Dreams That Haunt Me

I haven't blogged in basically forever. There are two reasons for this. A: I haven't had any blog post ideas. B: Absolutely nothing has changed in my life in the weeks since my last post.

That said, I thought I'd make a post, despite the fact that I don't know what to put on it.

I did wake up with a very interesting image in my head this morning.

_

Bursts of flame followed each step he took. One wrong step, one slight hesitation, and he’d be toast. Very literally. He’d have laughed at his little joke, but the belly of a volcano was no place for such things.

Bare feet flying, he leapt nimbly from stone to stone, leaving each one just as it sank away into the magma. There would be no turning back.

_

I thought that was rather intriguing. I mean, it's the opening scene, and we see this guy sprinting full out through a volcano. Barefoot.

Why is he in a volcano? And why the heck is he barefoot? Seriously?

I don't know the answer. But I very much intend to find out.

Wisdom

I was reading a blog post from http://www.rachellegardner.com/

I really liked the analogy here. It applies to so many things. I found it especially applicable because I am like that in my life. I don't like to do things the same way everyone else does, and sometimes it makes me grouchy when I have to anyway. But some things are like that for a reason, and it makes everything better when you do it by the rules.

It's hard to realize it, but there's an infinite amount of possibility, even within a structure.

This is the beginning of that post:

Guest blogger: Rachel Hauck

I’m just going to say it: Writers do need rules. Rules apply to structure – how a story is crafted and told. Voice and style are flexible. But story structure definitely has rules, and they give the author freedom to create.

A friend of mine was studying architecture. She loved drafting and creating beautiful buildings. She hated the rules and the math. Her professors would look at her designs and say, “Ruth, it’s gorgeous, but it’s going to fall down. You have to learn the math.”

She caved. “Once I learned the math and the rules, I had more options and more freedom to create what I wanted!”

The same applies to writing. A good story typically has certain elements.

When Books Change Your Life

It's interesting how a random fictional story can have a major impact on your life and point of view.

Not that books never affect me. They do, very much. I usually spend the next several hours after a particularly great book just reviewing the entire thing in my head and wondering at its awesomeness.

But this time it was something very different. Something that hasn't happened to me before.

I was re-reading the Hunger Games. The books were awesome enough the first time. But this second time through, I really got into it. I mean, I already know the characters and what's going to happen, and I spent the whole time covering my face and wishing that it will change. Sadly, it didn't. Things still happened, and I still cried.

About ten minutes later, in my after-book stupor, I didn't really know what to do with myself as I replayed the book over and over in my head. I hadn't had dinner, so even though I wasn't super hungry, I got in the car and started driving. I didn't feel like having anything I passed, so I ended up at Walmart, where I bought a few groceries.

As I drove there, I began to be impressed by the sheer absurdity of traffic. How people get so mad at other people, or get so obsessed about their precious cars. But I'd thought about that kind of stuff before, so it wasn't new.

But when I walked in through the door of Walmart, I was suddenly hit with a wave of disgust.

I casually walked past four or five drink machines, two crane machines, and a red box, and the commercialism almost overwhelmed me. The flashy labels. The lights. The totally unnecessary products.

Then I entered the store itself. Rows and rows of food, piled up for anyone's taking. Dozens of racks with shirts and pants and jackets and socks. Aisles filled with the most advanced toys a kid could ask for. Video games, movies, cell phones, cameras, TVs, laptops.

I felt like a Capital yuppie.

All I needed were a few clueless people who were selfish, arrogant, decorated and clothed according to fashions, and oblivious to the bounty around them... oh wait, they were there too. Hundreds of them, all milling about and complaining about things, or filling their carts without even a thought to the availability of so much.

I'm not saying that I've never realized things before. Like the fact that I take so much for granted, or that people over-emphasize things that aren't important. It happens to every halfway decent person occasionally. But it never hit me on such a deep, extremely real level before.

I was legitimately disgusted.

There really aren't any words that convey the depth of my revulsion for the society in which I found myself. Suffice it to say that I was shocked in a way that I have never been shocked before.

I was only grateful that I wasn't wandering in a huge city like New York or Chicago. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I had to face all the neon signs and billboards and the general swarm of humanity.

This picture would normally look cool to me. Right now it's making me feel a little sick. It's so Capital.

Most of this will probably pass. Things like it always do. And I'll be back at walmart or target or shopko again, going about the usual mindless shopping. But I don't think I'll be able to forget it completely. Somewhere in the back of my head it will sit, reminding me of what's real.

Impossible

Remember that time that the universe was determined to make me feel better?

Oh yeah. That was today.

It’s kind of random that on today, when I get thousands of hours of hard work crushed by a two sentence email, I also just happen to have the funnest google doodle ever, “Impossible” from Cinderella stuck in my head, a motivational Bon Jovi song on my music shuffle, and inspirational messages on my facebook posted by unwitting friends.

(The “Come What May and Love It” talk. Go figure.)

Sometimes I just want to lie on my bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness, okay! Let me!

But I suppose we all have to suck it up and pick ourselves out of the abyss sometime. I still insist on at least an hour of moping, though.

Really, I think it’s good to mope for a moment, as long as we eventually snap out of it. Life is literally a roller coaster. There are ridiculous highs and crushing lows. But the highs wouldn’t be so high without the low bits.

Imagine a coaster with only highs. Yeah, it’s completely flat. Boring.

Sometimes life gets like that. We go along at the status quo, and it gets boring. Even if it’s really, really good. We just don’t appreciate the good stuff if we don’t see it from a pit of despair occasionally. So don’t pretend like the pit of despair didn’t exist.

When you’ve been driving at 70 MPH for a while on a straight road, it feels exactly the same as driving 20.

Or orange juice. It tastes normal and tangy sweet most of the time. But ever tasted it after eating a donut? Gak! Opposites enhance each other.

Sometimes I watch a really sad movie on purpose. Why? Probably because life got status quo again, and it’s good to feel something strongly. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. (Newton knew what he was talking about.) The stronger the sads, the stronger the glads.

So mope a little. Complain. Feel like a martyr for an hour or two. When you finally get over it, the happy parts will feel happier because of it.

Just don’t pull a Bella Swan and sit in a chair for a billion months. Flat-lining while in the abyss is a surefire way to never feel anything again. And what would be the point of that?

We are the Champions!

I haven't posted on this blog in about 12 thousand years. I feel like I should, but I don't really know what to post about. I've been super busy with other things.

One of which is our ward's intramural kickball team. We didn't do amazing in the regular season, but we are seriously rocking it in the play-offs. We just won our third semi-final game, and are clear for the championship game on friday. WOOT!

If we win, we get a t-shirt. If we lose, we still came in second, and are awesome anyway. So it's great either way.

I do hope we win, though. :)

Imagery and Eerily Opening Doors

In terms of imagery, I find that there are two general types, and that I prefer one over the other nearly every time.

"And the light grew steadily stronger, but no birds sang as they were wont to do at the approach of the dawn; and but for the heavenly music all was marvelously still.

On either side of them, as they glided onwards, the rich meadow-grass seemed that morning of a freshness and greenness unsurpassable. Never had they noticed the roses so vivid, the willow-herb so riotous, the meadow-sweet so odorous and pervading."

-The Wind in the Willows

"A hundred yards away, at the bottom of the slope, ran the brook, no more than three feet wide, half choked with kingcups, watercress, and blue brooklime. The cart track crossed by a brick culvert and climbed the opposite slope to a five-barred gate in the thorn hedge. The gate led into the lane."

- Watership Down

At first glance, there doesn't seem to be much difference in these two descriptions. But one really appeals to me, and the other really doesn't. I wondered why, and when I realized the answer, I suddenly felt the need to blog about it, despite the fact that it is currently 2:32 am.

What makes these two passages, which are both so detailed, so different from each other?

The first gives the impression of the scene. The second is strictly the lay of the land.

Neither of these methods are wrong, mind you. It really comes down to the way your brain works when you read.

Impression:

I really liked this little segment from The Wind in the Willows. I think this is mostly because it gives a feeling for what the scene is like, and I can fill in the details on my own. I know the feeling is a surreal sereneness that only a sunrise can give, so I know exactly what colors and movements to give everything in order to make the picture that way. I can put the shade of the grass to the color that I like it best. I can decide exactly what fresh meadow scent would please me the most.

It doesn't bother telling me things like "Thick clumps of roses lined the southern bank." It does tell me that the roses are more exquisite than normal. Then I can put them wherever I want them to be, and make them whatever color I choose, making them exquisite specifically for me.

Impressions and feelings can bring to mind very vivid images and memories. You know exactly what the scene should feel like, and your mind creates it accordingly, detailing it to your personal specifications. After all, what might please one person might be exceedingly dull to another.

Lay of the Land:

It is important to know certain things. If one city is about to declare war on another city, it might be helpful to know that they share a border over which they've been quarreling for decades. Thus the war makes much more sense.

Or if a person is left handed, and the attacker is coming from the right, this is important information because it partially determines the outcome of the fight.

But I find, personally at least, that lay of the land descriptions severely limit the imagination, and therefore limit the imagery itself. Thus making me much less interested in the story.

Take, for example, the section from Watership Down. The details are so specific in nature that two things happen.

One, I get bogged down. I am trying to paint the author's picture in my head at the same pace that I'm reading, and I can't keep up. It's a bit frustrating. When I paint my own picture, it all sort of comes automatically.

And then, when I do finally get the author's details, I end up with a bit of a coloring book look: Where the insides are brightly colored, but the background is still the same off-white. If you're going to control exactly where everything is in my picture, you'd better give me enough to cover the entire canvas. And that, sadly, is very hard to do without becoming exceedingly dull. Case in point, Victor Hugo.

Also, even though the paint was spread, there was still no life in it. Just a still frame waiting for something to happen. Was the brook happy and bubbly, or slow from those choking plants thus giving it a depressing air? I want to know, because right at this moment it's not moving at all.

Two, I get bored. Why should I care whether the gate was five-barred or not? Is that going to be important later? I don't like being told exactly how many yards away my creek should be, or how wide it is. Oh, and obviously the gate leads into the lane. I'd rather gathered that for myself, thanks.

As of this point, you're likely thinking that I'm being rather harsh on that poor little paragraph. Yes, perhaps a bit. But it came from a much longer selection which left me, as I mentioned, frustrated at putting it all in the right place, and dissatisfied with the result when it was together.

Analogy:

I suppose the best way to describe these differences is with a horror movie analogy. When I watch a scary movie, I'm almost never scared. No matter how good the effects are, or how well written the script is, the most a movie has ever done for me is intense suspense. I don't get actually frightened. Until later.

The scariest part about watching a horror movie is walking through the nearly empty, completely dark parking lot, because the only open space when you got there was around the back in that section that most people forget is there.

Or going to bed at night when you realize that your roommate is still out of town and your front door has been unlocked for several hours.

Or when your bedroom door mysteriously opens about four more inches for absolutely no reason at all.

Which seriously just happened, and it kind of freaked me out. Especially because it's now after 3 am. If I'm missing tomorrow, you'll have a clue, at least.

Anyway, the point of that is that people can put scary images on a screen, and sure they might be pretty good, and pretty freaky. But everyone is different, and no one knows exactly what would be the perfect scare set up for you but you. So when you get in the dark later, your brain comes up with the optimum scenario for freaking you out. It remembers the things in an exaggerated way.

Same with the literature imagery. For me, the second selection was like watching the tv. A couple scary images, a few plot twists, and some creepy music. Pretty alright, but I'm not clutching the arm of the person next to me in fright.

The first selection is what happens later when I'm walking home in the dark. My brain remembers the idea of scary things. Which leads to remembering exactly what scary things would actually frighten me. Which leads to me actually imagining said scary things, and having to put on my ipod and plug in my christmas lights. The scariness was very specifically tailored for me.

Summary:

When I can construct my own pictures from the impressions and clues in the text, the resulting images are specifically tailored for me, and therefore much more satisfying, and significantly easier to produce.

Extolling the Virtues of Fantasy Literature

I was just reading The Writer's Guide to Fantasy Literature. I don't usually read books like that. Mostly because they are generally really boring. But so far this one is fantastic.

Chapter 2 is called "What is Fantasy?" It's essentially the best explanation of "why?" for fantasy that I've ever read. I'm still blown away. Everyone should read it.

Unfortunately, I can't post the entire chapter here, or I totally would.

The thing that I love the most about it is that it quotes some of the biggest authors, all in defense of fantasy.

There are so many people that oppose fantasy, especially for adults, in saying that it detracts from reality. It blurs the line, makes people dissatisfied with our world, etc. I never really believed that rubbish, but I didn't know how to go about explaining my opinion.

This chapter did it perfectly. It is so exactly what I've been trying to say for a considerably long time.

As I said, I can't post the whole thing. And since I can't, you'll just have to take my word for it and go check it out from the library. But I also know that it is pretty unlikely that anyone will do this just because I said so. After all, a lot of the other "writer's guide to" books are pretty pathetic.

So, in order to spark your curiosity, I shall put a few quotes that I especially loved.

"We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time...

- T. S. Eliot"

"As Consolation, Tolkien points to the resolution of fairy stories in happy endings, in the return at the end to a normal world. These aspects of fantasy, says Tolkien, are not escapist. They embrace that which we most yearn for- an acute awareness of the beauty of the real world- by leaving it, imagining richly, and then returning."

"Once we believe..... we begin to see the forms of good and evil. First as children, later as adults, we come to believe that even creatures as small as ourselves can play a role, that the world is affected by the actions we take."

"The well-intentioned mothers who don't want their children polluted with fairy tales would not only deny them their childhood, with its high creativity, but they would have them conform to the secular world, with its dirty devices.

- Madeleine L'Engle"

In answer to the question of whether fantasy will warp a child's mind to confuse fantasy with reality:

"It would be much truer to say that fairy land arouses a longing for he knows not what. It stirs and troubles him (to his lifelong enrichment) with the dim sense of something beyond his reach and, far from dulling or emptying the actual world, gives it a new dimension of depth.

- C. S. Lewis"

There are many more pearls in this chapter. But I'll let you read it for yourself. If you don't, you'll definitely miss out, and forever wonder what might have been.