February 14th, 2006
Just in time for Valentine's Day, I announce the completion of a new short (ish) story about four lads raising Cain in the 1980s.
It's called, rather sarcastically, A Real Class Act and the writing of it is probably what sparked my thoughts during my last rant.
I sometimes get questions from family and friends (or at least from those who read my stories) about characters: "Was that supposed to be me?" or "Were you really like that?" And the answer is invariably the same: I do not shoe-horn people I know into my stories. It's cheap and easy, and makes for a patchwork quilt of characterization that people find nearly impossible to read. I know this from hard experience.
I bring this up, of course, because anyone who reads this story will inevitably wonder how much of me there is in any of the characters. Well, I refuse to answer with anything other than the above explanation: I don't do that sort of thing; I am creative enough to make up my own characters without having to resort to vivisection of real people (myself included).
Some other points to ponder about this new story:
- I don't want to tell my readers what to think, but my intention was to create at least four characters that are pretty much unlikable. But then, on the other hand, you aren't supposed to hate them either. I tried to give them just enough humour to be sympathised with, but enough rough edges to make them tough to get close to.
- It's a little longer than my usual story. I liked how it felt to write it, so I just kept writing. For those people interested in such things: When you have a fire going, you just keep letting it burn. See where it goes. And what you don't like can later be excised. <PointlessAside>The older I get the more I excise sentences and paragraphs from my stories during edits ... actually, come to think of it, The older I get the more I edit. Hmm ...</PointlessAside>
- I'm seldom into quoting music—especially music written by someone else—to make a point in my stories. But this one is an exception because of the experience of being where these boys are and doing what these boys do. You can only "get" them if you understand the music they listen to.
- The previous point, by the way, is as far as I go in talking about the -er- devices in my story. I won't answer questions about the significance of busted knuckles, or this person falling here or saying that. If you don't get it (and you are used to analyzing such things) then I failed in my job as storyteller. But subsequently trying to explain it is worse than going back and deconstructing a joke. So forget it. And if you find something there that I myself hadn't thought of, then so be it. I never said I was an expert literary critic. I just write the stuff, I haven't got the patience to make sense of it, too!
Okay, enough of this wanking already. Please read my story. Please tell me your thoughts if you want. Please enjoy responsibly.
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