On Writing...

The act of writing is one of persuasion and illumination.  This is even more so the case when writing fiction.  One must always remember that when one writes fiction, the main goal in telling the overall story, is one of telling the truth.  I know how that may sound counterintuitive or paradoxical, but telling the truth in fiction is paramount and I find that any story, which has no deeply felt truth, has no real interest to me, regardless of the author’s gift at weaving a good yarn.

When I write fiction I let the story evolve on its own from beginning to end, starting only with a vague idea, or interest I may have had, or dreamed, or mused upon while reading or contemplating some theme or other.  To the extent that I fail or succeed, I am aware that if the story feels contrived or fabricated in some fashion --regardless of whether the story is auto or biographical, or a version or a real event –it is in essence because no deep truth was presented, illuminate or was done so unpersuasively; without this quintessential element the story will fail.

What do I mean when I say a story may fail?  Is it that readers may be bored with the subject matter?  Could it be that they may hate my characters, or find the ideas in said story offensive or counter to their religious or political beliefs?  No, it simply means, that a good story can only be valued by readers if there is some deep and meaningful truth, invisibly woven into the fabric of the story, that transcends the readers tastes in style, subject matter, religious or political beliefs, or any other prequalification, prejudice, or taste that a reader will bring to her reading.  Yes, the challenge is daunting, and is why I believe that most of the writing published fails.

The gems that from time to time are given the light to shine out of the oft manufactured and commercial world of publishing, which tastes and goals can hinder such work, are those that have this quality; evermore so in todays profit driven nightmarish world, and when dealing in fiction.  Fiction without truth is meaningless.  Those works that survive the test of time, geography, politics, language, taste and prejudice are those which deal in truth.  Those are also the ones that can subvert whole established Meme empires; witness Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  The truth in the very fiber of its fictitious story transcended a myopic nation into a clear view of a new reality, away from the received wisdom of the age, one handed down across many a generation.  Human bondage would never again be obscured by self-interested rational.

Orwell provides for our discussion another example of the paradigm’s shifting power of truth in fiction. In his novel 1984 he unveils for us a future that with very little imagination can show us the corrupted forms of our ideals; witness what is transpiring in our own day.  The truth in his novel transcends communism, socialism, despotism, other –isms as well; but what makes it so honest is that it make us feel immediately uncomfortable, at an instinctual level, that the gray ugliness of this tell is equally applicable to aspects of our own capitalistic and democratic societies.  The warnings are clear: an unengaged populous, and concentrated power (or wealth in our case) can harbor nothing but a bleak future for most of us.  How can we not see our current situation and ourselves in these words:

“But it was also clear that an all-round increase in wealth threatened the destruction—indeed, in some sense was the destruction—of a hierarchical society.  In a world in which everyone worked short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a house with a bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a motorcar or even an airplane, the obvious and perhaps the most important form of inequality would already have disappeared.  If it once became general, wealth would confer no distinction.  It was possible, no doubt, to imagine a society in which wealth, in the sense of personal possessions and luxuries, should be evenly distributed, while power remained in the hands of a small privileged case.  But in practice such a society could not long remain stable.  For if leisure and security were enjoyed by all alike, the great mass of human beings who are normally stupefied by poverty would become literate and would learn to think for themselves; an when once they had done this, they would sooner or later realize that the privileged minority had no function, and they would sweep it away.  In the long run, a hierarchical society was only possible on a basis of poverty and ignorance….”

We are quickly, and quietly, by default or fiat, becoming just such a society; one of a few wealthy lording over the vast ignorant and foolish populace.  I will have much more to say about this in another essay, but suffice it to say that Orwell’s truth in fiction can be apply applied to us today.

There are countless examples we may give, and a long list of classics --ancient, old, or contemporary may be given  -- and we may even delve much deeper into those examples already given, but this would be out of the purview of this short essay and would take a much longer presentation than I care to provide for the moment.  However, I encourage readers everywhere to test and witness for themselves what I have espoused to in this short composition.  In a real sense, in looking for the truth in fiction one becomes an active reader, and leaves that sort of passive reading to those who would choose to be solely entertained by their reading.  Reading as a pastime is not for me.  I seek truth in fiction, so publishers and writers both, be forewarned: there are readers out here that seek the truth.