Friday, November 17, 2006

False choices, truth and fiction...

At the urging of my Dad, and upon discovering that Barbara Kingsolver has created the Bellwether Prize for Fiction, "in support of a literature for social change," I'm on the verge of attempting, yet again, to translate my political views into novel form for the non-political-junkie public.

We've rearranged the apartment furniture again, which always prefigures these periodical forays into the scary world of fiction. I find it so distressing to have so many choices about what to write, since there is no documented reality to convey. But I'm starting to think that I should try to be in that mindset when I sit down with the characters, the keyboard, the monitor (lizard) and the Muse. Maybe it will keep me on the straight and narrow, still telling what I think of as truth, but in a different way, far FAR outside my comfort zone.

This blog, henceforth, will be the repository for the limping, mangled literary stuff, so I don't feel so lonely in the process. Ideally, any feedback will be completely neutral, consisting only of: "Read it."

Dragons off the edge of the map, here I come...

The basic idea is that there's this gardener, landscaper type man. The time period is now, running up to about 20 or 30 years from now. The plot is the guy realizing a whole bunch of political, socioeconomic, environmental things, and trying to build a coherent life in response.

There's going to be a love interest - maybe a lobbyist woman who grows a conscience and tries to help move things along from inside the belly of the beast. Sex scenes, maybe in mountain hot springs. And even though all kinds of terrible legislative, ecological, geopolitical and other roadblocks spring up all the way along, the good guys win. At the end of the story, we'll have a blueprint of perseverence not saving the day in a heroic way, just transforming a messy mess into a coherent, sustainable chaos, bit by bit...by bit.

Stay tuned for chapter one, draft one. And please send good thoughts to me through the cosmos, so I don't keep deciding it's more important to scrub the kitchen floor than stare into space and write.


  • Outline, outline, outline. In more and more detail until it writes itself. Love, Dad

    By Blogger Jim Watt, At 7:51 PM  

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