A disturbing challenge

Yesterday I got challenged by one of my readers* to write something about a very upsetting topic. I think the idea was inspired by the TV show Dexter.
(*Thank you Steven,
I hope you didn't think you would stay anonymous after what you've put me through here ;) )
At first I didn't want to do it. And I really really didn't want to post it. Still I don't!!
I feared that I would step into something dark and unpleasant in the process as well as make my readers feel extremely uncomfortable.
But then I thought, I'd be able to rebelliously fight through the urge to judge prematurely.. as an experiment!
I think I chickened out a little, that's why it remains a rather cryptic message. But I kept the first person view in spite of my reluctance.
It is, of course, completely fictional. I feel stupid even mentioning it, but anyhoo..

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The thing I lost

I knew someone once. The boy and I, we were friends.

I lost him in the woods. Now, I am lost.

I created a stir.

I knew something once. But not anymore.

Whatever it is, I need to get it back.

I am the one who loses things constantly.

Last month’s keys,

tomorrow’s kind heart.

You can lose anything, if you are sufficiently careless.

I am the loser. Me. The one, who loses.

And now, I don’t even remember

what it was.

It is important to find out.

And mend what is broken.

The search party is out there.

The flood light examines

the undergrowth.

I lost something once. 

I hope it’s still there.

A Fistful Of Fantasy

Fantasy, Above and Beyond

The fantasy genre has become very popular these last years. The current explosion has bestowed on us many examples of good and bad fantasy productions, thereby reviving the genre in the process. Some might say that the Harry-Potter series is to "blame" for a new-found interest, others believe, that Tolkien's long wind continues to create a never-ending stream of fantastic medieval good-versus-bad stories. A minor group holds the view that the advancements in special effects are the ignition key for the creation of fantastic worlds. At least for the adaptations we see in cinema. So it's chicken-and-egg! Either way, in principle, I'm happy about the prominence of fantasy in our daily movie and book routine, but of course, there is some inevitable consequence for the genre in the long run. It's getting milked!

Guilty Pleasures

An example for a horrible cover: you would never guess that the story is superb

In the past 30 years there were few but great movies out there, take the brilliant Dragonheart, the effervescent Willow or the ambitious animated version of Lord of the Rings from 1978. There are some other good stories and adaptations from this era, but nothing compared to the recent gold rush of the last 5 to 10 years. I have to say that what I liked most about the earlier days of fantasy was that the genre was always considered uncool. To watch and enjoy those movies wasn't something anyone would ever have admitted to voluntarily. It was nerdy to know the backstory of LotR, the Silmarillion, or to have many fantasy books on display in one's bookshelf. If you don't know what I'm talking about, look up those classic stories in the dusty rear shelf of your local book store. Of course, the modern stories oftentimes have more tasteful covers, so you have to check for books written in the 60s or 70s.
Anyhoo, they had really tasteless sort of self-painted images with horrible fonts in the front and all in all it was nothing to be proud of at all to call yourself a fantasy fan. Maybe there was even a little beating up in the cards, especially for boys who were outspoken enthusiasts.

    

Fantasy on Discount

Now, it's quite the reverse. It's uncool, not to be a friend of fantasy. Movies carelessly adopt fantastic elements and the result is sort of fantasy, sometimes indistinguishable similar, at least visually. The stories behind mostly don't live up to the technological background of the FX, they are uninspired and boring in equal measure. I ranted about Avatar with its polished look and non-existent storyline. A large amount of ever so crappy stories makes it onto the big screen. Again, milking it!
The problem with milking is that every material, good or bad, deserving or undeserving does make it onto the screen, creating an inflationary trend oversaturating and flooding the market until people can't stand the sight of it anymore. It's an economic reality that our beloved suits found their way into the entertainment sector to make some money there too, and as we all know, they don't care about the long run, meaning entirely ruining a whole niche while sucking it dry.
They don't care, because it's their job to cash in as quickly as possible and to then move on to the next money-making prospect, maybe sci-fi, maybe crime stories, I don't now. So in the absolute abundance of fantasy materials we are witnessing right now, it's clearly becoming an endangered species. A contradictory process.

A Possible Uprise

I always do look on the bright side, as grim as the outlook seems to be at the moment. Maybe the imminent downfall of fantasy is exactly what the genre needs, a push to move on to the next level to become unique and rich in content, so that a masterpiece like The Golden Compass once again has a chance to stand out and doesn't get lost in the myriad of materials. Because good stories should have a chance to be recognized as such. Because there are genuine stories of premium quality out there. Because they shouldn't be on discount.

What Is It Like To Bear A Brat

The main protagonist of my novel is a woman. She is in her mid-thirties and pregnant. I am everything she is, well except for the mid-thirties part....

The similarity to my current situation is, of course, purely coincidental, because as you my know the idea for my story is much much older than the little friend in my uterus. And I have to say, this current hormonal change gives me a completely new perspective on so many things, maybe it will even lead to some sort of benefit and respectively interesting insight to help paint the main character in realistic colors.

I admit, in real life I do not gravitate towards children. I like them, they make me smile, but other than that I don't feel very motherly in general. I don't feel the urge to cuddle, I don't want to wipe their nose. I think the motherly gene will kick in at some point however.

When I mentioned this to a friend, she was surprised and wanted to know why I even intend to have a child, when I am obviously not that infatuated with them now. I tried to explain to her, that for me, the drive to have children doesn't necessarily coincide with a fondness of them. At least not yet. It's a biological motivation, not a preference. There is a obligatory component to procreation. That may sound like something, people rather don't want to think about, but I'd feel like a hypocrite not to. The biological drive makes me feel like I want to have children even though I have absolutely no idea what it will be like. I think it is fascinating, that I am able to consciously reflect about that little fact and still, it doesn't change the outcome, meaning me, wanting it.

I want to know what it feels like to be a bat. I can't. I want to know what it feels like to bear a brat. All right then! There's no committee except for other parents of course, to decide that there could be such thing as a right and a wrong motivational choice for having children.

And oftentimes, some people are really quick to judge other parents. They feel like Confucius. Enlightened, because finally their persona is now taken out of the spotlight to spread their wisdom from the back seat. It doesn't make any sense. The fact that the focus is now on someone else instead of themselves seems to be extremely liberating in this regard.

But, no hard feelings, I cannot rule out the possibility to become exactly like that, which of course means, that I will have to relentlessly judge everyone else who is not like that. Ha, that would be some kind of fun for a moment, to become one of those people, wouldn't it?
For me, at least! Dingbats, what it would be like...

On that note: Qualia; Thomas Nagel, What is it like to be a bat

A Matter of Fact and Fiction

Biographical Stuff, b-o-r-i-n-g

Everyone agrees that there are facts and there is fiction. The literary circles put emphasis on pointing out the difference. Writing about something that actually happened is classified as an opus of historical or biographical character, or non-fiction. Writing about something made-up is called fiction.

How can you, the avid reader, tell the difference, when the cover of a book alone doesn't give you any clue if you have one or the other in front of you?

There is a strong consensus, that non-fiction appears to be less inspired than fiction. Not only due to its content but also by narrative standards. There is no natural climax (you know what I mean...) in facts. They are informal fragments. The media coverage of news reports lives and breathes for visuals to elevate the emotional response of the audience. Sorry, radio.

Visual Cortex Overload

The visual narration of events can sometimes be a brutal annex to an otherwise dry report. Especially when you're watching the news and the magnitude and quality of visual detail forces you to blend out the auditory information. Think about 9/11. Those are very powerful pictures. They probably will be carved into our minds forever. It's medium resolution. It's zoomed in.

In principle, a perfect blue sky, a plane and a skyscraper are nice motifs for anyone with a camera at hand. But in this case, the composition of these elements create a diabolical, seemingly fauvist context.

Are these pictures the truth? Do they tell the story of what happened that day? No, because they already have a certain angle in the way they are presented, in the way they are edited. There is a visual narration in the perspective shown to us. These pictures tell a story, the mind establishes a dramatic curve of its own, leading to an escalation. The impact. What you see is a plane crashing into a building, smoke and fire.

What you don't see: people in sheer panic, terrorists praying for their absolution, afterwards destruction, the final thoughts of human beings, burning flesh, death. But then again, that's just the way I imagine it. Not every variable of this event can be uncovered.

Our minds fill in the ones that are significant for the realm of causality, thereby narrating it in the process, blending fact and expectation to one big composite of individual truth.

A Sense Of Truth

I remember seeing things on TV that weren't shown in the news reports. How is that possible?

It's how the mind operates. In linguistics, the phenomenon of filling in the blank spots is called apperceptive enlargement. I think it works in information processing as well. Our minds narrate constantly to make sense of what they perceive. There are certain laws of pattern matching involved, but in their strive for structural integrity our minds seem to be biased narrators, incapable of telling the difference between the facts and the fillings.

So in the end, truth, or whatever you may call it, becomes an irrelevant variable. The solution to the equation needs to pass our standards of completeness. Fiction is what we imagine. Non-fiction is what we imagine to be true. The truth is something that makes some kind of sense according to the coordinate system of a primate brain. If you don't believe me, go ahead and ask a bird. He'll disagree.