makes sense to think that writing projects start, generally speaking, with one of three topics: a character, a setting, or a framework for a plot. Now, I talked a little bit about the importance of character-driven storytelling yesterday, so I’ll leave more on that for another time.

I’d like to say a little bit now about setting. I started a writing project recently (and we’ll see where it goes, if anywhere), and it came to mind as I was thinking of a particular setting, an abandoned town, an abandoned Pennsylvania coal town, to be precise. (For some reason, I had Centralia, Pennsylvania on the mind.) I worked a little at describing the town, sitting forgotten in a valley, and as I spun it out, I continued to add. From the setting came a few threads of a possible plot, and then characters. Flesh and muscle  were added to the skeleton, so to speak.

I began to wonder how I normally start a story. Do I have a character in mind first? Or is it a particular setting? Or do I have a theme first that requires some fleshed-out characters and a good setting? I don’t know. And it probably doesn’t matter too much, I suppose.

But all of this prompted me to list a few good online resources that, let’s just say, provide writers with some very original settings. Browse through what follows, and see what you can find. Now, behold the cool, curious, and creepy!

Here are a few links to Cracked.com‘s series on the world’s creepiest places:

The 6 Creepiest Places on Earth (Part 1)

The 6 Creepiest Places on Earth (Part 2)

The 7 Creepiest Places on Earth (Part 3)

That island of hanging dolls in Mexico will haunt my dreams, no doubt.

Changing course, the next link is fascinating, full of architectural masterpieces and all with stunning backdrops. I’d be tempted to visit some of them, if not for my crippling fear of great heights. Here’s a taste of what follows:

Tiger’s Nest (Photo credit: Joseph A Ferris III)

Here are the rest: The Most Beautiful Yet Precariously Placed Monasteries on Earth

And last but certainly not least, the wonderful site Dark Roasted Blend has a number of great series on travel. It’s got everything from ghost towns in Antarctica, to mountaintop castles, to disturbing abandoned amusement parks in Eastern Europe. But take note: Once you get to DRB’s site, be prepared to spend hours looking around. It’s endlessly and wonderfully diverting.

Any suggestions from readers on good story settings? Please, as always, let me know.

C.T.

Related articles

• Ghost Towns of the Pacific Northwest: Bordeaux, Washington (darkroastedblend.com)
• Story Settings: From Abandoned Centralia to Byberry Mental Hospital (mikedellosso.com)
• The Abandoned Asbestos Mining Town That Was Turned Into A Haven For Orphans (fastcoexist.com)
• Ray Bradbury on Characters (ctwesting.com)
• 10 creepiest abandoned waterparks (lostateminor.com)

Motivation for Writers

Definitely check this Top 10 List out. It’s worth a look. In fact, this list may motivate me to come up with my own. Not a bad idea. (Stay tuned for that one, folks.)

C.T.

Ray Bradbury on Characters

“First, find out what your hero wants, then just follow him!”  –Ray Bradbury

Photo of Ray Bradbury. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two points on this quote:

1. We need to realize the importance of character-driven stories. Yes, there will always be stories that are just plots with some characters peppered throughout. Think of disaster epics, like Earthquake or Volcano.

What you get in such stories, more often than not, are a series of events needing characters to keep the readers’ (or the viewers’) attention. But focusing on the character-driven story means–again, more often than not–being introduced to characters from whom the plot emerges. Yes, maybe a particular event kicks the story off, but ultimately, it’s the characters that guide the story’s action through their choices. You’ll find yourself more interested in the characters because you need to be. They’re the ones in charge.

Think of Schindler’s List, a story of the Nazi Holocaust, and you’d think that it’s just what I mentioned above: it’s a plot with a few characters tossed in. Except that it’s far more. It’s about the character Oskar Schindler, set in a horrifying setting, who moves the story by his own actions. (Of course, it helps that that story was true.) It’s character-driven, through and through. (And please, if you haven’t yet seen the film, see it.)

schindler’s list (Photo credit: K嘛)

2. I think it’s nice to hear Bradbury actually use the word hero, and not something more general, like protagonist. Heroes, it seems, still play a role in storytelling. (Yes, shocking!) Looking at popular culture, it’s sometimes hard to find the heroes among the protagonists. Think of Don Draper, or Walter White, or Tony Soprano. Protagonists all, and fascinating characters, but heroes? Certainly not.

Stories need heroes, because the world needs heroes. Be gritty, be real, be edgy in your storytelling, but give us someone to root for.

C.T.

Freewriting Exercise: It’s in the Basement

Here we go folks, another freewriting exercise! Now, by posting my exercises, I feel like I’m going out on a limb, giving myself just a few minutes to write these, then tossing them up on the blog for all to see. But then again, that’s what it’s all about, right? There’s a measure of risk-taking involved. So, for the uninitiated, here are our rules (with one little amendment):

1. Write on the topic provided.

2. Write for ten minutes. (I changed it from five.) Set a timer if you need to, but no more than ten minutes.

3. No editing! Just write. Grammar or flow don’t matter.

Today’s topic: It’s in the Basement. (Could be Halloween-ish, but doesn’t have to be.)

Here’s mine, done in ten minutes (and it reads like it was done in ten minutes, sadly):

*****

It’s there, I know it is. Far back, in the corner, by the soccer cleats and old books, behind the hot water heater.

It’s there, sitting there, waiting for me.

She says I’m crazy, says that it’s nothing, that it doesn’t exist. But I know better. I’ve gone down there, and I’ve seen it, from its spot behind the hot water heater. I’ve seen it. Worse still is that I know it’s seen me.

I used to go down to get rolls of toilet paper, or a bottle of wine, or Christmas decorations, and I’d feel something, something, undefined and odd but still real, watching. Of course, there was never anything there. I’d turn on the neons hanging from the ceiling, I’d look around, push boxes out of the way, even shine a flashlight into the corners. And nothing.

Still, there was that feeling: eyes on my back. And now, now I know. Because after months of that feeling, I finally saw something.

Something. What it was, I’m not sure, but it was real.

She sent me down to get the bed sheets out of the dryer, and when I heard faint scratching on the cardboard box that held the soccer cleats, I figured it was a mouse. It wouldn’t have been the first time. I turned, and I saw it, or at least part of it.

A foot, pink with long toes. Maybe a tail. Yes, yes a tail. Furry, black, too long to be anything normal.

Yes, I dropped the sheets, and yes, I left them there on the floor.

She thought I was an idiot; I certainly felt like one. I went back down, but brought the heavy Mag Lite with me, not as much for the added light but as a mallet.

And there it was, in the shadows, but not on the floor. It was up, in a corner, between floor joists, red eyes peering out from the rolled insulation. Red eyes, but like a cat’s with vertical pupils. No face, just eyes.

*****

Mine’s a little Halloween-ish if you can’t tell. But I’m curious about other people’s. Add yours in the comments section. Have a little fun with it! After all, it’s just a writing exercise.

C.T.

Why People are Reading Less (Part 2)

A few weeks ago, I blogged on the topic of declining reading rates. I wrote that the likely reasons (as if you needed me to tell you this) for the decline were our hyperstimulation from multimedia, and the vast options we have for consuming information, and how these leave many people disinterested in reading.

Reading list (Photo credit: jakebouma)

But I wanted to expand a bit on another point: that of reading as habit. Yes, we’re all busy, and yes, we’re exposed to so many stimuli that take attention from reading. But I wonder how many people today ever were big readers whose previous habits and experiences have just declined.

And I wonder if any of this problem stems from such people, people who never were big readers to start. They never had it as “a habit and a hobby, built over decades.” (Yes, I’m sorry, it is pretentious of me to quote myself in one of my posts.) And now, learning to love to read amid all of our technological distractions is nearly impossible.

60px (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Let’s elaborate: How many kids grow up today being read to by their parents, or, perhaps as important, seeing their parents sitting down to read? Likely, we all know about the importance of setting reading habits early in children. (Here are links to some good resources: here, here, and here.) I see it in my own life. My parents read to my siblings and me when we were young, and they were–and still are–voracious readers themselves. Today, my siblings and I all still love to read.

Children reading (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We talk about being passionate about reading, about loving it and getting excited to sit down on the couch and invest hours in a story. Still, it all requires setting patterns first. We love to read (in most cases at least) because we’ve done a great deal of it. We’ve invested in it. We’ve set habits.

Flossing one’s teeth daily requires the setting of habits, as does applying sunscreen, or exercising regularly. Yes, there are health reasons for doing these things, but can’t we make a similar case for reading? Sure, it doesn’t prevent skin cancer or gingivitis, but it does relieve stress, it’s therapeutic, and it can improve cognitive function.

To be blunt, we need it. And it should disturb us that so many people around us are losing this skill (and yes, it’s a skill). It’s so much easier to just turn on the television. (I know, because I type this as Sunday Night Football plays on the television in the other room.) But what are we losing when we lose interest in reading? Is it just the ability to read, or our attention spans, or our imaginations, or much more?

Forgive any of my melodrama. I’ll wrap this up. Do I have any ideas for making reading a habit in your life? I could come up with my own Top 10 List I suppose, but it’s easier to just link to someone far smarter. So here you go: 14 Ways to Cultivate a Lifetime Reading Habit. I’m partial to #11. Let me know what you think.

C.T.

The Shortest Horror Story

“The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door.” –Fredric Brown

Fredric Brown (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No need to gum up a great story with all those pesky paragraphs, right? It’s brilliant in its brevity, forcing you to see things you don’t want to see. And isn’t that the best kind of horror, the fear of the unknown?

And in less than twenty words, you have character, scene, conflict (of course there’s going to be conflict!), and a cliffhanger. Talk about efficiency.

I don’t know about you, but the more I read this, the more I love it.

C.T.

Freewriting Exercise: The Fish Aren’t Biting

Okay, as promised, here is my first freewriting exercise, open to any who wish to participate. Here are the easy rules:

1. Write on the topic provided.

2. Write for five minutes. Set a timer if you need to, but no more than five minutes.

3. No editing! Just write. Grammar or flow don’t matter.

So, without further ado, today’s topic: The Fish Aren’t Biting

Have at it! Be creative and have fun. If you want to participate, add yours in the comments below. I’ll be adding mine into this post a little later this morning.

Update: Here is my five-minute contribution.

Lousy fish. It’s them, not me.

If they don’t start biting, I’m going in after them. I’ll just jump in, leave the rod and reel and beers in the boat and drop in like a stone, see them eye to eye, go after those dirty little buggers, give them what for.

Yeah, seriously. I’ve been out here for five hours. The lake is like glass, the beers are now warm (no cooler, so my bad on that), the worms are roasting, likely begging me to put them out of their misery. And those fish, those lousy fish, just down there, knowing what they’re doing, looking up and giggling.

Yeah, giggling. Smirking, whatever. Whatever fish do. But those buggers know that they’re doing something, that they’re screwing with me, because they can.

So they have five more minutes, just five. I feel a tug on my line, and I might just consider going soft on them. I might just back down. But if there isn’t any tug, any sign of progress, then in I go.

It’ll be Thunderdome, me and those fish. They’re gonna pay. If I have to grab each one by hand, I’m gonna get them.

I don’t know. Maybe the heat’s getting to me. Now I think the squirrels are laughing at me too. Maybe I should lay off the warm beer.