Writing and Reading

I can only say….

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Okay, now that’s out of the way…. Absolutely remarkable storytelling for that 2-hour season premiere. Absolutely remarkable. Before I go way off on tangents unimaginable (after all, this so-called blog of mine is about reading and writing and the literary industry as a whole), I have to stress that, from the very beginning, the NBC show “Heroes” has, honestly, been a major inspiration for me as far as storytelling is concerned.

I’ve always been a big fan of epic plotting, complex and complicated characters, the meshing of the lines between protagonist and antagonist. In essence, pulp fiction. Numerous characters interacting with each other, relatively unclear motives, an unusually universal connection between characters leading toward an ultimate goal–I can’t help it!–there’s something just infectious, alluring, enticing about wanting to follow it all, to absorb it all.

And no matter what, the way I write, the way I tell a story mirrors that same feeling, that same flavor, that same greedy little formula.

I know I’m supposed to be writing, writing, writing–but I just had to take a break and watch the “Heroes” season premiere. I was going to die if I didn’t (no, probably not, but it felt like it). I was like a giddy little schoolboy. I won’t spoil anything for those who might’ve missed the premiere (although I can’t imagine anyone would miss it); but let’s just say I ran into some unexpected twists, made my jaw drop in ways I couldn’t even imagine.

That’s the kind of plotting I love–turns that I don’t expect. That’s the kind of writing I love, too. And that’s how I know I’m writing something worthy of reading, at least for me–when I even surprise myself.

It’s like a drug. It’s awesome. It inspires me. As Walt Whitman would say about the “barbaric yawp”….

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWPPP!!!!!

(first the ’squeeee’, then the ‘yawp’. That’s how I roll.)

I’m gonna be frank (for awhile anyway, and then I’ll return to Pierre): I am very much in love with words, can’t live without them. But there’s something deeper than words that I always force myself to remember–storytelling. The ability to tell a story is probably one of those gifts that you constantly forget is a gift. It’s a gift that’s so profound that even words aren’t necessary to exercise it. All means of expression can tell a story. It just so happens that I use ‘words’ to tell it.

I’m pretty sure none of you know much about me–I mean, all you know is that I’m just a tad bit crazy, I have these strange alter egos, one ego who seems to like to fling meat onto the wall and laugh naked on my bed, plus I have a strange kind of affection for suicidal and sadistic stick figures (they’re funny!). What many of you probably don’t know is that I have two siblings.

I have an older sister; she studied music. Right now, though, she trains and teaches Taekwondo; basically, what that means is she can kick my ass while playing the piano. That’s talent. My other sibling is my younger brother Paul. A rather famous artist. The man’s into everything that involves either a brush, a spray gun or even charcoal. Hell, in fact, give the man a freakin’ marker and he’ll draw a masterpiece. I’m not kidding. He has the same amount of endurance for drawing and painting that I have for writing. That’s my brother.

And, likewise, I have the same amount of endurance for drawing and painting that he has for writing: absolutely nothing. I can’t stand drawing and painting for the life of me. I simply don’t have the patience. And you generally won’t catch Paul even reading a book just for the fun of it. (I’ve been known to read philosophy just because it was ‘interesting’. Call me weird.)

The fact is, though, my brother is still a storyteller. Just like me. So is my sister. We all are. We just tell stories in different ways. Even when dealing with words, there are many creative ways to tell a story within the story; you simply have to let go of your mind, let go of conventional wisdom. Stretch yourself. Remember the old adage: show, don’t tell.

It’s amazing how a story can be told with just art–whether by line and color or by the sound of music. You don’t have to see words. You don’t have to read words. You know something is true, you experience it, you identify it. And then the story has been told. It’s a beautiful thing.

I bring up Paul specifically because of the power of silence, the power of imagery. You know me and imagery. Imagery and I are like ‘this’ (crosses fingers). Paul is as effective and passionate a storyteller as I’ll ever be. He just doesn’t use words to tell his story! Don’t believe me? Look down below my post here–it’s a comic strip my brother drew a number of years ago. It tells a story that is meaningful to him. It’s a link, so click on it for the larger view. Tell me what you think of it. Tell me what it means to you. And then tell me if you didn’t hear the story with your eyes. I did.