I used to think I didn't like science
fiction.
Now I've figured out that a. I have a
weak stomach in some ways and b. I strongly prefer character-driven
stories, so there is a good deal of science fiction I don't like,
along with stuff I really love (A Wrinkle In Time,
anyone?).
An
interesting phenomenon that makes up some of the science fiction I
like less is stories that are not really either plot or
character-driven. An author comes up with an idea- what
if aliens came to Earth or
what if
computers were implanted in our brains or
what if people
started growing snakes for hair-
and builds a plot completely to serve it, then pulls in characters
just to serve the plot. Thus the idea is stretched to create a whole
novel much the same way you stretch the Clean Teeth pamphlets when
the dentist keeps you forty minutes in his waiting room. These books
seem to be becoming more common in many genres- books that have a
good idea, and often good/decent craft and structure, but don't
really seem to mean all of the story. A person who is interested
enough in the idea may read and enjoy the story anyway. When I became
interested in the life of Anne Sullivan (after watching The
Miracle Worker,
which is just so
good!
It made me cry so much I felt like my face was melting!) I read many,
many books on her and Helen Keller, some of them near identical
twins, or triplets of each other.
This
is something I do when I have a good idea that might not fill many
pages: write flash fiction! And, one of the most important things
I've learned: Don't be afraid of wasting ideas. I used to ration out
ideas, one
per story, and as a result, my stories went dry. Now I often use five
or six ideas-for-a-story in one story- if they (seem to) fit, of
course. Not that I don't occasionally end up with a story in which a
shy, anxious character randomly decides to juggle oranges in the
playground (real
example)
or a story where the whole point is that you should be nice to your
little brother (or if you aren't nice to him, you should be really
nice
to your parents), but I think writing is a lot about finding a happy
medium, something between “Stuff happened.” and “Hannah J.
Brown, who still had coffee brown eyes, and blond hair down to her
shoulders, moved the big toe on her right foot that still had a cut
slightly to the side of her shoe to scratch an itch (the cut toe was
itchy, not the shoe).” Or maybe writing is
a
happy medium. (Medium of expression. Pun intended.) Writing this was
certainly fun, especially the Hannah J. Brown (who still has brown
eyes, blond hair, a cut on her toe, and strawberry yogurt on her
nose) part.
