Living in Frames, by meshing the lyrical moments of life with the captured images of experience. This is a reverie, a journey, the fork in the road, and the never-ending story....

Sunday, February 19, 2012

I've been thinking a lot about how writers make their characters multi-dimensional- to develop a form of storytelling beyond romanticism and stoicism- creating some semblance of the "true" human condition. More Hunter S. Thompson, less William Blake or John Keats.

The truth is, I fell in love with the W.B. Yeats-style of writing, because these were the sorts of authors that filled my family's library growing up- that I poured over their pages of flowery repetitions and ethereal settings, with a hunger for both inspiration and detachment. Whose books and verses were shoved beneath my pillow before long sleeps of dreamy oblivion, or manifested into ideas so lovely and sweet they afforded me wakefulness into the wee-small hours.

I was a dreamer, both by day and by night- and not that I didn't know hardship or pain (and still), what I lacked was a way of expressing what I really knew of people- how alone we are in this race, how insecure and sometimes dangerous we can be, how capable we are of great things, and also the most destructive- Love and Hate, and how lost we truly are.

For so long, and even up until recently, writing was my porthole of living vicariously in places I'd created- a somewhat Utopian, unflawed essence of a universe. Think Being John Malkovich meets Rilke; on the cusp of reality, and also wrapped up in it's heart strings. The way I had chosen to exist and write, was a step past cathartic and not necessarily "in a bubble", but upon a plateau that I'd built for myself- an observation tower if you will, remote and removed from the day to day struggles and challenges that needed to be experienced and expressed to make anyone a better person of character and artistry.

So what, if someone smokes two packs of cigarettes a day? Does that make him or her any less of a notable person, because we see their weaknesses (or is addiction even a crutch)? It doesn't have to just be about the theatrics either, or maybe some eccentrics in good placement and judgment are okay-I don't really know what the equation is. But I do know that if an author has captured at least one empathic reader with their writing, then they should find pride in what they have done.

Because it is no small feat being able to relate to another human being or convey a message with our limited language of words, let alone create upon a page, a world within a world.

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