Paul P. Mealing

Check out my book, ELVENE. Available as e-book and as paperback (print on demand, POD). Also this promotional Q&A on-line.

Friday 22 December 2017

Who and what do you think you are?

I think it’s pretty normal when you start reading a book (talking non-fiction), you tend to take a stance, very early on, of general agreement or opposition. It’s not unlike the well known but often unconscious effect when you appraise someone in the first 10-30 seconds of meeting them.

And this is the case with Yuval Noah Harari’s Homo Deus, in which I found myself constantly arguing with him in the first 70+ pages of its 450+ page length. For a start, I disagree with his thesis (for want of a better term) that our universal pursuit of ‘happiness’ is purely a sensory-based experience, independent of the cause. From what I’ve observed, and experienced personally, the pursuit of sensory pleasure for its own sake leads to disillusionment at best and self-destruction at worst. A recent bio-pic I saw of Eric Clapton (Life in 12 Bars) illustrates this point rather dramatically. I won’t discuss his particular circumstances – just go and see the film; it’s a warts and all confessional.

If one goes as far back as Aristotle, he wrote an entire book on the subject of ‘eudaimonia’ – living a ‘good life’, effectively – under the title, Ethics. Eudaimonia is generally translated as ‘happiness’ but ‘fulfilment’ or ‘contentment’ may be a better translation, though even they can be contentious, if one reads various scholarly appraisals. I’ve argued in the past that the most frustrating endeavours can be the most rewarding – just ask anyone who has raised children. Generally, I find that the more effort one exerts during a process of endeavour, the better the emotional reward in the end. Reward without sacrifice is not much of a reward. Ask anyone who’s won a sporting grand final, or, for that matter, written a novel.

This is a book that will challenge most people’s beliefs somewhere within its pages, and for that reason alone, it’s worth reading. In fact, many people will find it depressing, because a recurring theme or subtext of the book is that in the future humans will become virtually redundant. Redundant may be too strong a word, but leaving aside the obvious possibility that future jobs currently performed by humans may be taken over by AI, Harari claims that our very notion of ‘free will’ and our almost ‘religious’ belief in the sanctity of individualism will become obsolete ideals. He addresses this towards the end of  the book, so I’ll do the same. It’s a thick tome with a lot of ideas well presented, so I will concentrate on those that I feel most compelled to address or challenge.

Like my recent review of Jeremy Lent’s The Patterning Instinct, there is a lot that I agree upon in Homo Deus, and I’m the first to admit that many of Harari’s arguments unnerved me because they challenge some of my deeply held beliefs. Given the self-ascribed aphorism that heads my blog, this makes his book a worthy opus for discussion.

Fundamentally, Harari argues that we are really nothing more than biochemical algorithms and he provides very compelling arguments to justify this. Plus he devotes an entire chapter deconstructing the widely held and cherished notion that we have free will. I’ve written more than a few posts on the subject of free will in the past, and this is probably the pick of them. Leaving that aside for the moment, I don’t believe one can divorce free will from consciousness. Harari also provides a lengthy discussion on consciousness, where I found myself largely agreeing with him because he predominantly uses arguments that I’ve used myself. Basically, he argues that consciousness is an experience so subjective that we cannot objectively determine if someone else is conscious or not – it’s a condition we take on trust. He also argues that AI does not have to become conscious to become more intelligent than humans; a point that many people seem to overlook or just misconstrue. Despite what many people like to believe or think, science really can’t explain consciousness. At best it provides correlations between neuron activity in our brains and certain behaviours and ‘thoughts’.

Harari argues very cogently that science has all but proved the non-existence of free will and gives various examples like the famous experiments demonstrating that scientists can determine someone’s unconscious decision before the subject consciously decides. Or split brain experiments demonstrating that people who have had their corpus callosum surgically severed (the neural connection between the left and right hemispheres) behave as if they have 2 brains and 2 ‘selves’. But possibly the most disturbing are those experiments where scientists have turned rats literally into robots by implanting electrodes in their brains and then running a maze by remotely controlling them as if they were, in fact, robots and not animals.

Harari also makes the relevant point, overlooked by many, that true randomness, which lies at the heart of quantum mechanics, and seems to underpin all of reality, does not axiomatically provide free will. He argues that neuron activity in our brains, which gives us thoughts and intentions (which we call decisions), is a combination of reactions to emotions and drives (all driven by biochemical algorithms) and pure randomness. According to Harari, science has shown, at all levels, that free will is an illusion. If it is an illusion then it’s a very important one. Studies have shown that people who have been disavowed of their free will suffer psychologically. We know this from the mental health issues that people suffer when hope is severely curtailed in circumstances beyond their control. The fact is I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t want to believe that they are responsible for their own destiny within the limitations of their abilities and the rules of the society in which they live.

Harari makes the point himself, in a completely different section of the book, that given all behaviours, emotions and desires are algorithmically determined by bio-chemicals, then consciousness appears redundant. I’ve made the point before that there are organic entities that do respond biochemically to their environment without consciousness and we call them plants or vegetation. I’ve argued consistently that free will is an attribute of consciousness. Given the overall theme of Harari’s book, I would contend that AI will never have consciousness and therefore will never have free will.

In a not-so-recent post, I argued how beliefs drive science. Many have made the point that most people basically determine a belief heuristically or intuitively and then do their best to rationalise it. Even genius mathematicians (like John Nash) start with a hunch and then employ their copious abilities in logic and deduction to prove themselves right.

My belief in free will is fundamental to my existentialist philosophy and is grounded more on my experience than on arguments based in science or philosophy. I like to believe that the person I am today is a creation of my own making. I base this claim on the fact that I am a different person to the one who grew up in a troubled childhood. I am far from perfect yet I am a better person and, most importantly, someone who is far more comfortable in their own skin than I was with my younger self. The notion that I did this without ‘free will’ is one I find hard to construe.

Having said that, I’ve also made the point in previous posts that memory is essential to consciousness and a sense of self. I’ve suffered from temporary memory loss (TGA or transient global amnesia) so I know what it’s like to effectively lose one’s mind. It’s disorientating, even scary, and it demonstrates how tenuous our grip on reality can be. So I’m aware, better than most, that memory is the key to continuity.

Harari’s book is far more than a discussion on consciousness and free will. Like Lent’s The Patterning Instinct (reviewed here), he discusses the historical evolvement of culture and its relevance to how we see ourselves. But his emphasis is different to Lent’s and he talks about 20th Century politics in secular societies as effectively replacing religion. In fact, he defines religion (using examples) as what gives us meaning. He differentiates between spirituality and religion, arguing that there is a huge ‘gap’ between them. According to Harari, spirituality is about ‘the journey’, which reminds me of my approach to writing fiction, but what he means is that people who undertake ‘spiritual’ journeys are iconoclasts. I actually agree that religion is all about giving meaning to our lives, and I think that in secular societies, humanist liberalism has replaced religion in that role for many people, which is what Harari effectively argues over many pages.

Politically, he argues that in the 20th Century we had a number of experiments, including the 2 extremes of communism and fascism, both of which led to totalitarian dictatorships; as well as socialist and free market capitalism, which are effectively the left and right of democracies in Western countries. He explains how capitalism and debt go hand in hand to provide all the infrastructure and technological marvels we take for granted and why economic growth is the mantra of all politicians. He argues that knowledge growth is replacing population growth as the engine of economic growth whilst acknowledging that the planet won’t cope. Unlike Jeremy Lent, he doesn’t discuss the unlearned lessons of civilization collapse in the past - most famously, the Roman Empire.

I think that is most likely a topic for another post, so I will return to the thesis that religion gives us meaning. I believe I’ve spent my entire life searching for meaning and that I’ve found at least part of the answer in mathematics. I say ‘part’ because mathematics provides meaning for the Universe but not for me. In another post (discussing Eugene Wigner’s famous essay) I talked about the 2 miracles: that the Universe is comprehensible and that same Universe gave rise to an intelligence that could access that comprehensibility. The medium that allows both these miracles to occur is, of course, mathematics.

So, in some respects, virtually irrelevant to Harari’s tome, mathematics is my religion. As for meaning for myself, I think we all look for purpose, and purpose can be found in relationships, in projects and in just living. Curiously, Harari, towards the very end of his book, argues that ‘dataism’ will be the new religion, because data drives algorithms and encompasses everything from biological life forms to art forms like music. All digital data can be distilled into zeros and ones, but the mathematics of the Universe is not algorithmic, though others might disagree. In other words, I don’t believe we live inside a universe-size computer simulation.

The subtitle of Harari’s book is A Brief History of Tomorrow, and basically he argues that our lives will be run by AI algorithms that will be more clever than our biochemical algorithms. He contends that, contrary to expectations, the more specialist a job is the more likely it will be taken over by an algorithm. This does not only include obvious candidates like medical prognoses and stockmarket decisions (already happening) but corporate takeover decisions, in-the-field military decisions, board appointments and project planning decisions. Harari argues that there will be a huge class of people he calls the ‘useless class’, which would be most of us.

And this is where he argues that our liberal individualistic freedom ideals will become obsolete, because algorithms will understand us better than we do. This is premised on the idea that our biochemical algorithms, that unbeknownst to us, already control everything we do, will be overrun by AI algorithms in ways that we won’t be conscious of.  He gives the example of Angelina Jolie opting to have a double mastectomy based, not on any symptoms she had, but on the 87% probability she would get breast cancer calculated by an algorithm that looked at her genetic data. Harari extrapolates this further by predicting that in the future we will all have biomedical monitoring to a Google-like database that will recommend all our medical decisions. What’s more the inequality gap will widen because wealthy people will be genetically enhanced ‘techno-humans’ and, whilst it will trickle down, the egalitarian liberalist ideal will vanish.

Most of us find this a scary scenario, yet Harari argues that it’s virtually inescapable based on the direction we are heading, whereby algorithms are already attempting to influence our decisions in voting, purchasing and lifestyle choices. He points out that Facebook has already demonstrated that it has enough information on its users to profile them better than their friends, and sometimes even their families and spouses. So this is Orwellian, only without the police state.

All in all, this is a brave new world, but I don’t think it’s inevitable. Reading his book, it’s all about agency. He argues that we will give up our autonomous agency to algorithms, only it will be a process by stealth, starting with the ‘smart’ agents we already have on our devices that are like personal assistants. I’ve actually explored this in my own fiction, whereby there is a symbiosis between humans and AI (refer below).

Life experiences are what inform us and, through a process of cumulative ordeals and achievements, create the persona we present to the world and ourselves. Future life experiences of future generations will no doubt include interactions with AI. As a Sci-Fi writer, I’ve attempted to imagine that at some level: portraying a super-intelligent-machine interface with a heroine space pioneer. In the same story I juxtaposed my heroine with an imaginary indigenous culture that was still very conscious of their place in the greater animal kingdom. My contention is that we are losing that perspective at our own peril. Harari alludes to this throughout his opus, but doesn’t really address it. I think our belief in our individualism with our own dreams and sense of purpose is essential to our psychological health, which is why I’m always horrified when I see oppression, whether it be political or marital or our treatment of refugees. I read Harari’s book as a warning, which aligns with his admission that it’s not prophecy.


Addendum:  I haven't really expressed my own views on consciousness explicitly, because I've done that elsewhere, when I reviewed Douglas Hofstadter's iconoclastic and award-winning book, Godel Escher Bach.

Saturday 2 December 2017

Socrates – the first philosopher

I’m aware that this is a moot point, as many claim that Thales was the first (Western) philosopher, and some (myself included) have argued that Pythagoras deserves special mention. In fact, both Socrates and Pythagoras were influential to Plato, and Plato has arguably been the most influential philosopher for the rest of us, though many would cite Aristotle, Plato’s most famous pupil.

The point is (as I’ve discussed elsewhere) the long and historically resilient discipline of Western Philosophy started in ancient Greece, and along the way, spawned science, mathematics, logic (think algorithms), epistemology, ethics and ontological ruminations.

I’ve just finished reading a very interesting (not to mention unusually structured) book called Ancient Athens on 5 Drachmas a Day by Philip Matyszak. I bought it in a book store in Bowral called The Good Reader (365 Bong Bong St.) – happy to give them a plug. Bowral is best known as the place where Don Bradman grew up (American readers will have no idea what I’m talking about, but all cricket-loving readers will). I also grew up not far from there, though my current home is a good 8hr drive further south (via a dual-carriage freeway).

The subtitle effectively gives the premise for this tome: Where to eat, drink and meet a philosopher – your guide to the cradle of Western culture. In other words, it’s a tour guide of Athens set a ‘generation’ after the Persian war against the Spartans (the famous 300) when Socrates was still alive and Plato was yet to be born. In fact, at one point the author gives a specific historical reference by referring to the ‘urban deme of Kollytos… where in two years’ time, a muscular little baby called Plato will be born.’ In an ‘Author’s Note’ (before the Index) Matyszak explains that he chose a time ‘just before the [Peloponnesian] war began… as it marks both the peak of Athenian splendour and the point just before a certain innocence was lost.’

Not so long ago I reviewed Homer’s Odyssey, and Matyszak cites Homer more than a few times, including specific references, even a quotation, from The Odyssey. Both The Odyssey and Matyszak’s ‘guide’ give a lot of attention to the Gods, and Athena in particular. The point is that the Athenians give a lot of attention to their Gods, with Athena, not surprisingly, having special significance. As Matyszak points out, she is the only Greek Goddess to have a city named after her, which stands to this day. A particular point I conjectured about in that post is confirmed by Matyszak, when he explains that the Athenians take their Gods very seriously, treating them as real entities that can and do interfere in the affairs of mankind. In other words, their beliefs were no less important to them than many people’s religious beliefs are today.

This is not a book I’d necessarily recommend to women readers, as it’s clear that ancient Athens was male chauvinistic in the extreme, which is arguably something else we have inherited from their culture.

Matyszak is very erudite as one would expect from someone who has a doctorate in Roman History from St. John’s College, Oxford, and has also written Ancient Rome on 5 Denarii a Day (obviously a literary trend here). The book is littered with references to words taken from the ancient Greek without our awareness. For example, ‘sycophant’ means ‘fig tell-tale’ and refers to a time when the export of dried figs from Greece was illegal. Another example is ‘symposium’, which could be a philosophical or political discussion attended by someone like Socrates or an orgy of drunken debauchery, or both.

Socrates is referenced no less than 15 times, 3 times more than Plato, but not as often as Athena, who is cited 27 times (not quite double). The point is that I learnt quite a bit about Socrates that I didn’t know beforehand, and Matyszak presents him as someone to be admired: intellectually, morally and courageously.

For a start I didn’t know that Socrates had been a warrior, and even acquitted himself well in battle, fighting a rearguard action ‘like an offended cat’ whilst retreating and, on another occasion, ‘saved the life of the young Alkibiades in a heated battle.’ He was famously henpecked by his wife, Xanthippe, whose attacks extended to the physical, including throwing a chamber pot over his head and ripping off his cloak in the market. According to Matyszak, ‘When asked why he did not return her blows, Socrates replied that Xanthippe was a wife, not a boxing partner.’ One page contains a list of reputed sayings from Socrates, some of which are worth sharing.

An unexamined life is not worth living.

I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that thing is that I know nothing.

If women were equal to men, they would be superior.

Every man should marry. A good wife will make him happy, a bad wife will make him a philosopher.

I was too honest to be a politician and live.


If everyone’s problems were put in one big pile for everyone to take equal shares, most people would be happy to take their own and run.

But, personally, I think the best saying is the one that seems to epitomise his own credo:

To live with honour in this world, actually be what you try to seem to be.

The Oracle at Delphi (who gets a section to herself) purportedly told a young Socrates to ‘know yourself’ and ‘nothing in excess’, both of which are just as relevant today. She also supposedly said that Socrates was the ‘wisest’ (though not to Socrates) – a claim I’ve heard before.

Socrates, by all accounts, was not charismatic or good-looking and was not materialistic. Yet he was wealthy enough to buy his own armour, which was expected in his day if one was conscripted; and all males between 17 and 59 were apparently. Those that couldn’t afford armour still served.

Matyszak gives a good account of Athen’s democracy, which has resonances with democratic governments of today, even though it’s not as democratic as some people think. Certainly, it would have been a revolutionary concept in its day – roughly 500BC. But the resonances with today is that it was divided between the masses and the aristocrats who mutually distrusted and disliked each other. In today’s world one could replace the aristocrats with corporate leaders and the masses with all the employees that the corporations depend upon.

Back in ancient Athens the masses comprised, not only everyone who produced everything, but also the army, upon which the aristocracy depended. The aristocracy would have overturned the democratic process if they could because they believed that they were meant to rule and the masses were like parasites. This is a point of view that I believe is still held by many people in positions of power today.

To be fair to Matyszak, he describes the process in some detail, so my summary loses some nuance in its brevity. One of the points worth noting is that the assembly was not very tolerant of someone providing expert advice in an area that was not their expertise, even if they were aristocratic. For example, they would expect someone talking about ship-building to be a shipwright.

It’s well known that Socrates fell foul of the assembly. Aristophanes, a celebrated playwright, ‘in a satirical play, The Clouds, [depicted] Socrates (and philosophers in general) as mocking the Gods and teaching dishonest arguments.’ Specifically, ‘Aristophanes has a young man learning how to use sophistic arguments to avoid paying his debts, and is taught by Socrates to disrespect his parents.’

I don’t think anyone knows the full political context of Socrates’ demise, but we can assume that he did not back down from a fight, physically or intellectually. He was, one suspects, someone who was willing to die for his principles.

Does he deserve the epithet, the first philosopher? It needs to be pointed out that the famous Socratic dialogue style was given to us by Plato, though many believe that he learnt this from Socrates himself. Nevertheless, the Socratic dialogues of Plato (the only ones recorded) undoubtedly reflect Plato’s views and not Socrates’, who may or may not have agreed with his student on specific arguments where he is represented.

I’ve always felt that the core feature of philosophy, as we’ve inherited it in the West, is argument, and it seems to me that this particular method of philosophy started with Socrates. Philosophy without argument is prescriptive like the Ten Commandments or the sayings of Confucius. Argument, augmented by analysis, is how I would describe philosophy as it’s practiced today.

Sunday 19 November 2017

Advice for new writers

I wrote this so long ago, I can't remember when; but it was when I was bold enough to believe that I could teach creative writing in a course. I eventually did teach a writing course, many years later, along slightly different lines to what I propose here. Having said that, I believe everything I say here is still relevant. Anyone who has read Elvene will know that I practice what I preach.

I should point out that I've changed my 'method', for want of a better term, since I wrote this, in that I usually write one draft, but I do 'sketches' on the side. That is the method that I developed through trial and error, and that is the method I used for Elvene. As I keep repeating, every writer has to find their own method that works for them.

Having taught a course, albeit briefly, I know that the exercises one gives out are more important instruction than anything I might say. As in all activities, doing provides the best learning.

I originally called this 'Notes on Writing'.


Writing

Anyone can write - if you can talk you can write. You only need a subject and the desire to communicate knowledge about it. It is exactly what I am doing now.

But writing a narrative is another issue altogether. You have to create characters, plots, human relationships, and then glue them all together in such a way that they appear real. Sounds impossible doesn't it? Well it almost is. But if you have the desire and the creative source to feed that desire, then you can.

You have to have a subject and something to say; and no one can provide that but you. But the skills and the tools and the techniques can be learnt. They can be improved upon and mastered, not unlike learning a musical instrument, the only difference being that the music has to come from you.

So what is the difference between writing and creative writing? Creative writing is a broad term that covers many forms, including plays, screenplays, short stories and poems. To avoid any miscomprehension I will narrow the focus - what I am talking about is simply narrative, I call it narrative fiction.

Fundamentally, writing narrative, as opposed to writing any other form of text, is that it's art, and in that sense it has more in common with music, painting, film-making and any other form of creative expression, than it has with simple communication.

Communication is directly associated with language, ideas and to a large extent, logic. They all arise from the left side of the brain. Artistic expression, in any form, arises from the right side. Creative writing, in all its forms, not just narrative, is quite simply writing with the right side of the brain. That then, is the whole purpose of this course: to teach you to write with the right side of your brain. And quite frankly, at my very best, that is all I can teach you. What you do with that skill, once you've acquired it, is really up to your own imagination.

Writing as Art - Narrative Prose.

I have my own definition of art. Art is the transference of an emotion, experience or abstract idea 'felt' by one person: the artist; to another: the recipient. The recipient can be anyone, but for the transference to work, there has to be a sense of identity in the work - something the recipient, in the case of writing, the reader - can relate to.

That's it in a nutshell. Sounds simple, but in truth, requires a lot of work to be successful. It is the combination of a lot of factors, including talent, conviction, practice and sheer perseverance.

Counterpoint

While on the subject of writing as art, I wish to express a very personal point of view. I don't believe in the process of writing as compiling an assortment of dissociated ideas, topics and scenes; experimenting with them by applying various tools and techniques; and by so doing, creating an original story.

I believe instead, that you should have an idea and possibly a character, together with a very tentative plot before you even put pen to paper. Otherwise what you write may be a creative work, and it no doubt will in the final analysis, say something. But I fail to see the merit, or even the pleasure, of creating a work with no original goal in mind.

The exercises I put to you, I admit, will not have a goal in terms of creating a finished narrative. They are quite simply just what they claim to be - exercises. But I hope they will teach you skills and techniques, and help you develop 'tools' that you can put into practice in achieving your own literary goals. That is the fundamental purpose of this course.

Plot & Character

To start a novel, or any story for that matter, you need three essential ingredients. You need to create a world, at least one character, and a plot of some sort, even if it's only in concept form.
The world simply means time and place - a setting. But I don't mean setting in a theatrical sense that can change from scene to scene, but in a more universal sense, like a map that encompasses the whole story. And I'm not just talking about physical parameters, but also demography, society, civilisation and everything that involves the central character.

The main character is generally the whole purpose of the story but this should be rendered unselfconsciously. He (or she) is usually, but not always, the vehicle for your transference, but you should never think about this on a conscious level - it should quite simply happen - evolve, if you like, with the story itself.

Plot and character are inseparable in the same way that matter and gravity are inseparable. One creates the other, which then affects everything else. They are mutually inclusive, and if you think about it, this is equally true of life.

The plot is best thought of as the vehicle for the characters development. The plot in fiction is life's equivalent to fate. As a writer, you are God. You create the world, and you create the challenges, disasters and pitfalls. The characters' growth, then, is dependent on their response to the situations you create. That is why the best novels are imitations of life, at least on a psychological level.

From the perspective I've given above, you can see that the pinnacle of this trinity is the Character. Both the World and the Plot are only significant in that they interact with the character, and to some extent, create the character. This, also, is true of life.

Counterpoint

It should be pointed out that there are basically two different types of novels: in one, the emphasis is on plot, and in the other, the emphasis is on character. All writers create their own balance between these two aspects which can be thought of as vertical and horizontal. The vertical aspect is the character, and the horizontal aspect is the plot. Popular novels put the emphasis on plot or horizontal aspect. This keeps the story ticking over and maintains the reader's interest. They are entertainment novels, not thought-provoking, and are not meant to be. They are escapism, and I read them the same as everyone else for the same reasons. They are not necessarily of lesser value, and if they are well written, can become classics within their own field. The best examples which spring immediately to mind, are John Le Carré's George Smiley novels.

In conclusion, a story can be thought of as a journey, and the best stories contain an external journey and an internal journey, which are essentially associated with the plot and the character. The external journey, as in life, provides the forces for the internal journey.

Developing Character


I rarely describe my characters - I let the reader create their own picture. When you create a character, you are not making a physical model, you are creating a person who has emotions, motivations, temperament, fears, loves and distractions - someone just like you.

You should unfold a character to the reader as real people unfold to you. Remember your first impressions of someone, and then as you get to know them how they reveal more of themselves by what they think, what they do, and how they respond to certain situations. This is how you reveal a character to your audience – he or she develops in the unfolding of the story - that is why character and plot are so interrelated.

When you first create a character, you, yourself, might know very little about him (or her), so you give them some freedom - observe as the reader would: see how they respond to things, what friendships, loves or insecurities they develop. If you can detach yourself in this way from your creation, you'll find he or she becomes more and more like a real person.

So don't try and create a fully rounded character straight off. Sure, you have some preconceptions of him or her, as you have of anyone you first meet. But put them in the story, then let them reveal themselves.

Counterpoint

We use source material for characters even though we don't know it. In this respect writing is very similar to acting, and I'm surprised that more people don't see the connection. Both writers and actors create characters, and they both use the same material: either themselves or people they know. Even when you use someone you know, you are not putting that person into your story, you are using them as a model, the same as you use your own experiences as a model for your creation.

Dialogue

Dialogue is obviously very closely related to character. I personally find it hard to write convincing dialogue until I know my characters fairly well.

Dialogue serves two purposes: it informs the reader of something pertinent to the story, and it reveals something about the character. It is also, most obviously, the main source of interaction between characters, and if you give it that perspective - as an interaction between two or more characters - you'll find that's the easiest way to write it.

Don't use dialogue to preach to your readers - as a mouthpiece for your own opinions. Dialogue must have relevance to the characters and the story otherwise it's simply boring. Sometimes a character can say something profound, and it can work very well, but it only works when it's said in context with the moment and it's not contrived.

Mix dialogue and prose, that way you create a picture, a tableau that is believable. A test for good dialogue is to leave out the characters' identities - not identify who's talking - and see if it stands up.

Exposition

Exposition is probably the easiest form of prose to write and ostensibly the most boring to read. Exposition is the most common form of non-fiction prose, and it's not all boring - take this text for example. But the question needs to be raised: is there a place for exposition in fiction?
In simple terms, exposition is explanation, as opposed to the more common forms of narrative: action, description, introspection and dialogue. I use the word introspection for 'characters' thoughts'.

There is a very relevant adage to writing fiction, 'Show, don't tell', and I would have to endorse that as a principle, but there are other factors to be taken into account as well. The most important principle, I believe, is making every word count. Sometimes, just sometimes, for the sake of efficiency and effectiveness, it is easier to tell than to show, and sometimes it is more relevant. There are certain rules in writing exposition that make it more acceptable and readable. My own personal rule is that exposition should always be written from a specific character's point of view - that way it doesn't intrude into the story as an external element. This makes the distinction between exposition and introspection very fine, if not indistinguishable. Exposition which is not a character's thought, must, by definition, be written in narrator's voice. If the narrator isn't identified with a specific character, then he is omniscient. This too, is a form of acceptable prose and is not breaking any rules.

The other rule I personally endorse, is that exposition, where possible should do more than explain - it should provoke and stimulate. It needs to be there for a reason, unless of course you are simply trying to save words. But you as a writer have to make that decision. If showing is more boring than telling, then tell.

Counterpoint

When you first start writing, you'll most likely do a lot of writing in exposition without even realising it. This will even come out in the exercises I give you. Exposition is in broad terms, writing with the left side of the brain, and with practice, will disappear as a dominating factor in your writing. But don't fight it at first, because it can help you to get the bedrock of your story onto paper. When you undertake revision, you'll find that as a style it will jar you, thus forcing you to rewrite in different narrative forms. This will also force you to delete whole scenes and write completely new ones - this is all part of the process, and is what makes writing so painstaking as well as rewarding.

Introspection


Introspection, or 'Characters' thoughts', should not be mistaken as unspoken dialogue, and could probably be more accurately described as insight. In that respect it has a special function which is pretty well self-explanatory. It allows the reader to get inside the character's head, and that is what makes narrative fiction unique, not only in art, but in all forms of story-telling. Certainly, you can have soliloquies in plays and films, but they are the exception rather than the rule, and it is not their natural mode, whereas in narrative fiction it is the natural mode, and that's the difference.

Streams of Conscious novels are almost entirely written in this narrative form, but that is not an element of writing I wish to pursue, not because of any prejudice I have, but because of my lack of experience in that arena.

So introspection (my own term) is to give the reader specific insight into a character's thoughts, motives and feelings. There is nothing much else one can say about it, except not to rely on it too heavily, and use it for selective characters in selective situations. In other words use basic common sense.

Description

There is really only one rule about description - it should be relevant. Description can be the most boring form of prose, even more boring than exposition, it's the part of a narrative that people will skip over in order to get on with the story. So how do we avoid that?

One way is to simply avoid it as much as possible, prune it to a minimum; but there are less severe measures. Remember you are working with the reader's imagination, so you use all their senses. Let them feel, touch and taste things. Atmosphere - evoke emotions and sensations - create ambience.

Just for a moment, compare the sensations of a book to the sensations from a film. In a film everything is portrayed in absolute detail, but how much of that detail actually gets through. Now think back to the novel - is it necessary to describe every scene in absolute detail: the detail conveyed in a film? No. So use cues, not just visual cues, but any that come to hand. The advantage of relating a story from a specific character's point of view is that you pass their sensations directly onto your reader - that is the whole secret of narrative prose.

I have a personal rule that description has to be absolutely relevant to the story; even then I try to weld it into the narrative so that the reader passes through it without perceiving a conscious interface. Remember that the reader will always paint a different picture in their mind to yours; so let them. Your description should be like props on a stage rather than elaborate full-house scenery.

Do not be afraid to use imagery or metaphor, but keep it original and relevant. Remember imagery and metaphor should come unbidden, like composer's notes, otherwise it reads like dough that has failed to rise.

Counterpoint

You should never be conscious of writing description, or any other form of prose. When you can move from dialogue to introspection to exposition to description to action without conscious thought, but just as the narrative demands it, then you've mastered the art of writing narrative fiction. Your prose should flow without discontinuity, just like a horse changes gait over difficult terrain. This even comes down to lengths of sentences and paragraphs. It needs to be done by feel and intuition, but the tools only come with practice.

Action

Outside of dialogue, action is probably the most challenging form of narrative to write. It is in a technical sense, a special case of description, but there are fundamental differences.

The key to writing action, even a complicated scene like a battlefield, is to portray it from only one character's point of view, after all only a limited number of things can happen to one person at one time. The other essential point is to remember that action is always linear. It is, in analysis, a sequence of events within a specific time frame. And that is the fundamental difference between action and description - it has the added dimension of time. So you must use that dimension to best effect.

There are different types of action - the most obvious is adrenalin pumping, but often it is not dramatic at all, and sometimes it may not even involve a character.

Counterpoint

Many of the issues raised in writing description apply equally well to action. The best way to evoke an emotional response to action is to get inside the character's head - transfer their emotions and feelings to the reader's imagination.

Always use the reader's imagination - that is the essential connection - your imagination to theirs. If you are always conscious of that, you'll stop writing bad prose.

Point of View

A lot is said about point of view, but the only relevant point to remember is whether the point of view is inside the story or outside the story. Most writers like to keep the point of view inside the story which means it is always being related from the point of view of one of the characters. This is true whether the point of view is first person or third person intimate. Another point of view is third person omniscient, which means that the narrator is the story's equivalent to God.

First person usually, but not always, tells the whole narrative from a single character's point of view, whereas third person intimate changes point of view from one character to another according to circumstances. Third person intimate has obvious advantages, in that the narrator has more freedom, and can also give more insight into more characters through 'introspection'. For this reason it is the most common form of narration.

Style

Style is not something you create deliberately - it is a natural result of writing with the right side of your brain. If you deliberately try and write in a style or emulate a style, you will probably fail - it is something that evolves in the course of your work.

It can be best perceived by comparing it to musical styles - I don't mean jazz, rock, classical, but different styles within those boundaries. Consider the different musical forms that different musicians/composers can get from a common instrument. Have you ever noticed that musicians have a 'signature', that you can immediately recognise. Electric guitarists are probably the best example, but also pianists, and even classical composers - compare Beethoven to Bach for example.

Likewise, writers develop their own 'voice' - a narrative voice as distinct from their language voice - and that is their style. That does not mean to say that writers don't change their style according to different types of stories they may write, but generally writers are consistent in their style if they remain consistent to their genre.

Counterpoint

Style has a lot to do with your own preferences in story-telling. Most writers have a preferable point of view, and most rely heavily on two or three modes of narrative, rather than all five. But there are many elements of writing that affect style, and analysing them, while it may prove interesting, is not necessarily helpful to you as a writer.

Your own style will be affected by your reading preferences, but it is more of a subconscious activity than a conscious one. If you concentrate on the content of your work and its transference to the reader, then style will take care of itself.

Some personal notes on writing a novel

Writing a novel is often described by writers as going into a tunnel - it is a very apt metaphor. It suggests a one way journey, and it conjures up the loneliness and self-reliance imposed, as well as the perseverance and sheer concentration required to complete the journey.

But, from my experience, I would use a slightly different metaphor - I see it as a road, self-made, on a very large map. The road gives a subtly different emphasis. When you travel a road you are focusing on a distant goal or goals, milestones that seen at a distance are simply points to be aimed at, while the real work and concentration takes place close at hand where details are closely observed and the construction takes place painstakingly slow and progressive.

The two points are important - you need something in the distance to focus on, otherwise you're construction may be impeccable, but it is also aimless and meandering. More obviously, the real work is done at your current point in the story, where words and sentences are laid down like bricks and mortar, creating an edifice that can only be seen in your mind's eye.

When you get closer to the end of your road, you'll find yourself looking back more often than forward, because the perspective at the end of the novel includes everything that has gone before. Also when you're near the end, most of the work has been done - you're not left with a lot of freedom to create any additional impact, unpredictable endings notwithstanding.

Of course I'm talking about the first draft, which means that you'll go back over your road many times, patching holes, repaving whole sections, and sometimes creating detours and/or shortcuts. But the first draft is the bedrock of your story - it may be badly written, and in most cases it is, but you should not change the course of your story in consequent drafts. You may make subtle shifts in emphasis, flesh out one or more characters because you now know them better, but otherwise the first draft dictates both the course and the focus of your story. Anything less than that means starting another journey.

The map is what you start with - it dictates the physical and abstract parameters of your story. It is probably not clearly defined when you start, nevertheless it must exist in your mind if not on paper.

Another point is to treat the story like life - if something has happened that is pivotal to the story or to one of the characters, don't regress and change it because it makes 'life' easier. If you really do feel you've made a wrong turn, then stop, and don't start again until you are sure you are going in the right direction. Sure, there are times when you feel like you are fumbling around in the dark trying to make some connection that seems elusive, but often a break is what's required. If you persevere, and if you believe in yourself, then the connection is always found again, and it is like turning on a light. In fact writing a novel is not unlike realising a vision, and the vision starts off as the map, only becoming concrete as you make the journey - the same journey your readers will follow.

Counterpoint

The above comments are my own personal experience of writing a novel. It is important to point out that there are probably as many different ways to write a book as there are writers. For example, Georges Simenon (creator of Maigret), apparently never took a break from a work-in-progress. If Simenon was forced to take a break he simply threw the work away and started something completely new. As the most prolific French writer of the last century, he did that all of three times, or so I'm led to believe.

But most writers do see their work as a solitary occupation. To discuss your works-in-progress is to dissipate your creative energy, and it contaminates your work - receiving feedback too early can interfere with your own personal vision. Most importantly, writing alone assures that you are not inhibited to express yourself. As a rule never show your work until you are ready for a second opinion - you need to be confident that the work can take feedback without losing its fundamental integrity.

Writing plays and screenplays is a different matter. I've had no experience with plays, but they are often work-shopped in a group environment that is completely contradictory to the solitary occupation of a novelist. Stage and cinema requires interaction with a whole team of players and technicians, whereas writing a novel is one of the most introverted and solitary forms of art that one can attempt.