About Halls and Trade-offs

Post 384:

            Tom Wolfe would describe every molecule of a situation in his novels. The way everybody’s dressed right down to the wrinkle, the furniture, the light on the furniture, the freaking essence of the essence of the things in the setting of the scene. It’s brilliant, and it’s helpful in picturing the characters and knowing them better.        

            But.

            I’d say there’s a trade-off. Because after a beautifully-written paragraph about the smell of a room and why it’s bothering this character, you start to lose the story. It’s a matter of taste. But if you’re a rampant describer, be warned. He’s really frigging good, and he still can bog your brain down. (Of course, a genius)

            Vonnegut used shifting timelines and a stop-and-start rhythm to his writing, generally to keep you asking what the hell and to keep you laughing. This is hard to do throughout an entire novel, and sometimes his endings sort of crumbled under the weight of all those jokes and twists and turns, making you mine for the point. (The price of having a go at society. Also, of course—a genius)

            Dickens was extraordinary at building deep characters and backstories, reasons for their actions. A wonderful framer of the story. Giant sweeping scenes, well-planned and executed. And yet, maybe a dash more artistic expression could’ve found its way through the scaffolding. A bit of fun, even. (Again. Genius)

             Dostoyevsky is probably my favorite writer. He has huge moral points to make. And… sometimes the characters in his stories just seem to be mouthpieces, not lived-in people. Points of view but not characters, if that makes sense. (The ultimate genius)

            These aren’t really critiques. I’m not on drugs—well, no fun ones. These chaps are all telling tales, but the way they do it is their own thing. They have a style, something that they come home to. This is general, again. They mixed it up well, but a certain method was imposed upon their narratives pretty pervasively. They’re artists trying to find the best way to invoke those feelings and tell those stories.

            All are right. Not because there are no wrong ways to do it. There’s a billion wrong ways. And a few right ones. These guys are forever in the halls of language because they found some of the right ones.

            But they’re not perfect. Don’t be perfect. Because you’re not. But be something. Trade-offs. Understand yourself, and if you don’t know what type of storyteller you are yet, you haven’t written enough. Write more and more until it’s nothing but an extension, an outgrowth of your brain.

            It’ll come. The halls of language still have some openings.

            See you in the queue. Later animals. Cheers till after.