John Baker posted Kurt Vonnegut's eight rules for writing fiction:
1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things - reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.
I don't normally write fiction. I tried once. I worked on a story for a few months. I kept rewriting the same ten pages over and over again. Even put a soundtrack to a couple of the scenes. Because, of course, my story was going to be made into a movie! But, something even better happened. My story came true. With the songs and everything.
Believe it or don't.
I tried to repeat that because, you know, I felt like I had some sort of magical talent. So, I started writing a story about how I was this Nobel Peace Prize-winning, 5' 10" millionairess, with long dark hair and huge fake eyelashes.
I had won all my money in a poker game that was held in an abandoned warehouse, down by the tracks in the dead of night. Five card stud. I bluffed the whole time. A master of deceit. And the poor dopes fell for it. Or seemed to. When I was leaving with my winnings, one of the guys threw me up against a wall and pulled a gun on me! He smelled of cheap booze and cigarettes.
"Give me my money back or I'm gonna pop you!"
"No!"
"Listen, dollface. You think I didn't see you readin' those cards all along?"
"You think I cheat?"
"I've known dames like you! Now give me back my dough!"
As we went to grab my bag, I swung around and with a swift kick to his right shoulder, knocked him to the ground.
"You think you can take me?" And he lunged at me, but I ducked down to the right and he landed in a rumpled ball in the corner.
He gasped, "Give me the money now or you'll regret the day you ever stepped into this joint!"
I laughed as he stood up. "Ha-ha-ha-ha..."
"Oh yeah?" And with that he came running towards me.
Then I gave him a karate chop. Hi-ya! And then sped away in my bright red Lamborghini Murcielago. Because, you know, I had to get up early the next day to make it to Nobel Peace Prize ceremony.
That one never came true. So, I gave up on fiction.
It seems lately, I've even given up on non-fiction. Or whatever you want to call my writing here at blue girl. I've just been stuck. And I've been doing everything I can think of to unstick myself.
I've been searching the blogosphere for inspiration. Found some.
I've been talking with friends via email about writing. That's so great. I always love discussing it.
I've actually left the house a couple of times to try to interact with real live human beings. Or at least observe them. I saw this one guy trip at Starbucks on his way in the door and then act like he didn't. When he did. Trip, I mean. Didn't seem like I could make a whole post out of that.
So, this morning I pulled out my copy of Strunk and White. A writer I know suggested I get it when I started my blog a couple of years ago. I had underlined this passage E.B. White wrote about Strunk in the introduction.
And his original Rule 11 was, "Make definite assertions." That was Strunk all over. He scorned the vague, the tame, the colorless, the irresolute. He felt it was worse to be irresolute than to be wrong. I remember a day in class when he leaned far forward, in his characteristic pose -- the pose of a man about to impart a secret -- and croaked, "If you don't know how to pronounce a word, say it loud! If you don't know how to pronounce a word, say it loud!" This comical piece of advice struck me as sound at the time, and I still respect it. Why compound ignorance with inaudibility? Why run and hide?
I loved that passage the first time I read it and still do. I'm doing everything I can to get back to this writing this thing I seem to care about so much.
Don't make love to the world. Check.
Don't waste a stranger's time. Check. Uncheck?
Be clear quickly, in case of cockroaches! Check.
Be colorful. Check. Be resolute. Check. Don't run and hide. Check.
Say it loud! CHECK!
You know. One thing I didn't do with my second story was put a soundtrack to it. Maybe I shouldn't have chucked the whole thing out the window so fast. Hey, you never know. That could've been the whole problem.
She was a thirsty, Nobel Peace Prize-winning, Lamborghini Murcielago-driving, 5' 10" millionairess, with long dark hair and huge fake eyelashes, leaving an abandoned warehouse in the dead of night. And then...
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