Some people don’t want to be “different”, they just are. Others think they want to be different, but they mesh with a “different” crowd and end up being the same as them. What is different anyway? I suppose it depends on what you’re discussing. Fashion? Mannerisms? Writing? What qualifies as different in particular situations?
I finally indulged my desire to be different in high school. Believe me, I wasn’t that different, but I got to assert myself in some of my fashion choices. I think I was the first one to wear knee-high boots to school in my sophomore year. Really. Black leather knee high boots. I know that hardly seems “different” now, but then it showed a little chutzpah. Later in my post-school, pre-Europe days, I bought those amazing black calfskin leather boots I saw in “Harper’s Bazaar” and “Vogue” magazines that went all the way up to the top of my legs. They had to be worn with a belt under my dresses to keep them optimally up. Aaahh, those were the days, my friends.
So. How ‘bout writing? Honestly, I didn’t think I was doing anything different, other than writing my first novel about horse racing Hope Of Glory (yes, I capitalized the O in of on purpose; perhaps that was different)—a comprehensive look at American racing in the 80s since the great Dick Francis captured British and European horse racing and wrote suspenseful stories. After that first book, I began a sequel but abandoned it to write my second novel (The Famous One) best described as a fictional biography about a kid who gets discovered singing a blues song in a bar and goes on to become a movie star. Polar opposites these two novels not only in subject matter but style. The first one was a collage of characters, horses, and the day-to-day account of one season of racing at a middle echelon racetrack much like the now defunct Longacres. Disregarding the numerous writing mistakes, and I do mean numerous, the story was authentic. The second novel used omniscient POV to start the story from the beginning of the protagonist’s life and eventually merged into third person. What these two stories have in common is my voice and the love story factor which is elemental to the plots of each.
The next five completed books and two of the three I’ve started are contemporary love stories, heavy on the romance. I think the thing that makes them different from typical category romance is they tackle sexual attraction and the passion that ensues with the appropriate attention it deserves—from the lost and found POVs. In other words: from both the godless and godly POVs. The collision of those views can separate and define what love means to individuals.
The exploration of sexual attraction with a spiritual overlay tends to make these stories different.
Those of you who visit here know I’m a rebel when it comes to rules. Rules that make no sense other than to stifle creativity or unique styles bug me. I understand their value when introducing young writers to the precision of words and the art of craft, but beyond that initial understanding of their potential importance, that value often declines when interfering with voice and styles to produce formulaic writing. I agree a writer should know them well before planting their fingers on keyboards to disregard them. The Chicago Manual of Style which is commonly used for acceptable presentation/formatting of literature can be a bit restrictive, and some of it concerning numerical notations (i.e. spell out the numbers under ten), capitalizations of endearments (i.e. “What do you think, Darling?”), and when it’s okay to capitalize Mom and Dad and when it’s not (i.e. her dad said) seems downright silly.
It isn’t about being “different” when I devalue “the rules of writing”. It’s to accentuate the need for freedom in accomplished writing in order to avoid the sameness of much of the current fare. We’ve talked about formulaic fiction and giving readers credit, but we’ve also discussed the conundrum that some readers enjoy the formula while considering the writing to be inconsequential.
Much of what writers do is done to satisfy ourselves. To improve. To excel. To emulate the skills of favorites. To diversify. To find appeal. To write something that will find its way to even minimal acclaim. To share something of value. To hope to touch someone else with the intimacy of story. And to be a little bit different—at least some of us hope for that.
Father, thank you for your unique designs. Your giant love for your creation. Thank you for my life, Lord. You know I wish I’d found you sooner, but my stubborn ways kept me distant. I know you’ve forgiven me for those days I can’t change. Help me to change those things I can. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.