Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

I just read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tome Stoppard for the first time this week, for one of my English classes this quarter. It’s a fantastic play, and I just thought I’d share some thoughts/quotes from it for my blog post today.


If you haven’t read/seen the play, I would highly recommend it, or you could just see the movie staring Tim Roth and Gary Oldman as the titular characters.

It takes place during the events of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, and follows these two minor characters from the play. The play deals with the idea of Fate vs Free Will, and whether or not these two characters can escape their fate as it is written in Hamlet. They are thrust through the actions of the play without completely understanding all that is going on, and question why it is so.

I’ve read it, and have continually picked it up again and again to re-read certain parts of it. It seems to really be affecting me. One memorable and funny scene is where the two characters are playing questions (where they only speak in questions), which then proceeds into Guildenstern role playing Hamlet while Rosencrantz role plays “himself” asking “Hamlet” questions to “glean what afflicts him” which gets them no where. But is simultaneously important thematically and just funny.

Anyway, this is the quote that I’ve been focusing on since I first read it on Tuesday, I just want to share it. It takes place at the end of the play, where Rosencrantz and Guildenstern find out that the message they carry tells the King of England to kill them. Meanwhile, the Player (the leader of troupe of actors, they put on the play for the court in Hamlet, if you’re familiar with it) just shrugs it off, which sends Guildenstern into this fit:

“Your experience!– Actors!” (at this point, he pulls a dagger from the Players belt and holds it to his neck) “I’m talking about death– and you’ve never experienced that. And you cannot act it. You die a thousand casual deaths– with none of that intensity which squeezes out life… and no blood runs cold anywhere. Because even as you die you know that you will come back in a different hat. But no one gets up after death— there is no applause– there is only silence and some second-hand clothes, and that’s– death–” (Now, he stabs the Player)

“If we have a destiny, then so had he– and if this is ours, then that was his– and if there are no explanations for us, then let there be none for him–“

That’s all I’ve got.

The Perfect Storm

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It’s official. I’m sitting at the center of a perfect meeting between great fortune and very encouraging benefactors. As a result, an original short story I wrote has been put up for sale. As in money.

Me. Darla. My story.

In the words of the wonderful mentor who made this happen, for the very first time my material has been given “professional book packaging services”. He said he was tickled pink the first time and I couldn’t say it better. The e-book is beautiful! A part of me could die happy right this minute.

However, I know that this success is an illusion. I’m in print, but not for personal aggrandizement. The month-long charity sale in which I’m participating means I may not see a dime. And that’s fine, except this also means that I have no signed contract. There is no publisher. And at the end of March the ownership of the story reverts back to me.

Wisely, kind souls who’ve gone this route already have advised me to shop for the right fit. I understand the logic. What does this mean? It means I need to get off my behind and do some research.

Sure, my tremulous heart would love for somebody in the business to see my contribution and fall in love with me at first read. Yet I don’t dare hold my breath and be a wallflower. I can’t expect some awed publicist to find my work on that website and show up in my inbox with an e-card and bouquet of digital roses. This is the time to be practical.

For the first step, I’ve been emailing people with whom I have shared even the briefest interactions. You never know who might know who in this industry. The genre in which I’ve written might attract folks who tend to have extensively networked communities.

You never know. At the very least, I’m making another positive step to get out of my reclusive shell.

So far, I’ve spread the news across four continents. We’ll see what happens. You never know. Right?

The important part now is to quiet the self-doubting inner critic and keep my momentum going. I could easily let this fizzle out and turn to ashes. The characters in my head have other ideas. They want their stories to be heard.

Wish us luck! Uh, I mean me.

Diametrical Beauty – November

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

*Click on the pics to see more details*

Photos by:
G. Christopher Payne
(Snow)

Byzantinehalo…me 🙂
(Seascapes)

Half a world away, a northern autumn moon shivers

in anticipation of winter’s plans to cover her hills and
valleys in a cold white blanket. Leaves dance and swirl
to the gusts of fall winds blowing away the residue of
summer’s exhausted, heat faded days.

While a southern sun shines a path to the water’s edge,
where hungry waves cover shallow footprints like watery
hands as the sea rushes back into itself with its imagined
catch. Blue skies and fluffy clouds ruffled by a gentle spring
breeze watch lazy waves coax summer out of her long sleep.

~~

I wrote this for a Challenge on SplashHall Poetry Forum, for a November challenge. I’ve been waiting to show it here and as time has slipped by, it’s not quite seasonal, but I figure that doesn’t matter too much.

The photo of the snow scene has been loaned to me by my friend and fellow poet, Gary. I couldn’t lay my hands on a photo of snow here due to the lack of snow, he kindly came to my rescue. Gary writes Poetry, Haiku and Tanka and I absolutely recommend ya’all taking a look here!

Love,

Eaton

Inspiration or Irritation?

Writer Zen Garden Posted on by

An opportunity came up the other week to develop characters we were working on by writing stories with them based on specific prompt scenarios. At first the initial prompt did not seem to apply to my characters at all, but eventually inspiration struck.

I don’t know that I learned anything new about my existing characters from working on that prompt, but it did allow me to play out a scene that had previously been a little hazy in my mind. That is a very good thing.

What surprised me about the prompt fic is how this one scene ended up spawning ideas not just for later on in the existing characters’ lives, but for the next generation of characters, as well. All of a sudden Maddox and Kieran’s children are living in my head, and I don’t even have a definite outline for Maddox and Kieran’s own story. So I find myself genuinely torn at the moment between being thrilled at how Phallon and Connor’s story seems to be playing out, and being frustrated that I seem to be getting farther away from Maddox and Kieran.

When I very first started writing a little over ten years ago, I had one, maybe two ideas at a time. I wrote from start to finish on one and then worked on the next. Once in a while, if a story idea was particularly short I might pause a current work in progress to get the new story down on paper, but it really didn’t happen very often.

In the last year I find myself almost completely at the mercy of the muse at times. I started out ignoring new ideas, only to find myself irritated when I could not recapture them later. Then I would write down new ideas, whatever pieces came to me the most strongly – just notes, so that I would remember the substance of the idea later on. As I continue to be carried along on the wave of whatever comes to me, though, I can’t help wondering if what I’m making is progress, or just word count.

Not that word count is a bad thing, but part of the goal is to actually finish stories, right?

So I guess what I would like to know is what happens for everyone else? Do you have a pretty linear writing process, or do you have multiple ideas going at once? If you do have more than one, then how do you balance them? What happens if a new idea starts beating you over the head?

Road Rage

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The other day I was driving home from my day job and watched an unknown vehicle cut off the poor, anonymous driver behind the wheel of another. For some reason, that cool disregard for the consequences to the victim brought something very different to mind. I thought of certain individuals one can often find within on-line writing communities. There are those everywhere who consistently put down the efforts of others and I think they’re a little like that reckless driver.

Sometimes a slight is presented as some sort of vaguely stated “constructive” criticism. The critic might try to tell the author that what he or she penned is somehow wrong. Is there a correct verb tense or point of view? I think not. Most aspects of storytelling are not good, bad, right, or wrong. Outside grammar, and sometimes not even that according to more experimental stylists, the choices are spawned by societal fashion and individual taste.

But why do I compare these persons to rude drivers? Sometimes, fellow travelers, it’s because they simply want your car out of the way! “Get off the road,” they would say if they realized their own true intent. It’s what I want to tell the driver who adds precious minutes or even seconds to my short commute. “Get out of my way!”

These folks might be stuck with writer’s block or face some form of rejection that has hurt their pride. This critic might unconsciously want others to suffer, as well. Others might have some superior notion that they are better and should be teaching others how to “drive” even though they lack the credentials. Some aggressors might careen through traffic leaving accidents in their wake in the form of defeated writers who end up believing they don’t have the talent. I believe that there are many gifted people who fear rejection to the point of eventually just leaving their car in the garage.

This makes me sad. Writing is a vehicle that needs to be driven or it rusts and falls apart. For me, it’s the best, fastest, and safest way to travel outside myself for a time. And if I’m lucky, perhaps I’ll connect with likeminded acquaintances through my story. I’ve found enough kindly souls encouraging me to make more of these ventures. These friends fuel my tank and help map out new places for me to go. And each of us reacts slightly differently to the road rage crowd that can dent our ego if we let them.

Some us might be fearless behind the wheel of our tank-like SUV and not worry so much about what the other driver intends. These people power over or maneuver around obstacles that lie in the direction they want to go. On the other hand, the same pothole might wreck someone in an economy car.

That poor lad or lass gripping the wheel of a tiny sedan can feel fragile and intimidated by aggressive drivers that hog the road and only care about their own destination. That soul might wisely take a different route rather than risk being driven off the road.

I think I’m somewhere in-between. I’ve got a powerful engine and sit comfortably surrounded by lots of airbags in my sporty little roadster. What about you?

Wherever you’re at in my silly analogy, I wish you a safe and pleasant journey. Maybe we’ll travel together for a stretch!