Similes Like Childhood Odors

This is from a published work. “Her pensive frown drew me like a smell from childhood.”

You know, I’m pretty familiar with childhood smells. I can smell one now, as a matter of fact, a powerful, pervading smell from a cute, little child. But this simile doesn’t work for other reasons. Let’s talk about it.

My first thought is the writer has mixed two senses. Her face or her thoughtful, moody appearance appeals to him. He sees her and remembers … an odor?

What if he saw she was deep in thought, and frowning in an adorable way? Perhaps she frowned over her hands at the floor. I walked up to her and said, “You remind me of a cookie.” Anyway, my good wife, who is not frowning now, said this sentence and the paragraph with it would be improved by focusing on the girl, not the narrator’s emotional reaction to her.

The sentence reminds me of these: “Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.”

“She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.”

That’s good writing.

Good Fun Reading

One of the guys behind The Dangerous Book for Boys has written a historical fiction novel, Genghis: Bones of the Hills. Some bloggers are asking what genre this should be in? Macho lit? Warrior lit?

I think the term “lit” is part of the problem. It works with Chick lit, because of the assonance, but it doesn’t have to be part of a genre label for action-oriented, historical (and maybe non-historical) fiction involving mostly fathers and sons.

On the air

I had a very nice lunch with an old friend on Saturday, but the big excitement was when, for the first time ever in my life, I actually called in to a radio talk show.

It’s not a national show (though they podcast nationally), but you might call it a nationally-known show. Some years back, big-dog talker Hugh Hewitt named several Twin Cities conservative bloggers “The Northern Alliance,” and eventually they commenced a Saturday show on local station WWTC 1280, The Patriot.

There are 3 segments, each hosted by a different team of bloggers, but my favorite has always been “The Headliners,” starring Mitch Berg (of Shot in the Dark) and Ed Morissey (of Hot Air). Continue reading On the air

Crime Fiction vs. Real Life

On avoiding crime fiction cliches. I remember a line from G.K. Chesterton which said some many detective stories begin with a murdered American millionaire as if something like that would turn the world on it’s head. An American millionaire, dead? What evil has befallen the world?

Rumors of Death

Obit Magazine has a piece on premature obituaries. Some of the stories are not comical, but this one on Bertrand Russell is.

Most victims of premature obituaries can blame slipshod reporting for the foul ups, but the mistakes ar at least, honest ones. Philosopher Bertrand Russell contended with more sinister behavior. In 1920, after surviving a nasty bout of pneumonia while in China, Japanese correspondents pestered Russell’s future wife, Dora Black, with requests to interview the convalescing philosopher. “At last she became a little curt with them, so they caused the Japanese newspapers to say that I was dead,” recalled Russell in his autobiography.

But the renowned pacifist exacted his revenge. When his health improved a bit, Russell stopped in Japan for a lecture. Local journalists again demanded interviews. Russell replied by having Dora pass out printed announcements: “Since Mr. Russell is dead, he cannot be interviewed.”

First-person eschatology

It’s raining. It’s gloomy and grim and chilly out, with a Seattlesque drizzle coming down.

I love it.

I fully expect to have a blizzard before the month is over, though. That’s just the kind of dame March is.

I’m reading a very good mystery right now (I’ll tell you about it when I’m done), and as I thought it over, driving home, I was hit with the question, “What exactly is supposed to be going on in a first-person-narrative novel?”

I’m not asking about what’s going on in the plot of the story. I’m asking, how am I supposed to understand the narrator in relation to me as a reader?

I mean, think about it. You’ve got this (imaginary) person, who usually makes no claims to being a writer, who is nevertheless pouring out this carefully constructed, professionally polished (or so one hopes) narrative. In the narrator’s own alternate universe, how did this manuscript come to be? Continue reading First-person eschatology

The Friday Fight: Office War

This is remarkable. I used to work with a man who frequently tempted me to buy a Nerf gun or three. He just begged to be shot. I’m thankful I’ve never worked in an environment like this. Fifty people in a cube farm? That could be difficult. I don’t blame the first guy for snapping.

Book Reviews, Creative Culture