Free Will and Roman à Clef

The concept of free will in creative fiction is an intriguing one. Obviously, a character cannot be free in the true, real-world sense. A character is at the mercy of its author's omnipotence. Taking into account the entire body of work, predestination is a very clear force acting on each character. But there are certainly ways of approximating some type of simulated quality of free will. A goal of mine is to somehow free the character as he exists within the world I've created. I do this with originality. I don't use that term to self-congratulate, I mean originality as an artistic device.

Good writing does not employ roman à clef. This describes characters and events in the fiction that are literally one-to-one translations of characters and events in the real world. It is similar to allegory, but more personal to the author. At first, I made exceptions for satire. But even in that case, good satire both comments on and transcends its source material. Now, I am naturally inspired by the people I know & meet, through both their good and bad qualities, and those qualities will surely find their way into my writing. However, my characters deserve more than to be simple composites.

For me, good dynamic characters are persons. I take the inspirations I feel and the composites they derive and throw them into a character, but I feel it is necessary to go beyond that. I want to get to a sense of completion, and I need originality to do it. Each character needs its own genetic makeup.

Through styles, mannerisms, quirks, and temperaments, I can begin to establish identities that separate the characters from any real-world translations. Hopefully, they will reach some sort of individual definition. The characters can never make free choices, but they can be created from a place of freshness. I believe it's a success when they can be defined as well-developed, unique persons. Like us!

Stream -- Running.

Note: This is a stream of consciousness piece written in one session and printed with minimal revisions.

Running. It is something some fear. It can be something some hate even if they are good at it. Some people run away and yet toward something. For others, running is a dream. It can appear as an elusive oasis to a person sucked in to a day-to-day grind.

The days begin to pile up. There are stresses built upon tensions with foundations in problems that people could barely know. Others can be so aware of their particular problem that they grow accustomed to it. They stop recognizing it as a work in progress. They don't see it affecting their lives actively. Often, they are wrong. Often, they fail to let go of the issues surrounding it. They fail to first confront the issues.

Sublimation is an honorable idea. But if it is done improperly, it can elude us. That's not so bad, however. What's worse is a sublimation that is an illusion to us. In this case, we think we have found our solution so we ignore residual warning signs. We repress, repress and the problem festers. Soon, we'll have full-blown stress of a more disturbing kind. We must confront before we cope.

My name is Peter F. Stevens and this is what I have learned from 78 years of life. All I have to look at here, in this... home... is this view of the sea. On most days when I look out this window at about this tide, the sea is about as active as I am. It's as if whatever muscles the sea uses to make its waves are just tired out. Seems like the moon itself simply needs a rest. The water is even gray and placid, just waiting to evaporate into sunlight. I, myself, begin to ache in the anticipation, but not in the way I remember from my youth. I hurt waiting for something, anything, to happen.

My joints get sore. Each one begs for a real, big stretch. My muscles squeeze against no force in particular. They just want their still powerful spirit expressed. The very points of my bones press and pull even tighter my old, stretched out skin. Even my nails try to push through their nail beds. Every itch itches and every inch of me squirms under an intense, formerly known desire. And yet I am tired.

As the hours pass, however, the changing tides give life to the sea. A bluish vitality creeps into the water and sea foam sprays across the shore. Out beyond the break, the sea's whitecaps give me something to watch. And even though I'm set back, to a place they call a safe distance away, the waves still crash hard and loud enough for me to know they're working.

That's when I think about running. Running is different for many people. For me, it's freedom. I will the entire thing. I choose my direction. I choose my speed. All my parts are moving, unimpeded. My muscles have a cause and, with running, they are in a position to work off my stresses. I feel the wind in my face and the exhilaration in my body. Smiling comes to me as naturally as ever. And in this place, I still smile. I have my sea to look at, my life lessons to recall, and my memories to feel.

Sol Sistere

On the longest day of the year, the sky stops to honor the official launch of my weblog! It is the summer solstice for us Northern Hemisphere types. Today, the Earth tilts on its axis toward the Sun for us more than any other time during the year. The Sun stands still in declination, which is its movement north or south, at the actual solstice. According to Coordinated Universal Time, this will happen at 6:06 p.m.

The Solstice provides much food for thought in my eyes. The light of day is something I truly look forward to. I do some of my best thinking at night before I fall asleep. That next day is the time for me to put those thoughts into action. Whether that involves fixing or enjoying some aspect of my relationships with other people or whether it is some idea that can be worked into my writing, the light of day tells me it's time to go to work. Fortunately for me, I believe in doing work that makes me happy in some way.

That light also breaks the darkness of night. It is something obvious that has gone on for millions of years, but it bears repeating. I take great solace in the idea that no matter what happens after sunset, no matter the struggles of harsh or dark times, there is always a sunrise on the other end of it. Light and dark balance each other, but they also complement. The emptiness provides a fallow place and time for my mind to renew. Without this dark time, no idea could germinate and become fertile in the daytime sun. And that is part of the way I work.

There aren't too many holidays that have been sparked by the first day of summer. One interesting event is the 2007 World Solastic Art Project. This is an India-based website aiming to showcase photos of the world's sunrises and sunsets throughout June 21. Check it out.

Thanks for joining me on this day. Please read some or all of the entries. At the bottom of the page, you can also subscribe to the posts via RSS feed if that is your preference. Leave me a comment and tell me what you think. I hope you enjoy my blog. Come on back!

The long road to a finished work.

I'm not one to say how writing, or art for that matter, should be done. I can only speak for myself and the methods that work best for me. Many writers work in many ways. Some write from scratch without a notion of what is coming next. Others brainstorm, prewrite, outline, and plan everything out in amazing detail. Many revise and rewrite regardless of method. I would hope that most would agree the method is second to the act of creating something.

Personally, I think an analogy of piloting an airplane (how about an F-16) would be best for my style. I like to take off suddenly and just get up in the air to fly. I probably have no idea where I'm going. Then, once the initial thrill settles, that's when I draw up my flight plan. I'll execute that plan, but I reserve the express right to deviate if I see the need. At last, I lead when I'm good and ready. So the FAA probably wouldn't like that and not too many people would want to ride with me, but it works for my writing style.

There is a cliché of advice that is often said about writing, "Write what you know." I'm really on the fence about it. As far as story elements and the plot go, this phrase is very safe, but for me, writing is where I leave the safe zone. On the other hand, the emotional and thematic content of what I know is easily applicable to an otherworld of fiction.

My writing mostly assumes a good world. It is a complete range of harmony and dissonance that makes things great. And I try to depict that. There must be a complete version that includes pain & suffering, difference, and challenge within the broader picture. In order for this to be authentic, I feel these qualities should be born out of true experiences in my life. This is where a gift can be both a blessing and curse. I'm thankful for the inspiration that strikes. Unfortunately, however, it can come with consequences.

So, I am now on the long road to a finished work. Part of that involves feeling up to writing. My flight plan is set. Now, it's a simple matter of getting to my destination and landing. Let's go there.

Stream -- The smoke curled up...

Note: This is a stream of consciousness piece written in one session and printed with minimal revisions.

The smoke curled up out of his pipe. He looked at the pipe and admired it. He noticed, and loved, how the lucite stem blended seamlessly with the natural cherrywood bowl. He appreciated the beauty of the contrasting smoke. The bright whiteness morphing itself around solid, deep red was a sight to behold. "Thank you," Thomas quietly said. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled through his nose. Thomas enjoyed the sweet, cozy smell of the tobacco he smoked. It reminded him of something good, something old. He felt as if he could remember experiences he may not have even had himself. Thomas calmly exhaled out through his mouth. Perhaps there was a connection to the old tree that gave birth to this pipe. Perhaps he could commune with the old souls that took up this practice throughout history. Whatever it was, he felt something mystical. And it was good. This was his practice after each long, hard day. He needed this. He could depend on this.

Thomas had struggled against this kind of thinking for a long time. He was always the individualist. Self-reliance was his credo. "Each man should be responsible for himself," he would say. Now, he didn't necessarily disagree with that idea. It was good, right, and just in practice. In Thomas's mind, it was the only path to freedom. Things changed, however. Conflict and struggle of another, more pressing kind, arrived. And in the metaphorical blink-of-an-eye he changed. Maybe it wasn't his ideas that changed per se, moreso the way he applied them. Just as he soon needed other people, he also needed a different kind of independence, a different kind of individualism. He needed self-reliance of the inner variety.

He still found personal accountability to be good, right, and just in practice. It was the rest that changed. Different ways to freedom became apparent. Thomas realized that his path to freedom was literally in his mind. Despite the difficulties of his life, he knew where he was most free.

And so he sat in the steaming hot tub and meditated on the curls of smoke. He relied on that presence and he liked knowing that sweet, cozy feeling. It made him happy. For once, Thomas thought he could admit to himself he deserved that. Beyond that, he depended on the beauty of the pipe. He rightly believed it would always be there in some way, shape, or form. Thomas stared deeply into the wood grain. The pipe itself had a beautiful depth that transcended physical manifestations. Certainly, he was attracted to its smoothness, a product of expert craftsmanship. He loved the healthy curve of the soft, subtle transition from stem to bowl. Thomas's eyes were drawn to the pipe. Of course, the thing of beauty was accentuated by the intangibles it inspired in him.

"Nay, those feelings and qualities it possesses make it beautiful," he said. He held the pipe in a way that was both secure and tactile. Thomas took a long draw of the tobacco smoke and let it waft lazily from his mouth up to his nose. He enjoyed the smell as the smoke rose to the level of his eyes. Thomas appreciated again the sight of the vibrant, ever-energized spirit in the smoke, and yet that same spirit was mellow and comforting. That is what he loved. A total sensory experience, something he could depend on. And it was good.

Let go, let go

"Most of the brain's work is done while the brain's owner is ostensibly thinking about something else." -- Neal Stephenson

Let go. So many situations can be fixed or figured out or survived or simply enjoyed by doing that simple act. Let go. I think that's true of any part of me: body, mind, or soul. The best medicine for me is effective because it enables or allows my body's natural healing processes to work. Many times, my mind adjusts to something best when it first does so subconsciously. And, with body calm & mind clear and spirit unforced, my soul is most intuitive.

Let go. It's something we all could do a little more, I'm sure. That's hard, I know, especially for me. I'm very analytical and am drawn to the philosophy of things. I pride myself on being rational, even when I side with seemingly irrational phenomena. I like to figure things out and give reasoned explanations. Perhaps it's an adaptation for my particular needs.

I need to remember to let go more often. Letting go solves many things. It relieves stress. It empowers, in a way. It strengthens relationships. Be a friend because you value friendship. Be a friend because you need a friend, not because you're trying to get somewhere. Love someone for the sake of loving them. Love them for today. Love them for the fact that you need them and they need you, not for the sake of tomorrow's selfishness.

Make a distinction between the state of needing someone and the self-serving ego. They are very different things. Let go of work motivated only by material success. Work because it mobilizes your talents and makes you happy.

All of these reasons in this whole entry are part of why I write. The last act of creation is to let go. In my case, that means express the inspiration. Let those who receive the expression make of it what they will. Let go.