Aaron C. Bennett's Writing Journal

Catching Up

I finished listening to October Country. It was a special treat to hear Bradbury himself reading it. That is the perfect way to get a story, exactly as the author intended. I wish there had been more of Uncle Inar. I liked those stories. Bradbury is a great weird fiction writer. I loved the images he invoked, and the odd twists he put into the plots. That said, there was little emotional response. I see why people like his shorts, but they don't make me afraid, or feel anything at all really. They are still great stories, but they don't get the brain a spinning, and the cold sweats to pop out like some writers.
I also listened to The First Dog, and other Chippewa/Cree stories. It has been a long time since I heard stories like this. I remember Chief telling stories, you never knew how much he embellished. I was struck by the narrative structure. There is an almost constant going back to explain a point, or character. Much of this stems from a story that isn't written down has a lot to remember. You can't go back and edit like you can on the written page. A good storyteller has few of these, this guy wasn't great. His dialogue was passable, even good at points. That is always a big part for the kids, who always sit the closest during the storytellings. When the storyteller starts in with a chipmunk voice, or an old hag, all the kids love it. I also noticed that there was a LOT of telling. There is little of the flowery language, mostly because the teller has had to remember the plot points. That is what's considered important, the "prose" style comes last, if at all. I have heard some great people who could invoke some verbal images the likes of which are rare even in print. Those stories are that much more chilling. This telling was like a fairy-tale, a story stripped down to its essential parts. I could see myself at the fire, with a single drum beating time. I think I would like to be a storyteller sometime.
I finished Bob's The Black Lodge. I have gained a new respect for him. Normally that comes from a work being so great it hurts. I've been talking to Clegg, Pic and Keene for a while. They are such down to earth people. I read their works and am floored that I know someone who writes that well. It makes me feel humbled and elevated at the same time. I wish one day to truly join their ranks. Bob does not fall in that category. He has long said that he is not that good of a writer, if he can make it anyone can. He is right. His book is good. The plot is unique and well-researched. The dialogue is pretty good, as is the general prose. But, it isn't one of those great books that you run out and tell all your friends about. It is a great example of a good midlist author. I was entertained while I read the book, and that is all most readers ask for. It is a testament to a writer as a whole package, and not just blindingly sublime writing. So many times we forget the business aspect, the career positioning stuff. It gives me hope. If Bob can do it so can I. I'm very glad Bob is doing this class on the writing of the book. I look forward to learning how and why he wrote the book the way he did.
I also listened to Eudora Welty read some of her stories. I'm struck by how small and powerful she sounds. She sounds like a young girl, but has the strength in demeanor of someone much older. Perhaps she was sick when I saw her. That time she looked frail and old, you could hardly hear her speak. I loved her diction. She captured her locale perfectly. I would like to do that with Jack's tribe's voices. It is so simple, yet elegant. It doesn't sound like the lifted Proustian prose you think of when you think literary fiction, but it was pretty good.
I finally got all my stuff in, past the deadlines, but they're in. Not only did I have the Seton Hill deadline, but the Hacker's Source deadline that I forgot because I was so focused on my novel. I also need to rework "The Axe" for Borderlands, and another piece for the Detroit Writer's Voice contest. I need to get back on schedule with my projects. I've already written all my deadlines on my calendar, that way I can see them every time I go into the fridge. This period was also a good lesson in forcing oneself to write. I threw my muse out of the writing room. He just sat there, his red eyes mocking me from his sharp blue face. He didn't want to leave at first, he bounced off the lathe and plaster and back at me. I figured if my muse won't help me get this done, fuck him. I'm doing it by myself. Waiting around for some vague muse isn't getting my ass in the chair and the book written. The typewriter clacked away to Waylon Jennings as the fog of my mind was forced away. I often turn to my old Smith-Corona when I'm stuck. Something feels extremely comfortable, like when I thwacked out my first story, long before the cares of the world were known to my feeble mind. Part of misses the time of blessed ignorance. I would sit in my room with the sun warming my face. All I had to do was sit and think about crazy adventures for my characters. It's like skiing, when you go back to why you love it, it becomes fun again. That will help drive the passion for the craft.
I started really getting into Perfume. I love this book. I feel the olfactory senses blossom as I read. I have always been a sensory person, this is my kind of book. My only critique is the lack of the "money shot." Suskind does that Hitchcockian pan away and then come back when the murder is done. It can be striking if done well, and it might work into the plot later, but I still like to see some splatter.