So I spent the majority of the day strolling through the internet and found a true story that really irked me. It was about a young couple who decide to go to college together across the nation (California to be exact). These new students get their dorm rooms and find out that they don't life close together.
The story takes a downturn from here, as the narrator (the boyfriend) says the girl's Residence Assistant was an attractive male. The story continues its rage-filled fall with events that sum up to the narrator finding he had been cheated on and thusly beating the snot out of the attractive male RA.
Now, when I finished reading this I felt my blood boiling and put myself in the narrators shoes. I certainly felt the desire to beat the asshole within an inch of his life. But I also looked passed that and saw a lonely and regret-filled path that awaited when the rage subsided.
It wasn't a good feeling.
So what if the attention was turned to the girl? Maybe to win her back, or reason with her? Well, the evidence was there when the now ex-girlfriend rushed to the aide of the pulverized hot-shot RA. It was the final blow to the emotional cocktail that had been brewing since I had started to read the story and it spoke the truth to me in a single, defining moment:
The only thing the boy could do was survive the agony and move on.
Now, I don't know if he did do this, or if he went on a violent rampage instead, but what I do know is that the people who posted responses all agreed that tearing the asshole a new, well, asshole was the most satisfying choice. (Notice how I didn't say best, but I digress.)
What got my gears grinding even more was how this simple story rang true for all those different people who read it. In other words, there had to be a common denominator with everyone who read it to react in the same rage-filled way. For me, it hit hard because I felt the loss the man felt, and was drawn into sharing those emtions with him. The question, then, is how did I understand and sympathize?
The answer is pretty simple: it was because I, along with every other man that read the story, had at one point in their life known loneliness or feared their lover would be taken away by a better man.
So how does this relate to writing? Pretty directly, in fact.
Every story wants to inspire an emotional reaction in the reader -- to feel what the character is feeling. Its pretty impossible to do this when the basis of the emotion is something no one can relate to.
In the case of this sad story, the foundation of the emotion wasn't rage, but a concentrated dosage of a fear becoming real. Of course there was sadness in there, but that was after the boy had lost the girl.
So, when writing, think about the emotions that should be emmenating from it (if its genuine then they'll be there but sometime we emulate it). Even in the most distraught and cataclysmically destroyed person, the emotion will still have a logical flow to it. Does your story make sense emotionally?
Do what I did with the rage-worthy story: put yourself in the character's shoes and feel the emotions. How would you react? Does it match your character's reaction?
If not then it might be time to fix up the story because when you feel the emotion then so will the reader.
July 29, 2010
Like Clockwork
This was something I had written roughly five years ago. I was digging through old projects and found a flash fiction that was built off of a pun. Hope you like it.
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I entered the courtyard and paused to take in the beautiful site of the lush green trees and clear blue sky. I took a deep breath and started to walk again. I could feel the carpet of grass collapse underneath my footsteps. As I moved closer to the center of the large courtyard I started to hear a dull grinding sound. To my surprise, I saw a moving circular platform, rotating around a large clock. A top the platform stood a man, dressed in thick green-stained leather. He was holding a rifle.
"Who are you?" I asked, still looking around at the garden.
"I'm one of the guards hired to protect this clock." The man said, obviously proud of his duty as he continued to stand at attention. I chuckled a bit.
"So you work here?"
"Yes."
"Around this clock?" I asked.
"Yes."
I laughed again and started to walk away from the odd, rotating soldier.
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I entered the courtyard and paused to take in the beautiful site of the lush green trees and clear blue sky. I took a deep breath and started to walk again. I could feel the carpet of grass collapse underneath my footsteps. As I moved closer to the center of the large courtyard I started to hear a dull grinding sound. To my surprise, I saw a moving circular platform, rotating around a large clock. A top the platform stood a man, dressed in thick green-stained leather. He was holding a rifle.
"Who are you?" I asked, still looking around at the garden.
"I'm one of the guards hired to protect this clock." The man said, obviously proud of his duty as he continued to stand at attention. I chuckled a bit.
"So you work here?"
"Yes."
"Around this clock?" I asked.
"Yes."
I laughed again and started to walk away from the odd, rotating soldier.
Atlantica
This is from a game I've been dabbling in for the last few weeks called Atlantica Online. Its an MMORPG, small compared to others out there but a nice package for what it offers as a free-to-play game.
The story came from a dream I had about the game. Enjoy.
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In the end there was nine. We were a small band of soldiers that had discovered our talents by way of coincidence. It was by chance that I had met the other eight and when we had traversed the world we forced humanity's hand to recognize us as the best.
I still remember the dream, even though countless years had passed. The three beautiful women, each representing a different part of divinity. I remember their beauty almost as intensely as I remember their wings.
Leonidas, the legendary Spartan, decided he belonged in the Colosseum. No one could argue the choice. As time went on I began to hear his name in rumors and small-talk with passing merchants until finally Leonidas had become the Grand Champion. It was what was expected from a man who was born to be the most brutal warrior.
Naruk, the young druid, decided it was best to go back to his forest. Most of the nine made fun of him, teasing Naruk of the selfish child-like decision to go back home. But, when the laughs had stopped, I saw a glimpse of anguish in the young boy's eyes. Something was wrong with his home. Thinking back on it now I should gone with him. We sent Naruk on his way and I've kept him in my prayers since.
Zhu Rong, the beast trainer mistress, returned to her teacher, Nari. I've seen her a few times in my travels through West India. She seemed to be doing fine and I didn't feel the need to ask.
Da Vinci, a good friend of mine, returned to Europe, this time with a fellow technician, Oichi the gunner. Da Vinci wanted to change warfare so it would never again cost a human life, a task that seemed less daunting since the man learned a lot from Henry Ford's factory. He lives in Italy now, though I haven't seen him since my last visit to the southern countries of Europe.
Okuni, the shaman priestess, had set aside her staff and picked up the broom, opening up a halfway house for travellers. I didn't know this when we had departed but awkwardly found out when I stumbled into her new Inn just west of Japan. She and I had been intimate for a short time, it didn't end well and we haven't talked since.
Kim Yoo Shin, the Hwarang tactician, returned to his post in the Korean military and quickly rose to the rank of commanding General. I heard stories of the fearless Kim Yoo Shin in handfuls of taverns once in a while. It seems like he has the same immense intelligence that I remember. I pray often that it doesn't consume him.
Then there was Dharma, an old and very wise monk whose advice I would often regard first, before anyone Else's. He returned to a Buddhist temple just outside of the Yellow River and once again began his journey towards enlightenment.
But it was months later that I had heard he was found dead in his meditation chamber. They said his body was lifeless, that it was his time and he let up his spirit on his own accord. Some younger monks said he had finally achieved enlightenment. I hoped that he did as well but the travelling monks that had told me just shook their heads with sadness and continued on down the path.
As for me, I set aside my cannon and wrapped my calloused hands around a walking stick, changed my name from Brahe to Herab, becoming a wandering merchant specializing in medicine and dried foods.
I liked my new life, it was something that I had needed to do since the nine had given up on Atlantis. I was world-weary but knew that I had more to learn. The choice was a way for me to keep the lifestyle without having to keep the bloodshed.
And even when I heard news of an army building near Berlin I felt that I was far enough removed from the world that I could turn the other cheek and wait through the storm.
But, when I also heard the mighty Kim Yoo Shin was defeated in battle I was torn back into reality and begun to fear for the young man's life. It was only fate when he fell through the door at Okuni's Inn, drenched in blood and filth, barely able to stand but staring at me through red-stained eyes. Kim collapsed to the floor, panting wildly, speaking with fear of a demon army. Okuni and I ran to his side, her experienced hands taking over the mending of his broken body.
I watched her work but was lost in the haze of the moment. My mind was stuck in the future, guessing on what young Kim Yoo Shin was trying to say. Passed Okuni I saw my walking stick and for the first time in years tried to remember where I had put my cannon.
The story came from a dream I had about the game. Enjoy.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the end there was nine. We were a small band of soldiers that had discovered our talents by way of coincidence. It was by chance that I had met the other eight and when we had traversed the world we forced humanity's hand to recognize us as the best.
I still remember the dream, even though countless years had passed. The three beautiful women, each representing a different part of divinity. I remember their beauty almost as intensely as I remember their wings.
Leonidas, the legendary Spartan, decided he belonged in the Colosseum. No one could argue the choice. As time went on I began to hear his name in rumors and small-talk with passing merchants until finally Leonidas had become the Grand Champion. It was what was expected from a man who was born to be the most brutal warrior.
Naruk, the young druid, decided it was best to go back to his forest. Most of the nine made fun of him, teasing Naruk of the selfish child-like decision to go back home. But, when the laughs had stopped, I saw a glimpse of anguish in the young boy's eyes. Something was wrong with his home. Thinking back on it now I should gone with him. We sent Naruk on his way and I've kept him in my prayers since.
Zhu Rong, the beast trainer mistress, returned to her teacher, Nari. I've seen her a few times in my travels through West India. She seemed to be doing fine and I didn't feel the need to ask.
Da Vinci, a good friend of mine, returned to Europe, this time with a fellow technician, Oichi the gunner. Da Vinci wanted to change warfare so it would never again cost a human life, a task that seemed less daunting since the man learned a lot from Henry Ford's factory. He lives in Italy now, though I haven't seen him since my last visit to the southern countries of Europe.
Okuni, the shaman priestess, had set aside her staff and picked up the broom, opening up a halfway house for travellers. I didn't know this when we had departed but awkwardly found out when I stumbled into her new Inn just west of Japan. She and I had been intimate for a short time, it didn't end well and we haven't talked since.
Kim Yoo Shin, the Hwarang tactician, returned to his post in the Korean military and quickly rose to the rank of commanding General. I heard stories of the fearless Kim Yoo Shin in handfuls of taverns once in a while. It seems like he has the same immense intelligence that I remember. I pray often that it doesn't consume him.
Then there was Dharma, an old and very wise monk whose advice I would often regard first, before anyone Else's. He returned to a Buddhist temple just outside of the Yellow River and once again began his journey towards enlightenment.
But it was months later that I had heard he was found dead in his meditation chamber. They said his body was lifeless, that it was his time and he let up his spirit on his own accord. Some younger monks said he had finally achieved enlightenment. I hoped that he did as well but the travelling monks that had told me just shook their heads with sadness and continued on down the path.
As for me, I set aside my cannon and wrapped my calloused hands around a walking stick, changed my name from Brahe to Herab, becoming a wandering merchant specializing in medicine and dried foods.
I liked my new life, it was something that I had needed to do since the nine had given up on Atlantis. I was world-weary but knew that I had more to learn. The choice was a way for me to keep the lifestyle without having to keep the bloodshed.
And even when I heard news of an army building near Berlin I felt that I was far enough removed from the world that I could turn the other cheek and wait through the storm.
But, when I also heard the mighty Kim Yoo Shin was defeated in battle I was torn back into reality and begun to fear for the young man's life. It was only fate when he fell through the door at Okuni's Inn, drenched in blood and filth, barely able to stand but staring at me through red-stained eyes. Kim collapsed to the floor, panting wildly, speaking with fear of a demon army. Okuni and I ran to his side, her experienced hands taking over the mending of his broken body.
I watched her work but was lost in the haze of the moment. My mind was stuck in the future, guessing on what young Kim Yoo Shin was trying to say. Passed Okuni I saw my walking stick and for the first time in years tried to remember where I had put my cannon.
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