Today I have been contemplating several things including what makes for a fascinating character in a story. To me, it is the same as what would make for a fascinating person that I meet in my day-to-day life. I thought about this for a while and decided that what makes a person fascinating for me is their way of thinking, how they handled any unusual situations they encountered, and the experiences they have had. However, what is fascinating for me, may not be fascinating for the readers of my stories. So I thought I would post a quick survey tonight and ask my blog audience: just what is it that you find fascinating about people in your lives and how does it differ from what you would consider a fascinating character in a work of literature, if it is different. Please feel free to post as long a response as you want in the comments section to this article. If you prefer, if you know of a good article on the subject, please include a link to it in your comment. I am eager to hear any new perspectives on this.
Writing advice, resources, and tips for the day from an excellent source:
New England showed its true colors this week. After a Thursday that felt like spring (complete with near sixty-degree temperatures and March-like zephyrs), Friday dawned to a cold rain that transformed into heavy wet snow as the mercury fell. Parents who had scoffed at seemingly premature school closings were soon grateful that they didn’t have to venture out into what became a pretty messy afternoon commute.
Yesterday, after the storm had passed, my beau and I enjoyed a long walk in a nearby state park. Every bough in the forest was coated with a layer of snow, giving the place a clichéd faerieland look that was charming as hell. And when we reached the open spaces, the pristine surface of the snow sparkled like some crafty goddess has scattered a miniature universe of stars across the meadow. It was quite breathtaking.
And now it’s Sunday – hopefully a day for…
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Common sense was telling me no, don’t go, but, I couldn’t resist the temptation. A damn Halloween party in the middle of a ferocious civil war sounded like an extremely bad idea, yet, some escape from the horrors was more than just needed. Warfare was raging on the streets, bodies were lying anywhere, yet, at the University campus it was peaceful; at least, for the time being.
Hence why they decided to throw the party; we didn’t even know if it, indeed, was Halloween, or if it was too early, or late. It was winter, it was snowing, and it was all that mattered. Besides, we didn’t really care about dressing up, we just needed a moment of normalcy, a way out of Hell.
Dressed like Jesus, I went. The alcohol was running plentifully- how it was acquired I never learned, although wild rumors were being thrown around- and we all drank, while remaining inside the small room, falsely believing in strength and safety in numbers. At first, the music was low, barely audible; we were terrified of being heard by the soldiers that sometimes patrolled the streets of the campus. However, as we all became more and more intoxicated- and blissfully oblivious to the gunshots that were disturbing the otherwise silent night- we turned the music higher. AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” was blasting loudly inside the room, and we all danced like everything had gotten back to normal.
I was dancing with a girl, a philosophy major, whose name I didn’t ask. When you know any day can be your last, you stop caring about etiquette and norms become nonsensical. Thus, the nameless woman and I kissed passionately on the dance floor, as our bodies moved rhythmically to the music, which was getting louder and louder. Equally louder became the gunshots and screams of anguish and despair, but none of us paid any attention to it.
Eventually, the girl and I walked outside, for some fresh air. We were both cheerfully dizzy, happily ignorant of the devastation all around us. The party’s goal was accomplished; for a few hours, we were living like normal citizens, there was no civil war, no unreasonable deaths, no meaningless suffering. We lit a joint- the girl and I- to take the edge off, to relax even further. Our minds were engulfed in a delightful mist, we were atop Cloud Number Nine, as we continued to kiss and share the strong blunt. Laughing, we wished upon a falling star for the end of the war, as soon as possible; yet, as I stared at the falling star, I noticed, horrified, its rapid approach. The hissing sound reached my ears and purely out of instinct I grabbed my companion’s hand and dragged her, violently and ignoring her cries, away.
Moments later, the missile found its target; the former cafeteria of the campus had turned into a pile of debris and a cold grave for dozens of nameless, unfortunate souls.