&*$##@!
As you may have noticed, I like to write. A lot. And as I sometimes do, I like to pass out my completed works to a select few. So recently I shared one of my short stories with an ill family member. Why? As I look back on it, I’m not totally sure why I did it. Maybe I’m a masochist. Actually, I thought perhaps it’d cheer her up. She’s nutty, you see, and has spent the last few months hospitalized for a myriad of ailments. Anyway, she’s home now, so I sent her a letter and a copy of my story.
Her feedback? It wasn’t what I expected to hear. “Oh, I cannot believe the horrible language. You need to clean up the filthy language. I think we can all do without words like that.” Not, “Gee, thanks for sending it to me” or “Wow, that was nice of you to think of nutty ol’ me.” Nope – all she could do was gripe about the four letter words.
But, Tommy, you say. How filthy was this tale? Was it Penthouse Forum worthy? Was the language course enough to make George Carlin blush?
Not at all. It had one semi-curse word: “Bastard”. I referred to one character as a heartless bastard.
That’s it. No damns. No shits. No F-bombs. No Lord's name in vain. No suckers of any type. Just one little bastard.
I find that you tend to walk a mighty thin line when it comes to relatives and your writing. They’ll usually assume that anything you write is a) true and b) about them in some way. I wrote a purely fictional story from the point of view of a young boy once, and this relative was convinced it was actually about her. I tried to convince her it was just fiction, but to this day she’s still convinced it’s about her nutty self. Nope, it was all bullshit. Made up bullshit. Oops, there goes that potty mouth again.
When writing characters, you have to let them be who they are. Sometimes your imagination created characters who are morally sound, and who wouldn’t use a word stronger than “gee-willickers”. Then sometimes your imagine lets out someone a little...darker. The murderer. The thief. The heartless bastard. And these aren’t exactly the types of people you’d hear say, “Well, gosh darn you, you no-good son of a biscuit eater. Why don’t you go fudge yourself in the patootie?”
So from now on, I’m letting my writing imagination run free, without the opinions of nutty family members interfering. If a character wants to cuss or steal or shit on the carpet, then by God he (or she) is free to do so. Go for it, you heartless bastard.
And if I ever need to create an uptight, slightly nutty, close-minded shrew, then I’ll know exactly who to think of. Who knows – she might recognize herself then.
Her feedback? It wasn’t what I expected to hear. “Oh, I cannot believe the horrible language. You need to clean up the filthy language. I think we can all do without words like that.” Not, “Gee, thanks for sending it to me” or “Wow, that was nice of you to think of nutty ol’ me.” Nope – all she could do was gripe about the four letter words.
But, Tommy, you say. How filthy was this tale? Was it Penthouse Forum worthy? Was the language course enough to make George Carlin blush?
Not at all. It had one semi-curse word: “Bastard”. I referred to one character as a heartless bastard.
That’s it. No damns. No shits. No F-bombs. No Lord's name in vain. No suckers of any type. Just one little bastard.
I find that you tend to walk a mighty thin line when it comes to relatives and your writing. They’ll usually assume that anything you write is a) true and b) about them in some way. I wrote a purely fictional story from the point of view of a young boy once, and this relative was convinced it was actually about her. I tried to convince her it was just fiction, but to this day she’s still convinced it’s about her nutty self. Nope, it was all bullshit. Made up bullshit. Oops, there goes that potty mouth again.
When writing characters, you have to let them be who they are. Sometimes your imagination created characters who are morally sound, and who wouldn’t use a word stronger than “gee-willickers”. Then sometimes your imagine lets out someone a little...darker. The murderer. The thief. The heartless bastard. And these aren’t exactly the types of people you’d hear say, “Well, gosh darn you, you no-good son of a biscuit eater. Why don’t you go fudge yourself in the patootie?”
So from now on, I’m letting my writing imagination run free, without the opinions of nutty family members interfering. If a character wants to cuss or steal or shit on the carpet, then by God he (or she) is free to do so. Go for it, you heartless bastard.
And if I ever need to create an uptight, slightly nutty, close-minded shrew, then I’ll know exactly who to think of. Who knows – she might recognize herself then.
posted by Tommy G at
2:06 PM
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