When Truth Hurts: The Nonfictioneer's Dilemma

Don't bend; don't water it down; don't try to make it logical; don't edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.

~ Franz Kafka

Kafka, you haunt me.

Whenever I read these words, I am divided. One half of my heart swells in awe of your insolent wisdom, at your unabashed defense of the artist's impertinence. You forbid us to whitewash, to pretty-up the ugly corners of life. Do not tread lightly on reality, you insist, but delve deep, and without apology. Show life with all of its thorns, no matter who objects. Where inspiration leads, the writer should follow with frenzied passion.

The other half of me spits at you.

I don't believe my heart was made for fiction. It goes against everything that has made me a writer -- a love for daily life, a quiet belief that every "normal" person, including myself, has a story. The little struggles we encounter each day say much more about our humanity, I think, than some grand, fictional misadventure. The truth is, I long for nonfiction. I long for its contemplative nature, its ability to find meaning in the mundane. Most of all, I long for its potential to highlight reality, and say, "There's no need for fiction. Life is dramatic enough on its own."

But I need fiction, Kafka. I need it terribly.

With nonfiction, there comes a risk. There are many things in our lives that contain all the elements of a good story -- a mother's coldness, an uncle's cancer, a best friend battling alcoholism. If we stop to look around, we realize that the people we interact with everyday have tales begging to be told. But this fascination with the trials of others is dangerous. It requires us to investigate and speculate about people's private lives. The nonfiction writer must intrude -- often without permission -- upon someone's darkest, most intimate secrets.

What is wrong with us, Kafka? Why is it the darkness in people's lives, that which makes them most vulnerable, that inspires us most? We are sadists and parasites. Our work thrives upon the draining of others for our own gain. We delight in their shame, their injury, their deformities, exposing them for general entertainment and "the sake of art." We cannot see someone's wound, and leave it be. In our sick fascination, we pick at the scar, peek beneath its stitches, until it bleeds. Because as a writer, as an artist, we must know what’s inside.

You did well to choose the word "mercilessly," my dear Kafka. To write directly from reality, we have to adopt a kind of indifference. We can't care too much about our subjects; otherwise, we'd always feel guilty, and never write anything for fear of violating their privacy and soiling their reputation.

This is why I write fiction. It was never because my life was uninteresting. My family life has been rocked by death and mental illnesses. My friends have been torn by scandal and abuse. There are always things to write about. But my conscience is my weakness. I don't have the stomach for trespassing onto others' lives, for being an invader. For you see, the greatest danger of being a writer is not the lack of things to write about. It is the risk of someone getting hurt.

Did you ever love anyone, Kafka? Or did not loving give you the freedom to write?

 

Image Courtesy: Emma Moser

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emma Moser is a lifelong New England resident currently balancing her lives as a college senior, local musician, and emerging writer. Her writing pursuits include blogging, poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming at several national venues, including Sigma Tau Delta Rectangle, Zoomoozophone Review, Thoreau’s Rooster, Sweatpants & Coffee, and Fuck Fiction.

For more articles, links to publications, and information about the author, please visit her blog at: antiquedwriter.blogspot.com
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[Image courtesy: author, google, and  haaretz.com]

Valentine’s Day: You either Love it or you Hate it

Valentine’s Day, synonymous with love and romance, is once again bombarding us with all things red and pink remotely associated with amore and desire. Sandwiched between Christmas and St. Patrick’s Day, it has become one of the most commercialized days of the year. A frenzy that takes hold of the country every year leading up to the 14^th of February:  from cards to flowers, teddy bears to underwear, chocolates to jewelry, and not to mention red balloons labeled, “For the one I love this Valentine’s.”

You are probably loving it if you are in a relationship. For many singles, however, who don't have the prospect of being showered with cards or affection, V-Day can be a red flag and feel like a very lonely day.  

If you are single, the world suddenly seems to exist only of happy couples. So how to find your soul mate? That’s the $64,000 question. Lucky the ones who found their mate in school! At a later stage in life and if you’re divorced or widowed, it becomes more difficult. You may have tipped your toes in the dating pool and experienced that dating rules have changed over time.

Why is it so difficult these days to meet somebody in spite of all the possibilities that social networking and the Internet provide: dating sites, chat-rooms, and singles events? Even churches organize singles nights now. Jacksonville and beaches have so much to offer!  Still you can be out on dates every other night, yet not find that elusive partner.

As a former matchmaker in Ireland my advice to singles is to stay open to what life has to offer you, to explore new avenues and hobbies; to be proactive and go out and mingle. You may have to leave your comfort zone a little. Even if you don’t meet the person you are looking for straight away, you won’t meet anyone when you stay at home. Although it may be hard to find the time and energy- especially when you work and have children to look after- to get out of the house and away from your TV. Fate doesn’t come knocking on your door and serve Mr. Right/Ms. Right on a silver platter – nor does the pizza delivery man. So plan to spend some time every week out of the house socializing and structure whatever free time you have accordingly.

Ask yourself:  Are you ready for a new relationship?  Are you carrying around baggage from your last relationship? Another piece of advice is to have a good look at yourself as seen through the eyes and mirror of a prospective partner: Are there areas in your life or about yourself that could be improved on? Do you know how you come across to other people? In short: Would you date yourself? Make some modest changes if necessary.This may be an unexpected approach but be of help in your search.  

For more tips on dating check out my book Next Time Lucky: How to Find Your Mr. Right which is a story based on my own experiences both as a dating expert and pioneer online dater. Available in paperback and as an eBook on Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.

   

(Pictures courtesy of Besider.org- a brilliant website you need to check out!)

Deception in Plain Sight, a Crime Novel with a Twist

Synopsis: A young woman, of wealth and privilege, believes she has met the man of her dreams, only to discover she has been living in a fool’s paradise? The handsome, charming, and cunning stranger will not only awaken her sexual inhibitions but will draw her into his sinister plot, leaving her asking, “What type of monster did his parents create?”

Excerpt:

Christine finished her business in D.C. earlier than she had anticipated and returned home a week earlier. It was Friday evening when she walked into the house. She was ready to jump into Awesome’s arms and make love to him, but he was not home.

She went upstairs, unpacked, showered and got into her new sexy lingerie, which she purchased at an upscale boutique; she went straight to bed and waited for him.

Suddenly, the home phone rang. “You are in great danger,” the caller said.

“Who is this?” There was silence on the other end. Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. “Hello.”

“Awesome Petté is a deceitful person; he will break your heart.”

“Why do you keep calling?” There was a click. At first, Christine thought it was her mother but remembered she never gave her the home phone number.

Even if her mother knew where they lived and looked up the number in the telephone book or called directory assistance, it would be futile, because the number was unlisted.

It was probably a prankster, Christine thought.

The landline phone was old school; there was no way the caller’s number would show. There was no redial button, so Christine would never know who made that call.

It was after eight when Awesome arrived home. He went up to the bedroom and could not believe his eyes.

 “It’s good to see you. I thought you were coming home next week.”

Good thing I did not have a woman with me, he thought.

“My work with the client finished ahead of schedule. The company loved my presentation and did not see the need for me to stay any longer. Besides, I missed you; come to momma.”

This woman is going to be the death of me, he thought.

“I missed you too. Give me a couple of minutes to get myself together.” Knocking boots was the last thing on his mind. He took a shower and returned all dried.

“Oh, baby, you should have let the water run down on your searing body. It turns me on,” she purred.

“If you like, I can go back and shower my body with warm water and return dripping wet.”

“Stop it and do me as though we are participating in a lovemaking marathon.”

“Yes, your highness; now open wide.” He surged inside of her, releasing hot lava throughout her sensuous channel.

“Sweetie, you are outdoing yourself.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I am here to please you.” They stimulated each other for several hours until they both fell asleep.

# # # #

Order Now on Kindle Stores at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MU5HSWQ
5 star review

                                        

About the Author:

Born in 1946, Vivienne Diane Neal is a writer, blogger, and an author. She is a storyteller with a wicked sense of humor, has been writing articles for over thirty years and started penning fictional short stories in 2007. Vivienne gets her story ideas from observing people, places and things and watching true TV court cases and talk shows.

Her fifth book, Retribution Unleashed, ranked No. 66 on UBAWA's (Urban Books, Authors, and Writers of America) top 100 Books of 2013.

Now, semi-retired, she continues to write short stores and articles on love, romance, relationships, and other topics of interest on her Blog at http://www.oneworldsinglesblog.net and for other online publications.

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Tags: crime, hoaxes, deceit, scandal, revenge, erotica, lust, temptation, seduction, romance

Empire's Wraith

Alan offers us a preview of his upcoming book Empire's Wraith.
"The new book is about a spaceship haunted by the ghosts of the men who died on her; the only person who can calm the spirits is a young lady,who is an empath. But, is the horror inside too much for her to handle?"

Chapter 1-   Walking with the ghosts
  Dave Cooper, ex-guardsman, walked through the empty hulk of the hunter/destroyer “Empire’s Wraith,” and thought. Is it true, can a ship impose its personality on the crew? A few months ago, if you’d asked me, I would have said no. But, after only a few days on here, things happened which made me think. Did she want us dead?
    Dave had been raised in the days after the fall of the Baalite Empire. For the people on Baal life had become intolerable; they had become refugees on their own planet. It wasn’t only the victorious Commonwealth of Frieland troops who imprisoned the people; the planet itself appeared to have risen up against them. There were numerous reports of volcanic activity – unheard of in recent times – and the Ferrnix at the core had been destabilized and started to fill the air with poisonous gasses. Much of the planet was covered in ash, and debris; the land was so polluted it couldn’t be used again for at least twenty years.
   It was under these conditions that young David Cooper began his life on the run. Always one step ahead of the law, and two from service in the Army fighting a futile last stand on the outer edges of a deserted planet, in a far off quadrant of the galaxy. Food was unattainable for the survivors on Baal. The prices were pushed so high by the governing bodies of the Commonwealth; very few Baalites could afford more than a meal or two a week.
  Forced to fend for themselves, Dave and some friends fled to the lands beyond the Sulphur plains. Their goal was to reach a town called Gertoria. They hoped to join a resistance group heading off world. Gertoria was a three day march, but the men thought it was better to go there, than stay home and be forced to work like mules. The volatile Fermix caused the super-heated Sulphur to rise through the pocked ground, this made walking both hard, and tiring. The men had to travel by the lights of the burning cities, travel by day was too dangerous with the heat, and gasses; it was only marginally safer at night, but the group head to reach Gertoria.
  The endless plains stretched out before them as the men set off on the first steps, to a new life. They never expected to find what lay ahead; it wasn’t the fighting they were to do which worried them, but not knowing what they were to fight. The first night’s travel was the hardest, the men were required to get used to walking in a mix of half light, and shadows cast by the raging fires behind them.
   Timmy Crossman took a look over his shoulder as they reached a peak, and said “I don’t suppose we’ll be going back, Dave.”
   Dave glanced to where Timmy was staring and replied “Not unless you want to die of hunger, picking up leftovers. I’d rather die out here, trying to reach Gertoria, than back there waiting to starve to death.”
  The third member of the group was Reggie Connors. He was usually a shy man, but respected for his thinking. Reggie stood still, taking in all the sights, and sounds of the night; as he turned to face Dave, he called out, “Dive for cover!”
   Without thinking the three friends dived into a ditch, not before time; overhead a jet of Sulphur had ignited in the air sending molten sparks everywhere; one touch from the Sulphur, and you’d burn for days.

Alan Place 

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/alan-place

http://indiependents.org/indie-seal-books.html

http://www.amazon.com/Al-Place/e/B0076M5BNG/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Al-Place/e/B0076M5BNG/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0