On a completely random note, I would like to offer you the greatest writing advice ever, uttered by Tim O’Leary over at The Torch Online on “How to Make the Star Wars TV Show Not Suck like a Mynock“.
“…once you have those truly great characters who we empathize with, feel connected to, care about, and want to see succeed, then throw those bitches into a rancor pit!”
Brilliant.
I was fairly young when I realized that my mother’s religion wasn’t for me. I didn’t find out what clicked with me until a few years later, but I discovered that Christianity was more of a social pleasure than a true faith while I was still young enough to be involved in youth groups. I sang hymns. I prayed. I was even given the honour of lighting the candle for Ash Wednesday once. Later on, I would find out that philosophy was more my style when questioning the meaning of life (or the lack thereof), but I would never lose that enjoyment for the social aspects of Christianity. Especially at Christmastime.
I have heard others talk in front of me of how the spirit of Christmas is being lost in our secular society, and how the addition of other religions and atheists means that you can’t even say “Merry Christmas” to a stranger anymore. Baby Jesus and Mary are being replaced by Santa and his elves, and it’s more about searching for the best, cheapest gifts than celebrating a birth. Moms fight over the last “Barbie Princess” doll in the store while kids are using Grandma’s Christmas money to buy “Guitar Hero” while it’s on sale for the holidays. Commercialism, political correctness, and egotistical consumerism have ruined the holiday, and it’s all because society is turning secular, away from Christianity’s welcoming embrace.
I call bullshit. Christmas is entirely what you make of it, whether you’re Christian or not.
Here’s what I see. I see the many international Santas lined up on my mother’s shelves, a dazzling array of culture and colour, painstakingly painted by her own hand. I see a large Christmas tree, bursting with lights and colour, the unthemed ornaments looking mismatched to the uninitiated eye, but each one holding a special memory to mine. The smell of pine lingers in the air and the presents are tucked in snugly to ensure each one fits under the tree, a proud display of everything my parents could achieve on their limited budget. A Beanie Baby squirrel peeks out from near the top, watching as my mother brings out the veritable feast waiting for us in the kitchen. All of my family is there; my siblings, my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and cousins. My best friends, who are now growing into their own families and their own lives, sit nearby. And my late stepfather, as he was before his battle with a brain tumour, trying to stay gruff as usual, but unable to keep the beaming smile off his face.
Christmas was always about family, about singing Christmas carols and hymns, about reveling in everything you had been blessed with and thanking God for it. Just because I don’t necessary pray the same way you do doesn’t mean that I’m not incredibly thankful each year for everything I’ve been given.
If you want God in your life, don’t turn to society or the government to provide it for you and don’t blame my atheist beliefs for taking it away. Invite him into your own life, celebrate Jesus’s birth by going to Church, singing carols, or in whatever way you choose. Or, celebrate according to any other faith you feel is right, whether Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, or atheism.
And don’t be afraid to say “Merry Christmas” to me. Behind those words is a warm wish of hope, peace, and goodwill, a universal wish for one to know love during the holidays. Why would I ever turn a wish like that away?
So, here’s my holiday confession. I love Christmas. I’m so happy that we have this holiday every year, so that I can see the smiling faces on the streets and in my own home. I’m thankful for my family, my friends, and my fiancé. And I’m looking forward to the next year and especially to my coming marriage, which I hope is only the start to a new Christmas of my own, where once more my family gathers together under my roof.
Thank God for Christmas. Please have a very merry one this year.
For all of us, there is only one central character to our own, personal stories – ourselves. You may have a large supporting cast, including major characters like a spouse or family members, but you’re only ever looking through one Point of View. Fiction allows us to look through someone else’s eyes – something which we might not otherwise be able to do. But how many view-points can we really handle and still enjoy the story?
Maybe handle is the wrong word. I don’t think it’s based on difficulty, but instead, based on what we take and enjoy from it. For example, with a single point of view, we are able to experience this person’s sole story, and grow in understanding along with the main protagonist. We might have a better view of the supporting cast than the protagonist does, but it’s still the protagonist’s story that we come back to. Almost always, the protagonist is the character we care most about.
Can we still achieve that level of understanding and commitment with two or more central characters without sacrifice? Obviously, there would have to be a connection between the two characters, otherwise they would not be in the same work of fiction. But do you think it’s possible to have two interwoven, but still different stories from two characters in one work of fiction?
Do you have examples of stories with more than one central, driving character that worked for you? What about ones that didn’t work for you?
Ooh. So, I haven’t updated that side count very much, but that doesn’t matter – I decided to scrap the current idea and start over, because I was blundering about a little too much!
Instead of science-fiction, this new fantasy novel would be about two young women, each of opposite personalities, suddenly thrust into the middle of battlefields and politics as they struggle to keep their countrymen free from the invaders.
With so much more action right from the get go, this one was very easy to start writing – in fact, I got 2100 words in the first night!
Wish me luck!
Mental muscles surging
Clock ticks like hoof beats
The last stretch opens before you
of the race called Week Two
Led to a closed stable called Home
No victory bells call you
Muscles remain unmoving
before the box in front
Restless, unrested
Monday opens your door
Stepping onto the track
you enter the race once more
Inspired by @kevinjmackey with one of his many enjoyable haiku tweets. Sadly, I’m not very good with poetic boundaries, so this is freely spewed verse.
