Black, White or Gray & 26 Letters

As the semester winds down, I have spent many hours reading essays and papers of others from the tutoring center.  (Have I mentioned, I love helping others edit their work?  It makes me feel like I’m making a small difference in someone else’s life - you know, making an impact.)   

There was one all about the necessity of dream realms, or illusory realms in fiction.  It fascinated me.  While the paper focused on how using a dream to allow a character to figure out a moral dilemma was in essence a cop-out, I’m not so sure it is a bad literary concept.  It might even be one that needs to see a real revival in this present time.   

My first thoughts float to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and how love can be fleeting, the complete opposite of the words of love which oftentimes claim to be undying and everlasting…

How often are people picking up books and just getting upset because in fiction, the problems seem to solved to quickly?  There are complaints about the real world being messy, not black and white; that simple solutions just do not exist. 

I am not so very sure that is the case.  The answers to most scientific equations tend to boil down to standard equations that many memorize as a child.  I mean even the English language is comprised of only 26 letters, yet we continue to write about new ideas and create new characters.  

It seems that reality is not as complicated as we make it.  What if our minds throw in too many what ifs, to the possibilities of the future, and that is where the world gets grey and messy?

Would you agree with me, dear reader?

.Lily

A Character Takes Form

Sitting back and listening to others talk always reveals thought in a new light.  While I was sitting on a bench yesterday, waiting for my afternoon class to start, I listened in on a conversation between two girls.  They did not even notice I was there.   

They were discussing an assignment they have on Peter Pan.  More specifically the concept of Peter Pan often played by a woman for on stage productions.  As they continued, discussing the need for Peter Pan to look younger as the reasons, I started to wonder about how different life would be for me if I had been the opposite of myself… like Peter Pan, a boy, acted by a woman.   

Would I enjoy searching for stories around me?  Would I care to sit still long enough to listen in on other’s conversations?  Or would I be full with a drive to be active in my surroundings?  Building friendships with many other guys and girls simply because I enjoyed having a busy schedule…  

James re-entered my mind.  He will become that version of me - the what if I had been the opposite… a refracted, altered, version of the me I am.   

James is a college student, at a big state school.  He received a scholarship for baseball because he had an amazingly accurate throw.    

His world is full of action, sports to play, games to win, people to hang out with.  People always notice James as he walks into a room because he walks with confidence.  He is tall, strong, sure, just as so many athletes are, right?  He goes up to new people and says hi, simply because they are new.  (You see that is so not me... )  

James is so sure he knows what is in front him, what his life holds that he doesn’t second guess many things at all.  He just keeps moving forward, knowing that while he is in school, he will play baseball, and then he will be an architect. He will design grand buildings where other people do important things.    

The thing is, life never flows the path one foresees, does it?    

You see, dear reader, I have been thinking about James, the refraction of the images around me, and building this story for so long that it is changing over and over.    

James has his life figured out - his college goals, his career goals.   

Now that the character is formed, I must focus on the conflict, the twist, the drama that will bring the story to life.  And that, my dear reader, is what I will leave you with - what twist draws you in?

.Lily

Writing Outside of Paper

I was running late for class yesterday. Lucky for me, the teacher was also. 

Unfortunately, Providence hasn't had a history of favoring me, but once in a while, meaning I'm on my own for a time. I will have to set my alarm earlier so I can get my writing done I suppose? 

Have you ever found this strange, dear Reader, that writers tend to do the most of and their best writing when they are away from a pen and pages?

I say, writers, though I guess that's just a broad assumption I'm making, that all writers are this way. I suppose I made that assumption because I am at my best when away from anything I can write on. Or I was yesterday when racing across campus.

The fountain I have passed on my way from class to class always seems to remind me of the story “Refraction” and my previously asked the question “Have you ever looked at yourself or anything in the water?” 

When I passed the fountain yesterday, my mind just clicked, I thought what would I see in the refraction of the fountain’s water?  How would this differ from the pencil? The fountain was turned off yesterday, making it the perfect time for gazing into its waters, which is what I found myself doing in spite of my rush yesterday. But, as I turned back around to make my way over I was almost too nervous to look! 

As I leaned over the edge, and I saw my reflection, there I was. The shadow of the sun over my head slightly distorted my face.  Standing there I begin to smile. I was bending and waving in the water. It was entirely a different view from my pencil in the glass of water, the distortions making it appear as broken. But my face was still whole. The fountain had a small ripple that my face waved in rhythm with. 

This is where I began writing without paper.

The character James, my protagonist in "Refraction", would view himself differently? Wouldn’t he? Would his reflection resemble mine? Or is it a different reflection all together? Does he see himself as I see him or does he view himself with a different light as if he were viewing at an earlier time of day with the sun behind his back?  The light would be different as well as the shadow it reflected. His character is set in my mind, but as I looked at my own reflection, I wonder if his personality is indeed defined in the character I have drawn for myself? Just a slight variation in the water from a single droplet can create a small ripple effect causing my reflection to move while completely distorting my view to a new perspective of Refraction.

I remember as a child going to the beach and putting my feet just at the waters’ edge.  I could see through the water my toes as they wiggled.  I watched as the Guppies swim past, and as I tried to reach down and grab them. Somehow, I always missed them.  I thought I wasn’t fast enough to catch them,  but now I understand the concept of Refraction.  It wasn’t my speed; it was Refraction as well as the light from the sun.  Refraction was the cause of my distortion, allowing me to believe they were right there at my feet.  When putting my hands into the water I assumed I could just pick them up right from where I stood.

Looking back at the fountain from yesterday, It's odd how writing without paper works. Nothing is concrete; everything is always flexing or waving. I felt distantly close to my story, almost if a reader discovering my own book. My perspective rippled and waved when I was outside my pages. The feeling being something like seeing a reflection of my written words.

I see Refraction is a little deeper than I first acknowledged.

Lily.

Quickening Fairy

I love the long-winded eloquence of books sometimes, fiction or not. It’s like I can organize my own musings in some kind of sensible string.

The key word in those last two sentences is “sometimes”. There comes a time when you need an obvious proverb. An Aesop’s fable. Even a parable from Jesus! Just something quick and short and on-the-nose like that. The world needs more of that, don’t you think?

Why, for example, can’t there be a short explanation for the meaning of life that sums up good and satisfies (like a Snickers bar)? The long explanations go ‘round and ‘round, examining all the angles, but I’m not sure they settle anywhere. I don’t even know what I read in some of those situations.

Perhaps one day.

~

What do you think is the balancing point between artful weaving and getting to the point?

Also, what should I do with my life next semester? I’ve put off registering for classes too long for my own happiness. They need to be diverse enough to help me be a well-rounded writer, but related enough for me to actually finish school one day.

That, my reader, is a point I wish I could reach already, instead of the back-and-forth of decisions and consequences.

Anyone want to wave a wand and make my mind up for me? That would be great.  

.Lily

Hopeful Fairy

I wonder if big authors ever buy their own books once they are in print. I wonder if they sit with a cookie and a coffee and savor the story like I do. One day, when I am published, I am going to have a book club. In that club, we will read my books and stories by other writers, published or not. Because wouldn’t it be nice for others to see that a famous published author is still human and still reads and still doesn’t understand every metaphor in every story?

You know, dear reader, a club like that might be necessary now, after what I saw a few evenings ago.

It was entirely too good outside for me to stay in. So, like one of the characters I have been playing around with in my head, I made the bold choice to go outside and just meet somebody. As luck would have it, Danika had her door open to clear the air from her failed pie. I know this because she got the jump on me and called me in.

Before it really settled that I was in a stranger’s house (albeit a very friendly stranger), she had me batting the air with a dish towel and spilling the usual meeting-a-new-person facts about myself. And then Tyrone came in. And Chandler and Kelly and Spectra (that is really her name) and Amy and….

It was a dinner party. And it was...amazing. I like people and all, but I like them more when they are fictional. That evening made me think that maybe, possibly, I should get out just a little more.

But what I saw that spurred this post: Danika, the life of the party, even in spite of her lackluster baking efforts, got a moment alone to start cleaning up dishes (she is the perfect hostess and would NOT allow guests to do anything but enjoy themselves). Her face was different, though. The energy was gone (and I know it wasn’t the dishes that took it). She is probably only a couple of years older than me, but she looked like a lifetime of struggle had etched itself into her face and shoulders.

For whatever reason, one of her random comments from when she burned the pie came to me: “Gaah, I never, ever get this right.”

It seemed normal enough. I’m sure I said something affirming in reply. But I wonder now how long she’s been struggling to get that pie right, looking at the perfect picture and missing each time. I wonder what else she is struggling to do. Or be.

I bet that hers would be one of the more interesting stories in my book club. Maybe it would even be her break into act two of her life, where things finally start to change for her. Especially when she sees that she’s not the only struggler.  

.Lily

Mr. Canezzle is a Magical Hobo

Once again, I find myself with no time this week to write. I felt that with this being the case, I would post another story from my childhood for you to enjoy.

A Prequel To "Mr. Canezzle is a Teacher" By Lily Schreiber

Mr. Canezzle The Magical Hobo was on his typical corner performing tricks and illusions for the people on the sidewalk. 

“Is that not such a good name?” Mr. Canezzle thought. “Sidewalk, it’s a place where you can WALK beside all the buildings. So why did everyone seem to be running today?” 

But just as soon as he asked, the answer hit him…literally. A newspaper came flying out of nowhere straight into Mr. Canezzle’s face, making Mr. Canezzle drop his rabbit he had just pulled out of his hat. The rabbit hit the ground and took his chance; he ran to freedom! However, when he reached the road and saw the danger that laid ahead, he quickly moved back to his hat. In which he decided that captivity was not all that bad. 

But now back to Mr. Canezzle. The headlines of the newspaper that hit Mr. Canezzle said “Cat Saves Man Stuck In Tree.” 

“Aha!” Mr. Canezzle said “They're all late for work because they had to stop to read this article. That’s why they are running.”

Now this answer seemed logical to Mr. Canezzle, and it could be the reason everyone was running…but probably not for right below the headline “Cat Saves Man Stuck In Tree” were the words “Day Light Savings Time” And that was really why everyone was running. They all (except for the bosses) had forgotten to reset their clocks and now were almost an HOUR late for work!


Back to Mr. Canezzle who is completely still, in a trance of some sort...but what could have created this trance? Could it be the giant spinning hypnotizing wheel on the other side of the road? Or maybe the man waving his pocket watch back and forth, back and forth? No, it was none of these things, indeed, the “Cat Saves Man Stuck In Tree” headline head caught his attention and he was now intently reading the newspaper. He was so caught up in the newspaper that he failed to notes Mr. Smith, the high school English teacher, who came flying by him at a full flag run into “Radio Show”, a rip off of “Radio Shack”. However, as soon as Mr. Smith, the high school English teacher, entered “Radio Show” an alarm went off saying he had won a prize for being the one-hundredth person to enter “Radio Show.” You see “Radio Show” did not get much business on the account that “Radio Shack” was just across the street, and most people went to it.

To fully understand what happened next, you must know a little bit about this town Mr. Canezzle was in. So this town had only one hospital, The Mount Everest hospital, or Mount Everest as the locals called it. Now The Mount Everest hospital was the only four stories building in town, and the Emergency Room was on the top floor. (The hospital was originally only three stories, however, It turns out when they made the building they forgot the emergency room. Thus, they simply decided that they would add another floor on top for the ER. Besides riding in a helicopter to the ER is so much better than a car). So when someone had to go to the ER they (the locals that is) would say the person was taking a trip to the top of Mount Everest.

Okay, you know about Mount Everest hospital and the Emergency Room we can go back to Mr. Smith, who is overjoyed at winning a lifetime supply of dry erase markers. So Mr. Smith in all his excitement went running out in the streets to announce his winnings to the world, however, when Smith ran out the door to “Radio Show” he failed to see a small rabbit hopping across the sidewalk. Yes indeed this was Mr. Canezzle’s rabbit who was trying again at freedom…only to find that cars were not the only things he had to worry about, there were also shoes. And the first shoes Mr. Canezzle’s rabbit found were Mr. Smith’s. Seeing the danger of the shoe that was threatening to make him permanently part of the sidewalk, Mr. Canezzle’s Rabbit ran back for his hat, in the process tripping Mr. Smith sending all two hundred and thirty-seven pounds of Mr. Smith hurling to the sidewalk. Now Mr. Smith was not the most graceful man on the earth…no not at all! Mr. Smith landed right on his arm, putting it at an odd angle. 

Mr. Canezzle, hearing the commotion and seeing his rabbit looking very guilty as it ran back into his hat, decided that he must do what he could do to help the poor man. Mr. Canezzle dropped his newspaper, pick up his rabbit and hurried over to Mr. Smith. 

“Tell this Man you're sorry,” Mr. Canezzle said to his rabbit. “Tell this Man you're sorry,” Mr. Canezzle said again as he healed the rabbit up to Mr. Smith. The rabbit’s ears twitched a little and then fell limp, which is rabbit talk for I am sorry. “Thank you, now go back to your hat and stay there!” Mr. Canezzle ordered the rabbit. “Mr. Sir. Dude, are you alright?” Mr. Canezzle asked Mr. Smith, who now appeared to be in great pain. 

Now when Mr. Canezzle noticed that Mr. Smith’s arm was broken, he was overwhelmed with compassion and know he had to do whatever he could to help him, after all, it was his rabbit that made the accident. 

Now let us skip through time about three hours. Okay, now you are, yes you, you're sitting in your English class. It’s your last class for the day before you can go home and do all that homework your algebra teacher gave you…yeah. Well, as you sit there waiting for your teacher, who is already 5 minutes late for class. You begin thinking about how you can break the news to algebra that you think he should stop looking for his X because you don’t think she will be coming back. 

Then suddenly the classroom door flies open. In walks a well-dressed man…well you assume his clothes were nice at one point... It also seems this man has no fashion sense on the account that he is wearing striped suspenders, a plaid shirt…and a belt?…Hold up! This man that has just come into your classroom is wearing suspenders…and a belt…with a plaid shirt. 

“Hello, class,” the plaid shirt, suspenders-wearing, man began, “I am Mr. Canezzle, I will be filling in for your normal teacher today on the account that he has won a radio show contest, and is taking a one day trip to the top of Mount Everest.”

You find this quite strange, because your teacher, Mr. Smith, is strongly agents radio, has a great fear of snow and does not like the feeling you get from going outside.

PAUSE!

Now you probably are wondering why Mr. Canezzle is in your classroom. Right. Well, see when the ER people got to Mr. Smith, Mr. Canezzle overheard them say Mr. Smith was a teacher at the high school. Being so overwhelmed with compassion for the kids that might have to get out of school early because they had no teacher, and wanting to fix the mistake his rabbit had done, Mr. Canezzle took the place as the teacher for Mr. Smith. However, as for the story Mr. Canezzle told about Mr. Smith, well that is what Mr. Canezzle calls situational truth. See Mr. Canezzle has learned that depending on the situation if you just give part of the facts of what happened then people will draw a different conclusion as to what happened. See Mr. Canezzle just told you that Mr. Smith "won a radio show contest, and is taking a one day trip to the top of Mount Everest," which is completely accurate. But without the info about Mount Everest hospital and the Emergency Room, you would think Mr. Smith was really on his way to the top of Mount Everest because he had won a radio show contest. But really, that's not what Mr. Canezzle told you. See, the statements Mr. Canezzle said was entirely accurate; your logic is just what was false.

The End

Trigger Fairy?

I should give adults more credit. My neighbor's father had positive, constructive, useful feedback on my story. I applaud the man for being mature enough to put any personal opinions about me aside for the review. Of course, it is possible that his son has not said anything to him about me. It is also possible that the weird, stony looks he gives me are a declaration of his undying love. Yeah.  

Talk of adults makes me think, though. I never thought they had brains or feelings or the need to go to the bathroom. But I do. Technically, I am one of those. But, dear reader, I do not in any way feel like one.   

I love the freedom to do anything, any time it pleases me. It is like potential energy, though. The bow is drawn, the arrow pointed. I just don't know where to shoot. I have looked into the future and I am famous there. I have many best-selling novels there. People love me there. I am a writer.  

But I also wonder what will be next. What should I prepare for now so that when that one dream is real, all the others can be as well? Is it inconceivable that I might tire ever so slightly of that future life?  

I want to be like Leonardo Da Vinci. I want to be great. Writing is magnificent because as any character, in any world, I can be.  

Just, how do I make it real?  

Youth really is wasted on the young.  

.Lily