More on Writing

^^^DIGITAL POTTERY^^^

Termite Citadel flanked by Termite Monastery in front of unnamed slab.

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~So Chapter 2 of a probable 7 in Escaping Hazel is almost done, and Chapter 3 is taken care of in terms of what happens where. For a day or two I had to really concentrate on what would happen because I was in Beginner’s Limbo but now it has gotten into a little flow I can relax some. It’s good to have it on the mind though. After doing nothing but short-short stories for 4 years, it’s a nice change to get into something longer. The start, with slow movers, can be boring and challenging, but soon the scenes become so interesting that they are almost like mini short stories in themselves, and little unscripted incidents which you don’t expect then grow bigger than anything else.

Lee Child said he likes to be as ‘in the dark’ as the reader about what happens next, when he’s doing a yearly bestseller starring Jack Reacher. I was surprised by that. He was fired from his job in TV as a forty-something and decided to write a novel. Supposedly, someone buys a Lee Child book every single second. Yeah, and Sandra Bullock is a munter.

Jack Reacher (6"5, body to die for, women wanna be with him, men wanna be him) is an ace character, and the one book I’ve read was high octane stuff. I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing that those kind of commercial novels in general come at little cost to the author. John Grisham, former top attorney and fellow career-switcher, is another example. So is Jeffrey Deaver (who outlines and plots his novels vigorously).

Thinking back, my own personal writing history has come out of big sacrifices. Or was born out of big problems. Or something like that.

A Stealth's Path

Peak sequence in the movie Skyline (below). It’s very brief but very densely packed. Take people out of the question, or life in general, and it’s hard to see where a emotional response is going to come from within cinema. The next step is so obviously machines, at least in the sci-fi world of tomorrow’s future.

The point here is to identify with the Stealth aircraft in this clip. There’s obviously a pilot inside, but it seems to have a personality all of its own. People talk about supercars being objects of beauty, and belonging in galleries, not on the road; the same goes for this particular kind of propulsion aircraft. It is an absolute marvel of human engineering, craft and design. The thing is slick and sleek and sublime and downright beautiful. It looks mean and ruthless at the same time. Among the ugly alien machines here, it even looks cute.

It’s a character. That’s the nail on the head. It’s a bleedin’ character. You’re on its side. You’re rooting for it. It’s all alone, with the odds stacked against, trying to forge a narrow path through the enemy lines towards the hostile Mothership. If it can just get through, to have one single shot, one single chance. It’s your only hope, your last line of defence against the invaders. Mankind depends on it.

There’s no going back. It has one mission. Like a nose-bombing kamikaze. It’s own life has gone > that’s history. The only thing in question is whether it can hit its target...