Literary Humanness

books and flowers

The literary package—reading, writing, and analyzing literature—is quite crucial in the life of not only a writer, but also a reader and a student studying to become a good fiction writer (or creative non-fiction, screenwriter, etc.).  When we authors write our creative fiction works, it is a sole project in which we delve into our own minds filled with images, ideas, strings of words and sentences, and the bellowing of our carved-out characters.  But in essence, once our work is out there in print and ebook, we connect with the readers, and ultimately humanity.

In writing my stories, I’ve always been drawn to human emotions, the human condition, and the light of hope, to which I weave into my creative works.  Creating fictional characters’ journeys in dealing with real life issues, their relationships with others, and how they get through conflicts and come to discovery and resolution, is something every human being can relate to because we’ve all gone through difficulties, joys, and sorrows in our lives.

renoir dance pic

(Renoir’s Dance at Le Moulin de la Galette)

I don’t have a high self-esteem or much confidence in myself, even with the recent accomplishments in my writing this year. I still wonder if my writing is good enough.  But with all the things I’ve learned, it has only taught me I still have more to learn and that it is an ongoing process that will probably continue throughout the rest of my writing life.

Analyzing and reading the classic and modern stories I’ve read in World Literature, Fiction Writing Workshop, Intro to Creative Writing, Shakespeare, Romantic Literature, Nonfiction Writing Workshop, and most recently, British Literature, have helped me in structuring my novels in the proper manner for the character arc, and appreciate a deeper understanding of the characters.  Delving deeper into the characters revealed the utter humanness of them, their flawed selves, broken and fragile, and I think how brilliant the authors were in creating such compelling characters and their stories.  For example, the most recent paper I wrote was on Mary Shelley’s novel, Frankenstein. The character of Victor Frankenstein depicts clearly the brokenness of human beings.  And through Frankenstein’s and other fictional characters’ choices they make, cause either joy or sorrow and success or ruin for them.

frankenstein outside darkness

Literature also helps us to understand people who have different perspectives than our own, by stepping into these characters’ minds, lives, cultures, watching them deal with their bad habits, and struggles with relating to others.

Having relationships with others makes us truly human. And I believe that’s really the central struggle and most difficult endeavor for many human beings (me for sure!  Introvert here) in this life.  Generally speaking, it’s easier for us to have relationships with and love our pets than other people.  But it is through communion with other people that we become whole.

It is my hope that my writing touches the hearts of my readers (hopefully I’ll have some when my books are published!) and that they feel inspired and satisfied when they are done reading my works.

In wrapping up this blog post, I wish and pray for continued striving and success for all of us writers because writing is one hundred times harder than we thought when we first started out in the craft.

 

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Remembering Dad’s Wit

On April 29, 2012, Dad reposed.  After several strokes, the last one being massive, and in between the last two, pneumonia, Dad didn’t recover, but became unresponsive and on a ventilator to breathe.  The doctor had told Mom and my sister, Mary, that he couldn’t breathe without it.  Via phone conversations, Mary and I came to the painful decision that we needed to let him go and leave it in God’s hands, so to speak. We made this decision before Mom did, which was understandable.  But eventually she agreed.  The ventilator was removed around four in the afternoon on April 29, 2012, and Dad left this life seven hours later.  I was back at parents’ house with my sons when he departed.  I got the call from Mom a few minutes before Mary and my husband, Troy, got to parents’ house after leaving Mom at the hospital.  Seven hours later…Seven…I’d thought about this when I told my sister he’d reposed and thought “Seven, the number for completion,” Biblically speaking in our Orthodox Christian faith.  It’s odd sometimes what you think of in such sorrowful and painful moments in your life.

So, in memory of Dad for the 29th, I’m sharing something funny and dear to my mom, sister, and I:  Many Sayings of My Dad.  He was a 30-year Air Force Colonel lawyer and judge, and was/is a loving, encouraging, and gentle father with a great dry sense of humor.  So, here are the list of my dad’s common sayings:

“Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?”

“Back when the earth’s crust was cooling…” – talking about the age in which he grew up.

“Back when the dinosaurs were still roaming the earth….” talking about the age in which he grew up.

While playing poker, Dad would say many things while dealing to us:  (dealing to first person) “Three 4s,” (dealing next person) “Pair of queens,” (dealing to the next person which they don’t get anything) “Paregoric.”

Again, dealing cards during poker to us:  “Possible straight,” (next person) “Possible flush,” (next person with nothing) “Possible nothing.”

When it’s somebody else’s turn to deal or it’s their turn in one of our board games.  “It’s all urine, pee pee!” 

When something was really gross or disgusting:  “It’s enough to make a buzzard puke.”

Watching some sport like baseball or football and the players are running to catch the ball:  “I got it!  I got it!  You take it!”

When someone would sleep in late:  “Ah, the dead has arisen!”

When dad would be leaving to go to work usually (and my husband has adopted this):  “I’m off in a cloud of sheep dung!”

I would tease dad when I was a young teenager and not speak correctly by saying something like “I ain’t got none,” for which he’d reply:  “That’s a double negative, so really you do have something.” 

Teasing mom when speaking the Greek words “ti kanis, kala?” ( τι κανεις καλα,  which means, “how are you? well?”), he’d say it like this:  “Tea canister, collapse?”

When Dad wasn’t feeling well way back when he worked in the Air Force, some of his coworkers were urging him about some work that needed to be done and that he needed to be there.  He said, telling this to a friend I believe it was:  “I’ll have the hearse pick me up on the way there.” 

“Everyone has the right to be stupid, but he abuses the privilege.”

“Take all you want, but eat all you take!”

“It’s a phenomenon of nature” – when Mary asked him “why” and he didn’t know

When someone would be leaving the table, or needing to say “excuse me” or “pardon me” for something, Dad’s reply would be “Granted.”

Back in the mid 1990’s when Mom, Dad, and I came down to LA to visit my sister and stayed at her house, both my sister and I had bad coughs from colds/allergies/sinusitis stuff.  After listening to our barking coughs for a while, he said, “Sounds like a TB ward in here.” 

“Ah, I see, said the blind man.”

His favorite words for telling me or both my sister and I when arguing in the back seat of the car to be quiet were “Cork it.”

“He is as full of crap as a Christmas goose.”

Dad would always help me with my homework, even all the way through high school.  I was kind of a struggling student–three quarters lazy, one quarter comprehensive problems.  So, I was whining over some report I was working on that he was helping me with because he had told me something I would need to do in addition to what resources I’d collected.  When I whined, he said, “Ah, yes.  We couldn’t go and look up that information and work on bibliography cards…That would be too much like… *Gasp* … WORK!” 

Mom said Dad was a walking encyclopedia, and on rare occasions, we’d ask him a word, and he’d say, “I know all, except that one.” 

He’d also throw this word at us every now and again and ask us to spell it or ask what it meant or something like that: “Anti-disetablishmentarinism.” 

“Take a long walk off a short pier!” 

“All in good time.”

On the road stopped at a light that is green for more than a few seconds.  He’d say to the person in front of him: “It’s as green as it gets!” 

“What is on your alleged mind?” 

“Once again, I am the screwee.”  

Mary said:  Me, loading up everything I can carry at once so I don’t have to make 2 trips…Dad: “Aaahhh….The lazy man’s load.” 

“To err is human, to forgive is divine.  Neither, however, is SAC policy.” – Contributed by Dad’s good friend, Doug Chandler

“Dad, I want to go to my friend’s house”…Dad’s response:  “Denied!” which was rare.

“Suck in that gut!  You’re in the marine corps now!”

“but Daaaddd, I really want to go to so and so’s house!” Dad: “Yes, and people in hell want ice water.” 

Dad’s endearing nicknames for me from earliest age to adulthood:  “My little flower,” “Dorothy of Porothy,” and “The Dotmeister.”

 

Love you, Dad.  You’re always near me.  I feel your presence often.  Until we meet again. ❤

 

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Writer Vs. Inner Critic

silencing inner critic

Sweating with anxiety, I stepped into the familiar and dangerous ring of my mind, ready with padded gloves on.  My inner critic had a fast voice that knew how to bob and weave through my brain, punching out negative remarks in all the recesses of my gray matter.  It managed to paralyze the use of my left hand (yes, I’m a leftie), and rendered my pencil useless, until it had me flat out on the cushiony floor of the right side of my brain, gasping for creativity, ideas, any words at all.  But none would formulate in my brain before I was hit by another, “That’s not good enough.”  And this melee continued for several days.

This massive struggle was all over a first draft’s middle chapters.  Oh, those dreaded scenes.  What could be worse than trying to carry on your story twenty chapters in when everything you write looks like and feels like total crap?  The beginning started with such gusto and imagination and flair.  But now, like the plummeting of a meteor to earth, the haunting middle chapters had crushed my creative endeavor.  The last fizzle of ingenuity faded into the realm of unconsciousness.

open written notebook on desk

I came to just before the count of ten and rolled onto my side, huffing as I tried to lift myself.  My body slowly obeyed, as I worked hard to produce words.  The inner critic had the energy of ten people. As soon as I had gotten to my hands and knees, it rammed into me with a triple dose of “Your writing sucks.”  I lurched and collapsed onto my side.

But I wasn’t giving up.

With new clear determination, I decided to read over the pages I’d managed to write before this battle.  The words connected, weaved together in a coherent manner.  I grabbed the pencil next to my body, scrambled to my feet, and with a sharp inhale and swing of my hand wielding the pencil, I erased the words of the inner critic.  The inner critic’s voice attempted again to try and embed more of its toxic language into my brain.  But this time, with gained strength and confidence, I shouted, “Hey!  This is a first draft!” and kicked its foul castigations out of my head.

kicking something away

It scurried away, whimpering and mumbling, but I knew it would be back soon, too soon.  I would have to keep vigilant.  I hung my gloves on the wall of my brain, and with my right hand, grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from my brow, and with my left hand that still had the pencil in its grasp, I started writing the next chapter, one that would not haunt me but would submit to my writing freely.  At least I hoped so.

 

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