The Story Behind Toren the Teller and the Tale

Toren changed my life.

I don’t know how old I was when I first became a storyteller, but I do know I was quite young. I remember telling my youngest cousins and my older cousins’ children stories when I was about ten. I loved the excited look on their faces, how my stories drew them in and captured their imaginations and their hearts. I also remember telling stories to the younger children on the van ride to school. I particularly remember one little girl who would ask over and over, “What happened next?” It was such a delightful question to answer.

As I was growing up, I read anything and everything I could get my hands on. I read encyclopedias and science magazines, because I was very curious, and couldn’t read enough about this world. I also read a ton of comic books, particular collections of Peanuts strips. My favorite books were funny, fantasy or science fiction. I loved the works of Peter S. Beagle, Ursula Le Guin, Anne McCaffrey, J.R.R. Tolkien, Gene Wolfe, Harlan Ellison, Douglas Adams, Isaac Asimov, Orson Scott Card, John Barth, Thomas Pynchon, and so many others.

But while I enjoyed these books, I kept looking for one about a girl like me, a girl who loved stories and loved telling them. I knew stories were magical, perhaps even the most magical thing we can experience. I couldn’t possibly be the only one who felt like this, could I? And who better to write about this particular magic than a storyteller? But the more I looked, the more I realized the book I so desperately wanted to read did not exist. No one had written it yet.

When I was seventeen, my family had moved to Jerusalem, and I had just started college. That first year I studied Hebrew and a variety of other subjects, like Advanced Algebra, Political Science, and Computer Programming. My plan was to eventually study filmmaking, because I wanted to be a director.

You see, I didn’t just love storytelling on paper: I loved it in all its forms, and I thought that movies were the best way to tell a story, because they brought so many of those forms together: with and without words, visually, and through music. I studied the movies I enjoyed, and I tried to figure out how they worked. I still read books, but I read them mostly for entertainment. These were books of my choosing, books that made me laugh and cry, think and feel.

This one night, a book had kept me up late. It was sometime after midnight that my head felt heavy, and I laid it down on the open pages. I looked out of the window of my room. The moon was big and full, far above the horizon. I stood up and walked to the window. I leaned on the windowsill and thought again about that book that didn’t exist, the one about a storytelling girl like me. I closed my eyes and made a wish.

When I turned around, a young woman was standing behind me in my room.

Although she was short, there was something about her that seemed larger than life. She was amazingly beautiful, with her long, dark, curly hair, and her olive-colored, almond-shaped eyes. She was wearing a garment the likes of which I had never seen before.

I asked her for her name.

She said something, but it wasn’t in English. I didn’t understand.

I shook my head.

She slowly reached up and touched my forehead with the tips of her fingers. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she gave off a golden glow. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

“Thank you,” she said, with a voice that reminded me of honey. “You have taught me your language. Both of them, in fact.”

I felt like I should apologize. “I’m still learning Hebrew.” 

 “And now so am I.” She smiled. “I understand you wanted to meet me.”

“I did?”

“A girl like you who understands the magic of stories?”

I was so stunned and happy and excited I couldn’t speak.

“You have taught me your language and about your world,” she said. “How should I repay you?”

Of course, there could only be one answer to that question. “Tell me your story.”  

“I can do better than that.”

Again she touched my forehead. She closed her eyes, and I closed mine. Her name was Toren, and her story flashed inside my mind. I saw, heard, smelled, tasted, and felt all of it. When she pulled her hand away, I was laughing and crying.

I was in awe.

She smiled at me and bowed her head. She looked out the window, and I followed her gaze. A part of me expected to see something magical on the other side. When I turned around again, however, she was gone.

Her story remained with me, and I treasured it. I re-experienced it whenever I was lonely or bored and wanted to be reminded of the magic of stories.

But, like everyone else, I had my life to live. I couldn’t study film, because the university only offered that as an M.A., so I studied English Literature and Theater instead. By the time I had graduated, I realized I didn’t really want to direct movies. I earned a teacher’s certificate, but I didn’t enjoy teaching. Instead I first became an editorial cartoonist, and a comic-strip magazine editor; and then I became an arts-and-entertainment writer, and a consumer columnist. I got married and had two children. I was very happy.

Unfortunately, I had to leave my job and my old life behind when my family moved to New Jersey in search of a better education for my autistic son. I didn’t know what to do. If I couldn’t write, edit, or illustrate for a newspaper or magazine, who was I? What was I?

A few months passed before I realized the answers to those questions. I was still the little girl who loved telling stories to the other children in the van on the way to school. Toren’s story had given me so much joy over the years. And I had been selfish. Somewhere in the world there had to be someone just like the girl I had been, someone who desperately needed a story about the greatest magic of all. It wasn’t just Toren’s story. It was my story, too, and the story of every storyteller who’s ever lived.

Perhaps it’s your story too.

Improv for Writers, Part 3 of 3:Speed Writer--a Lesson Plan for a Writers' Conference

I sometimes like to imagine giving a class at a SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) conference. I have a long list of things I’d like to teach, and one of them is Improv for writers. Here’s my lesson plan for that class.

1. Hand out the information from my two previous blog posts on Improv: “How Improv Can Help You Write Better, Faster, and More Creatively“ and “Mind Games: Five Solitaire Games for Fiction Writers,” as well as recommendations for further reading. In each hand out, include an index card with the name of a well-known children’s book character, like Harry Potter or Clifford the big red dog: a different name on each card. There should be a note on it about not showing your card to the other people in the class. Also hand out several small pieces of paper that might be used later for suggestions. (Each handout should be attached with a paper clip. Bring a hat for scenes-from-a-hat type games. Also bring in a well-known children’s book, like The Cat in the Hat or Guess How Much I Love You, and a box that can be opened and closed.)

2. If there isn’t a space at the front of the room, ask everyone to help me make a space.

3. Ask “What is Improv?” Explain that Improv requires players to come up with ideas and scenes on the spot and that following the rules of Improv can help writers not only come up with lots of ideas fast but write faster and better. Explain that the most important words in Improv are “Yes, and . . .” Explain how this affects a story, that it lets the story move forward. Explain that we will be playing several Improv games that deal with voice, emotion, character, raising the stakes, coming up with story ideas, revision, and if we have enough time, using all your senses. There’s a lot to learn from Improv, and it takes most people months or years to hone the craft. We’ll do our best to cram as much as we can into the time we have.

The Games

(Remember to finish each game on a high note, so the excitement doesn’t wane.)

1. It’s How You Say It (3-5 minutes)

This game is all about voice. Ask for three volunteers to come to the front of the class. Tell them they’re going to read from the children’s book you brought with you, but they’re going to change the way they read it according to the emotions or characteristics I call out.  Here are some of the things you can try: angry, shy, surfer dude, bored, nervous, confused, in song, mafia hit man, giggling, suspicious, and overjoyed.  Ask the audience for suggestions too. After the game, ask what was the most fun. Was it an unexpected voice for reading that particular story? A surprising voice is usually more fun.  

2. I Gotta Feeling (20 seconds or less per person so it’s under 10 minutes, I hope)

This game is about embracing emotions. It’s like the first game but with adlibbing, and it’s for everyone. A box gets passed around a room along with a reaction to what’s in the box (the box is actually empty, but players can make up what they find in the box). Tell the players they must react to what’s in the box based on the kind of reaction I will give them. They need to pay attention, because the reaction can change at any time and I could ask for the box to be passed at any time. Pass the box around and call out reactions, like anger, angrier, angriest, indifferent, delighted, overjoyed, confused, perplexed, distraught, like, love, passion, bored, more bored, bored out of your mind, sarcastic, very sarcastic, scared, terrified, with apprehension, anxious, hopeful, jealous, proud, sleepily, reverently, and so on. After the game, ask which reaction the group thought was best. Why was it best? Was it very specific? Was it heightened? It’s usually best to vary the level of the emotions in your writing between five and nine with an occasional ten. That lets the tens stick out.

3. Character Conference (10-15 minutes)

This game is about creating characters. Ask for one volunteer, preferably someone who’s read a lot of children’s books. Everyone else should look at the index card they got with the name of a well-known children’s book character. They should stand until the volunteer correctly guesses who they are. Then they can sit down. The volunteer has to mingle at the character conference and try to figure out who everyone else is by asking questions. Everyone else needs to be their character without saying his or her name, the title of their book, or the names of other characters. They should try to feed hints to the volunteer without giving things away. If the volunteer gets stuck and a person playing a character isn’t helpful, other characters can mingle with that character until it’s obvious who that character is.  

4. What Could Possibly Go Wrong? (5-10 minutes)

This game is about story middles and raising the stakes. Ask for three to five volunteers. Ask everyone else for an activity. One person plays the main character and is given a goal related to the activity (like write a great novel, win a race, buy a toy, and so on). When I clap, the main character has to say, “What could possibly go wrong?” One of the other characters then needs to step in and raise the stakes by presenting obstacles related to the goal (make it clear that it has to be related to the goal and not some random obstacle) or by giving a reason why the thing the main character wants is now something he truly needs. The main character has to work to overcome these obstacles. This illustrates how to raise the stakes and how this increases tension and audience interest. Point out Murphy’s Law for fiction writers: If anything can go wrong (for your main character), it should.

5. The Untold Story (10-15 minutes)

This is about using old stories to create something new. Before doing this game, explain that Improv can be used to change an existing story and make it something new by changing the who, what, why, where, when, or how of the original story. The how is about how the story is told, like the style or the genre. Ask for a genre, like paranormal romance, murder mystery, Doctor Seuss, Star Wars, or evening news. Have each person write down on a scrap of paper something they associate with that genre, like if it’s mystery, the word could be detective or gun. Collect the pieces of paper and put them in a hat. Next have the group pick a well-known fairy tale. Ask for one volunteer who’s a really good storyteller. Take two more volunteers. The first volunteer has to narrate the untold story of the fairy tale in the chosen style or genre. The other two have to act out what the narrator says and come up with their own dialogue. The narrator in turn has to incorporate what the characters are saying and doing into the story. Every once in a while the narrator says, “That’s what everyone thinks happened, but what really happened is the character said . . .” The chosen character reaches into the hat and says a line that incorporates whatever is written on the piece of paper that character draws out. All players should try to make sense of and incorporate whatever it is into the story. When the game is over, ask how many variations of Romeo and Juliet the group knows. And what about Cinderella? What’s changed in those variations? Is it the who, what, where, or how? What other changes can they think of to either of those classics that haven’t been done yet?

6. Work for Hire (about 5 minutes)

This game is a fun game about being flexible and open to revision. Only do it if you have extra time, which isn’t likely. Everyone in the class has to pretend they each have a chance to get hired to write the next book in the hugely successful Happy, Happy Princess series, but they need to prove they can work with an editor. Point at one player and ask him to pitch his story idea for a Happy, Happy Princess book. After about 30 seconds say, “Stop right there. That’s good, but we’re thinking of taking Happy, Happy Princess in a new direction.” Make suggestions for a possible change (different character traits, different setting, different actions, different genres. and so on). “Give me what you got.” After the first person is finished, ask, “Anyone else?” After that person gives me her pitch, I switch the suggestion again. It could be something like “Comic books are really popular, so we want you to give Happy, Happy Princess a superpower” or “We’ve decided to kill off this character, but keep it happy” or “This story needs a werewolf” or “We think we could get a Star Wars tie in, so stick Yoda or Darth Vader into the story.”  This game ends after someone gives a really great pitch.

7. Story Settings (about 10 minutes)

This game reminds writers to think of the five senses when they write. It’s more educational than fun, but it could be a good way to wind things down. Have everyone walk around the room. Call out settings, and have the other writers react as if they’re in that setting. They need to react with all their senses: sound, sight, touch, taste, smell. Their reaction should be apparent in the way they walk, their posture, how they hold their noses, the way they move their hands, and of course the expressions on their faces. Among the settings to use are a crime investigation scene, a beach on the hottest day of summer, a garden in Wonderland, a kindergarten classroom, a funeral, and a space ship.  When the game is over, ask what people heard, saw, touched, tasted and smelled. How can they use this game in their own writing?

CONCLUSION

Improv can teach writers a lot, but perhaps the most important thing it teaches is how to overcome fear. There's no time for fear when you're performing Improv.

When Tina Fey began working at Saturday Night Live, Lorne Michaels told her, "Don't worry that it's going to be crap, because it's definitely going to be crap." Isn't that freeing? No one expects you to get the first draft perfect, so don't even try. Just have fun.

You have to take a leap of faith in yourself. Pick a genre and a starting point, create your characters, give your main character a goal, and raise the stakes. Don't ask yourself if it's crap, because it's definitely going to be crap. Just accept it and let your imagination go wild. Remember, you do have one advantage over an Improv actor: you can always edit your story later.

Improv opens up your choices in all areas of writing. You can always rewind and do a scene again and again until it's just the way you want it. Sometimes writers are paralyzed by having too many options. Don't be. Pretend it's Improv. Give yourself 30 seconds. Make a choice, take a leap, and find out where it takes you. 

And now, three books on Improv:

101 Improv Games for Children and Adults--just what the title says, this book has lots of fun games of varying difficulty and for varying group sizes.

The Ultimate Improv Book: A Complete Guide to Comedy Improvisation--this book is mostly for those who wish to teach Improv in a high school setting, but it does include some fun games and a lot of information on the skills required to do Improv well.

Truth in Comedy--this book was written by some of the people who originated Improv as it exists today. It gets to the heart of what makes Improv great, and it’s fun to read.



I hope you've enjoyed this series on Improv for writers. Please feel free to use the comments section below to let me know your thoughts or ask any questions. And if you're a conference organizer and you're interested in having me teach a class, drop me an email. I'd love to hear from you.

Writers, How Do You Find the Diamond In the Rough Draft?

As I'm working on editing Toren the Teller’s Tale, I’m reminded of an old joke:

How do you become a millionaire?

Step one: get a million dollars. . . .

Becoming a great author is a little like that. Step one: write a great book. But it’s also a little different, because that really is just the first step. After that comes editing, usually lots and lots of editing. 

Some writers hate editing, but I actually love it. I love fixing stuff, and that’s what editing is all about: fixing your current draft to make it so much better. 

A recent Twitter chat for writers asked, “How do you know when your manuscript is ready?” My answer is that it’s never ready, because you never stop growing as a writer. Tomorrow you’ll probably learn something you didn’t know today. But at some point you have to say, “This is the best I can do right now,” and that’s when you send it out into the world. 

You could always hire a good freelance editor or book doctor: someone with a better understanding of what sells and years of experience at a traditional publishing house. But you can’t really learn from your own mistakes if you have someone else fix them for you. And you do want to learn. You want to be able to see the things an editor would fix, so you can fix them yourself or avoid them altogether. Here are some tips to get you started:

12 Tips for Polishing Your Novel

1. Learn to read analytically. Read a lot of books in your chosen genre. Ask yourself what you like and what you don’t like, where your attention is grabbed and where it lags, and what the author is doing to make you feel these things. It’s okay not to like something popular or even a classic. The only thing you need to figure out is why you feel this way. Then you can apply what you’ve learned to your own writing. Because if you don’t like that it took the writer three chapters to get his story started, why would another reader like that in your book? You can also analyze other forms of storytelling, like movies or TV shows. Ask yourself why something was done and how it affects you, the audience. Then ask how you can apply that to your writing. 

2. Read books on writing, style, and self-editing. The two I think every novelist should have are Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, Second Edition: How to Edit Yourself Into Print by Browne and King, and The Elements of Style (4th Edition) by Strunk and White. The Elements of Style is the simplest, cheapest, and shortest book on things like punctuation and syntax; but if you find it too dry, some writers prefer Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation by Truss, which is longer but more entertaining. The Chicago Manual of Style is considered the best style book, but it’s expensive. The Associated Press Stylebook is cheaper and a good alternative. Some rules differ from book to book, so whichever style choice you make, be consistent. I also recommend The Comic Toolbox by Vorhaus and by Maass for tips on how to write a compelling story.

3. Join a critique group. Once you’ve internalized all you’ve learned from analyzing stories and reading books on writing--and you’ve applied that to your work--your manuscript should be ready for a critique group. Of course, that doesn’t mean you are. It can be hard to hear what others think of your precious baby. But you do need to develop an emotional distance from your own writing. Remember that you didn’t write your book for you; you wrote it for your potential readers. A critique group is your chance to see it from a reader’s perspective. Don’t respond to a critique, except to say thank you, and do ask questions in a non-confrontational way if the critique isn’t clear. Never forget that it’s your story, and only you can make changes to it. Use the advice that resonates with you, and forget the rest. Another great thing about joining a critique group is that it lets you hone your analytical skills. I think I’ve learned more in critiquing the works of others than I have in getting my own work critiqued. If you can’t find a spot in a good critique group, you can always create your own. That’s what I did. I advertised online on the SCBWI boards, and my critique group, the Fantasyweavers, was born. Most writers’ conferences also offer professional critiques for a fee. If you’re lucky, it could be the best thing about going to a conference.

4. Aim for clarity above all else. Writing is a form of communication. If you aren’t clear, you haven’t successfully communicated what it is you wanted to say. Rewrite it. Don’t write in an effort to impress the reader with your literary prowess. Keep it clear, simple and focused, and your reader will get what it is you’re trying to say.

5. Establish visuals early on and keep them consistent. As a reader, I hate to have to erase the image I’ve already painted in my mind because the writer failed to tell me something twenty pages earlier. I once read a book where I thought one character was white, only to discover in the next book in the series (yes, an entire book later!) that he was Chinese. This is true for characters and settings. Think of it like a movie, and start with an establishing shot. Let the reader ground himself in your story. It doesn’t have to be detailed, but if you let the reader fill in the blanks early on, don’t fill them in for him later in the story.

6. Make sure you have a beginning, middle, and end. Is there a hook on the first page, something the reader needs to know and won’t find out unless he reads the book? Do you raise the stakes in the proceeding chapters by giving the main character more obstacles to what he or she wants to get, obstacles that are related to whatever the hook or central conflict is, not just random obstacles that have nothing to do with them? Is the resolution of the story’s central conflict satisfying, and does that resolution come from the main character’s own choices and actions?  It doesn’t have to be a happy ending, but it does have to be a resolution that puts an end to whatever the central conflict was. Romeo and Juliet ends with the main characters dead. You can’t have a more final resolution than that.

7. Kill your darlings. Some writers think this means you should kill off your favorite characters, but that’s not it at all. Everything has to be in your story for a reason. It has to move the story forward, set the mood, and/or give readers a deeper understanding of your characters. “Your darlings” refers to stuff you’re proud you wrote because it’s just so well written. If doesn’t have a reason to be in your story beyond being pretty, cut it out. Doesn’t matter if it’s single word, a paragraph, a chapter, or even a character (very often multiple characters carry out duties that could be better carried out by just one), cut it out. And if it really is that great, put it aside. Maybe someday you’ll write a story where it does move the story forward, set the mood, and/or give readers a deeper understanding of your characters. Put these darlings in that story, but not here.

8. Be flexible. A recent article in Popular Science pointed out that, since the Rosetta Stone, writing has become less and less permanent. We’re now writing in virtual clouds, for goodness sakes! It was a lot harder to change your words hundreds of years ago when it had to be written by hand on very expensive paper. Now it couldn’t be easier to do it on your computer. Try to think like an Improv actor. Sure, you wrote your scene this way, but what if you wrote it that way? When I was editing Why My Love Life Sucks: The Legend of Gilbert the Fixer, I often wrote several versions of different scenes so I could choose the best one. I would then move the other version into Word’s comments section, so I never really lost anything. (My daughter likes reading this version of the novel, which she calls the one with the “outtakes.”) Sometimes I’ll use the comments section to write down ideas for changes while I’m still writing the first draft.  It’s better than losing them because I didn’t write them down right away.  Give it a try. It could make your story a lot better, and you have nothing to lose, so why not?
 

 A “Scenes From a Hat” game from the Improv show Whose Line Is It, Anyway?

9. Make everything in your story matter. This isn’t the same as killing your darlings, although it might seem like it. This is about adding depth and meaning to the things that are moving your story forward, setting the scene, or revealing your characters. So how do you do this? I’ve found the best way is by making everything matter to your main character. If it matters to him or her, it will matter to the reader. There’s a huge difference between just any old rag doll and a rag doll your fifteen-year-old main character hugs when she’s lonely because it’s the best friend she’s ever had.

10. Show, don’t tell . . . except when it’s better to tell. Many beginning writers go a little overboard on the whole “show don’t tell” thing. There are times to tell and times to show. The important thing is to know when to do which. If your character is having an important discussion with another character, that’s a good time to show. If your character then goes home, eats dinner, goes to bed, wakes up when the alarm clock rings, eats breakfast, and does a lot of stuff that really doesn’t matter, that’s a good time to tell. “. . . she said, and then she turned around and walked away. The next day . . .” Bam, right into the next thing that matters. That’s the way to do it.

11. Follow all the rules? Um, no. This is related to show don’t tell, but it’s not just that. I think writers have to know the “rules,” because only in knowing the rules can you break them with good reason. One of the “rules” that drives me nuts is the one regarding incomplete sentences. Incomplete sentences can be very powerful in the right situations. The same goes for starting a sentence with a conjunction. There’s a difference between “Ashley looked up at the towering Ferris wheel” and “The Ferris wheel towered over Ashley. She looked up. And up. And up.” The latter gives you a better sense of how overwhelmed Ashley feels by how tall the Ferris wheel is.

12. Once you’re done, put it in a drawer for a month. Then go over the whole thing again, hopefully with more distance and a better, more objective perspective. Read it out loud. (After all, if it ever becomes an audio book, someone will have to read it out loud.) If you have text-to-speech software you can use, or you can transfer your book to your Kindle and listen to it, you should. Sometimes you’ll be able to hear things your eyes might miss, like a repeated word or sentence, or a typo. Printing your story on paper can also give you a different perspective. Again, if there are changes you’re not sure of, use the comments section in Word to jot them down. Try it both ways, and pick the one you like best.

This is certainly not a complete list of tips, but hopefully it’s enough to get you started. I know many authors do things quite differently. How about you? Do you have any editing tips you’d like to share? If so, I hope you’ll leave them in the comments section below. I’d love to hear them.

Is Fantasy Truer Than Fiction?

If you’ve read any fantasy novel—such as Alice in Wonderland, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Harry Potter,  The Lord of the Rings, or Twilight—you knew it wasn’t real. Cats that vanish, leaving behind only a smile? Flying monkeys? Young wizards and witches casting magic spells with wands? Hobbits and dragons? Vampires? How could any of that be real?

And yet . . .

And yet, there’s a magic in these stories, a spell they cast over their readers. If you’ve ever felt it, you know. That magic is real. It’s the magic that takes you to strange and wonderfully magical worlds. It touches your heart. It makes you cry. It makes you cheer. It makes you feel.  

That magic plays a more obvious role in many of my stories, never more so than in Toren the Teller’s take. It’s the topic of discussion in this scene from my soon to be released YA fantasy epic, Toren the Teller’s Tale. Toren, disguised as a boy and a storyteller’s apprentice, is at a tellers’ gathering. Between stories, the tellers discuss their craft:

“Yes,” said another apprentice. “And what about made-up stories, ones about fantastic things that could never be true? Where’s the common starting point, and where’s the greater truth?” 

The elder master said the answer to this question was obvious, and he turned it over to us. No one else spoke, so I asked if I might be allowed to. He nodded.

 
“We all have common hopes and fears,” I said, “from the lowliest peasant to the king. We dream of someone who will love us more than life itself. In her dreams, every maiden is a princess longing for love; in his dreams, every youth is the one who will win her heart. Even the king’s hopes and fears are as common as our own.”

“And what about fantastic stories?” the elder master asked me.

“My master’s story was fantastic,” I said. “And yet it’s true. A man wants a son to follow in his footsteps and may be blinded to a truth he doesn’t wish to see. A woman may know the truth and be afraid to speak it. And a child may suffer for not being what the world demands her to be.”

The elders smiled at my answer, but one of them shook his finger.

“Although what you say is true,” he said, “I believe a story’s truth is even greater than that. One day you’ll see. You’ll think you are telling a story, but the truth of it will take over, and you’ll realize the thing you thought you created was always there, not in this place and time but somewhere in the infinite universe and as true as your own existence. We tellers are bridges from the past to the present, from the present to the future, from distant lands to here, and from here to everywhere.” 

“Of course we are bridges,” the man to his side said, “but only to imaginary worlds.”

“On the contrary!” the first elder shouted. “All worlds are equally real! You may think of stories as mere entertainment, but they are so much more. We spoke of how the audience must shape the story, but responsibility we tellers carry.”

The other elders were silent. One rolled his eyes. It was a man in front of me who dared to speak what was on everyone’s mind.

“The worlds of our stories already exist?” he mumbled. “Old coot’s gone senile.”

A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd, followed by laughter.   

“It is rather ridiculous, isn’t it?” Giddy asked me. “That would make everything imaginable real, and you know that can’t be right, can it, Tor?”

I laughed, but inside I wondered. Of course it did sound impossible.

And yet . . .

  

Is the first elder truly crazy?

 

The reply Toren gives above is the sort of thing Ursula K. Le Guin wrote about in The Language of the Night: Essays on Fantasy and Science Fiction. Fantasy deals with universal human experiences. Its archetypes are familiar—not from our day-to-day lives that differ from one person to the next, but from the dreams we all share. There is one language we all know, and it’s the language of the night. It’s what Carl Jung referred to as “the collective unconscious.” We all have similar hopes and fears, and they come out in our dreams—and in our fantasy and science-fiction stories.    

And that's why fantasy fiction is more honest than realistic fiction: because fantasy fiction deals with archetypes without the pretense that they are more than--or less than--archetypes. You know that Harry Potter isn't a real, living, breathing person; but you also know that his universal need for a family is real.  You know it because you've felt it too.

But this only fits what Toren says about the nature of stories. What about the first elder teller? Could he be right? Could there be a truth in fantasy that goes beyond touching upon our dreams and nightmares?

 

According to the Many Worlds theory of physics, the answer to this is a resounding yes.

 

Our world is one of many, many worlds that are like ours but different in ways both big and small. Expansions of the Many Worlds theory say that there are even worlds out there that don’t follow our own laws of physics.

 

Do you realize what that means? Disappearing cats, flying monkeys, young wizards and witches casting magic spells with wands, hobbits and dragons, vampires: they could all exist. Every story you’ve ever read—not matter if it’s realistic, science fiction, or fantasy—could be true. Not here, of course, but somewhere out there in our amazing universe.

And our dreams and our stories can show these fantastic worlds to you.

Toren, however, can do so much more. She can build bridges from her world to the worlds of her imagination, and she can take you along for the journey.

Which magical world would you like to visit today?  

And now I'd best step down before someone calls me a crazy old coot.

Read a good book on public speaking

I bought How to Say It with Your Voice by Jeffrey Jacobi, because someone at a writers workshop said I talked really fast, and I wanted to correct that. I also wanted to make sure I did the best possible job when I sat down to start recording my vlog (which should be very soon).

It's a great book: informative, clear, nonjudgmental, and easy to put into practice. I discovered a few tricks to get over speed talking, and also discovered that one of the things I always thought was a defect in my voice--the way it rises and falls as I speak--is actually a good trait to have. I would recommend this book to anyone who is concerned about the sound of their voice or about public speaking.

There were a few tips I think will be particularly helpful when it comes to recording my vlog:

1. "Underline the important words of your talk with a colored marker to remind you which words need a dramatic pitch change. You can also use italics to signify key words." (You should do this with several words in each sentence. Adjectives and verbs frequently work well for this. You can change pitch by either raising or lowering the pitch, and you can vary is for interest.)

2. "Indicate where you want to take extra time by e-l-o-n-g-a-t-i-n-g key words with dashes. Slowing down can also be indicated with an arrow below the key word."

3. "Write in double slash marks // to signify pauses." Pauses add power to your words.

This book has made me more aware of why I react the way I do to people with different public speaking styles, and I'm looking forward to using what I've learned when I start recording my vlog.