Growing as a Writer

Unless a writer is the original genius at penning words to the page, all writers grow and change over time, adapt their style as they grow. Not being said original genius, I find my style  of writing hanging over time, part of which has to do with influences I come across. Fifty years ago, when I was staring tout writing poetry, and some short stories, my influences derived of Erma Bombeck and Dave Barry. Satirists, and very influential for me.

That influence was front and center when I wrote my satirical memoir "Marinating in Dream Sauce". Fairly subtle satire, I was not out front with the satirical points. Recently, I came across a writer that's been around for a long time, but unknown to me, until now. Terry Pratchett. A gonzo satirist with an outlandishly succulent style of writing.

As Alfred Stieglitz posited to his followers, his theory of "Equivalence". That being an equal quality comparatively between genres, such as a fine print, equally, to a fine piece of literature, or a fine piece of music. Each is equally an achievement of quality. As a long time fine art photographer, Alfred was my mentor. The one who's art inspired me to reach a level of printing at the level of his work. Not copy the work, but emulate the style. The same goes for writing.

It is with Dave Barry or Terry Pratchett, their influence has shaped my writing. There is no way to copy their work, but it is possible to emulate their style, from more subtle satire to out front work, using the wonderful style of metaphor employed by Pratchett. I have had the opening to what will be my first fictional work, a novel "Gallery of Hope" sitting on my desktop for several years now. I have the character, and the primary story, but have been wrestling  with the treatment. Subtle satire simply doesn't make the book speak, until now, with a new style  for me, the more gonzo approach to the focus of the book, the theme; Hope. There is so much potential humor surrounding that concept, as those clinging to hope are subject to the humor that befalls their predicament. I know. It almost doesn't seem fair to pick upon a one clinging to hope, standing outside their  vehicle as it is consumed in flames, started when they flicked their cigarette out the window and being blown into the back seat and onto the pile of paper trash left on the seat. Okay, maybe not nice, but funny nonetheless.

the story has begun to form, with but the words that will describe it yet to come. Soon, though. Soon.