Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch
Most people are creatures of habit, like cats, they like to follow predictable patterns. Knowing what to expect gives people comfort and lowers anxiety. That doesn’t work in fiction. There we have to continually throw banana peels in our characters way. The expected has to fail to appear and one roadblock after another has to necessitate countless detours and perils.
Writing fiction is like driving in Ireland after a heavy rain – “You can’t get there from here; the road is flooded, you’ll have to find another way.”
Now and for the next few weeks at the very least the “Saturday Fiction” blog postings are going to be a mixture of things – works that I have written over the past century or two and things written by others. With the permission of the authors I will post some stories that have impressed me and that I think you will enjoy.
I’m going to be doing this, not because I’m not working on any fiction, but because I am. Fiction takes a lot of time (at least for me) and I have been neglecting its siren call.
I really enjoy spinning yarns. I have a number of stories standing in the middle of the stream just waiting for me to get them to the other side. I’m beginning to feel like a neglectful parent to these stories.
Other obligations are taking up much of my time these days and it is going to be that way for a while yet – nothing horrific, just time consuming. I will carry my notebook with me and work on a story as I can find the time, but it will be rather hit and miss.
So while I try to knuckle down and bring a story to its conclusion I will be posting those other things.
Fiction is much harder for me than Non-fiction. In Non-fiction, no matter how zany it may be there are built in parameters put there by reality. When I write about things I have seen or done, those things exist in reality. There aren’t going to be any flaming Dragons popping up or long-legged Gun Molls pulling guns from their pockets – at least I hope not. In writing about something that has actually happened I have to follow a very narrow path in the telling or you would shake your head and mumble, “Krafty’s skipping his meds again.” In Fiction those meds get thrown out of the window and I can mold the world to suit my fancy.
So, I ask you to bear with me. There is no dearth of fine writers out there who deserve some exposure and, hopefully, I can shine a light on them and their work.
Now I’m going to get to work. The noise from my characters, complaining that I’ve left them wondering where they will be going next, is deafening.