Some time ago I talked about the overwhelming number of writers that have flooded the modern publishing market. I focused on the inevitable consequence of having a large number of substandard works out there, a fact that affects audiences’ idea of indie authors in general. But make no mistake: a novel can be substandard regardless of whether it’s published traditionally or independently. Both by reading and by participating in online literature discussions, I have discovered that a significant number of authors don’t have a clear idea of narrative focalization. Perhaps they semi-instinctively still use it, but if you’re an author wanting to be in total control of your book, then keep reading!
The first thing we need to do is offer some definitions. We need to know what it is we’re talking about. Indeed, many of the misunderstandings and ignorance surrounding the topic are a result of confusion. I have often seen people confusing narrative focalization with perspective or point of view. So, let’s try to clarify the matter.
“I smell the sea” is different from “She smells the sea”, which is different from “There is a briny scent floating around” (more…)
Whenever the topic of overprotecting parents and overprotected children pops up in a discussion, I begin with the following story. It’s a scary funny story; to me much more funny than scary, though modern-day parents might be appalled. It’s them in particular that need to read this article.
I must’ve been seven or eight years old. As a kid growing up in the 80s, I had freedom the likes of which is only whispered today, late at night, around the proverbial fire. I walked alone to school since I was six, crossing busy highways, walking next to strangers. My mother wasn’t afraid of someone kidnapping me, or a car running me over. In the summers I went to the countryside, to spend my summer vacation with my grandparents. They loosely kept an eye on me, but I was basically running around free, coming home after dark. Overprotecting parents? What’s that?
One day – I must’ve been ten or eleven years old – I returned to my grandparents’ house after playing outdoors under the scorching sun (no sun protection, no sun glasses, and probably no cap either). I was really thirsty, so I grabbed the bottle of water waiting on the floor next to the fireplace. In fact, I was so thirsty that I didn’t stop to think why would a bottle of water be on the floor. I drank several gulps before I realized something was terribly wrong. Yep, I’d drunk lighting fluid instead, which my grandparents – in their infinite wisdom – kept in an empty water bottle. I saw a clear liquid inside a bottle still having the water brand label, so I drank it. Can you blame me?
I was terrified, but even more so when I heard a neighbor suggesting I should be taken to the hospital. My grandparents agreed that there was no danger – they gave me to drink some milk and olive oil. I threw up a couple of times, but I was fine a few hours later. Every time I belched in the next couple of days, it smelled like teen spirit as if a diesel engine had disintegrated. Once I actually thought to try and see what would happen if I belched over open fire, but apparently some sort of survival instinct was still present, and I didn’t. Ah, fun times… It’s these kinds of experiences and memories that give you something to write about in later years.
Do you think the parents of these children would worry about them being outdoors alone?
I have talked in the past about nostalgia and reminiscence, and in this article I will emphasize the role of writing and memory in the context of writing fiction.
Many people are under the impression fiction is a process where you just “come up with things”, as if from thin air. This is inaccurate. Deep down, writing fiction is about telling a truth (often a secret or unpleasant one) in a different way.
And so, experiencing becomes an operative element: before you write you must experience. Writing and memory, therefore, go hand-in-hand. The diagram below should give you a quick idea.
