The Marketplace of Technique: Open to All

Sometimes in prose we can have some of the same repeating sounds we might use in poetry. They may be alliterative (at the beginnings of words) or at the end as you would expect in most older English poetry.

Here is an example from my work of a paragraph where beauty and vivid mental imagery were needed to set a particular wistful mood. The colour changes are to help you spot some (but not all) of the linkages:

Buck was raking leaves when he heard the raucous honking of geese winging overhead. He looked up at the haphazard "V" of a flock getting ready for their long southward flight. And well they might get ready, for the days were growing shorter and there was a nip in the air even as the trees were the hues of flame.


Nobody in their right mind would try to write an entire chapter with that sort of rich text...it would be to hard to write and too demanding to read. But to set the stage it's what the doctor ordered.

Here is another example of such text, this time with the linkages turned off:

It was nearly midnight. Westie sat at the tiller in a warm pool of lantern light as the barge drifted lazily through the moon rich waters. Above, the stars played hide and seek among a few scattered patches of clouds. The Bramble Wood gently parted the laughing ripples that teased and caressed the stout oak planks. All in all, it was a perfect end to a perfect day.
 
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When writing any story which takes place in any version of the real world, there's no such thing as TOO MUCH research for authenticity. My still-in-progress near-future novel, "The Possible Future of Alipang Havens," requires PLENTY of realistic geography, since its action takes place literally all over the world. But there's one detail which I long neglected to address.

Those who are reading "Possible Future" know that in it, a future dictatorship fences off all of the most active and committed American Christians inside a big reservation in the Great Plains. This includes PART OF both Dakotas. But until today, I never got around to determining whether Mount Rushmore was located WITHIN that part of South Dakota that I figured was part of "the Enclave." Today, I looked this up at last.

It is inside the Enclave. Therefore, my "exile" characters would be aware of the alterations which the dictatorship would have made in the Rushmore Monument. I have now retroactively inserted a reference to this in an early chapter, and I have chosen which historical figures the Fairness Party would decide to commemorate instead of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and (Teddy) Roosevelt.

They decide to glorify Margaret Sanger, Mao Tse-Tung, Angela Davis and Che Guevara.
 
RUACH

The Great Father Ocean sends forth spirit children
As rain upon hilltops that slope into valleys,
Cascading through dark glades to flow into runnels
To seek out communion in deep mystic rivers
And come to the sea.

"Bring to me the secrets of robins and ravens,
of swift silver eagles, of broad emerald vistas
and hushed verdant meadows and still quiet places;
Bring hither the watchwords of foxes and pheasants
And come to the sea."

-- John Burkitt

I wrote this to symbolize God putting forth his life into many living things and gathering back to himself the richness of their experiences in the souls that return to him. "Ruach" is a Hebrew word that means both "breath" and "soul". In Genesis, God breathed (ruach) into Adam, and he became a living soul (ruach).
 
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One of the best things about modern word-processing is that it permits you to _insert_ new material retroactively into the middle of a work in progress.

Followers of Alipang Havens know that it's been taking me a long time to chronicle the exploits of the Filipino Fireball. This is because of that intrusive thing known as Real Life. But I recently added new installments to Volume Two (which, in a hoped-for book form, is probably going to be split into Volumes Two AND Three). And having done this, I began giving thought to what "human interest" elements I might have neglected. Alipang and Kimberly, with many of their peers from the old highschool days, have lived long enough by the year 2026 to see THEIR children progress partway to adulthood; and I realized that I haven't portrayed as much as I could have portrayed of the growing-up experiences of these children. Alipang, and his eldest son, have been giving much of their attention to bothersome little details like whether every living thing on the North American continent will be killed by an exploding supervolcano; but I've overlooked IMPORTANT matters, like teenagers being afraid of rejection.

So now I'm taking remedial action. The above-mentioned firstborn of Alipang and Kim, Wilson Havens by name, was grabbed into captivity with his immediate family when he was ten years old. Meanwhile, circumstances enabled Alipang's sister Chilena with HER family to avoid reservation confinement. So Chilena's daughter Cecilia Ruth, who had enjoyed a good relationship with her Uncle Alipang's family, found at age nine that her friendly cousin Wilson was whisked away. After four years of separation, then, Chilena's family gets the chance to enter the "Western Enclave" and be reunited with their relatives inside the fence.

At the bottom of page 164 in the Alipang Havens thread, and continuing on page 165, I have inserted scenes involving Wilson and Cecilia Ruth, as they meet AS TEENS for the very first time.
 
As veteran musicians are able to jam with others on short notice, an experienced writer becomes able to write something quickly that "spins off" of what another person has written. Today, on Facebook, I saw where someone had written an extremely clever SONNET about entropy: the decay of the universe. I accordingly hastened to make this up in response......



I'm glad I'm not the only one who writes
In sonnet form, addressing things obscure.
While prose, of course, can speak of shades and lights,
A sonnet has a good chance to endure.

I said "endure." In spite of entropy,
There is about us that which will survive.
The heat death of the universe we see
Can't kill us; our Redeemer is alive.

I don't commit the error hippies make,
Of thinking afterlife is in my art.
It's our Creator, for His glory's sake,
Who offers what some call the Sacred Heart.

My sonnet just reflects the victory
Of Jesus, doorway to eternity.
 
Quite a few show-business figures have wandered into fiction writing. One such author is Bruce Boxleitner, who starred in "Babylon Five." And the same leap can be made by those in any form of live theater.

From my days as "Archbishop Copperfox," I'll always remember a Colorado Renaissance Festival character called Professor Loquacious. The actor who plays Loquacious is an _actual_ university professor named Rob Rice, who in real life is a believer in Jesus. While I was still on the Colorado RenFest cast myself, I began reading fiction written by Rob. He really is "sui generis," Latin for "in a class by himself." Try to imagine a blend of the Perelandra Trilogy, Frankenstein, and The X-Files, and you'll have a _slight_ notion of Rob's marvellous world of creativity.

For his latest novel, Rob transferred his character-name "Loquacious" to a _centaur!_ In "The Chronicles of Loquacious," he makes mythical beings _realistic;_ for instance, one chapter centers (no pun intended) on Loquacious trying to buy horseshoes that fit his hooves. To learn more, look up The Esterhazy Press:

http://www.robricebooks.com
 
This post will remind you of the existence of the Marketplace, while introducing you to the work of a Narnia lover who never joined The Dancing Lawn.

My friend's name in real life is Rob Rice -- just Rob, like Rob Roy. But in the Colorado Renaissance Festival, he is the sixteenth-century scholar Professor Loquacious. Rob was one of my VERY FEW fellow Christians on cast when I was there, and he was not considered to be as expendable as I was. Also like me, he is a writer of both fiction and nonfiction. His works can be shopped for online at this website:

http://www.robricebooks.com

I myself have bought three of his novels. But the following sample of Rob's humor comes for free. It is a parody song lyric. The tune is from the old country-pop song "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down;" the subject matter is the viewpoint of Bard the Bowman in The Hobbit when he had slain Smaug.

" The Night I Shot Old Smaugy Down "​

Bard the Bowman is my name, / And one night I saw a gout of flame.
Then Smaug the Golden came, / And laid waste to our town, again…
Once the dwarves had come and gone, / We had our hopes, but we carried on…
Then we looked and our spirits fell, / It was a ravaging we'll all remember well…

The night I shot old Smaugy down…And golden bells were ringing…
The night I shot old Smaugy down…And all the Elves were singing,
They sang… Tra! Tra la-la, la-la…La la la, la la la…


He came diving, and I saw that he / Had a gap in his armored hide I could see…
Took my black arrow hurriedly, / Let fly… and it hit him in the M-O-T…
Now when your town is made of wood, / And a dragon makes it burn real good,
You dive from the flames, and you swim like fun!
But you lose it all, even though you really won…


The night I shot old Smaugy down…
And golden bells were ringing…
The night I shot old Smaugy down…
And all the Elves were singing,
They sang… Tra! Tra la-la, la-la…
La la la, la la la…


Now my son will come after me; / He'll build up Dale
In the Mountain’s lee; / And they’ll tell the tale.
I was scared as hell, though they call me brave,
When that lizard fell he made our town his grave…
I swear by the crown they’ve put on my head
I hope if another drake comes I’ll be long dead…


The night I shot old Smaugy down…
And golden bells were ringing…
The night I shot old Smaugy down…
And all the Elves were singing,
They sang… Tra! Tra la-la, la-la…
La la la, la la la…
 
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As of the time I write this, our own World Wanderer has begun a new story-thread called "Kingdom Hearts -- Journey of Discovery." Within the first page of that thread, this bit of narrative appears:

>> Netokan is a thriving metropolis. If you were to see it you would think of a futuristic combination of New York City, Tokyo, and London.

In writing this, W.W. has addressed his readers directly, as if they were sitting beside him. Now, there is no law against a fiction writer showing that he is aware of the existence of his readers; but an author should be consistent. Either act like you're aware of the readers all the time, or don't ever show direct awareness of them. Either way is okay, but make your choice and stay with it.

Note that if you decide you will show your awareness of the readers, this doesn't mean you have to address them personally on every page.
 
Have you ever gone to a live-stage play? In ancient times, and right up through the days of Shakespeare, it was the regular thing for at least one actor in any play to speak directly to the audience. In more modern times, it has become very common for actors on the stage to pretend that they don't know the audience is looking at them. This is one of those creative questions for which there IS NOT only one right answer; it all depends on what effect you want to create.
 
The previous discussion flows naturally into a broader truth about fiction. If a made-up story is intended to be taken seriously, it must have ITS OWN INTERNAL CONSISTENCY. Events must happen for reasons WHICH ARISE FROM CAUSES which are organic to the story-reality.

Unfortunately, many plotline decisions are made entirely because of some consideration which only exists OUTSIDE the story, and these decisions may go head-on AGAINST what should logically ensue from conditions INSIDE the story.

For instance, in the "Hercules" and "Xena" television shows, there was every reason, INTERNALLY speaking, for Hercules and Xena to experience true love with each other. But the writers negated this, purely from "outside" reasons:

1) If Hercules and Xena got married and stayed together, there could no longer be TWO shows for which to sell advertising slots.

2) Fanatical girl-power feminists wanted Xena to stay in an all-girl universe.

For these reasons, and not for ANY reason inherent to the characters, Hercules and Xena were kept apart. More recently, then, another "external" decision prevented a romance which could have been great. I refer to Captain America and Black Widow in the "Winter Soldier" movie.

When Cap and Natasha went on the run, they had a serious conversation about secrets and honesty. Suddenly, Natasha looked at Cap and said, "Who do you want me to be?" At that instant, I knew that all her attempts to set him up with other women had only been a way to keep herself from realizing that she was attracted to him herself.

Her words to Cap were an unmistakable invitation. By internal story-logic, there WAS NO WAY that he could have been unaware of the invitation. But... if Cap had taken her up on it, and if they had become lovers, this would have interfered with plans for future movies that would keep them separate. Just like Hercules and Xena. So for THAT reason, and not because Cap and Natasha would not have made a fabulous couple, the writers had Cap ignore the invitation and keep Natasha in the friend zone.

Fooey.
 
Somewhat related to the previous....

When you put inside jokes into a narrative, you need to consider whether the characters existing INSIDE the story could recognize the joke.

For instance, if you set a novel on the planet Sildaforik, twenty galaxies away from us, it COULD happen by mere phonetic chance that a person on Sildaforik is named Arbahem Limkon, and no one else on that planet would think it strange. But if you write a "here and now" story and you name a character Arbahem Limkon, your unfortunate character WILL be forced to cope with legions of people asking why he didn't spell Abraham Lincoln right.
 
Food can be nutritious, but at the same time be hard to swallow. Likewise, writing can offer good information, but be terribly dry reading.

Teachers and editors who want to SEEM smart, but who don’t think about the results of their advice, will chant an all-purpose mantra: “Short and simple, short and simple, short and simple, short and simple, short and simple, short and simple, short and simple!” But simplicity itself can cause writing to be SIMPLY BORING.

Here’s an example of simple writing:

“She parked her car in front of Bill’s house. She walked to the door. She rang the doorbell, but no one answered. She unlocked the door. She went inside. She turned on a light. She looked around. She saw no one inside. She went upstairs. She went into the garage. She looked in the back yard. She finally left a note for Bill. She went back to her car. She drove away.”

All of those sentences meet the requirement of being short and simple; but the unrelieved sameness of them all makes reading the paragraph horribly tedious. Now, here is a paragraph which communicates the same information, but which the reader’s figurative throat can swallow more easily:

“Parking in front of Bill’s house, she walked to the door and rang the bell. When no one answered, she unlocked the door and stepped in. Turning on a light, she searched the house, including the upstairs, the garage, and the backyard, but found no one. Finally, she left a note for Bill, returned to her car and drove away.”

Run-on sentences are a problem in their own right; but the sentences in my second version are long ENOUGH to enable a more fluid kind of writing, without growing to a run-on length. Perhaps the main feature to note is that sentences don’t always have to begin with their subject.





"You know how the seasons arrive and depart;
Each one leaves a bit more old age in my heart.
But rise from your bed, and we'll dance all the same;
The tree of remembrance will tell me your name." ​
 
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