Dean Lombardo
What's Next?
Greetings, visitor! If you're reading this I'm happier than an oyster in raw sewage because it means you've clicked on What's Next and are eagerly awaiting my next novel, which I'll tell you about in a few minutes. First, let me share briefly my philosophy on the nature of storytelling, and the two very different types of novelist.
The way I see it, most novelists, whether aspiring or published, fall into two categories.
The Ivory Tower Set (aka TITS): These folks typically possess MFAs in creative writing and as a consequence take a very academic and rules-oriented approach to fiction writing. TITS tend to be indoor people who read a lot of literary fiction, and generate--and execute on--their ideas in a vacuum. When they get an idea, no matter how small, they sequester themselves and start tapping that keyboard until they have a list of character profiles, an outline, and eventually a first draft of their novel. Characterization is king in this camp, and the inner conflict of ordinary everyday characters, not plot, is what dictates what the TITS' story will be about. Now, please don't get me wrong--there's nothing wrong with this category (in fact, I tip my cap to these novelists for delivering what their civilized audience wants), but it's not me. Not me at all.
The Hunter-Gatherers: Then, of course, there's the campfire clan. These brutes drag their knuckles through the forest and turn their thick skulls to the left and right, then finally glance skyward with jutting jaw, wondering when the next leopard or poison-tipped arrow will strike. To throw the predatory cat off the trail, they dive into the river and climb up the opposite bank--just before a hungry croc can snap off their legs. When, finally, they stagger back to their village, cold and exhausted, heart pounding, they drop down by the fire and grunt to anyone who will listen how they narrowly escaped death. Soon, a crowd gathers and time passes quickly. The village is captivated by Thag's near-death experience. No one notices the fire flicker out and that behind the human circle the hungry leopard is creeping closer ...
Throughout human history, at the root of almost every enduring tale lies the story of survival. As a testament to this fact, there are caves in which our early ancestors painted the bears and lions they both feared and respected--or the buffalo they once stalked to feed and clothe their families through winter. Let's examine this issue further.
Are the concerns of Danish prince Beowulf worth recording without the slaughtering chimera, Grendel, lurking in the periphery, ready to pick off more of Beowulf's comrades? If there's no witch to lure Hansel and Gretel into her abattoir, would centuries of listeners have been satisfied if the twins' only challenge had been to find their way home and make peace with their hostile stepmother? Does the tale survive the ages without the threat of death as a component? Will future generations retell it faithfully, or even in their own words, for hundreds or thousands of years?
If the story involves that ancient but ongoing struggle between life and death, chances are they will.
Which brings me back to Hansel and Gretel? Do you remember the story? Which version did your parents read to you--the one where Hansel and Gretel fool the witch and make it home safely? Or the one where the witch gobbles up the boy-and-girl twins? Wait ... Don't tell me. You've forgotten. Well, all right, I suppose I could tell you the story again.
In my own words, of course.
Stay tuned ...
