Plot, Character and Negative Capability

Having so recently become a writer, I have been struggling with creating action, tension and a forward-moving plot. Today we touched on negative capability, negating or losing the sense of self as an author so that the work "speaks for itself." I only recently developed a new method of writing. I used to write with plot at the forefront and choosing characters to act out the plot I intended, but it made a lot of my characters simple, one-dimensioned and easily exchangeable with no unique qualities. Now I have been writing by developing the characters first, outlining a plot, but rather than having a 100% set outline, I have a series of events I desire to take place. Now I simply but my characters who I have created with their individual characteristics and personalities and try to honestly convey how I feel the characters would react to that situation, based on who they may be.
This ability to remove my personal affections and supplant the text with only my characters', I may dissolve myself in the story, giving all rhetoric, actions, motivations and philosophies live through my characters only. I have been putting parts of myself in each of my characters, but hopefully the remainder of their conscious selves will overpower the few quirks of my own that I have spread throughout my cast. It is hard to distance myself from my own writing as I find more and more of myself in my works or more and more of my works manifested in myself, but I feel that being able to take no preference and look objectively at the themes and ideas present within one's own writing helps let the characters take control of what is being expressed and meant, not the authors. To reiterate, as said in class, it is not Shakespeare who said anything, but his characters.

Lies

I just slayed a dragon. Then I flew around the Earth and defeated China. That is, of course a lie. Why would I do that? Because in everything (especially literature) the truth is generally not as exciting as a fib. It is not a lie that attempts to detract from the truth, soiling its user with filthy guilt and unceasing moral decay, that I speak of, but the lies I tell every day to my friends to make them laugh. Did that hilarious coincidence happen or did something like it almost happen, and I merely chose to embelish the reality with a little "interest cusioning." It may not be that what I could have claimed happened, but in tweaking the facts of event, I can make people laugh at an otherwise pointless story, or enthrall people with the wonders of an amazing occurrence when, in actuallity, it never did occurr. When do we take these lies to be good? When is ever any lie, whether it has malice or entertainment as its intention, good?

I regret to say I cannot remember the name, but a movie with a lying old dying father and his son coming to terms with his father's death and the seemingly inability for the father to stop telling tall tales details the wonders of the imagination over the simplicity and uneventful nature of reality. Reality is only as real as we make it out to be. For all intents and purposes, lying makes things better in this manner; the truth may be more didactic, but the genuine interest in reality is minor in its appeal. Like Don Quixote, the world within a lie, even a delusional one, is far better than the norm. And, like Shelley, I would argue that a lie is even greater than the truth in that our sullen, sod-like sad state of this brazen world is far inferior to the would-be myth of the Illiad, graphic novels, faerie tales and other golden works of beautiful dissemblances.

The Renaissance

I think what Walter Pater is trying to convey is that human experience is the base of all discovery and joy. He says that "every moment some form grows perfect in hand or face; some tone on the hills or the sea is choicer than the rest; some mood of passion or insight or intellectual excitement is irresistibly real and attractive to us—for that moment only. Not the fruit of experience, but experience itself, is the end."
What I think he means by all this is that it is the instant of human connection, that point of interest that we may discern or uncover something, the moment of discovery, that we find so compelling, and not that the fruition of our philosophical meanderings or passionate observations are what drive human motivation to learn, but that the process of experience is what we most hope to attain and what we may gain the most pleasure from obtaining.
This advocate of "art for art's sake" goes on to say that "to burn always with this hard gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life." The point of life, he says, is to experience, and from out that experience we are formed as individual personalities who need do nothing more than experience and expand the realm of arts, poetry and philosophy.

Irrelevant

Here I sit and type,
With far greater things I could be doing.

I could invoke the muse,
A noble aspect worth pursuing.
Yet here I am, devoted to this screen.
An unworthy hobby if ever there has been.
Much rather would I save my time for games or play
But what else am I gonna do today?

The mouse was clicked with uncertain resolve, and his eyes scanned the screen for the immediate hint that his post had been published. He felt the old fierce pull of blood exacting the general human condition upon him. He knew his post was only as permanent as the internet, an outdated mode of communication by universal standards. It was only a matter of time before the lines crashed, the servers gave in to ruin and the internet as he knew it was little more than an archaic waste of plastic and metal making up the momentary structure that was the World Wide Web.

Literature Linkage

What I love about English, or more specifically, literature, is that all things are connected. I'll see or hear something and I swear it's "from something." "What's that from?" I'll ask, curious of my familiarity. Something from a book or a movie or a TV show that rings in my ears, begging I recognize where I first heard it. I will notice underlying, hidden levels of subtle humor by recognizing instances of parody that I would not have gotten had I not seen the work they are parodying. I can recall similar stories or ways to relate a story to another one in similar event, character or theme. I see displaced myth everywhere I look for it, it seems. Be it in cliche archetypes (Oh, look--another sit-com with an overweight idiot husband and an unusually attractive, well-meaning wife) or making connections between seemingly unrelated texts. Everything must be displaced myth, after all, as I can seem to make these connections on multiple levels or through multiple works. One of my favorite is the set of connections I wrote for a British Literate I extra credit essay comparing the villains of Othello and Paradise Lost, noting the likability of the main antagonists, their similar situations and motivation (military or rank-based ascension and denial), their weaknesses, traits, etc. The number of similarities were of no little amount, and served to remind me that all pieces of literature are inevitably linked, especially if one looks hard enough.

Anagogy, Nature and Human Thought

If the human mind is the circumference, that is, the thing in which all things are contained, as we begin to deal with the anagogical nature of phases, we see that human action may move from being imitative of nature to being the thing in which nature itself is contained. This works in the literal sense that the human mind is an organic product made by nature itself, and in that the possibilities of nature are contained within the collective human subconscious or within the expanse of human imagination. Like The Idea of Order at Key West, we see an ambigious transition from nature producing and containing the human mind, containing it within the confines of nature, and the mind attempting mimicry of said nature, to a newer phase, the phase of anagogy where nature's breadth is within the infinite of human mind, with nature being the lower entity, all nature becoming intrinsicly imitative of human thought. It would seem that once we examine things in the ultimate, in the broad general "underthought" of anagogical collective unconscious, that we may find the way of things, the natural idea of order, as in the poem, becomes displaced and flipped on its head, reversing the roles that nature and the human imagination play. We see, as we do in Wallace Stephen's poem, that nature goes from being human inspiration or the way of things to a concept percieved within the limits of human imaginative potential, a universal theme, a mere singularity of possibility within the infinite confines of our minds as poets.

Apocalyptic Imagination

Frye's conceptualization of apocalypse intrigued me. Apocalypse not as desolate Gothic aftermath of an absolute destruction of humanity (The Last Man, etc), but as a re-imagining of reality as perceived by man. Not a total destruction of the world as we know it, but literally a destruction of the world as we know it. We do not generally develop or coin positive connections with "apocalypse" and so Frye's unusual denotation of it startled me. To put such positivity into the word, and redefining it to suit his purpose (as he did with "poet," etc.) is a refreshing spin on a tired concept. He does not see the changing perception of man to his imagination as a damning thing by any means, though, only that the revamped concept of man's view of expanse of mind or of self requires a resetting by man, a destruction of the old to allow renewed fervor to be exploited by the newer concept.