Location, Location, Location

I've been thinking these past few days, and surprisingly, it hasn't hurt too much. When I left Phoenix for Los Angeles, I did so with the knowledge that my experiences would enhance my life, and consequentially, my writing. Writing, as you all know, is an extension of life. Some people may be able to write about things they have not experienced. Props to them. I cannot, without exerting great effort. This is a conversation that Rosencratz and I have gone over at great length. Is it experience that makes for good writing, or is it the pure ability to write? Granted, science fiction writers have always made due with things they have not experienced. I'm sure that Lovecraft did not actually experience giant, tentacle-wielding demi-gods from outer space, but apparently his ability to write of such things were such that he still has a considerable following. In the same vein, people write very well of things that are actually fancy, or figments of their imagination. What then, is it to write of experience, or to only write well of what you know?

I am not entirely convinced that it is possible for one to write well of something that they do not know completely. Perhaps imagination is the only tool a writer needs, but there must be some kind of foundation for which imagination is based upon. Even the greatest of science fiction writers depend on then current technological trends. When Jules Verne wrote his novels, he used machinery that was present then, and advanced them in his mind until they fit some kind of futuristic schematics. Quite wonderful and imaginative things resulted from that ponderings, but they were still based in something concrete. Therefore we cannot argue that Verne, and other science fiction writers' works are pure imagination.

That concept remains the same for a variety of fantasy writers. The McCaffreys, Jordans, and Tolkiens of the world may construct universes that are unfathomably real and many people exist in them far longer than they ought to, but even those have some grounding in each writer's experiences. Tolkien was a linguist, incredibly Welsh, and possessed a vast knowledge of various mythologies, particularly Norse mythology. It cannot be denied that his Middle Earth is one big cluster-fuck of various mythologies, combined with his imagination and his linguistic abilities. Jordan and McCaffrey both had different mythologies, and present-day fictions to draw upon and expand. While all three have unique, individual worlds populated by people who have unique, and individual personalities, none could have come about without relying on the author's experience.

What qualifies as experience? Must experience be actually experienced, or can it be acquired through non-physical means? My use of the term non-physical is quite sketchy. Acquisition of information through some means would be considered physical, and acquisition of information through other means, while physical, does not fall within the parameters of overall physical experience. What, then, qualifies as a physical experience? If I were to sit in a classroom and listen or perceive a lecture on riding a bicycle, could I immediately ride one with precision? It is quite possible that I could, but highly unlikely. Therefore, the example provided is a non-kinesthetic experience, and a non-physical experience. Although the act of listening to a lecture is physical, the experience itself is not. The same could be said of someone attempting to ride a bicycle after reading a book on bicycling. The book could be the most descriptive and intensive book on bicycling in the known universe, but until the reader actually rides the bike, s/he cannot claim to have mastered riding.

The sense of by-proxy experience transfers over into writing in unintentionally funny ways. This is especially apparent when younger or virgin writers attempt to write a sex scene in their piece. I find these laughable, yet good attempts at writing something outside experience occurs frequently in fan fiction. Fan fiction, for those of you who are currently judging me, is a story written by fans of a particular book, movie, tv show, or genre. My sister, as well as my good friend Pretty Deflowered, is prolific and relatively good fan fic writers. Pretty Deflowered often writes sex scenes in her fics, which I find amusing, since she is quite vestal. Her peers, many of them virgins or lacking experience, too write lousy sex stories. Many engage in slash, which is a story that involves homosexual elements. Since many of them have never held a penis, or engaged in various forms of male homosexuality, I'm curious to see how their writing does not resemble a train wreck, or at least a good ass-fuck.

Of course, McCaffrey has not experienced dragons directly, but still manages to write about them just fine. I believe she writes about dragons well, and we believe it's well, because none of us have experienced dragons. Those of us who are quite laid have experienced sex in multiple forms. Thus, when we read a story that contains a sex scene, and it is quite obvious that the author has not engaged in sexual relations, we are wont to giggle madly and click to the next story. And, just so you all know, I only read my sister's and Pretty Deflowered's fanfics, out of favor to them. There's just too much bad writing in the average fanfic for me.

So, yeah, writing is very much experience-based for me. And, because I wasn't getting much experience while sitting on my ass all day, in Phoenix, Los Angeles provided me an opportunity to go out and live life a bit. A life lived is a life written.

I have a tendency to think a bit too much when I'm bored, as I'm sure you've all noticed. I've begun to mull over the concept of life experience, especially life experience as it pertains to writing. Much of my experience comes from my travels, and the people I've met through out my life. I've been fortunate enough to meet what most would consider real personalities. They enrich me, and my writing in the process. A lot of my writing is derived also from the environment. Rosencratz would be inclined to agree with this. A person writes his existence. When I'm in Chicago, my writing takes on a very Chicagoan quality. It's greasy, dark, and filled with the industrial life of a large city in the rust belt of the Midwest. When I wrote on the east coast, a bit of the toxic Atlantic flowed into my writing, although I retained essentially a Chicagoan element through pure stubbornness. Now that I live in Central Illinois, I'm afraid that the Chicago has, for the most part, been sucked out of my writing. I'm writing like I'm corn fed. I'll be moving to Phoenix in a bit and I'm quite terrified for my writing. There's nothing here and I don't want my writing to become arid and brown.

I think, then, that I will have to retain the Chicago element that drives me completely and essentially. It is in the Chicago environment that my writing is at its best. Thus, no matter where I am, I will always write like I'm from Chicago. I need to remember that. So, when I write about Los Angeles, and I will over the next few days, I will write like a Chicagoan in transit. And, my writing will derive much of its content from the flavors of the people I met, like the girl in the junk store who was a screenwriter from USC, and the old man at the counter who had survived the wars of Northern Ireland.

Happy New Year. Enjoy the writing. I will.

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From Rosencratz's Blog

A few nights ago I was joking about what if King Midas had, on his right hand, the power to turn anything into gold, and his left, the power to kill anything it touches, and what if he suddenly had an itch in his crotch. Needless to say I went on for about 20 minutes on all the possible situations before I wore myself out.

Concrete Hipster: He rubbed his crotch on the carpet. Duh.
Rosencratz: Haha. I said he had to call a servant to do it but accidentally turned her into gold
Rosencratz: So another servant yanked the first one off, because her hand partially locked up on his dick, and Midas howled and slapped his right hand on his dick, and went 'oh shit.' and the servant went, 'Look, goldmember!'
Concrete Hipster: The man with the golden gun
Rosencratz: Golden Rod
Concrete Hipster: I guess the girl's expectations were golden
Rosencratz: Probably
Rosencratz: No stroking, though
Concrete Hipster: A delicate touch for a delicate member
Concrete Hipster: Gold is naturally soft
Rosencratz: Yes, it is
Rosencratz: So soft... so silky soft...

Of Names, Nugs, and Years

This is my first blog entry of the New Year. It's kind of late, as the New Year goes, but it has come on the day I said it would come. Isn't that all nifty and such? Perhaps education or writing is not my calling. I need to drop molten iron into a pot a-la Nostrodamus, or read tea-leaves like some kind of wizened Asian woman. Oooh, I predict that my readers, or what's left of them, will eventually get bored of this nonsense and scroll down to see what I have written.

My future as a future-gazer may be in question, and my clairvoyant skills may be less than accurate (after all, I can't figure out what I'm doing tomorrow, nevertheless months or years down the road) and my first entry hasn't garnered the appropriate cheers and choruses of Hallelujah, but I still feel the need to begin a new year with some new changes to the blog.

Actually, there's only one change, but it's significant enough that it bears mentioning. As you know, I've been using initials to designate a person's name. The initials were good for awhile and served to throw a shawl of anonymousness over the person of whom I was writing. As the blog progressed and more people were introduced, I found myself repeating certain initials and changing others to prevent confusion. After the thirtieth M. was used, I decided that change was necessary. I'm not even sure why I used initials in the first place. I guess other Blogs were using them so I felt that it was a good idea. I don't think those other blog-writers are as social as I am, though, and do not have the need to use multiple instances of initials. One blog, whose writer I respect (that's an odd choice of words, considering the writer), uses nicknames rather than initials. The nicknames designate a unique (like a snowflake) individual. Tucker Max's nicknames seem to be rather arbitrary, except in some cases, but mine won't be. I'll be pegging the nicknames to each individual's personality, or how I perceive their personality.

The second change implemented is an attempt to reduce the amount of cursing in my blog. Anyone who talks to me knows that I have a tendency to use what is considered to be crude language as adjectives, verbs, and nouns. I do this because often the emotion of the statement is best expressed as a swear. Also, many of the people I socialize with, no offense to anyone, would find me haughty or bookish if I use regular, articulate language. So, to fit in with many of my friends, I exercise liberally the proper vernacular for that social circle. If that proper vernacular spills over into my writing, as it is wont to do, my writing comes off as crude. I never really noticed that until about a week ago.

I was sitting in a Thai restaurant in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles. I was bored and waiting for one of my favorite Thai dishes (Tom Kha Kai) so I picked up the Los Angeles City Beat, which is an independent paper. It was kind of interesting, as far as independent papers go. With them, quality of writing is always an issue. Since independent papers are usually a group of 20-something writers of differencing ability, with some kind of ad-revenue and printing powers, the writing is often of dubious quality. Not everyone who thinks they can write, can write well. Luckily, the L.A. City Beat seemed to have good writing. There was one article that struck me as juvenile and poorly written. It is of this article that I write. The article was an attack on Bush. I've nothing against attacks on Bush. I think there should be more of them. There were also attacks on religion. This is sometimes okay, depending on the manner of attack. The article, however, was resplendent with curses. The curses were all capitalized (The editor who allowed this should be flayed alive) and engaged in various sentence orgies. The attacks on religion were nothing more than name-calling (sheep! Sheep! SHEEP!) which insulted my intelligence, and my beliefs. Yes, I believe in G-d. No, I'm not a mindless sheep. On the contrary, I made my decision to believe after many years of research and thinking. The curses detracted from the over-all message of the piece, and make the author appear like a thirteen-year-old kid run rampant with his father's computer.

I know I've used a lot of swears in my writing in the past, and now I wonder if I came off like that writer. So, in order to improve the quality of my writing, I will minimize, but not cease, the amount of foul language I use. Sometimes, emotion is best expressed as a curse, and I will not completely deny myself the ability to use them.

Those are the changes you can expect. And, as a token of the New Year, I hereby resolve to improve my writing skills, and update more often.

My sister is pestering me.