I’m generally a very inquisitive person, always open to learning new things, and so far as I can tell, I’ve always been that way. And while I was never really interested in the sciences, and I’ve never been quite as creative in the arts as I would wish to be, I have gotten the basics down. Reading, writing, and ‘rithmatic have always come naturally to me, for whatever reason.

I don’t really feel the need here and now to discuss my mastery of the mathematical component of the ‘Three R’s’. I believe my choice of profession speaks to my competence in that arena. I have wanted, though, for quite some time, to try and write about my appreciation for the tasks of reading and writing, not just for the purpose of gaining knowledge, or advancement of professional career, but for the sheer enjoyment of them.

I have always been a reader. I will read just about anything, and there exists much evidence to prove that statement true, as well. I enjoy the knowlege that newspapers, magazines, or journals bring, but most of all, I like entertaining, well-written stories, whether they be fictional or true. I very much enjoy the path that a good writer can and will take a reader down, as he weaves a story, and creates a picture in our minds using on words. I like the feeling of not wanting to put a good book down, reading just one more chapter, until you look up, and it’s 3:00 AM, and you’ve gotten to the last page. When it comes to fiction, good writers tell a story in intricate detail, but great authors know what details to leave out, allowing the imagination of the reader to fill in the final details, making the story individual to everyone who reads it.

The idea of such a thing fascinates me, and the desire to effect others as I’ve been effected by the great writers that I’ve had the pleasure of reading has always led me to want to write a book of my own. I’ve even developed a few ideas myself, and want to attempt to document them here for the first time; in part, to move them out of my own mind and onto or into some form of media for archival purposes, but also in the hopes that someone more knowledgeable than I am in regards to writing fiction might lend their insight to the development of my ideas. With nothing further to add, I include both outlines for critique here:

Story Outline #1

The first idea for a fictional work that I’ve rolled around in my head involves a man returning to his small southern home town, which he hasn’t visited in quite some time. He arrives with little more than the car that he’s driving, the clothes on his back, and a duffel bag, the contents of which are initially unknown, but which we soon find out is filled with cash. The last time that most of his family saw him was at his wedding, but when he returns to town, his wife is not with him. He takes up in the local motel, even though his mother, a typical southern matriarch (A wise caretaker, with a dash of crazy), and his sister, both live in the town, and can accomodate him. Throughout the course of the story, we find out that the man’s wife has died. The story would examine the man’s relationship with his family, and how he deals with his own loss, though the course of his return to town. The plot would center around the money; where it came from, and what to do with it, and the actions that the man and his family take to resolve both of these things. Ultimately, the book deals with the resiliency of the human spirit, and the different ways in which we can find happiness, and love.

For some reason, as I develop these stories in my own brain, they come with soundtracks; I suppose in preparation for their ultimately successful development as major motion pictures. Go figure. Regardless, I imagine this story with a accompanying soundtrack consisting of tracks by Ben Harper, The Blind Boys of Alabama, The Black Keys, and, quite possibly. The Dixie Chicks. That’s right, the Dixie Chicks.

Story Outline #2

This story involves a man who seems to be living the perfect life. He has a wonderful wife, two or three children, the nice house, and the well paying job. It’s all there for him. Until one day, the man just disappears. Literally, just up and leaves, taking a flight to a small island in the caribbean, without telling his wife, or children, or boss, and without even saying goodbye. The man takes a job on a fishing boat that goes out from the main docks of the small island daily, carrying tourists wanting to haul in big trophy fish, and becomes a regular at a local island bar, which is tended by a crazy, but endearing older woman. If this story was written by Jimmy Buffett, her name would be Esmerelda. In my mind she is as yet unnamed.

Back in the states, the man’s family, led by his previously estranged father, attempt to track him down. His wife is scared for him, but also angry, and isn’t sure she really wants to find him, once her initial shock wears off. The story would examine the complexities of daily life and how they affect our attempts to be happy, and even our percetption of what happiness is, and the conflict hinges on the man’s decision to stay on the island or return to his old life, once he’s been found and confronted by his father, who has his own agenda.

A corporate rock soundtrack, with a pinch of Bob Marley and the Wailers, would be developed for the screen adaptation.

The Decision

Both of these initial ideas have been packed into the dark recesses of my brain for quite some time. I have always said that I want to advance and develop one or both of them further, and to see where things went from there. I have neither the time, nor the abilities to develop both of these story ideas at the same time, so what I would like to see are a few comments about which story seems more interesting, or more capable of being developed into something more substantial.  Discuss.

(Author’s Note: I wrote this post a short while ago, and have been delayed in getting it on to the site, and have since began developing one of these ideas already. However, because I want to get honest opinions about both of them, and because it hasn’t been developed past about one or two chapters, I want to refrain from saying which that I thought was the more interesting idea, and already began to work on. Hopefully, popular opinion matches my own. If not, I may just need to rethink the whole thing.)

Why was it, in such moments just before I leave the South, did I always feels some easing of a great burden? It was as if someone had taken some terrible weight off my shoulders, or as if some old grievance had suddenly fallen away. The big plane took off, and circled in widening arcs over the city, over the landmarks of my past, and my people’s. Then, slowly, with a lifting heavy as steal, it cirlced once more, and turned north toward home.

Just seemed quite relevant to me to read such a passage on a flight from Memphis to Washington, D.C., after spending a wonderful weekend visiting with so many old friends, and making so many new friends that I couldn’t count them all with my socks and shoes on.

“I spent that night with an old friend from Mississippi, in a cramped apartment high above Washington Square. He was teaching now at the New York University Law School. The last time I had seen him had been the previous summer, at the Ole Miss law school, to which he had returned from Oxford, England to finish three courses; outside class that summer, he had spent his whole time getting drunk in front of an electric fan, either that or indulging himself in wild, uncontrollable outbursts against the young middle-class racists who were his fellow students. He was a “liberated Mississippian” who had just joined New York’s burgeoning and implacable Southern expatriot community; he was the first of many Mississippi ‘exiles’ I would see in the Big Cave – for, in truth, as I would come to understand, Mississippi may have been the only state in the Union (or certainly one of a half dozen in the South) which had produced a genuine set of exiles, almost in the European sense: alienated from home yet forever drawn back to it, seeking some form of personal liberty elsewhere yet obsessed with the texture and the complexity of the place from which they had departed as few Americans from other states could ever be.”

I’m currently reading “North Toward Home” by Willie Morris. While reading today, I came across this wonderfully well written, and in my case, particularly relevent, passage. I recommend anyone from the South read this book, especially if you’re from Mississippi, and particularly if you no longer live there, but have instead opted for a big East Coast city. Mr. Morris truly captures the thoughts, feelings, and curious differences between growing up in, and living as an adult in, two extremely different places.