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I wonder about words. People put so much store by them. Take them so much to heart. Often giving a word, a phrase, a paragraph more importance than they ought. Been reading these books lately, and in each one the heroine believes the hero doesn't love her until he says the actual words "I love you" as if that is all she needs. Ignoring all his actions which to my thinking speak far more truly towards his actual feelings than mere words. Thinking only romantic heroines believe this to be so, notice my surprise when I discover...in many of the reviews on Good Reads and Amazon...the reader's think the same way. A three word phrase, I love you, is louder and more true, than actions. Words they think somewhat foolishly speak louder than actions, and I feel this overwhelming desire to make them all read Pgymallion or at the very least watch My Fair Lady, where Eliza Doolittle sings that wonderful song..."words, words, words...don't speak, show me! If you love me, show me! I'm so sick of words."
Being a bit of a wordsmith, I know how easy it is to thread a lie with words. To embellish a truth. To weave a falsehood. To speak pretty verse to woo. And I've certainly experienced such things first hand. So, I tend to be a bit...distrustful of words. I know their power, and I know how they are used to twist truth and change perception. As one creative writing teacher told me once upon a time...no one lies better than a fiction writer, that's all we do, tell lies. Except, I beg to differ, non-fiction writers excel at it too. At least fiction writers...tell you they are lying, you have to give them credit for that.
How we write, our style, and how accessible it is to the writer...fascinates as well. Dorothy Dunnett's Chronicles of Lymond is a bit like reading sanscrit at times. You have to work to get to her story. Much like you have to work to get to the meat of James Joyce's Ulysess. Now people tell me they find these people easy to read, but I don't believe them. You certainly feel as if you've accomplished something when you have read them, like leaping over a big rock or climbing a mountain. While other writers such as Stephen King or Terry Prachett or JK Rowling...are a bit like walking through water, no obstacles in your way, the pages turn crisply and rapidly, your eyes skim without breaking for rest, and the story unfolds inside your brain like a cheap movie in HD or cinemascope, you fall inside its arms.
Pulp by its very nature is far more accessible than literary, which often feels like being read to by your old somewhat prim English Professor , his or her spectacles perched oh so perfectly upon the bridge of his or her nose. Lips pursed. Each word enunciated just so.
Literary prose for some reason or other is always written so formally. Precisely. Except by those who like to experiment and throw the rules of grammar into a blender. But very few do that. Risky business breaking rules, you have to know them first and that takes time and effort. And when you do...few readers have the time or patience to untangle or puzzle out what you did.
You'd think writing was primarily about communication. But then we arguably define communication or how to communicate differently. Semantics. Always about semantics. To this day I remain uncertain what the words forgive and soul truly mean, I argued their meaning far too frequently. And what is accessible to one poor weary soul, may well not be to another. Pulp clearly is accessible to most or it wouldn't sell so well. Yet, what is pulp? And what is literary? When you start playing with the meaning of words...you begin to ask questions such as how each person defines each word. A person from Bangladash for example may define forgive differently than one from America.
I admittedly like to play with words. As I grow older, I've discovered....that I like writing more than I like to tell stories. As a child, I cared only about the story. Now, I care about the words, the sentences, how they dance upon a page and how I can change their meaning with a mere nudge. I miss the stories. I tell them in my head still. But not so much upon the page. The stories disappoint me when they hit the page, the words don't feel quite up to the job. In my head...they are four dimensional, on the paper..flattened.
So, to say I'm struggling with my writing right now, is not true. My writing is in fine form, thank you very much. I can write anything. And I write volumes. Every day. What I'm struggling with are my stories...which stay bottled up inside my gut like gas, unable to be released in a burp or a fart...although that would be a trip...imagine farting stories?
Being a bit of a wordsmith, I know how easy it is to thread a lie with words. To embellish a truth. To weave a falsehood. To speak pretty verse to woo. And I've certainly experienced such things first hand. So, I tend to be a bit...distrustful of words. I know their power, and I know how they are used to twist truth and change perception. As one creative writing teacher told me once upon a time...no one lies better than a fiction writer, that's all we do, tell lies. Except, I beg to differ, non-fiction writers excel at it too. At least fiction writers...tell you they are lying, you have to give them credit for that.
How we write, our style, and how accessible it is to the writer...fascinates as well. Dorothy Dunnett's Chronicles of Lymond is a bit like reading sanscrit at times. You have to work to get to her story. Much like you have to work to get to the meat of James Joyce's Ulysess. Now people tell me they find these people easy to read, but I don't believe them. You certainly feel as if you've accomplished something when you have read them, like leaping over a big rock or climbing a mountain. While other writers such as Stephen King or Terry Prachett or JK Rowling...are a bit like walking through water, no obstacles in your way, the pages turn crisply and rapidly, your eyes skim without breaking for rest, and the story unfolds inside your brain like a cheap movie in HD or cinemascope, you fall inside its arms.
Pulp by its very nature is far more accessible than literary, which often feels like being read to by your old somewhat prim English Professor , his or her spectacles perched oh so perfectly upon the bridge of his or her nose. Lips pursed. Each word enunciated just so.
Literary prose for some reason or other is always written so formally. Precisely. Except by those who like to experiment and throw the rules of grammar into a blender. But very few do that. Risky business breaking rules, you have to know them first and that takes time and effort. And when you do...few readers have the time or patience to untangle or puzzle out what you did.
You'd think writing was primarily about communication. But then we arguably define communication or how to communicate differently. Semantics. Always about semantics. To this day I remain uncertain what the words forgive and soul truly mean, I argued their meaning far too frequently. And what is accessible to one poor weary soul, may well not be to another. Pulp clearly is accessible to most or it wouldn't sell so well. Yet, what is pulp? And what is literary? When you start playing with the meaning of words...you begin to ask questions such as how each person defines each word. A person from Bangladash for example may define forgive differently than one from America.
I admittedly like to play with words. As I grow older, I've discovered....that I like writing more than I like to tell stories. As a child, I cared only about the story. Now, I care about the words, the sentences, how they dance upon a page and how I can change their meaning with a mere nudge. I miss the stories. I tell them in my head still. But not so much upon the page. The stories disappoint me when they hit the page, the words don't feel quite up to the job. In my head...they are four dimensional, on the paper..flattened.
So, to say I'm struggling with my writing right now, is not true. My writing is in fine form, thank you very much. I can write anything. And I write volumes. Every day. What I'm struggling with are my stories...which stay bottled up inside my gut like gas, unable to be released in a burp or a fart...although that would be a trip...imagine farting stories?