Hello, dear readers.
A word, if I may, about writers and their characters.
It is my opinion that any writer will derive character from a blend of personal, observational experience and imagination. As such, any writer who rejects this is denying the very enterprise itself.
If, at any time, you think you see either yourself or someone you know in a work of fiction, trust that the writer likely knew somebody very much like you or created a composite out of several individuals. The beauty of storytelling is that it mimics life itself, but the truth in such stories lies in the messages they carry and the value derived.
So, next time you take a novel off of a bookshelf, remember that nobody lives in a vacuum. We all express our strengths, weaknesses, challenges, and dreams every time we enter the fray. Perhaps your life, viewed through the eyes of the next author, will be of benefit and service to someone else. That is both the point, and the purpose.
Yours in the story,
Ruth Ann Scanzillo,
Hello! It’s me. One of your favorites.
The Pharisee, in the Scriptures, did [publicly] proclaim, in prayer no less, his indulged gratitude that he was “not as other men – proud, boastful.” You may know the story. Whereas, the other guy, the Publican, he prayed in secret.
I’m told I should pray for my enemies, those that hate and spitefully use me. Perhaps I should. But, perhaps even that much attention is more than you deserve; after all, I’m writing this – am I not?
Seems there’s a whole culture out there, my friend Nicole calls it one of “desperation” (not unlike that of which Thoreau wrote in the woods), that feeds off of the pearls cast by unknowns who, otherwise, have lives that they have cultivated by sheer effort and hard work. Are you a member of that class?
Who knows? Maybe your books will sell. After all, those sleazy rags that absorb the snot from sneezing children in the grocery line apparently do well enough to reappear every week on the racks next to the artificially sweetened breath mints. It could very well be that your audience can be found among them.
Yeah. Call me bitter. But, I do possess what you likely do not: authenticity. I inherited this from both my parents. They never meant a single thing to you, but no matter; the universe has to be big enough to reward them both, at some point. And, I guess, by posting this, I’m declaring my willingness to wait for the day when goodness and truth get their crowns back from the marauding mercenaries. I guess I’m saying I can wait. Because I don’t need to scramble for my next paycheck so that the powder, waiting for everybody else, can find its way into the lining of my purse. If that’s your story, what I feel for you is pity.
Carry on, little starling. Time waits for no one, and you have a crime to commit.
© Ruth Ann Scanzillo Copyright 12/8/15 All rights reserved. p.s. I am, actually, a published writer; more than one of my essays has appeared in our local newspaper, the Erie TIMES-NEWS, and I am copyrighted at the Library of Congress.