I’ve read many sorts of books and I’ve come to realise that in the English speaking world, it is very common to have stories with themes. A red line that ties the story together. I’ve read a couple of the classics from my own country and I find that we have a very different tradition. Most stories are very “mundane” for the lack of a better word. There is drama, but the characters don’t act as if something of significance has happened. It doesn’t have an epic scale or world shattering consequences, it’s just real life, and in real life, everything doesn’t tie up as neatly or matter that much.
I don’t pretend to be an expert on literature, this is my own interpretation, but I find this way of writing very appealing. What do I care if the ending might be unsatisfying to the reader? All I can do is to find the truth of the story. The most important thing a writer can do is to make sure that the motivations of the characters make sense, just like a real person.
Don’t make the story into something it’s not.
As Hemingway would say, you can write about any subject matter as long as you write truthfully. He also said that you should write living people, not characters, so…
I write from the gut, meaning I plan little ahead, preferably not at all. This might backfire and I write myself into a corner, but this is only true if you try to manage your story, instead of letting it lead you; find the truth. I don’t want to fight the story because of a preconceived notion of what a good story is.
My first story was a 400-page fantasy which I wrote in 6 months. That was 3 years ago and I have not finished a book since. I believe that because I knew so little about writing it allowed me to finish the book. There were no perfectionism or expectations that stood in my way. I’m not saying don’t learn the craft, but don’t take other’s successes as your roadmap – find your own.
Remember, writing is supposed to be fun. Have fun!
© Christopher Stamfors
Bones are that which keeps you here
Turn to dust and your soul will yield
Forgive this old fool
For the mistakes he’ve made
Leave me be and let the past fade
Fire rained over our heads
fume from the rocks seethed out of the ocean
Everything is quiet now
Except the gulls who shrieked and shuffled happily
Their meals now properly boiled