What I Assume

In several ways, I want to be like Chris Lott when I grow up.  I don’t know him terribly well–I think we sat at the same dinner table at WCET in 2006, and we banter and blather back in forth via blogs and Twitter–but he never fails to make a good impression.

Seemingly out of the blue Chris opened up another window into his mind, using a Whitman quote as a clue to explain his “inconsistencies”.  Using recent examples of how he’s changed his mind on perceptions or aspects of his world view, Chris justifies his so-called inconsistencies by implying that alternating positions, and the fact that people change their mind, can be reasonably explained.

But no explanation is needed. What I think Chris knows but would be naturally loathe to admit is that he is able to practice what F. Scott Fitzgerald called “the test of first-rate intelligence”:

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two
opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the
ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless yet be determined to make them otherwise.

Too often “…and still retain the
ability to function” is left off this quote but I daresay it is a critical component of Fitzgerald’s argument.  At the risk of sounding like a Chris Lott groupie, I’ve seen Chris do this, even alternately arguing different sides of the same issue while still being grounded enough in reality to get the job done.  So many “big-thinkers” in ed tech get either too attached to one side of an argument, or are so caught up in the argument itself that they fail to move anything forward.

This laudatory exercise was unexpected, but that’s alright. What I really want to answer is Chris’s question, what have you changed your mind about?

Here’s are two:

Being elite and
critical is not as important as being encouraging and kind.  This is a pretty damning statement, but I daresay anyone who knows me understands that a certain degree of elitism is just part of my personality.

This is
not to say that I no longer believe in the power of the critical eye,
or the struggle for excellence, afronting relativism, it’s just that
I’ve realized–and this is pretty recently–that Most Normal People Are Doing Their Best, and if they are
at all of  like me (despite the hardened facade I often put forth to
resist weaker emotions), they want to hear the positive more often than
the negative, they deserve to be applauded when they earn applause, and
that should be louder than the boos when they deserve booing.

Second,

I’ve been resisting posting up anything on vox to friends, family, neighbors, let alone public for the last few weeks primarily because I’ve debating if there is really any significant value in posting any writings or reflections on a public blog at all. This is despite the fact that I have had a lot to post in line with my original objectives in keeping this vox account, and that is to document or publish a journal-like account of my writing efforts, and to “show off” an occasional work-in-progress.  In the last month I’ve significantly revamped my objectives in an effort to rejuvenate my interest in the novel, and though I halted work on it in favor of finishing a short story that I just had to get out (thanks to a handful of characters and events at the ITC conference in Florida last week), I plan to resume the chore of finishing it once I’ve worked through a 2nd draft of the short story.  I’ve also written two-and-a-half poems.

In writing this short story and the poems, however, I’ve had to face-off against the problem of the appearance of biographical elements in fiction.   I’m still personally taken aback at how much Fear of Truth and Fear of Being Mistaken for Truth is a detriment or obstacle to my writing fiction. Anything any writer produces is bound to bear some resemblance to one
or more aspects of his/her own life, often in the form of a character. 
Writers may choose to indulge or resist this in different situations to move the story along. 
However, engaging in mimicry of this sort becomes perilous when close friends or family read one’s work, as they may
make assumptions about themselves or the writer based on characters or
events in the story.  Often these reactions are not unfounded for the autobiographical elements suggested above.  But I’ve found as often as not that readers make assumptions about the auto/biographical nature of one’s writing regardless of it’s actual resemblance to reality.  I think of this phenomenon as akin to the psychic who
through vapid generalizations is able to convince people that s/he
truly “knows” them.  Listeners/readers hear what they want to hear, they “read into” the text, overlaying their own experiences and understanding of the world, and, to some extent, interpreting this slippery thing called language according to their personal motives and persuasions.

I have seen that for a writer, truth presented as fiction is likely to cause self-incrimination. And yet even fiction presented as fiction may be perceived by readers as merely truth presented as fiction.  This is complicated by the fact that most writers understand early on: fiction sans truth is soulless.  So I must assume that this a common writers’ dilemma.

The complexity in such a conflict, if the conflict is real and on-going, would give rationale for the recurring appearance (stereotype?) of “writer as loner”.  While I myself am naturally a loner, I will state that this fear of social uproar over perceived reflections of reality in my writing (either themselves or myself) does indeed push me away from them; I do not share anything I write with any family members, and nearly as few friends.  Total strangers are the best testing ground, providing both objectivity and social distance.

Though the idea came along in a nightmare that I had over a year ago, I didn’t start writing until August 07.  Nearly 6 months later, on a regiment of approx. 4 days a week (with some stops and false-starts) I’m a mere 100pp into it.  With a whopping 37 chapters fully outlined currently (I let myself add 3 more last week born of character sketches) I can say I’ve got at least another 12 months before draft 1 is done.

I look forward to that day. While the creative energy of outlining a story and it’s characters is the most liberating and pleasurable part of writing for me (maybe that’s why I keep going back to the outline to change, add, subtract, cohere, reconnect), the act of writing–you know, that 90% perspiration stuff–is a chore, mostly because every day as I swing up the lappy screen I must wrestle down my self-doubt and inhibitions. I’m really depending on the release I will experience on the day that I can say, yes, all the substance is there, your main work is done.

At this point I’m not worried about diving in for the second, third, and fourth draft (but let’s hope there’s not more than a fourth!);  I actually enjoy the work of revising and editing far more than the work of composing, and am confident that editing and revision will let me pare the superfluous descriptions and extraneous plot or character points out.  I certainly don’t want something bloated here (J. K. Rowling springs to mind), and the effect and completeness of my story does not seem to warrant significant length or depth as does, say, Moby Dick or The Lord of the Rings.

Yet I should not trick myself into thinking that the story is not big. And this is only the middle part of what my imagination is holding for these characters.  The first part is already begging to be released from the dungeon of my mind, saying I’m ready, I’m a Whole Person, I have love and pain and fear and joy and hope.  I’m can tell you about  Survival, Family, the Future, the Past. I am the raison d’etre of the story you are now writing.  But I also know it’s the part that can tear the current plot out of the mere fantastic to the realm of supernatural (admittedly a door I’m extremely wary of passing through; I abhor fantasy/sci-fi fiction, though I love the genre).  The Good Life + After London + The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn + We. And if you look hard enough, and if I let it be, there’s a little bit of War of the Worlds too.

But what am I doing right now? In this early morning hour I should be typing, but not on this pointless weblog entry–on the story.  I have to finish the first third. I have to complete the characters, I have to get the story rolling, I have to provide a reason to finish writing, and for the reader to finish reading.

“In this corner, weighing in at 128 pounds with his glasses, wearing black trunks (of course), the Challenger: Literary Aspirant!

“He’ll be facing off against the reigning champ-een. Here he is, weighing in at a massive 300 kilonewtons, and wearing only a tan trench-coat, the indomitable Mortal Fatigue!”

“>

“Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked; there is no reason not to follow your heart.“

Steve Jobs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ps1c1Z2Rl8