You have to love any sentence that starts that way, don’t you? It conjures up delightful fairy tales and the deepest philosophy.
“… the whole universe is a story?” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “So who’s telling it?”
“Nobody. There’s no narrator or listeners. Only the story.”
That’s why I adored her. She lived in a different world; more magical, more complicated.
“Once I open the box, I know whether the cat is dead or alive. But you don’t know until I tell you,” she said
“Ha! So the observer exists and creates the tale.”
“Damn!”
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fieldsto write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on point of view.
George Monbiot’s book, Out of the Wreckage, is the second this year to explore the idea that what the planet needs is a new story. Like Alex Evans in The Myth Gap, Monbiot suggests that people are mobilised to action by stories, not by facts and evidence.
This is clearly an idea whose time has come, and one which resonates with a “post-truth” world. I won’t rehearse again my concerns with the anti-rationality of the idea, which I covered in a review of Evans’ book. And, in fairness, Monbiot advocates a new story based on science. I do agree with both authors that we need new stories to confront the challenges of our times.
Stories, as I said in my review of The Myth Gap “are among the oldest human devices for encoding and sharing knowledge. They have the huge advantage over collections of facts that they tell us what goes with what, what is important and what is unimportant, who to praise and who to blame.”
Monbiot goes further than Evans in suggesting the structure of this new story.
“Disorder afflicts the land, caused by powerful and nefarious forces working against the interests of humanity. The hero – who might be one person or a group of people – revolts against this disorder, fights the nefarious forces, overcomes them despite great odds and restores order.”
He calls this the Restoration Story and says “stories that follow this pattern can be so powerful that they sweep all before them, even our fundamental values.” He suggests that this is an archetype, which is common to both social democratic and neoliberal narratives, and he may indeed be right in saying this.
However, the interesting thing about the idea is how timid it is, with its narrative of “restoring order”. And it isn’t the only archetypal story we tell about the future. I know this because I did some research a few years ago, analysing 64 futures scenarios (“Futures and Culture”, Futures 44 (2012) 277–291). All these stories fitted into four broad classes – Progress, Catastrophe, Reversion and Transformation.
Progress is, as the name suggests, one where existing trends lead towards the expected goals. This story was dominant during the brash optimism of the nineteenth century.
Catastrophe is also simple – the outcomes prevent us realising our expected goals. In the darker years of the twentieth century, dystopian visions became more common.
Reversion, which is essentially Monbiot’s Restoration, is a little more complicated, and involves a return to previous conditions in order to maintain viability. These stories often have a sentimental view of a simpler earlier time.
Finally, the Transformation story involves, as the name suggests, a fundamental change in the “rules of the game“, leading to a new and unexpected end-state.
I would suggest that to get out of the wreckage we need Transformation stories not Reversion stories. Monbiot would probably agree, but perhaps he might want to rethink his narrative archetypes.
She lay beside him, sleeping. The respirator of her chest rattled as it rose and fell, the breath rasping alien through sunken tubes. In terror, he believed he heard a mechanical hum and then a click at the end of every in-breath.
Beyond the fevered bedroom, the church clock struck thirteen.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fieldsto write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on point of view.
He said the usual silly things men say – What? How? Why? Are you sure?
‘It will be all right, won’t it?’ she asked. ‘You must marry me.’
‘Your brothers will never allow it,” he temporised.
“My brothers and father will kill me if I have a baby and I am unmarried.”
The moment of betrayal is always agonising. You recite for yourself all the reasons that make it right. There’s duty. There’s the uncomfortable truth that you already have a wife and two vaguely C of E kids. And those are good justifications. But you can only betray what you first love.
He walked away. He looked back once, and shed a tear.
…………………………………………………………………..
Ayesha tracked him down.
“Zami, I’m pregnant.”
She searched his eyes as he stammered and asked all the stupid, obvious, irrelevant questions. She wanted to see love there, concern, and maybe even joy. She saw fear.
‘It will be all right, won’t it?’ she asked. ‘You must marry me.’
‘Your brothers will never allow it,’
How could he not understand? “My brothers and father will kill me if I have a baby and I am unmarried.”
The sound of her voice came to her through the numb bone of her skull flat, factual, unemotional. But her body shook.
She saw it in his eyes before he said anything. She saw his need for her, perhaps even caring. But his love was insufficient. Or maybe his duty was misplaced. Either way, she understood this was going to be her problem, not theirs. Men were animals, just like Mama said. Her arm lashed out, intending to slap him.
He flinched but didn’t draw away. She stopped her hand, an inch from his face, caressed his cheek and then spat in his face.
Whaddaya mean I can’t be here? Whodyathink you are? Oh, you’re the doorman? Well, whoopiedoo, I’m a street-sweeper! You ain’t no better than me. Whodyathink keeps the pavement clean for the lovely ladies ‘n’ genelmen?
What? Of course I’m dirty, you eejit. Muck does that to a bloke. I’m good enough to keep your customers from stepping in poop, but not good enough to be one? Get you!
Silly hat but nice coat, by the way. We’ll see how pretty the jacket looks when you have to clean up your own crap because I ain’t gonna ever again.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on point of view.
They were drawn up like an army on the heights, standing tall in silent challenge. Mist swaddled them and a pale moon shone through their ranks.
My opponent’s bishop rushed me, and the daring caused the watchers to gasp.
A shake of my head to clear it, and a hand run over tired eyes. These were only vases, a collection on my sideboard. Just ornaments.
The bishop’s mitre scythed over my head and I saw moonlight glint on keen steel.
Confronting mortal threat makes philosophical speculations about reality fade. I hefted the broadsword that formed in my hands.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look atthis month’s exercise on point of view.
Write a short scene with two characters in which your main character encounters a strange or difficult situation involving another character. Use what you know about your main character’s desires and fears to show how they respond to the other character. Now repeat the exercise, this time using the other character as your main character. Notice how this change of point-of-view alters the story.
“When you know how it’s done, it takes away the magic,” Petran says.
The vaulted roof soars almost all the way to heaven. Petran painted yellow stars on the high blue ceiling. And I, of course, chamfered the columns, tapering them at the top. This trompe l’oeil makes the viewer see the chamber as taller than it really is. Long flights of stairs force the petitioner to look up towards the majesty of the dais and throne. Together, we artisans manufactured awe.
Truly, it don’t destroy the magic. Ordinary folk made this with brains and hands. That’s awe too.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look at this month’s exercise on point of view.
Tom has halted beside the woodcutter’s cottage, a stand of burly oaks patrolling the fence line. He can’t make his feet go on.
You picture dread and think of a sudden shape in the underbrush, a howl in the night. If only it were so simple. How little separates us from what we fear!
To count as brave you must first be afraid of death. Tom’s fear runs much deeper. He can see the weave that connects the worlds. The fools tried to make us go away, but what use is that when we’re always a part of him?
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fieldsto write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.
Fancy sharpening your skill with writing exercises? The Scrivener’s Forge offers a new exercise every month to hone one aspect of your craft. Take a look atthis month’s exercise on point of view.
Neil MacDonald Author 
