Sheila gets medieval on my . . .
Blog. What did you think I was going to say?
Thanks to PBW’s liberal use of pliers and a blow torch, I hunkered down and did a good bit of editing today. I’m one chapter away from finishing the edit on book one, but that sounds like I’m closer than I really am.
I still have the task of turning this into a stand-alone novel. That means either adding scenes or tweaking scenes to give book one at least a partial sense of closure. And that means finding resonance at every opportunity, and loading it into my final chapters.
In Stein on Writing, Sol Stein devotes a whole chapter to resonance. He doesn’t provide much of a definition:
Resonance is a term borrowed from the world of music, where it means a prolonged response attributable to vibration. In writing it has come to mean an aura of significance beyond the components of a story.
Stein gives examples of different ways of giving your work resonance:
. . . by names, by reference to religious sources, by naming the parts of a book, by the use of aphorisms and epigraphs, and ideally by the writing itself, by the writer’s skillful use of similes and metaphors.
Perhaps I’m using the term incorrectly, but for me, resonance is an echo. Something in the novel makes me resonate — perhaps by the techniques Stein lists, but more often through the author’s use of repetition. Thoughts, dreams, lines of dialogue, and imagery introduced in the novel’s earliest scenes reappear near the end, horribly, tragically altered*. For example, John le Carre used it to great effect in Absolute Friends.
In the chapter I edited today (book one’s penultimate chapter), I used a myth to achieve resonance (I hope). The night is a dome of blinding white light, but we see only darkness, for the sky is full of the shadows of those who came before us. Starlight peeks through between their crowded forms.
Only on a moonless, windless night, can you hear their wings rustling**. My character has heard this all his life from his mother and father, but he never believed it. When tragedy befalls him, everything changes:
Flying eastwards, he fought to keep his eyes open. Every time he closed them, the rustling noise built to a furious crescendo.
Mother, Father? I hear them now. I hear their wings.
You were wrong about the night sky. Any darkness will do.
Chokes me up every time. Remains to be seen what it will do to the rest of you.
Resonance by repetition may be a magic trick, but it’s charged with power. Closure by return. If I do a respectable job of it, my readers will feel that sense of completeness even when faced with one whopping great cliffhanger.
D.
*That assumes you are writing tragedy. Comedy need not work so hard, but those of you who read Terry Pratchett might agree with me that his strongest novels are the ones which harbor, if not a grain of tragedy, then at least a bushel of poignancy: Night Watch, Feet of Clay . . .
**These characters are intelligent black birds. Guess I should have mentioned that earlier, eh?
Martin Luther King, Jr., 1929-1968
The Seattle Times has a huge feature, including student essays, civil rights quizzes, and a time line.
Better, though — shorter, punchier, and more moving — is ReddHedd’s tribute at firedoglake. Read it.
It’s impossible for me to disconnect my liberal-self from my writer-self, and so, as I read firedoglake’s quotes from Dr. King, I can’t help but admire the strength and beauty of MLK’s writing. Parallelism is a powerful tool. I can only think of one other writer who lives on in this ethereal plane: Winston Churchill, who used parallelism, command of the language, and wit to make his point.
D.
Note to self:
. . . put this guy on your blogroll. And not just because he posts about spider-sex. It’s because I still have a thang for Lois.
D.
Wish he could have been my writing coach . . .
Here’s Nathanael West, author of Miss Lonelyhearts, The Day of the Locust, A Cool Million, and The Dream Life of Balso Snell, writing about writing:
Forget the epic, the master work. In America fortunes do not accumulate, the soil does not grow, families have no history. Leave slow growth to the book reviewers, you only have time to explode. Remember William Carlos Williams’ description of the pioneer women who shot their children against the wilderness like cannonballs. Do the same with your novels.
Some writers* provide the know-how you need to get the job done; others, like West in this passage, or like John Gardner in The Art of Fiction, light a fire under your ass and demand that you get the job done.
Both are useful. Right now, two days into my three-day weekend and not a single page edited, I’d take the pyromaniac over the technician. That’s why I’m reading and rereading West’s war cry.
West and his wife Eileen died in a car accident in 1940. West was 37.
D.
*Writers who write about writing. Eh, you know what I mean.
Name dropping
Okay, be honest: how often do you google yourself?
I suppose I have a gargantuan ego, but it’s a house built two stories too high, with umpteen code violations, termites in all the major supporting posts, and a cracked foundation. Thus, I think I’ve only googled myself a handful of times, and only to find out how easy it would be for old friends to find me. Because, you know, I want to be found.
Google Douglas Hoffman, and top dude on this list is this Maui photographer. (Now, why couldn’t I have thought of that? Sigh.) That Doug also takes the number two spot, and number three is a software guy. Of the next seven entries on page one, I have three. Okay — so if my old pals google Douglas Hoffman, they shouldn’t have much trouble finding me.
Google Doug Hoffman, and the top dude is this race car driver. Okay, I’m glad I’m not that Doug Hoffman, even though I’ll bet he has lots of groupies. Groupies are a Good Thing. Anyway, further down the list we see lots and lots of Doug Hoffmans that aren’t me, including this really cool artist’s website (check it out!) I show up near the bottom of page two, and again near the top of page three. Even if my old pals are googling Doug Hoffman, they would have to have an exceptionally tiny degree of resolve to miss me.
I have to conclude that none of my old pals are looking for me. (Well, one of my friends from high school found me through this blog, and I’ve been bad about getting back in touch with him. I realized I didn’t have much to say to him, and couldn’t work up the desire to call.)
I’ve decided I need to be more proactive. I’m going to hope some of you folks are out there googling yourselves. You’ll find your way to this post, and then you’ll stop in and say hi.
Here are the folks I’d like to hear from:
Sharon Albright. Best circulating nurse ever. Sorry, Sutter Coast nurses, it had to be said. When you see a nurse respond to gunshot wound after gunshot wound quickly, efficiently, without ever breaking a sweat, you build up a lot of respect. Besides that, Sharon Albright and I go way back to kindergarten. Old friends don’t get any older than that.
Jackie Smith. Remembering how you looked in 9th grade, I’ll bet you became one hawt adult. Jackie falls under the category of Exceptionally Beautiful Girls Who Were Nice To Me And Didn’t Have To Be.
Lilli Sznaper. My on again, off again crush, Seventh through Ninth Grades. I’d like to know that you’re okay.
Sue Youmans. I never got you back for this, but it’s never too late to try.
Lest you think I only miss the women, here are the guys I’d like to hear from.
My elementary school friends: Dan Baudino, Frank Howarth, and Jim Fonte. Even though I sucked at sports, and they were all about sports, they still liked me.
My best friend from junior high and ninth grade, Bob Dean. We lost touch soon after I changed high schools. I hope you’re doing well, Bob.
Mike Imlay — did you ever become a priest?
Fellow scholars Brian Oherin and Kevin Wolf. Brian Oherin and I took informal Russian lessons from Mr. Grindell. Kevin Wolf and I go way back to kindergarten. I know you became a podiatrist, but I don’t know much more than that.
If I’ve forgotten anyone, I’m sorry. (But you won’t find this post by googling your name, so there!)
In case you have trouble remembering me, I used to be this guy:
D.
PS: I’m taking down the Michelle Malkin post. No one has complained. It’s just . . . oh, heavens. She is too hideous to look at. Every time I pop open my blog and see her there, it makes me sick. I have to take it down.
Do you miss Candid Camera?
Arkansas Gal at YesButNoButYes brings us this clip from the Jay Leno Show. If your computer can handle a hefty video, check it out. Here’s the set-up: a photo booth at Universal Studios offers free portraits, provided you follow the Control Voice’s instructions.
The old Candid Camera had a cruel streak. It was the Fear Factor of its day. This skit, on the other hand, mines humor from the quirks of human nature, and only stoops to cruelty once or twice.
. . . Or maybe three or four times. Depends on your definition of cruelty.
D.
Speaking of religion . . .
Props to Jellio at YesButNoButYes for finding this campaign site for Jonathon “The Impaler” Sharkey, candidate for Governor of Minnesota in 2006:
I am a Satanic Dark Priest, Sanguinarian Vampyre and a Hecate Witch. My Magikal Path name is: Lord Ares.
Thanks for sharing.
I despise and hate the Christian God the Father. He is my enemy.
Hmm. That’ll win you some votes.
Why does he call himself “The Impaler”? From his platform:
Any one found committing an act of terrorism in Minnesota will be IMPALED by me at the State Capital. If the US DOJ wants to prosecute me for it, then I will take my chances in Court, for I do not believe an American Jury will convict me of brutally killing a terrorist!
I think this fellow is for real. The site goes on too long, with far too much unfunny material, for it to be anything but real.
So: Kate might give you fur burgers and camel toes this morning, but only I give you vampiric politicians!
Then again, you could just turn on CSPAN.
D.
There are blonde jokes, and then there are blonde jokes
But this one is the best ever. Make sure you read it to the very end.
Oh. My. Gawd.
D.
If you’re going to get on your biblical high horse, at least learn how to ride.
Hat tip to Blue Gal for today’s post, Best Bible Lesson Ever. BG has linked to a radio interview (or is it a podcast?) of Don Alexander, a former school principal who has written Darnia’s Quest: A Spiritual Journey to Awaken Your Imagination. (Worst. Title. Ever?) He bills this as a Christian alternative to Harry Potter.
Mind you, he has never read a single one of J.K. Rowling’s books (you’ll need to scroll to the bottom of that MyWestTexas article). He doesn’t need to. And I doubt he has seen Brokeback Mountain, but he has made up his mind about that, too. It’s also quite clear from the interview that he has read only one verse from Leviticus, but he’s not afraid to use it to support his all-consuming fear repressed shameful des — oh, Lord, I can’t say it! hatred of homosexuals.
Hmm. What do they have to say about Alexander’s book over at Amazon?
Christian Alternative to the Harry Potter Series – Five StarsQuite Simply the best Christian Book for kids out there right now. It has adventure, romance, and a plot so thick that you’ll want to read it again and again. If your child reads Harry Potter, get them hooked on the Dar’s Quest series–then they’ll leave Harry.
And so I asked myself: WWJGD?
Jesus’ General wouldn’t take this lying down. He’d head on over there and post his own review.
Thus:
Disturbing Homo-Erotic undertones – One StarAs a Christian Father of three impresionabel young children, mr.Alexander’s BOok disturbed me greatly. Mind you, we only read (we Read A Loud) the first page, but that was enough to decide me. For shame, mr.Alexander!!!
PS i understand from Your radio Interviws you never read a Harry Potter book, yet you say such bad things. So I dont feel to bad only reading one page of yours.
I’ll let you know if Amazon picks it up. In the meantime, you have your work cut out for you.
D.