The cricket chirps alone

It's only been a few days, but it's another bug-related post.  A cricket is trapped in the elevator shaft of my building, which is located on the other side of the wall my headboard is against. 

The good news is that the stairwell between us eats the sound of the cricket. 

The bad news is that I don't think the poor thing can get out. 

If bugs can be scared, I think it is, what with the random coming and going of the elevator and the footsteps and doors slamming and darkness.  If bugs can be confused, I think it is because it's started singing in the daytime because no daylight gets to it, so it sings when it's awake and in the dark.


Anthropomorphizing is a wonderful thing because it means I can think stuff like this and not have to actually cry for the bug because it is a bug and has a tiny bug mind and doesn't think about this stuff at all; I'm the one bringing the sadness to the table here.

The chirping makes me sad because it's pointless because no mate can hear it or get to it and because eventually the chirping will stop because the poor thing died alone.  But I feel sort of guiltily encouraged, too, because with all that, it still sings. 

Somehow, I don't think this would make a good children's book . . .

A little bird told me (some things about point-of-view)

I'm always interested in practical point-of-view (POV) questions, and I'm trying to work out what POV to use for several different stories I'm working on right now.  Good examples show up around you of you look.  I found one today.

I'm reading a new manga (Japanese graphic novel) series called Black Bird.  I have to say that I'm impressed by the author's use of restricted point-of-view. It works well here.  Really well.

It seems like a close third person.  We're with the heroine, so we see only what she is present for.  This POV works well when paired with a mysterious character. 

They were friends as children, and he had to leave ten years ago, but he promised to come back and marry her.  Awww, what a cute childhood promise.  Beautiful memories of first love. 

Ten years later, he's back.  Only he's not human, and it's obvious from pretty much everything he says and does.  Where did her beautiful memories of first love come from, and where did they go?  In between her fighting off his somewhat aggressive advances and him trying to save her from lots of other inhuman creatures trying to eat her, we learn that he's been thinking of her all the years they've been apart, and he wants to marry her yesterday.  She's not interested in marrying anybody, especially not someone who only wants her but doesn't love her.  Only he may actually love her; we just can't tell.

In this case, the love interest can only be known through what he says and does when the heroine is there.  He's not one for long, soul-searching monologues, either, so we're scratching our heads trying to figure him out from short lines of dialogue and baffling actions.  He's not a human; he doesn't think like a human.  He acts, but his motives are somewhat unknowable because they don't come from a human mindset (obvious from what we see and hear).  The only framework we have for interpreting him is the main character's experiences/memories and our experiences as humans.  It's pretty brilliant.  The author is showing us, not telling us and bludgeoning us over the head to be sure we're "getting" the character.

I'm impressed.  I want to try it.

When a book makes you fly (The Tiger Rising)

I read The Tiger Rising by Kate DiCamillo in 32 minutes.  It was like a dream. 

DiCamillo does not belabor things in her books.  She sketches the story in a way that makes it live, and then, when it is over, she leaves you, and even if it's only been 32 minutes of your life, you are in a different place than you were when you started. 

I want to be a writer like this.

Death of a Butterfly

At the state fair, they have an exhibit called the Butterfly House. From outside the building, through a window you can see row upon row of unborn butterflies attached to what look like towels. In this display, you can also see the butterflies that have just been born and are in various stages of drying their wings off so they can join their flying kin in the rest of the exhibit where they are free within the confines of the building, and people can interact with them like lawn furniture.

Looking at the newly hatched butterflies at first brought me joy. Some species I had never seen before.  The colors were so vibrant, the patterns so startling.  Entranced is the word I am looking for to describe me and all the kids looking at these stages of butterfly birth.

And then down in the very left-hand corner, I saw a dying baby butterfly. Somehow it had fallen too far forward and gotten its still-heavy-with-moisture wings trapped underneath the towel that lined the bottom of the display. It kept struggling to get a hold of the glass and pull itself out so its wings could dry straight, but for whatever reason, probably because most of its weight was in its crumpled up wings, all it could do was struggle, increasingly weakly between longer rests. No one could help it; I could see that from the way the display was constructed.  A little bad luck had doomed this newborn critter, and because of that and because it just wasn't strong enough, it was going to die there, trapped.

I had to walk away before I started crying beside all those happy children just because I noticed that one little butterfly stuck on its back like a turtle, dying instead of drying so it could fly away.

Building Blind

I wonder how world-building works for other writers.  Right now, I'm working on a 12-year-old girl in the Midwest in the early 90s and a fantasy world trying to find a comparable historical time period, so I can do some research.  Since the story about the young girl is semi-autobiographical, you'd think it would be much easier, but my memory is so poor, and I hate to fictionalize if I can factualize.  As a result, I've been thinking more about the fantasy world. 

Most writers I know talk about an image being the first thing that happens to them, and the world grows from there.  I don't have that option because, for whatever reason, my mental lens cap is on, so I can't visualize like that.  Images don't come to me; words do.  All of my major advances in building this world (Napkin Epic World in honor of its humble beginnings in college) have come in the form of either dialogue explaining some action or me wondering what led to certain actions I know are part of the plot.  They just are.  It's my job to find out why, I guess.

What's your catalyst when it comes to world-building/writing?  Do you just write in your world and let the details come, or do you plan/plot things out carefully in advance?

Meeting Authors at the State Fair (and Humiliating Myself Unaware)

I met an author today at the State Fair.  It was unexpected.  I was wandering around before my shift volunteering at a booth, and I saw that the Library had a tent set up that day.  Will Weaver was supposed to be the guest right then.  I've been reading his books for a really long time (like, decades), so I was tickled. 

Check out the movie Sweet Land, based on a short story he wrote, ("A Gravestone Made of Wheat") and the anthology that he contributed to called Guys Write for Guys Read.  (Even adults get a kick out of the anthology, especially that story about the car trip . . .)  Will's books and short stories are an easy recommend for kids and adults, alike; he is a quality author and he evokes place like he owns it.  (They somehow managed to convey this in Sweet Land almost impossibly well.  I really wish you could have seen those skies on the big screen.  Wow.)

Back to the fair.  A librarian took me over to where Will was sitting under the bridge to the grandstand with his concept car and crew.  He signed and gave me a free book and explained that he was currently writing a series aimed at boys who like race cars but not English class.  A little boy came up and asked how fast the car went, and Will waved goodbye and talked to the kid for a bit.  (80 mph, if you were curious.)

Only later did I find out that I had ice cream all over my lips.  Fabulous.  At least I didn't give him my last name.  Ah, well.  I guess I didn't look much different than his other fans.

A Few Books that Look Interesting

There are always a lot of books that I see that catch my attention that I'm too poor to buy but that I want to check out further.  Here are a few recent ones.

• Retail Hell. I live it, and I enjoy reading a good rant about it.  This book will definitely fall under that rant category.  After reading the introduction, which is full of profanity and has a more dishy tone, I know I won't like it nearly as much as Pretending You Care: the Retail Employee Handbook by Norm Feuti.  I wonder if that's because Norm's complaints are cathartic and useful (or would be if any people in management would read the book), as shown by the fact that his book is in the business section rather than the humor section.

• Shelf Discovery.  For those of us who still read and re-read and love young adult novels of yore. It's a blast to read short essays written by people who love books and remember what it was like to love them back when they were members of the target audience.  I like reading people who are excited and passionate about something, and I love books, so this is a fun collection even if I've only read about half of the books mentioned.

 

• The Unlikely Disciple.  Ivy League college journalism student goes undercover at extremely conservative Christian University (as a study abroad credit).  But first, he has to figure out how to stop swearing . . .  it's kind of an intriguing idea, and it sounds like a great read for people who aren't sure that Christians are people too as well as for Christians who sometimes wonder what they look like to those on the "outside."

 

• Ophelia Joined the Group Maidens Who Don't Float: Classic Lit Signs onto Facebook.  I am a casual Facebook user, and I get a huge kick out of this book. I can't imagine how much funnier it would be to alert major who is a hard-core Facebook user.  I have skimmed the book thus far and direct your attention to Wuthering Heights, Jane Austen, Dracula, and Oscar Wilde.  And everyone else. If you love literature or know someone who majored in it in college, this is a book you should share.  (What is with so much great literary criticism stuff coming out all at once?  It's an embarrassment of riches!) 

Have you read any of these?  Any comments?  Have you seen anything recently that you wish you had a couple days off to read right now?