When Reality Is Too Unrealistic for Fiction

I’ve read plenty of books I’ve found unrealistic. Sure, they’re novels and therefore not reality, but there are just certain plot points I roll my eyes at and go, “Yeah, that would never happen.”

Like, I don’t know… say… everything about Fifty Shades of Grey.

Contrived setting, dialogue, plots and characters are something to be avoided at almost all cost. I say almost, because sometimes life itself gets unbelievable, prompting writers to go, “That did not just happen!” and then, “I wonder if that could fit into one of my books?”

Off the top of my head, I can think of a few absolute caricatures of real people. Like a best friend’s father who gets into angry arguments with her about whether or not there’s caffeine in Vitamin Water. In front of me. For five minutes straight.

Awkward!

Or there’s the time I was the only one in my four-apartment building for a month until the night someone moved in above me. I met his brother that evening, and then I met my new neighbor Josh the next day, upon which point he asked me out. Yet when I went to knock on his door at the agreed upon date and time (which was fine by me), he wasn’t there, leaving me to tape a note for him. Two hours later, I found a response on my own door saying what a nice idea the date sounded and how he’d love to meet me.  

Confused? I certainly was… until I figured out I had two neighbors move in the same day.

Oops!

Completely ridiculous, right? If I read that in a book, I would probably roll my eyes.

And speaking of unbelievable, I know some of my friends have thought I was taking creative license with stories about my workplace, where sexual harassment is overlooked, lying to customers is encouraged and raises/bonuses are withheld without any reason given even when the company had a banner year. Worse yet, I can’t even completely blame them for their skepticism when, the stories I tell really are so unprofessional as to be a bad joke.

Yet they’re still 100% true.

So what happens when you want to borrow from your stranger-than-fiction real life for your novels? It’s actually quite doable.

Have your characters admit how unrealistic their situation is. Make them wonder how they fell down such a rabbit hole, or let them joke about where they went wrong to be in such a mess.

When writers acknowledge how Ripley’s Believe It or Not it is, readers are much more likely to buy their tale.

An Arrogant Writers’ Moment I Really Hope to Never Duplicate

I realize I haven’t been particularly nice to my fellow writers these last few weeks.

I blame them completely for this bit of unpleasantness. If they would stop being so obnoxious, I would stop complaining about them. Yet they keep giving me reason to gripe.

Maybe that’s because, collectively speaking, we writers take ourselves way too seriously.

I’ll be the first person to say that authoring a book is awesome. It’s creating life, after all!

But like mad scientists, we too often get arrogant about that wondrous ability. Which makes for downright embarrassing results when people realize we’re not nearly as amazing as we think we are.

I recently ran into an example of this at a local Barnes & Noble, where I was greeted by a well-dressed man with a salesman’s smile and a premeditated opening line of, “Hi. I’m an author.”

His words and tone indicated his opinion that I should automatically be impressed by this fact.

Not trying to be a jerk here, but anyone can write anything and get published these days, either through self-publishing (Ta-da! Jeannette DiLouie) or connections. So he might as well have said “Hi. I’m a Bob Evans’ employee” or “Hi. I work at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire.”

I’ve gotten paychecks from both places. There’s little to no talent necessary.

Now, I have no direct idea whether this particular author’s novel was worthwhile or not. I didn’t buy it and don’t plan to. All I know is what I heard from him and then read online on Amazon, where I found four reviews.

Considering the glowing terminology in three of them, I have to assume they were from friends and family. But the fourth can be summed up as “meh.” Though the reviewer gave the story three stars, he called the plot and characters unoriginal, basically defining the latter as “stereotypical” and the former as “predictable.”

Hardly a reason to get a big head, right? Yet even if he was the next Charles Dickens or Mary Shelley or Harriet Beecher Stowe (historical authors I greatly respect. And I don’t respect many), he still wouldn’t have any reason to walk around with his nose in the air.

There’s no excuse to be so full of yourself. Ever.

On the plus side, I now know how I’m going to greet people at my very first book signing, coming up at Ukazoo Books in Towson on Saturday, October 3 (1:00-3:00 pm)…

Pretty much anyway but “Hi. I’m an author.”

Getting Set on Fire and Eaten by a Dragon Sounds… Appealing?

Two weeks ago, I ranted against Marvel’s Agents of Shield. Today, I’m taking on an even more popular show, Game of Thrones.

Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun…!

 Actually, that’s not quite accurate. I could discuss the show, which I have a definite opinion of, but why bother? Those of you who love it are going to love it regardless, and those of you who find it a lame, unimaginative, misogynistic waste of time will doubtlessly continue doing so too.

I’ll let you guess what camp I fall into.

What I’ll be much more blunt about is what I think about writers. Which, I guess I’ve already addressed, come to think of it. In ranting against Agents of Shield, I believe my exact description was they were “equivalent to sociopaths” and “totally high on their own art.”

But I forgot to add my reaction after reading a recap of Game of Thrones back in May. So let me backtrack and add that they’re dumb as dirt too. Like really, exceptionally, unbelievably stupid.

I’m not even talking about the show’s writers. I don’t watch the show. I’ve never so much as taken in a whole episode, just a smattering of clips. But for some odd reason, I find myself drawn to the recaps that Yahoo posts, which is why I got to read one particular writer’s death-wish list.

This was after the apparently epic episode, “Kill the Boy,” where some guy got set on fire by dragons and then eaten alive. Sounds like a rotten way to die, right?

Duh! Unless you’re a moron writer with way too much time stuck in unreality. That’s the only reason to write the following after watching someone flailing around, screaming in horrific pain:

“Morbid but appropriate question: How do you want to die? Your first choice is probably something along the lines of, “In my sleep, of old age, surrounded by four hundred smiling grandchildren,” but come on. What’s fun about that? Literally billions of people have passed away under those circumstances! We should all hope and pray for an interesting death that’ll keep people talking long after the memories of our actual accomplishments have faded. “I’ll never forget Bill Wilson and how he crashed his catamaran into a garbage island.” Or “Not a day goes by I don’t think of Linda Schwartzman getting attacked by those coyotes in the Macy’s parking lot.” These are the ways we should hope people talk about us when we’re dead. So when you see an overly ridiculous or violent death on TV, don’t be shocked. Be jealous.

“This week’s episode of Game of Thrones featured one of its most ludicrous and amazing kills in its entire run. Yes, I’m talking about the guy who was both set on fire and then torn apart by dragons. We all cringed and perhaps even clapped when it happened but part of me was like, “Damn. That’s how I want to go.” You know? It’s the main reason I hope cloning becomes a real thing someday… It would make the possibility of me getting eaten by a dinosaur that much more real. Fingers-crossed!”

Here’s the thing… I’m sure (or maybe I just really hope) the writer is partially kidding. But I’m even more positive that he’s partially not.

Which makes him about as stupid as they come.

As for this little writer? She’ll take the boring death with her four hundred smiling grandchildren around her, thank you very much.

A Writer’s Reality Check That Readers Should Note

I wrote Monday’s blogpost in the heat of the hour after finishing up that fateful Agents of Shield episode where Hydra is unmasked and true colors show through.

It was also about 2:00 in the morning, which rarely lends well to cool heads and calm emotions. So here I am at 11:13 the next morning, a much more rational human being.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still annoyed with the writers. And I still think they chortled some while they plotted the storyline out, knowing full well what emotions they’d be foisting on their audience. But I can analyze that now instead of creating my own plots of shoving stuff down their throats.

Writers are powerful people. Not in the change-the-world kind of way. Despite what most braggadocios creative types want to claim, art rarely has a societal impact like that. Most of it is more reactionary than revolutionary, and even the pieces that are original and avant-garde don’t often change anyone’s opinions or spur any great evolutionary steps.

I’m not saying it can’t happen. I’m just saying it’s not the norm.

Yet that doesn’t diminish writer’s power per se. While we’re not likely to reshape society, we have so much control over people’s emotions. It’s their choice to pick up one of our books or turn on our shows, but we own them after they’re hooked. And once we own them, we can treat them however nicely or badly we want to.

That kind of power can be fun. Even thrilling, as I’ve admitted before…

Until we’re on the other side of it.

So writers, keep that in mind next time you want to do something rotten.

As for readers? Be careful what you invest in. And never trust a writer. 

I Am So Mad at Writers Right Now, I Want to Cry!

I was supposed to write about this topic next week. (Yes, I have a calendar of subject matter, but it’s not because I’m controlling; it’s because I’m forgetful.) But I’m too traumatized at the moment, so I'm moving up the timeline.

I hate writers.

Not writers like me. I love writers like me. Do you know why? We care about our audience more than we care about our delusions of godhood.

It’s now 1:28 on Saturday morning, and I feel like crying. This is after watching episode one-too-many of the Marvel comic book-based Agents of Shield.

I wish I could say I’m feeling despondent over the writers killing someone off. But they didn’t. That would have been a mercy in comparison. What they did is so much worse than death.

After some twenty episodes of building up bonds between the six main characters, they made one of them a turncoat. Like a MAJOR turncoat.

Worse yet, I am completely convinced they thought themselves oh-so-clever about it. That’s the only reason to do what they did... to have the following smug conversation around the boardroom:

“Look at us. We’re so clever and in control. We’ll make our audience get emotionally invested and then stab them in the back!”

I’m sure they chortled about it too. And then they hailed Hydra. (That's an inside snark for anyone who follows Agents of Shield or any of the other Marvel comic book movies,)

That attitude makes them equivalent to sociopaths. They literally (pun intended) plot out how to make people – real people: as in their audience, not their characters – suffer, and they enjoy it! Take it from someone who's spent too much time with this kind of person: They’re totally high on their own art, and they get even higher when their art brings people down.

This is why I don’t like so many writers. They’re bad people, with no consideration for anyone but themselves.

Sorry to say it, but whoever’s writing Agents of Shield is now officially in that category.

I'm going to go sob quietly in a corner now.