Through some reflection I’m beginning to entertain the idea that real stories don’t come out of a well defined setting or a meticulously planned string of events, but rather from social interactions. I’m not sure if this is true, as it may just be another dead end, but it’s worth a shot, yes?
I’m wondering if that is why I have so much difficulty telling great stories. I can think of cool things to happen, I can think of interesting settings and environments. I have no trouble whatsoever in writing a lengthy and interesting backstory. But when it comes to actually writing a story in the here and now? Writing a story about a person going through these events, exploring this world I’ve so carefully constructed? I get nowhere. Like, really. It’s kind of awful.
Maybe a dozen times now, I’ve come up with grand ideas. Ideas that I thought would take me somewhere. All of these ideas, now that I’m thinking about it differently, were not stories. They were histories. I can write histories it seems. Not of any particular person, but of groups and their interactions among themselves or with their environments. That’s my problem I think. I can write histories but not biographies.
How do you write about interactions between people? I’ve drawn a blank each time I’ve asked myself that question today. Last night before falling asleep, it dawned on me that I have such limited experience dealing with people, even in friendships, so it’s no wonder I can’t write a compelling piece of fiction about people who don’t even exist.
Only so much of a story can exist within one character’s mind, or at least I’m beginning to think that. Much of the story exists in the interactions of that character with all the other characters as they try to deal with whatever crazy/depressing/scary/sexy thing is happening to their world.
So what’s next?
I’m wondering if that is why I have so much difficulty telling great stories. I can think of cool things to happen, I can think of interesting settings and environments. I have no trouble whatsoever in writing a lengthy and interesting backstory. But when it comes to actually writing a story in the here and now? Writing a story about a person going through these events, exploring this world I’ve so carefully constructed? I get nowhere. Like, really. It’s kind of awful.
Maybe a dozen times now, I’ve come up with grand ideas. Ideas that I thought would take me somewhere. All of these ideas, now that I’m thinking about it differently, were not stories. They were histories. I can write histories it seems. Not of any particular person, but of groups and their interactions among themselves or with their environments. That’s my problem I think. I can write histories but not biographies.
How do you write about interactions between people? I’ve drawn a blank each time I’ve asked myself that question today. Last night before falling asleep, it dawned on me that I have such limited experience dealing with people, even in friendships, so it’s no wonder I can’t write a compelling piece of fiction about people who don’t even exist.
Only so much of a story can exist within one character’s mind, or at least I’m beginning to think that. Much of the story exists in the interactions of that character with all the other characters as they try to deal with whatever crazy/depressing/scary/sexy thing is happening to their world.
So what’s next?
