Well written story -or Not!

A well written plot has elements of surprise –twists- set in the expected.  The expected gives us footing, but too much expected and we lack interest.  Too many twists and we lose continuity and purpose.  It’s like the old Americana paintings where you can’t really define any subject or purpose to the work, just lots of stuff -  or like a 3rd grade art piece that has a smiley sun, a tornado, and a house fire with big flowers scattered everywhere.  Of course if you give a 3rd grader long enough to work, he’ll likely include a super hero to save the day.

I love a good story where the plot makes a sharp turn when you least expect it.  Of course that hairpin curve in the literary effort is best when inserted close to the end of the story.  I remember reading a book where the numerous curves began early on.  The characters were interesting enough that you stayed engaged and then it ended and I found myself saying “What?  WHAT?!”  The ultimate ride had ended in a literary death spiral.  The bad thing is I remember little about the tale except the utter disappointment in the conclusion.  It was the second in a series and I bought the 3rd.  But the betrayal I felt in the second didn’t find a purpose in the final installment and I never read another book by that author.

In the visual world, the twisted plot works better in a movie than in a series.  I remember about a year ago when I got involved watching a series that had a good bit of tension and like the above mentioned book, the characters were well written.  Then after several opportunities when I could have done something meaningful with an hour, I realized it was just a soap opera dressed in clandestine clothing.  Again, the realization left me frustrated.  Oh yes I do remember how many seasons ‘Dallas’ ran, but it didn’t really run in my life.

I tell so many stories that a friend said “You need to write your memoires. My stories are as much about the fun I have telling them as they are about the facts of my existence.  It’s not that I rewrite them, but as my living goes, the stories reinterpret themselves to my heart and mind somewhat differently.  It’s hard to hear someone else recant ‘my stories’ because if my heart isn’t there, my memory is very seldom satisfied in the telling.  Maybe that’s part of why I don’t write my memoirs.  Without the interaction of people, the story loses its best part.

I do write the dark episodes, but that has a very different purpose and they hide in my files and are seldom seen by the general public.  Like certain relatives, I only visit on rare occasions.   I know they are a part of me and who I became and I would never do away with them, but the visit isn’t ever truly pleasant.  You sigh in relief as you say goodbye and walk away leaving them right where you found them.  I am sure I hold that spot in the mind of others within my circle as well.  It’s part of being human.

My story, which is beginning to chapter out, is more like a series of stories than a group of chapters and pages.  I don’t know how many chapters or pages are left or what their character will be. Spiritually speaking, that’s up to my publisher.  

In the movie The Pursuit of Happyness there is a point when the narrators says “This chapter I call ‘being stupid.’”  I know that title, though it doesn’t relate in the same way his did.  I hope I don’t have any of that left in me, but I can’t make that guarantee.  Stupid seems to recur in my story like the main theme in a symphony.  I seem to have two kinds of stupid: one I call ‘Willful stupid’ and the other I call ‘Noble stupid.’  And there in lie the twists and surprises of my life.

My family is basically long lived.  90 something is not uncommon.  My father died in his 80s and it seemed way too soon.  His last twenty years were full of physical and emotional difficulty.  As I look at my own life, I understand more the effect of that the further I go on this journey.  My mother will be 98 in September.  I am in the second half of my 6th decade.  I’ve always wanted to be Caleb from the Old Testament and walk out at 80 and demand my greatest challenge yet.  As days pass, I don’t believe that is my destiny and it is certainly losing its appeal.  Yet I do believe that what life I have left will have a few twists and unexpected turns.  I fear some; I relish others in my consideration.  I’d like to think of myself as Eli from ‘the Book of’  I will last until my personal task is complete if I stay on the path.  I may be solitary in a crowded world.  I may be hated or feared or loved or respected but it won’t change the task or the result if I am faithful to the one voice inside.

I do hope I leave a good, funny and useful, if somewhat badly written, story behind when it is over.