Fiction is about escapism or connection and more often than not, both. today I want to talk about escapism. It’s a way for us to leave our daily life behind and discover something new. To feel something different and strange and outside the norm. When we crack the cover of a detective novel or settle into the world of mutants or aliens, or elaborate Victorian households, we let our minds expand into that space. We become a part of the story and it’s fun. It’s so much fun.

So, in what direction do you escape? For me, I escape into the dark. The horror and the thrills, the mystery and violence, the hard questions with the even harder answers. That’s where I come alive. I love thinking about how people overcome the negative or are dissolved by it. The characteristics of the troubled anti-hero are far more complex and gripping than any gleaming knight could hope to be. The drama of a space politician plunging the universe into war all for one problematic ideal makes me think of the issues we face in our own world. The undeniable skill involved in planning the perfect killing. The perfectly executed scene of  a monster devouring its prey. It’s a thing of beauty.

Weird, right? It may seem that way to those who only use fiction as something to relate to. Something to connect with. Those who seek out characters whose traits they can see in themselves.  In that case then seeing yourself in Sauron or Hannibal Lecter might truly be cause for concern. Remember though, connection is only half the fun. Escapism works in reverse. It drives you to seek out characters and worlds that are foreign and unique and decidedly not connected to you.

That’s the beauty of escapism, you are allowed to abandon your own life (whatever that may look like) for something out of the ordinary. I’m a happy, normal, well-adjusted guy (I think). I live a great life and have a great set of family and friends, so if I want to experience something new and different I have to find characters, places, and situations that don’t reflect my light-hearted life. The uplifting and the heartwarming don’t allow me to escape. Or at least not very much.

Why? Because I have to step into a character’s life that’s a lot like mine. I’m experiencing situations I’ve actually experienced. I don’t get the rush of feeling something I wouldn’t normally feel. The world may be on a planet far, far away or in a village hundreds of years into the past but if the story involves some person who likes some people, loves some people, dislikes some people, and does ordinary things with those people then my feelings stay trapped within the ordinary and comfortable. I don’t want to be comfortable. I want to be made to think and imagine and feel all the things I couldn’t or wouldn’t in my day-to-day life. I want to try on some new skin. I want to climb into someone else’s brain. I want to see life from a different perspective. I want to get away. To escape.

Writing has become an incredible escape for me. The twist is that instead of immersing myself into someone else’s world, it allows me to create the worlds I want. Places that haven’t existed for me already. Or maybe the places exist but the characters and situations I’m dying for haven’t yet been made. I get to shape them any way I choose and it’s a rush. The ability to create and destroy buildings, cities, worlds, lives… all without actually doing any of it. That is a power that is hard to describe. An escape that is hard to match. The added bonus for a writer is that in creating a universe for themselves, they allow their readers to escape there too. It’s a gift that is incredibly rewarding to give.

So, where is your escape?

Entry 43.1.106 – 01/1o/2
Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it dam oh god no. NO!

 

From now on you will no longer be journaling. It’s over Gerald. Sloppy, messy, dirty.

 

You fool. How could you be such an IDIOT?

 

Despite your planning. Your careful precise planning everything is crumbling around you. It’s crumbling right now.

You can’t fix this. You can’t. You can’t.

The truck dump went as planned. The enclosures, The shackles, the table, mixing equipment, all gone. They were wiped clean of prints. They were sterilized. Just as before. You even remembered to remove serial numbers. Each item was placed in a different location along three different highways in four counties. That part of your plan remained precise Gerald. It worked perfectly. Be proud.

Proud? Shut up, shut up shut up! Why can’t the rest work perfectly? Why? Why couldn’t you see that coming? You’re so close. A stupid mistake a simple stupid mistake. IDIOT! STUPID IDIOT!

(more…)

Entry 43.1.102 – 01/06/2014

 

It only took three days this time before the knock. You are getting messy, careless. Gerald, what are you thinking?

The police knocked twice on your door at approximately 7:24pm. You answered and of course badges were shown and the standard serious but courteous greetings were made. Their “posse” included two uniformed officers and two detectives, Seo, and Martin I believe. They, of course, had questions and you, of course, had answers.

It appears Gerald, that a charm bracelet belonging to Carol was found in the street in front of your home. They assured you that DNA had confirmed it. (more…)