Not all stories start with 'Once upon a time'. Life's not like that.
Oh, and the notion of 'consequence' - and all those posts that should be confined to Facebook or Twitter...
Gregory Peck is clearly in the first few pages of his book, but there is something in his expression which is suggesting exasperation: “How long is this going to take to read?!”
Do you often get an urge to sigh all too early when reading something new, book, post or other? Do you feel the instinctive knowing that there is something missing or not quite right…?
If we get that as readers then you can be fairly sure that at some point the writer had at least an inkling of the same. Whether they acted on it or not… Well, if you’re sighing as you read, I’d suggest they didn’t.
Why do we do that? Why do we sometimes ignore the inner voice when we’re drafting or editing? Is it because we have an unhelpful desire to rush to ‘the end’ - or a misunderstanding of purpose?
Beginning - middle - end. One of the most specious mantras for writing contemporary fiction, especially if you’re writing short stories. Often the narrative is all ‘middle’, the end left hanging; or it can be all ‘end’ with ‘beginning’ or ‘middle’ filled in via flashbacks… “Ah,” you might argue, “but that’s just the way with short stories, the form demands it. Long-form fiction - the novel - is different.”
Is it? Really?
After all, life doesn’t package itself up for us in neat little beginning-middle-end parcels. It might sometimes - but probably less often than we think. And if fiction is (in some way, at least) a replaying of ‘life’, then we can choose to reflect it any way we like.
I wasn’t sure where I was going with this post - so I just jumped straight in. Maybe into the ‘middle’. But if you’d like to regard it in a more ‘traditional’ way perhaps consider the image of Gregory Peck as the ‘beginning’.
What I had intended to write about are those posts from Substackers who seem to do nothing other tell you about their life. “I was doing this, and then I went here, did that…” Such parcels can have a beginning-middle-end (there’s one link at least!), but sometimes they don’t. Irrespective of structure, I can’t help but see them as orphans from Twitter or Facebook which have found a new home - and because they’re on Substack perhaps their authors assume the posts gain some additional literary cachet - especially if they’re being fed to a paid audience.
I’ve just come back from holiday. I could tell you about that - what I thought of Winchester Cathedral, or the six books I bought in Oxfam, or the rather disappointing pub meal on our last night - but why on earth would I?
I don’t do living vicariously through other people’s lives (including the awfulness that is ‘reality’ tv); the life I have is satisfying and challenging enough! And so I can’t comprehend how anyone could be remotely interested in a re-telling of humdrum minutiae, nor - and this is far more important - how doing so might make a difference to anyone, or matter in any way at all…
After all, isn’t that what writing - creative activity - should be about? Saying something important, making a difference, generating emotion, passing on meaningful knowledge? Yes, and sometimes escapism and entertainment too - though those are lower down on my personal hierarchy of literary needs.
When I see ‘me-centric’ posts which have no universal application at all, I do sigh; I rarely get beyond the first few lines… TL;DR… Maybe I feel a little like Gregory Peck. (There’s a first time for everything!)
But most of all I find myself thinking “What’s the point?”
And increasingly this question is (for me at least) bleeding into contemporary writing. Don’t you sometimes get to the end of a poem (or a story - or Substack post come to that) and think “So what?”… The fact that someone had Fanta rather than Coke on a flight to Vermont is of no consequence whatsoever. To anyone.
Consequence: that’s the cornerstone.
Do our words have consequence?
Perhaps that’s a question we should all pose in regard to our writing: what are our words doing? Are they touching a nerve, making the reader think, posing a question that needs answering (or answering a question!), triggering an emotion? Even inspiring someone - the Holy Grail.
End of ramble. All I was trying to do was encourage you to ask “what’s the point?” of those ‘this is my life’ posts; or to stand back from your own work and take a dispassionate “so what?” view. Or maybe it was something I just had to get off my chest.
That’s allowed, right?