On a cold November in London in 1922, Vivvie Ripple awaits the train. She is a very wealthy and well-bred young woman, but lamentably inept at social interactions, clumsy, plain and much too tall. 595 more words
Picture this: it’s the middle of a dramatic story and the main character is being lowered into a pit of ravenous crocodiles. Meanwhile, the villain is launching a doomsday device which will destroy the whole world! 647 more words
Well, actually, in the name of honesty and an unerring commitment to the truth, far greater rigour is, and must be, demanded here of not only the description itself but the very details composing and forming it — and let me tell you, it just so happens that that is what I am gonna darn well give y’all, with all the masculine, steely resolve pre-1980s Hollywood heroes and heartthrobs employed when it came to getting “their girl”.) I am sure—though, on second thought I am not so certain; no, not certain by a long way. 321 more words
The post is about writing and self-reflexivity or meta-fiction.
It seems to me that writing is naturally self-reflexive. Especially creative writing. Why that is I don’t know but it goes back all the way to Homer’s epics and the dawn of Western literature. 434 more words