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a good, but tiring, day
3 Jan 2006 09:26 pmJ and I woke up early this morning to drive into Paris to see "Narnia." Great movie. We then had Pakistani food for lunch and a nice chat with each other and the restaurant owner. After choosing a late Christmas gift for J, we came home and had supper before I sat down to reach my word target for the day. I'm only a third of the way there and it is already 21:30. Going to have to do some serious typing before bedtime.
Apropos the conversation with J, I was telling him that after hearing a very peppy song on the drive and then seeing Narnia, which had me smiling, I have a very strong urge to write something happy, something that will give people that same urgle to smile. Unfortunately, most of the story ideas clamoring in my head to be written right now aren't really smiley-happy stories. And I think that some twisted part of myself tries to tell me that happy stories are just fluff and not serious. But I *like* to be happy. Other people do, too. Well, most of them. So why do I feel that if there isn't something tragic and dark going on that a story might not be worth writing? I'm specifically talking about short stories here since I think there is time for both in novels. And yet (boy, I'm using a lot of conjunctions to start sentences), even as I type this, I can't imagine writing a novel that is all sweetness and light, one that leaves you smiling in satisfaction at the end because of the rightness, yes, just all good, good, good, peppy, pep, no.
Am I alone in this?
Is it because we need to know sorrow to taste true joy?
Apropos the conversation with J, I was telling him that after hearing a very peppy song on the drive and then seeing Narnia, which had me smiling, I have a very strong urge to write something happy, something that will give people that same urgle to smile. Unfortunately, most of the story ideas clamoring in my head to be written right now aren't really smiley-happy stories. And I think that some twisted part of myself tries to tell me that happy stories are just fluff and not serious. But I *like* to be happy. Other people do, too. Well, most of them. So why do I feel that if there isn't something tragic and dark going on that a story might not be worth writing? I'm specifically talking about short stories here since I think there is time for both in novels. And yet (boy, I'm using a lot of conjunctions to start sentences), even as I type this, I can't imagine writing a novel that is all sweetness and light, one that leaves you smiling in satisfaction at the end because of the rightness, yes, just all good, good, good, peppy, pep, no.
Am I alone in this?
Is it because we need to know sorrow to taste true joy?