I suppose I'm a grappler

I owe the topic of this post to my good friend Trev.

We were catching up for a drink a few weeks ago. Or maybe it was a few months ago - you know how time can slip away from you, and let's face it I don't get out much.

Anyway, we were having a chat about the general state of the universe - as you do. Talking about the struggles some of us have trying to make sense of all the crazy things around us, while others just seem to roll along, not really caring one way or another. And he came up with what I thought was the most wonderful title.

He called me a grappler.

I know, it probably doesn't exactly roll of the tongue. But it did make me smile, and in a funny sort of way, it felt kind of appropriate.

I just can't help grappling with the world I find myself in. It doesn't make any sense to me, and I find that terribly frustrating. I'm constantly trying to grab the world in my own two hands, and wrestle with it until I can get it tied down.

Of course, I never succeed. It's just that sort of world that we live in. But I can never let myself stop, even though I know the whole thing is nothing more than a mug's game. Though it drives me close to insane at times, still I'll continue to grapple with the world. I reckon that when they lay me down in the ground, I'll be grappling away inside my coffin.

Did I say above that it drives me close to insane. I guess there's probably one reason why it hasn't sent me the whole way, and that is my writing.

If anything, writer is like my release valve. When the grappling gets particularly frustrating, and I feel that my sanity is in question, I can always gain some sort of inspiration to channel this frustration into a story. And when I think of the main characters in my stories, like Neville Lansdowne or Magnus Mandalora or Kriffle the Flidderbug, I suppose I could probably categorise them as grapplers too.

So, whether you're happy to go along with the world, no matter how strange it seems to be, or whether you can't stop grappling, just like me, I hope you manage to find some vaguely reasonable answers. As to me, well I suppose I'll just keep on grappling.

I can't remember anything that I remember

I reckon I have a pretty good memory.

My brain seems to be pretty good at storing information. Ok, maybe not always quite so good at retrieving that information again, but I can usually catch it in the end.

People are often amazed at the stuff I can remember. My family is often blown away by the way I can give blow by blow descriptions of event that happened so long ago everyone else has long since forgotten them. I have vivid recollections of family holidays, sporting events, and books that I read when I was a little kid.

Except, here's the thing. I was reading up on some information about the latest research on the way the brain works (it's an occupational hazard of my job) and I discovered something that is either very interesting or very disturbing.

When we remember something, it's not like we just pull that information from our brain and then put it back again when we're done, as if our brain is like an organic filing cabinet. It's actually quite a bit more complicated than that.

Apparently, every time we recall some information, that information has to be re-encoded back into our memory (as if we're re-remembering it for the first time). And that re-encoding can be a highly imprecise thing. It can be affected by all sorts of things, like how we're feeling at the time, or what else is happening to us.

Basic upshot is, each time something is recalled from memory and then returned, it can change, maybe subtly or maybe in quite large ways. So in the end, what we think we are remembering are actually things that maybe never even happened (at least not in the way we remembered it).

Which kind of pisses me off. To think that for all these years I was walking around thinking I remembered stuff so well when I probably didn't. All these things I could remember that everybody else had forgotten - chances are they never ever happened in the first place.

Oh well. At least when I write things down, I can have some sense that things happened the way I thought they did. Maybe that's why I decided to be a writer. Maybe that's the only way I can provide some sense of permanence of memory, while everything else turns to vapour.

There was a reason I decided to use this topic for my blog post this week. I wish I could remember what it was.

A tale of Latvian backpackers

I'm going to get a bit nostalgic today.

I'm thinking about one of my great inspirations as a writer, Douglas Adams.

I learnt so much from his books. About how words written on a page can induce serious laughter. About how smart humour can be, getting into the realms of serious satire. About how characters can leap off the page, and dialogue can dance and sparkle.

But beyond the pure fun and enjoyment that I got (and still get) from reading his work, and the ways I try to duplicate that in my own writing (while at the same time trying to come up with my own voice and style, rather than slavishly copying), there's one additional message that I long ago learnt from his writing and which I'm always trying to follow.

It actually comes from one of his lesser known books. It's a non-fiction work titled Last Chance to See which describes his journeys around the world in the company of a zoologist to find a number of endangered species.

At one stage on his travels, they encounter a couple of German backpackers. Douglas Adams becomes really frustrated at the fact that this pair exhibit all the characteristics you would expect of stereotypical German backpackers (e.g. ridiculous efficiency and a strong sense of superiority) and hates the idea that he might be writing anything that would reinforce such stereotypes.

And that's when he decides that he won't. From here on in, these backpackers won't be German, they'll be Latvian instead.

He keeps to his word. In the chapters that follow, there are lots of references to those Latvian backpackers, and their sense of Latvian efficiency and superiority. It's a great part of what is already a great book (and highly recommended).

What did I learn from this? It's the basic idea that writers should not be reinforcing stereotypes. We should always be finding new ways to see the world and the people within it. In my writing, whenever I feel like I'm resorting to some sort of cliche or fixed type, I always try to pull back and think about how I could inject some originality or find some new way to express my ideas, rather than resorting to hoary old stereotypes.

Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes, it's a little bit unavoidable. But it's always something I aspire to. And just another reason to give thanks to the great Douglas Adams.

Make a joke but don't break my eardrums

To anyone who knows me, even just a little bit, you'll know that funny is my thing.

I like to laugh. I like to make other people laugh. I like to write stories that make me laugh. I like to write stories that make other people laugh. Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes not, but at least I enjoy trying.

Of course, as someone who is into funny, I really enjoy watching comedy films and television. In fact, I would probably say that overall, my writing is probably more influenced by performed comedy than it is by text-based works - particularly given I would say my major written influence is Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy which of course was originally written to be performed.

But there's one thing that I'm starting to find quite frustrating as a consumer of stuff that is supposed to be funny. I'm finding it more and more difficult to find comedy films that appeal to my sense of humour. And I think I've finally figured out the reason for this.

These days, comedy films seem to be soooo loud.

I'm not saying loudness itself is a problem. Loud works well, when it's able to set itself off against quietness. But when it just seems to be loudness competing with other loudness, it just ends up being, well, loud.

It seems to me that in most comedy films, each of the performers is competing against the others to see who can be the funniest - but they just end up getting louder and louder. And it's not just in so-called comedy films. This dynamic is now a big part of animated films - particularly those that fancy themselves as pitching a lot of jokes above the children to the adult audience. Sometimes it seems like every second character is riffing away like some sort of overly-extroverted New York stand-up comedian.

Don't get me wrong. I'm trying not to be some sort of anti-comedy grump. I just wish sometimes that it all wasn't quite so in your face. I know there's a way to be a little bit quiet and a little bit contemplative and still be a whole lot funny.

Biggest, like most of us, I always need a laugh. But I really don't need a headache.