Why? (cont.)
November 13th 2006 12:18
Why write? Better yet, what to write. How do you write that book that people just can’t put down? Well, part of the answer is what I said about being the shaman of the tribe. It’s about the ability to reach into another human’s soul. It’s about telling a tale that resonates with the primitive part of a person’s brain. It’s about learning to use the myths and symbols that are imbedded in our racial memory.
It’s about magic.
I’ll tell you a secret. You can be a best seller with a poorly written book. By poorly written, I’m talking about a book that has poor English standards.
But, and this is the kicker, the story must be well crafted. The story must touch the soul of the person reading it. The person reading the story must believe.
‘He undressed her and looked at her breasts.’
I suppose I could believe that. All right for the doctors office but it sure doesn’t reach into my inner being and make me feel the thrill of a first sexual encounter.
Before we look at the possibilities I will tell you a tale.
I have spent a good part of my life designing and installing solar power systems. I had a job installing a system for a fellow who lived in a nice patch of forest. He owned two pure bred Alpine Dingos. This is an important fact.
The day I started the job was grey, with a heavy fog. I couldn’t see the ground, except as a darker shade of grey. It was a day of magic, a day when one expects to see dwarves emerge from the fog only to fade back into the mist as they passed. A day to see dragons. A day to be reminded of the dawn of time, to be reminded of your mortality.
Did I mention that Dingos don’t bark. It’s an interesting trait of pure bred Dingos. But I digress.
On the roof, I was alone in a world that was timeless. Cut off from civilisation. Just me and my racial memories.
Then the Dingos started to howl. Yes, I know, we have all heard wolves howling in the movies, or, maybe at the zoo. But, I was sitting in the middle or a forest, cocooned in a blanket of fog, for all intents and purposes alone.
Primal fear froze me to the bone. That sound reached into my soul and I was all alone, with nothing but a pointed stick, one hundred thousand years ago.
That is what you have to do with your writing. Be it romance, fantasy, science fiction or mystery. Dull is dull. But every human comes with a set of buttons that control their reactions. A smell, a sound or a word can tip them over the edge and into you story. Not just reading it, but living it. This is known as “suspension of belief” which allows the reader to move from their chair, into the, bedroom with a lover (romance), the bridge of a ship in a storm (adventure), a dark alley in New York (mystery) and for a time be your character. Push the right button and you own the reader, at least for awhile.
Which brings us to;
‘He undressed her and looked at her breasts.’
Lets expand on this theme a bit.
from “Agony on Ecstasy”
. . . Suzi arches up and kisses me. I’m in trouble. No piece of clothing should be allowed to have so many small buttons. Suzi sits up and kisses me again. I undo a button and get a kiss. Another button, another kiss. I’m beginning to think that there are not enough buttons in the world for the joy of undoing them. Twelve buttons, twelve moments of bliss. Then a black lace bra across pale skin as I slip her shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
There is no art in the world that can capture the perfection of a well formed breast behind black lace. I almost feel like a vandal as I fumble with the catch nestled between the twin mounds of Suzi’s breasts. The catch gives way and the bra follows the shirt.
I can hardly breath for fear of spoiling the picture in front of me. I look down and find that my shirt has somehow become unbuttoned and Suzi is running her hand across my chest and circling her finger around my nipples. She slips my shirt off, stands up and pulls me to my feet. I reach out to her and she comes into my arms. The feel of her bare skin against mine. . .
Does that improve on the original? Can you, see the breasts, feel the warmth, curse the buttons. I hope so, or I have failed.
It’s about magic.
I’ll tell you a secret. You can be a best seller with a poorly written book. By poorly written, I’m talking about a book that has poor English standards.
‘He undressed her and looked at her breasts.’
I suppose I could believe that. All right for the doctors office but it sure doesn’t reach into my inner being and make me feel the thrill of a first sexual encounter.
Before we look at the possibilities I will tell you a tale.
I have spent a good part of my life designing and installing solar power systems. I had a job installing a system for a fellow who lived in a nice patch of forest. He owned two pure bred Alpine Dingos. This is an important fact.
The day I started the job was grey, with a heavy fog. I couldn’t see the ground, except as a darker shade of grey. It was a day of magic, a day when one expects to see dwarves emerge from the fog only to fade back into the mist as they passed. A day to see dragons. A day to be reminded of the dawn of time, to be reminded of your mortality.
Did I mention that Dingos don’t bark. It’s an interesting trait of pure bred Dingos. But I digress.
On the roof, I was alone in a world that was timeless. Cut off from civilisation. Just me and my racial memories.
Primal fear froze me to the bone. That sound reached into my soul and I was all alone, with nothing but a pointed stick, one hundred thousand years ago.
That is what you have to do with your writing. Be it romance, fantasy, science fiction or mystery. Dull is dull. But every human comes with a set of buttons that control their reactions. A smell, a sound or a word can tip them over the edge and into you story. Not just reading it, but living it. This is known as “suspension of belief” which allows the reader to move from their chair, into the, bedroom with a lover (romance), the bridge of a ship in a storm (adventure), a dark alley in New York (mystery) and for a time be your character. Push the right button and you own the reader, at least for awhile.
Which brings us to;
‘He undressed her and looked at her breasts.’
Lets expand on this theme a bit.
from “Agony on Ecstasy”
. . . Suzi arches up and kisses me. I’m in trouble. No piece of clothing should be allowed to have so many small buttons. Suzi sits up and kisses me again. I undo a button and get a kiss. Another button, another kiss. I’m beginning to think that there are not enough buttons in the world for the joy of undoing them. Twelve buttons, twelve moments of bliss. Then a black lace bra across pale skin as I slip her shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
There is no art in the world that can capture the perfection of a well formed breast behind black lace. I almost feel like a vandal as I fumble with the catch nestled between the twin mounds of Suzi’s breasts. The catch gives way and the bra follows the shirt.
I can hardly breath for fear of spoiling the picture in front of me. I look down and find that my shirt has somehow become unbuttoned and Suzi is running her hand across my chest and circling her finger around my nipples. She slips my shirt off, stands up and pulls me to my feet. I reach out to her and she comes into my arms. The feel of her bare skin against mine. . .
Does that improve on the original? Can you, see the breasts, feel the warmth, curse the buttons. I hope so, or I have failed.
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