Reading really great works of literature, sometimes really get me down. It makes me ashamed of my own writing. I wonder how long before I can produce something even minutely as good. So I finished Steinbeck's of Mice and Men. I read it in one sitting at the Westfield mall to the sound of a crazy homeless black guy chanting about a "cuban truck carrying very very dangerous stuff." It is amazing how writing can transport me to places and scenes. I cried at the end of book, who cares if it was in public, my tears are well deserved for the amazing writing Steinbeck produced. For me, reading is a spiritual activity. It just feels so grand at the end of a good book, it is like I have seen into the heart of an invisible something that powers life. I can't even explain this without making it sound cheesy. But those moments that linger at the end of a great book makes me feel like I have seen something noble and beautiful, and there is a goodness in life. Of course, it is written by human hand, and is far from perfect, in fact there will always be flaws in any work of literature, but the flaws too seem full of light.
I remember arguing with Lee once, about the value of reading. He claims reading is merely another avenue for entertainment, but I argued otherwise. Reading for me will always be more than entertainment. He claimed that reading only offers pleasure and no real value in learning. What can one learn from reading stories anyway, they are not real, simply made up figments of someone's imagination. But for me, stories are much more, much much more. It is the one true place experience, emotions, visions, creation, existence all come together. Sometimes, I feel that I am only truly alive in the presence of stories. That is why I want to write. Because I feel that I am alive when I write, and everytime I read something good, I believe in the world I inhabit, that even with all the evil and darkness, there is meaning for all this, as elusive as it is, and there is nothing I believe in as strongly as this.
Then after the wave of wonder passes, I ask myself, how is it done? How did Steinbeck create this amazing experience for me using nothing more than words?
Symmetry
There is a symmetry in the construction of the story. It opens at night by a river, it closes at night by a river. A harmless old dog is shot at the bck fo the head half way through, a harmless man is also shot at the end of the story. I'm beginning to understand the rhyming action that my writing instructor talked about, and its power.
Repetition
There is something about repetition that increase intensity and heightens suspense. Words are repeated, almost word for word to show how much something means for a character. Images are repeated, the theme of tending rabbits open and closes the book.
Pattern
Unlike what most people say about surprises and suspense, most great stories actually already has the ending in the opening. My writing instructor once said that good writers teach readers how to read them in the first page of a book. In the same way, the ending is embedded in the opening, so that even though one is surprised at the end, one is still prepared and doesn't feel cheated. It is the reason why ending the story with "And I woke up to find it was all a dream" is a cheap trick.
Fulfilment
Not fulfilling what your readers desire for your characters can be an amazing kind of fulfilment if that is the effect the writer wants to achieve. As much as people want a happily-ever-after, and as much satisfaction as happy endings can give, sometimes the sad endings can carry power far beyond a happy one. It is not true that all stories need to end sadly to have power, but it must ring true to the tale. Cinderella would not be better if her step sister's ploy worked and became queen, but Steinbeck's story would also not be better if everyone got their wish. Every story creates its own world, and the ending need to be true to that world.
Steinbeck, whereever you are now. I am grateful.
By: Nippy | Thursday, December 30, 2010 at 2:27 PM | | 
It is Christmas today. Lee is away at San Jose with his family, my sister is out with Jerry at little hot pot and it is rainy and grey outside. And I love it. The greyness, the silence. I'm listening to gloomy music to the sound of the rain outside. Ahhhhh..... So peaceful.
By: Nippy | Sunday, December 26, 2010 at 5:26 AM | |
is here again. Another year, hope all you have a great Christmas. I miss you all so dearly. Merry X'mas guys.
By: Nippy | Thursday, December 23, 2010 at 1:46 AM | |
I will always remember the conversation I had with Sim once. I asked her how is life in a relationship different from life as a single, and she said, " Being in a relationship has its ups and down. You'll feel happier, but you'll also feel sadder." And three years into the relationship, I couldn't agree more. I have been happy and sad in turn, but there will always be one thing that I miss, solitude. It is a state of mind more than anything. And being with someone makes it elusive. Everytime I see something amazing, I want to tell someone, everytime I think of something interesting, I pick up the phone and call him. Or I find myself giving more attention to spending time with him than doing things just for myself. And I miss it so much. I remember how I would just decide to go to East Coast and hop on my bike and ride all the way to the beach.
I don't know if it's the nature of the relationship I'm in, but I miss that kind of freedom. Being with someone automatically means all plans and activities include their participation. And I do enjoy Lee's company, but there is nothing as free and spiritual as just being by yourself looking out to the sea or watching sunrise, or even taking a train in silence.
Over the last weekend, I took the Cal-train down to San Jose to visit Lee's family. We planned to get on the same train but from different stations, and for the few stations before Lee got on, I was watching the Christmas lights twinkling in the distance to the churning of the wheels of the train on tracks. The lights, the silence was peaceful, and I realized it was the solitude I missed. Then I wondered what was worse, a lonely life without the enrichment of romance but full of the spiritual ripeness of solitude, or a life arich with love but without those moments of time to be by yourself. And it was clear that I find the latter intolerable. If I had to pick, I would rather live a life without romance, but have the richness of solitude. All the poets I admire write from the central core of solitude. And it is from there that I beleive depth springs. And I miss it so much.
I want to take a walk by myself, or travel somewhere on my own. Love as wonderful as all it is, with all its blessings and gifts of companionship still lacks that one thing that I always miss--the gift of solitude. I find that it is the most peaceful state of mind--to not have to think of anyone else, but just you and the moment, and whatever the world around you has to offer. It is an awareness of yourself, and no one else is there to distract. And that peace that comes with it, comes form a deep source, and it goes a long long way.
By: Nippy | Monday, December 13, 2010 at 2:54 PM | |
Last night, I had an erotic dream involving a guy I know from the writing lab and who I've always had a crush on, but whom I think is a little too young for me. And Lee is just the cutest. I told him about the dream. After I told him about my dream, I expected him to be angry, but he told me. "Your dream made me horny." I couldn't stop laughing.
By: Nippy | Friday, December 10, 2010 at 6:08 AM | |
Graham Greene's
The Comedian was so captivating, I had to stand by Union square on my way to work to finish the chapter before continuing on my way. The old dictum that plot drives interest is not true. It is not what happens plot-wise that had me so engaged. I didn't really care if someone was going to die or not, or what was going to happen next. I wanted to know if Martha slept with Jones after all or not.
Here Greene is a genius. He keeps it ambigious throughout. Nothing was truly revealed only hinted at, and even that a reader can't be sure points to anything at all. The best thing about Greene's characters is that they lie and tell the truth, but one never truly knows when--that ambiguity drives my curiosity to such a pitch that I couldn't stop reading.
His chacarcters live. They are unpredictable. They have various motives, they change without warning. They have memories, guilt, remorse, and honor. They are heros and villains in turn.
I have so much to write about Greene, but it iwll have to wait, because I have to get back to work for now.
Labels: Writing Lessons on BART
By: Nippy | Wednesday, December 08, 2010 at 1:58 AM | |
That is my great sin. But no more dwelling on sad thoughts tonight, I feel old and tired enough. Don't feel like theorizing, or even writing. Just so damn tired. But yesterday, on the train, there was a little boy, staring at the uni-cycle locked up by the train door. He kept asking whose it was and if he could have it. When the owner of the unicycle revealed himself, he asked him: "Do you ride it? Are you disabled?" And the man replied, "no I just walk around with it." the joke was lost on the boy, but the boy asked, "Did you fall down a lot?" "yeah. "The man said and rolled up his trousers to show his scar on his left leg. THen just before the train got to the 16th street station, the man said to the boy, " Look out the window later. I will ride this for you, for one second." The doors opened and the man got off. And true to his words jumped onto his unicycle and rode for a short second before his disappeared. But that smile of joy and wonder on the little boy's face didn't fade for a long time. I was smiling, as were everyone else on that train. But later even as the boy to continued to smile and squabble with his brother, I felt incredibly old. It is in moments like this that I feel that i have lost my innocence. That bold, fearlessness of the world as a safe and perfect place full of curiosities fades in time. And in that moment I wish that I lost all of my cycnicism and that I can trust with an open heart and love fearlessly. And I wished I had the bravery of the very young, and the honesty and courage to trust, to love, to ask questions and to find joy in the simplest of things.
By: Nippy | Sunday, December 05, 2010 at 3:22 PM | |
