We’re All Writers
It is easy enough to write a story. Recall something which made you laugh or cry. Remember the people, situations or memory and share it with the world. The writer is an artist, the brush strokes thousands of letters. The idea is to evoke a feeling in the viewer’s mind. Take the reader away into another world.
Create anything and let it flow. It will never be perfect. Negative reviews will be plentiful, and recognition will be evasive. Don’t do it for loot or it will break your heart and leave the pockets empty. There is no formula or method. The pleasure is discovering a unique style and do not think your signature of words is too coarse or sweet. Killing a child is acceptable to some and flower arranging hits the spot with others. If you want a zombie to fall in love with a mortal and fight her zombie conscience for three hundred pages, do it. The dead fall in love with the living every day in this world.
Carry one notebook, I had three on the go once, they drove me crazy. Don’t ask why; I don’t know. Use a camera; I carry three, phone, Canon digital and an old Leica, don’t ask why the explanation will take to long. Watch everything in your world and eavesdrop. Enter into gossip and steal the words and stories. Make sure your memories are accurate and distort them on the page. People do this all the time in the reality of existence.
In your stories; Ridicule strangers. Be unkind to those you love, be sweet as Turkish Delight to those you hate. Allow the mind to become a sewer of despair and a heaven of happiness. The worlds and people invented should encounter problems, pain, joy, betrayal, euphoria. Have no compassion to kill a good guy and no conscience, allow the killer to escape.
In a story, I killed someone I knew; he was murdered because I did not like him, he’d hurt me once too often. In truth, it was my fault he had to die, I forgave him many unkindness’s. Later I discovered the story decimated him. The power of the writer’s words should not be underestimated. I write a letter of complaint about an ignorant bus driver. Goodness, I was rattlesnake angry when I tapped those words. The fangs entered deep into the reader of the email. ‘We apologise for our driver’s conduct, and appropriate action will be taken’ I knew, the driver would remember me, and one day our paths would cross. I relished the moment, knowing I would be in total control, I was correct. The words took possession of the situation.
Take ownership, own your reader. Evoke anger, happiness, forgiveness and revenge. It is your world; humanity cannot be trusted, many have hidden agendas. Never worry about those who are transparent and protest, even if their opinion is opposed to your own. The silent majority, the ones who agree in ‘principal’ and disagree within their realities, they are the danger, real and present. People hide their truths and thoughts; they smile when they would rather spit.
‘I could write a book about my life’ Yes, and who would read it? Unless there is murder, serious crime, scandal or anything out of the ordinary, no one’s interested. Haven’t you noticed how folks are concerned about a divorce, illness, redundancy et cetera on Monday and couldn’t give a fig by Friday. If you have something worth knowing or a dark secret, people are interested. Once, I dared a friend to drink a mug full of methylated spirits. He spent three nights in the hospital. Shamefully the debt was not settled, and his courage shone for non to see, he didn’t betray me. This memory becomes a smile or shock depending on the way the reader thinks. No real story, unless Geoff had died ‘That’s Ian Timothy, he poisoned his friend when he was twelve…..’
Alex Marlow is an actor. Congratulations to him; he has just received an unconditional offer from Greenwich for his drama degree. My friend will portray many characters and enjoy entering into the minds of writers and playwrights. What a life, acting out the crazy personalities without any danger of being chastised for the pleasure. Idolise his skill of deception, illusion, and performance. One moment applauding the actor, the next castigating the lost soul who takes refuge in a dream world. All we know is to some degree an illusion. Is there reality in anything which is fantasy? Surely those who are unaware of their purpose in life live in a world of dreams and uncertainty?
Many stories, memories, experiences, and reflections are remoulded and reformed to suit arguments and points of view. Life is distorted, re-written and reworked. And the fortunate understand nothing matters, not one thing, illness, health, rich, poor, deception, truth. Take your pick, take them all, a writer creates his environment. We are all creators writing our lives; it is one lifelong drama. All humans are writers, most do not waste time working out the stories or conclusions.