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Happy Trails

5/30/2016

So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place at the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.
-A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

If I had been creative enough to write the Winnie the Pooh books, and if I was writing this post in the same Manner, it would very probably read something like this:

“What are you writing about today?” said a growly voice behind me.
“Well, I thought I’d talk a little about happy endings,” I replied.
“For? Or against?” Pooh wanted to know. “Because with you,” he explained, “it could go either way. Or both ways. In fact, it frequently does.”
I smiled, and said gently, “You know me all too well, Silly Old Bear, don’t you? But as it happens, I think today it will mostly be for.”
“And what made you think about happy endings?” Pooh wanted to know.
“A television program called Downton Abbey,” I said.
“Oh,” said Pooh sadly. “Not me?”
“Well, actually,” I said reassuringly, “you were in there, too. Look at the top of the page.”
Pooh nodded thoughtfully as he looked over my shoulder at the final sentence from The House at Pooh Corner. “And is that a happy ending?” he asked.
“I believe it qualifies as one,” I replied.
“Why?”
“Well, I was going to explain that a little later on,” I said.
“Then, could you get on with it very sweetly, so a Bear of Very Little Brain could understand?”
“I’ll try,” I said.
So I tried.

The other night, I finally got ‘round to finishing the sixth and last season of Downton Abbey. For the uninitiated, this has been the immensely popular UK television series (shown in North America on PBS) dealing with the life events of the wealthy Crawley family and their servants in the sprawling English manor house called --- yep, you guessed it --- Downton Abbey (actually Highclere Castle in real life) from 1912 to 1926. If you’re a hardcore Game of Thrones type viewer, you might find Downton Abbey a little sedate for your tastes, but you should nonetheless give it a try... the life situations are always interesting, and some of the dialogue is both wickedly clever and wickedly amusing (particularly the lines given to Maggie Smith as Lady Violet Crawley, the Dowager Countess with the razor sharp wit and acerbic life outlook). But I digress.

We all knew season six was to be Downton’s last. Creator/writer Julian Fellowes had cast some pretty wide nets over the years, putting out some widely disparate plot lines that it was plainly time to reel in without getting hopelessly tangled or cut in the process. The show has an enormous fan base who wanted some resolution --- because that’s what we all want in life, isn’t it? Which is rather funny in a way (both funny humorous and funny peculiar) because life frequently refuses to oblige us. In our myriad journeys, life often leaves us hanging with all kinds of unresolved endings, half-finished stories, and unsatisfactory conclusions. It’s maddening. Ah ha! But... this is television, and so we’re not bound by the strange conditions life imposes on us. (Although there have been numerous television series which end on enragingly inconclusive notes. I think there must be a special place in Writers’ Hell reserved for writers who do things like that.) And fortunately, Mr. Fellowes spared us that agony.

So Downton Abbey concludes on a happy note. I won’t include any spoilers here, other than to say that there are a plethora of weddings and virtually everyone gets their little piece of the plot arc tied up in a most satisfactory manner. In fact, the only way things could have ended more happily would have been if all the characters declared themselves collectively vegan and pledged with their lives to protect all the pigs, sheep and other consumable animals on the estate. (However, since the story ends in 1926, that really might be stretching credulity.) Some of those plot resolutions felt just a tad contrived, but... on the whole... I think we all watched the final fade to black with a warm glow in our hearts.

But is this a good thing? You know, I think it is... as long as writers don’t make it Too Much of a Good Thing and do it Too Often, which, of course, as Pooh might observe, would make it a Decidedly Bad Thing. We do need to see our characters going through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but at the end of the day, it’s also nice to see things ending well --- mainly because they don’t always, in fiction and most definitely in real life. There’s an awful lot of angst and bad stuff happening both to our characters and to ourselves, so it’s rather nice to see things end well once in a while. I sometimes wonder if we’ve become so hung up on all this dystopian literature that we read and write in this modern world, we’ve forgotten the “and they all lived happily ever after” endings that we were (hopefully) exposed to as small children. For example: Katniss’ ending is really not happy or redemptive; Harry’s ending is --- I think --- meant to be a happy one, but there are times when I look at it and I’m not very sure; and Frodo’s ending is really not very happy. Perhaps we could do with more happy endings.

“But what about the ending at the beginning of this post?” said the growly voice. “You still haven’t explained how that’s a happy ending.”
“Well...” I hesitated. “It is a happy ending, isn’t it? It speaks to the child in all of us, even cranky old adults, and that’s surely a happy ending.”
“Then why did you hesitate?” Pooh inquired innocently.
“Well...”
“There. You did it again.”
I pursed my lips. “I did, didn’t I? Well, you see, it is a happy ending... although the passage immediately preceding it is decidedly bittersweet.”
“Why?”
“Because Christopher Robin is coming to some Rather Uncomfortable Realizations... and he’s not sure he wants to face them.”
“I see.” Pooh thought this over for a moment. “And will he?”
“Well...” I hesitated. “I don’t mean to hesitate, Pooh Bear, not really, but that’s a chat for another time.”
Pooh nodded. “All right,” he said agreeably. “After all, it is nearly Luncheon Time.”

So he went home for it.

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Shhh

5/23/2016

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“We live, in fact, in a world starved for solitude, silence, and privacy; and therefore, starved for meditation and true friendship.”
-C.S. Lewis

Thank you, Jack. I’ve known of that statement a long time --- it actually has a place of honour on the Official Philosophy Wall in my classroom (yes, of course there really is such a thing; why would you doubt it?) --- and I’ve always liked the insight it makes into human nature. In fact, it automatically popped into my mind the other day, grist for the mill, when I saw a question put to J.K. Rowling about where to write; more on that momentarily. (31 years of teaching adolescents tends to train your mind to make lightning fast connections between seemingly unrelated things. At least, it had better do so.)

Lewis wrote that statement more than seven decades ago, as far as I have been able to determine, which is simultaneously ironic and shocking, don’t you think? I certainly do. Seventy years ago --- during the Second World War --- Lewis thought that? Really? Let’s put aside the maelstrom of noise and chaos invariably accompanying armed conflict, because I don’t think he was referring to that at all. No, he was talking about ordinary, everyday lives. Starved for solitude, silence and privacy. Seventy years ago. Eons before the advent of television, computers, the internet, social media, email, texting, cell phones... my gosh. What would Jack make of the Babel of shouting voices today, surrounding us everywhere we go, attempting to drown out not only opportunities for solitude, silence and privacy, but also the very capability of engaging in them? If it was relevant back then... if it was worthy of an acute observation/warning back then... how much more so now?

Rowling’s answer to the query of where to write was, ‘anywhere,’ which got me to thinking. (More grist for the mill.) Now, I know perfectly well Rowling is one of the most widely read authors on the planet, immensely successful at what she does. And I’m aware of reports she wrote her early Harry Potter in the equivalent of a Starbucks. Writing at least the beginnings of one of the most popular book series ever in a public coffee house... well, it’s hard to argue with that kind of success. Nevertheless, I’m going to try, because... Jo, I’m sorry, but... you’re wrong. At least, I think so.

And as I’ve said before, let’s be clear: I like Starbucks. It’s a great place to go and buy any one of many fattening drinks and chat with friends. (Ever noticed how the consumption of food or drinks is such an overwhelmingly social activity?) Whenever I go, I invariably see numerous people sitting around the store perimeter, hunched over laptops or tablets. Ah, I think to myself, the Great Unwashed have sought... what? Human contact? Nope, can’t be that, silly. Well... human proximity, then? Hmm. Guess so, but it doesn’t make much sense, at least to me. Most are also holding cell phones in one hand. And many who don’t want to listen to the endless musical loop played on the store speakers are also plugged in to iPods. Yikes.

I’ll confess here and now to a sneaking temptation: I want to go over to these people, tap them on the shoulder, wait until they’ve cleared auditory canals of ear buds, and then whisper softly: “Are you trying to be creative? Here? In this almost comically orchestrated barrage of ADD-causing devices and sensory overload extravaganzas? Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?” (That last would be said with slightly more volume than a whisper, I concede. And don’t worry: I have, so far, managed to resist this temptation. Because hell hath no fury like the Great Unwashed interrupted.)

Arghh. You want to be creative? I’m going to be subversively countercultural here. Follow Jack’s implied advice. Go somewhere quiet with no kaleidoscope of sensory overload. Find someplace where silence and privacy are possible. Stop looking at your damned phone --- you can do without the endless parade of cat videos, pictures of food that people are dumping all over your newsfeed, and the other mostly incredibly banal stuff people are posting. Shut out the distractions, the Babel of the outside world. Then... listen. Just listen. Listen to the silence, listen to your mind actually thinking, forming thoughts. If you’re so inclined, listen for God’s voice. And if you’re writing or trying to be otherwise creative... listen for the voices of your characters. They’re there, desperately wanting to be heard... but your daily routines tend to discourage that.

Yes, as I’ve said before, I do listen to music sometimes when I’m writing. But it ain’t vocals. It’s instrumentals. And I tend to listen to film soundtracks where the music corresponds to the mood of whatever it is I’m writing. Music used in that manner can be a powerful tool for stimulating creativity.

Now, I’m not saying you have to become a hermit to be creative. (Or anti-social, although that sometimes comes with the territory of being a writer.) What I am saying is when being creative, you might want to temporarily isolate yourself from the plethora of distractions we have allowed to insidiously infiltrate our lives and now can’t seem to be without. Because they’re stifling our ability to think, to focus, to maintain attention span, to be creative. I see it in people all the time, folks. Including my students.

By the way, on a last note, Lewis also had this to say about solitude and silence and privacy:
“Noise, the grand dynamism, the audible expression of all that is exultant, ruthless, and virile --- Noise which alone defends us from silly qualms, despairing scruples and impossible desires. We will make the whole universe a noise in the end….The melodies and silences of Heaven will be shouted down in the end.”

Of course, these lines are in a different work of his: The Screwtape Letters. And the character supposedly writing them? A senior devil, writing to advise a junior devil on how to lead humanity astray.

Just sayin.’

Shhh.

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Can o' Worms

5/16/2016

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There’s a literary device that’s long existed and used by countless authors --- especially in science fiction. The first who comes to mind is H.G. Wells with The Time Machine, but it’s been around much longer than him --- although it’s really found renewed favour recently because of its appearance in otherwise mainstream historical fiction. I refer, of course, to... time travel in general, and Outlander in particular. Following the Second World War, plucky (some would say aggressive and foul-mouthed) nurse Claire Randall, on holiday in Scotland with her rather hapless husband Frank, comes across a circle of standing stones. When she returns to them on her own, she is whisked back to the 18th century faster than you can say slàinte mhath. Once there, of course, she encounters the ruggedly handsome Jamie Fraser. Together, after a few stumbles on the rocky road of romance, they attempt to bring peace, harmony and a pretty fundamental alteration to the time line by avoiding the occurrence of the Battle of Culloden --- which was cataclysmic for Scotland and essentially resulted in the demise of the clan system. There’s a great deal more to it than that, of course, but as Humpty Dumpty said to Alice, that’s enough to be going on with.

While I have decidedly mixed feelings about Outlander the TV series (one of my biggest complaints can be found in a previous post here), it has, as I say, certainly repopularized time travel, even though author Diana Gabaldon primarily employs it to get her heroine from now to then --- and actually, not just her heroine, either. Or just once. In fact, her standing stones are used as a veritable mass transit system for not only Claire, who whizzes back and forth, but her daughter and other miscellaneous characters. (“Next stop, the 18th century! Please keep your hands inside the time flow at all times until we come to a complete halt!”)

But you’ve got to be careful about time travel as a literary device, because it’s a Dangerous Thing --- like a very tightly wound spring which, if released too suddenly or cavalierly, has the potential to bite you in the... posterior. Hard. Why?

Science fiction author Robert Silverberg wrote a great deal on time travel, in particular explaining how it tends to generate all kinds of paradoxes. He even gave them names --- catchy ones like the Paradox of Temporal Accumulation, the Paradox of Discontinuity, the Paradox of Transit Displacement, and the Law of Lesser Paradoxes, all creatively addressing ways time travel could Screw Things Up Very Badly. Paramount among them was the Ultimate Paradox, in which time travel becomes its own negation. Yikes.

Let’s return to Claire and Jamie. Her stated goal, which also becomes his, is to prevent the Battle of Culloden from happening because of the disastrous effects it will have on people she has come to care for deeply. Noble motive, Claire, but terrible idea... because, if that battle never occurs, the people who died at it will live to do all kinds of things that never happened in our original time line. Some of those things will undoubtedly be kind, noble actions. And knowing human nature, some will be awful, despicable actions. (Sigh. Probably more of the latter than the former.) But good or bad, we can guarantee all sorts of new events will be introduced. Some will be very destabilizing events to our time. And some... have the potential to destroy everything you and I know as the present. Which may not necessarily be a bad thing... but very well could be.

So... stopping historical events (battles, assassinations and the like) or bumping people off before they can do their dirty work are all to be avoided. Even doing things like going back and assassinating Hitler before he became Fuhrer --- an act which, on the face of it, you’d think would be a very good thing. But what incalculable differences would be made to the world we know of today if the Second World War never took place?

And we don’t have to discuss great historical events or people, either. The original Star Trek episode “The City on the Edge of Forever” dealt with characters going back in time and saving a relatively unknown woman from dying in a car accident. Because she didn’t die, she spearheaded a peace movement that prevented the United States from entering World War Two, with the result that Germany won the war and enslaved the world.

So regretfully, here’s the formula: Time Travel = Pandora’s Box. Can o’ Worms. Sh*t storm. Big time. Way worse than crossing the streams.

However...

After pontificating about this... going into great detail about the dangers time travel poses to our literary characters... I have a sheepish confession to make: I employ time travel in my writing, too.

In Gryphon’s Heir, my protagonist travels --- well, is taken, really --- back in time where he meets his mother and his infant self and helps save their lives before being returned to his present (which, by the way, has not appreciably changed). And yes, he is very troubled by the seeming paradox this generates (he’s evidently read H.G. Wells, clever man). I manage to wizzle out of it --- at least, I think I do --- because the person taking him into the past is an angelic being, not merely some wild-eyed, wonky human professor with a souped-up Delorean. And said angelic being is not particularly troubled by their actions:

            “Marvelous are the ways of the One.”
                Rhiss sighed in exasperation. “Must you always say that?”
                “Why not? ‘Tis true.”
                “But you did not know these things would happen!”
                “Perhaps, perhaps not. But even were that the case, why should it surprise or vex you? Look you here, I have told you, only the One is omniscient. I have also said all things serve the One, that nothing occurs by chance. Our coming to this night has served the purposes of the One, and the events that have occurred were meant to happen. What more needs saying?” He gazed at Rhiss. “And yet, you are still troubled by this, I see.”
                “Aye. Apparently much more than you, my lord.”
“Indeed. Then I say to you, put your mind at rest, Prince; leave me to worry about practical and theological implications. I am not troubled by what we did an hour ago — or twenty-five years, if you would rather think in those terms.”

So... yeah, yeah, I know... people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. And I’m not, really. If it works for Ms. G, if it works for you, I say: have at ‘er. ‘Cause it really is almost too delicious a literary device to ignore.

Just be careful about that can o’ worms. Sometimes they nibble.

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Source Matters

5/9/2016

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In my last post, I discussed the concept/usage of magic in literature. Whether we’re talking about children’s lit, fantasy, or whatever genre an author chooses, magic frequently figures prominently as an important element of storyline. But I think we need to get a few things clear about the concept and its use. (Are you kidding? say the sceptics to this. We’re talking about a story, for crying out loud! What does it matter? To which I answer: oh, it matters very much.) Even imaginary worlds need to be consistent and make sense within them. Perhaps especially imaginary worlds. It doesn’t matter that you’re writing about a world very different from ours; that world needs to have consistency and agreement about certain basic absolutes, or it becomes arbitrary and inconsistent. Which, frankly, is the kiss of death to a good story, because even a fantasy world has gotta pass the smell test, folks.

This is kind of a countercultural thing to say, because we live in a world that seems intent on inexorably edging away from absolute truths (i.e. things we all collectively agree are true) and sliding into a murky sea of relative truths (“that may be truth for you, but it isn’t for me”). And frankly, folks, that’s dangerous. Now, let me be clear: I’m not advocating some kind of blind, monolithic sheep-like herd mentality here. No Big Brother. No Huxley-an ‘a gram is better than a damn.’ We’ve got enough examples in history to show us such philosophies are also incredibly dangerous.

But…

I ended my last post by saying that as far as magic is concerned, source matters. Now, this may not seem very important to some writers, and I’m not trying to foist my beliefs on anyone. But I think it’s a topic to think about.

I defined magic as actions that violate the laws of science --- physics, chemistry and biology --- as we have come to understand them. (Isn’t that the same as a miracle? a friend asked… I replied, you say po tay to, I say po tah to.) If we accept that definition, humans cannot, on their own, do the sorts of things magic entails. Therefore, characters employing magic must receive that ability from somewhere --- which, ironically, I think leads us into a universe where higher powers have to be at work to have that ability for themselves or enable it in others. Not a secular, atheistic universe, because, in a truly atheistic universe, cause and effect, action and consequence automatically follow each other… meaning humans could not perform magic. (Doing so would violate those laws of science, remember?)

Therefore, such stories take place in worlds where good and evil tend to be very real, tangible, personal forces, and magical abilities must come from one of those two sources: forces of good or forces of evil. And in such a scenario… source matters very much.

Consequently, the question is, where do magical abilities spring from? Because this determines how they can be used, and to what purpose. Since magic frequently involves doing things “the easy way,” it often becomes an instrument of temptation… and we all know where that would come from.

This is not to say magic cannot, or should not, be used in tales. Tolkien used magic to great effect in The Lord of the Rings; so did C.S. Lewis in The Chronicles of Narnia. But both were writing in the context of their deep religious faith (Lewis rather more obviously than Tolkien), and both made it very clear their practitioners of magic were recipients of either divine or demonic gifts (Gandalf vs. Sauron; Aslan vs. Jadis).

One of the chief criticisms many people have about the Harry Potter series is it clearly takes place in a very secular world, and it isn’t made clear where wizard abilities emanate. Part of the problem is that both Harry and Voldemort’s abilities seem to spring from the same force. At least, it’s reasonable to assume so, because Rowling never really delves into the issue. In any event, she writes from a determinedly secular viewpoint quite unlike Tolkien or Lewis, so although many compare Rowling to them, it’s rather hard to understand why. In 2007, on the eve of the publication of Deathly Hallows, writer Lev Grossman wrote a marvelous article originally titled “The Doubting Harry” (found here) where he noted “Rowling has more in common with celebrity atheists like Christopher Hitchens than she has with Tolkien and Lewis.” (By the way, this is not particularly meant to be an anti-Potter diatribe. Nor is it meant to be some sort of subversive plug for organized religion… although I’ll lay my cards on the table and say I’m speaking from the perspective of Christian faith. No, I’m just indulging in my favourite Kingsley Amis aphorism. You know the one… yes, that one… the one that says, “If you can’t annoy someone, there’s no point in writing.”)

Now, all this may not matter very much to you, and if not, well, good on ya. Just roll your eyes and proceed on your merry little secular way. But it matters to me. I want my worldview definitions of good and evil very sharply delineated for myself, my readers, and my characters (not necessarily in that order). That doesn’t mean that good people don’t do bad things at times; of course we/they do. We’re human. And that means we’re deeply flawed, every single one of us.

But if it comes down to the Gandalfs or the Saurons… I know I want my characters to be very aware of which side they’re on… and want to be on… and why.

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Bippity Boppity Whatever

5/2/2016

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“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
                -Arthur C. Clarke (famous 20th century science fiction author)

“’...and you?’ she said, turning to Sam. ‘For this is what your folk would call magic, I believe; though I do not understand clearly what they mean; and they seem to use the same word for the deceits of the Enemy. But this, if you will, is the magic of Galadriel...’”
-J.R.R. Tolkien (famous 20th century fantasy author)

Such a simple little word, five letters long, used all the time in many different kinds of literature, for just about as long as there has been literature --- and long before, I’ll bet. And yet it is a word so very difficult to define and characterize --- as we see from the quotes above. Tolkien, in particular, hits the nail on the head. What is magic? It’s a word with such broad uses, it becomes difficult to reach a clear definition agreeable to all. So… how about this (submitted for your approval, as Rod Serling might say):

“Magic refers to an action which defies the laws of physics, chemistry and biology as humans have come to understand them.”
                -D. R. Ranshaw, Esq. (wannabe famous 21st century author and raconteur)

There. That helps to tidy things up, doesn’t it? Although I’d be the first to admit it’s a rather dry and scholarly definition that doesn’t really do justice to some of the truly spectacular and wondrous acts we read or, unfortunately more often nowadays, watch on either big or little screens. So today, a few random musings about a concept so integral to so many stories:

-The fact some users of magic employ their powers for good, some for evil brings us to a critical concept: choice. My definition implies that magic is, in itself, neither inherently good nor evil; it is the uses to which it is put which makes it one or the other. Magic can be corrupting because of the tremendous power it bestows, especially if the user does not have the strength of will to resist temptation. When Gandalf is offered the Ring, and its enormous power, he refuses it because he knows what it would mean: temptation on a cosmic scale. And he knows he’s not strong enough to resist that temptation. The issue of choice is vital. Tolkien says that "...nothing is evil in the beginning." But we all choose what we do with powers and abilities given us --- whether we use them for good or ill.

-Despite its importance to some story plots, magic is not usually deployed constantly. In fact, major feats of magic are kept to a minimum. They occur often enough that characters (and readers) remember and respect the power of the person involved. But acts of magic do not happen every time the hero gets into trouble; sometimes, in fact, the hero can get into very serious trouble and be required to get out of it without magical help at all. Why? Several reasons: first, that's the way it has to be. For their struggles to mean anything, heroes have to accomplish things themselves; they can't have things done for them all the time. It would make life meaningless. Characters in a story --- or people in real life --- who have some magical guardian constantly protecting them, routinely dispatching miracles, eventually grow too dependent on that guardian, unable/unwilling to fight their own struggles. Second, magic isn't always practical. Even wizards have limits to their powers. And sometimes, in the heat of events like battles or situations that are extremely fluid, there’s no time to be sitting around crafting incantations. Finally, readers don't want magical miracles taking place every time we turn a page. If heroes are magically rescued from scrapes too often, such feats become little more than deus ex machina (literally, "machine of the gods") that only show the author’s lack of imagination --- can't think of a way to get your hero out of a tight spot? Just zap magic in there! Heroes have to be able to get out of situations on their own from time to time, or they are not heroes.

-Magic in stories can only work in a certain type of environment. The societies involved cannot be too advanced technologically --- science is the enemy of magic, because it is skeptical and tries to analyze/explain away magic in rational, scientific terms.

-Lastly, a rather large caveat: source matters. But… since that involves stepping on some toes, and since I’ve already thrown a number of thoughts your way already, let’s leave that one for next time.

After all, disposing of sacred cows is never a task to be undertaken lightly, is it?

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D.R. RANSHAW

Happy Trails

Shhh

Can o' Worms

Source Matters

Bippity Boppity Whatever

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