I frequently hear the question: if you could talk to your younger self, what would you say? Intriguing, but why ask this question or for that matter, why give it much thought?
After all, we can’t do it — never.
The allure of the question lies in the supposition that we are now wiser; if we could just have a moment back, say from twenty or thirty years ago, we would be able to share our new found wisdom with our younger selves and we would benefit from it. I get it, really I do. Yep, I’d love to be able to do it.
But after some thought I realize it’s just never goning to happen. So I’ve come up with my own twist on this notion.
Photo by Europeana
If you were able to speak to your OLDER self, what would you say? That’s something we can do…well in time.
We all have valuable experiences that we can share, however, not many folks don’t want unsolicited advice no matter how wonderful we think we are. However, we probably don’t, and won’t, mind listening to ourselves so let’s share it with ourselves a little down the road.
No matter how old we are, we have had experiences — both good and bad. Events in our lives have shaped us, bothered us, have even played with us, and at times, questioned our very being.
If we ever reflect and allow for even a modest amount of introversion in our lives, we learn.
We may learn, but we don’t always remember or practice what we learn, as it may be crowded out by the everyday and mundane activities that can overtake the best of us. So, write it down! Keep it tucked away and pull it out and share it with our older self. Your older self will appreciate it as we know it comes from a special place deep within and meant to make our lives more fulfilling down the road.
We Don’t Know When
You’re in the present for goodness sake, and your future may or may not come, but be ready for it as your older self wants to hear from you.
Since the past is gone, I say don’t waste your brain power on what you’d tell your ghost of the past.
What would I say to myself when I’m 67 or 75 or 85 or…? You may be younger than I and may wonder what you might say to the 25, 30, 45, or older you. Whatever you end up saying, it is relevant and important as it meant something to you “back when”. It shows how you thought and how your mind worked. It is a memory that is just yours and it’s worth remembering and repeating, especially to yourself.
Here’s what I’ll say, at least for now
Not only do I want to think of what I “might” say to my older self, I already know some ideas to share. By the way, when I use the word “you” it means “me”.
You were always hard on yourself and if you still are, stop it. Ease up old fella.
You always said that if you had the time, you’d travel the world, so do it–now.
You wondered if your life’s work helped anyone. Hell ya, you spent your work life in a field with a mission to better life for others, and the modest paycheck you brought home, you gave it to your family so that they could have what they needed, and then some, at the time.
So, what if you didn’t write the “great American novel” you sure have hell tried. Who else do you know even attempted writing a book much less finished writing one?
Bucket list or no bucket list, if you haven’t done everything you wanted, don’t worry about it but keep going.
The regrets that are floating around in your head aren’t worth spending time on. Don’t bog yourself down with stuff that could’ve been or might have happened if you had only done this or that.
Thank God you are not a perfectionist and did not live a perfect life. Have you seen those who are and how they lived? Sheesh!
Be who you are even if you couldn’t do it when you were my age.
Chill out, smile through it. I think older folks could smile a bit more–even you.
You ain’t in the 80’s anymore and that’s a good thing wheter you think so or not. It wasn’t as wonderful as you may remember. I know from personal experience even if you think otherwise.
How fortunate you are to have experienced love of and for another and for so long.
Your kids loved you then and still do so don’t even think about it.
You met a lot of people along the way, befriended some and they embraced it or not. They missed out.
The decisions you made along the way were the best for that moment in time so that means THEY WERE the best decsions. so don’t do all that second-guessing.
Hey, I’m telling you these things because I love you AND I know what I’m talking about as I’m talking to you and your me—just my older me.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Mentors are crucial in storytelling, especially in the genre of fantasy. Aside from the “hero” in the story, the mentor is my favorite character. A good villain, for me, comes in third. The mentor and the protagonist’s relationship is special, and that is one reason I chose to share the following excerpt of The Elixir: Journey On. The Elixir is Book III of The Elias Chronicles.
Mentors Carry a Heavy Burden
Good mentors do many things: they guide the protagonist through an evolutionary process by providing experience and knowledge and encourage resourcefulness and independent thinking. They support our hero in any way they can. Wisdom, a characteristic overlooked in the “real” world, is cherished in the fantasy world. Sometimes mentors merely encourage and show they care
All Mentors Posess the Power of Empowerment
Mentors empower the hero to make decisions, and sometimes it may be the wrong choice, but our hero learns from mistakes, and mentors know this.
Ultimately, our hero achieves personal growth even if they can’t save the world—this time.
Some Mentors of Note
Think of Gandalf and Frodo: Dumbledore and Harry; Aslan and Peter, Lucy, Susan, and Edmund; and in each of the three books of The Elias Chronicles, Zoltan and Elias.
I’m sure you have a few mentors in mind as well.
“The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come. At the darkest moment comes the light”
Joseph Campbell
In The Elias Chronicles, a reader can start with any book as each is a stand-alone story. Saying that, I think to appreciate Elias’ journey and his development, I’d start with the first book, The Amulet: Journey to Sirok, and then read the second and third in order, The Rings: Journey Beneath Sirok and The Elixir: Journey On. In each you will find the mentor, Zoltan and the hero, Elias as well as many other colorful characters that will help guide or thwart Elias from his quest.
Enjoy the excerpt…and let me know what you think. Who are your favorite mentors?
5
Climb The Stem
Weary from his encounter with the Sea Serpent, Elias stretched out squarely in the middle of the boat’s deck. His thoughts wandered at best, but without notice, they pulled him back to some frightening moments. He, however, felt gratified for untangling the scary event and helping a mom. Images of her huge bony head that disagreed with her graceful cylindrical body were imprinted in his mind. Worst of all was her shriek, and he winced as he brought it to mind. What did it all mean? The serpent—the journal—his exile? Of all places, why was he here? While wondering where land could be hiding, the faces of his friends and family overpowered all his thoughts. All he could think was, will he ever see them again?
Restless, he fiddled with a thick, coarse rope coiled to one side as he looked to the sky. Drained by his rocky voyage, he remained listless on his back as he, biding time, picked up the dagger and examined it closely. Squinting, he focused on every scratch or nuance on the cold metal blade. He delicately touched the tip of his index finger on the tiny point, and as he did, he mouthed the sound ‘ow’ while his nose twisted up on one side. Still on his back, he grabbed the hilt with two hands, and with outstretched arms, he pointed it to the blur of the heavens, ruminating about his first night on Sirok. That’s when he plucked a powerful sword from a secret vault told to him by Nattymama. The sword, he mused, saved his life on a couple of occasions when he skillfully severed the heads of the Sarkany—the three-headed, shape-shifting dragon. “Existo verus ut vestri,” he whispered, followed by, “Be true to yourself. Think of that…that was written on the blade itself, and I didn’t even know it at the time…can’t complain, as it served me well, but this oversized pen knife has done right by me too.”
WHOOSH. At that moment, jarring him from his comfort, he heard a gigantic splash only twenty paces or so from the bow of the boat. The wave it made jostled the little craft as he jumped to his feet. With a wrinkled brow and his jaw hanging low, he peered from side to side. Keeping one eye on the white-capped waves, he reached back to grab his dagger. Bubbles jetted to the surface of the choppy water, and he waited to see if anything would pop up. Only a second later, bobbing before him, the back of a man’s head emerged, gasping uncontrollably for air. Ardently treading water, he turned, and Elias saw who thrashed about before him. He could barely believe his eyes.
“ZOLTAN. Is that really you?”
Zoltan, now exhausted but surprisingly calm, answered Elias. “It is I,” he gasped. “…and I came so very close to landing on the dry planks… of your vessel…right beside you.” Water splashed a few times in his face.
“…but…but I can’t believe it,” Elias said, reacting in amazement.
“Not to be rude, my boy, but I’m not interested in conversing at this point. Be a good man and put down your weapon to throw me a line to welcome me aboard.”
“Oh yeah…sorry.” With a cold slap, Elias was brought back to reality as he hurriedly tied one end of the rope to an iron ring attached to the floorboards of the deck and tossed the bulk of the looped hemp to Zoltan. He wrapped it around his arms, and like a vice, he held on securely with both hands. With somewhat of a struggle, like reeling in a blue marlin, Elias was able to tow Zoltan up and over the edge of the side of the boat. He delivered him safely to the dry deck of the lifeboat. Both Zoltan and Elias collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
“Zoltan, are you alright? What are you doing here? Why is…”
“Not all at once,” Zoltan said, pulling himself up to a seated position, clearing his throat between words and poking his pinky finger in one ear. “I’ve come chasing you, Elias. I sent you here…do you have a blanket in there?” he asked, pointing to the large wooden box.
Elias froze. “Wait, what? You sent me here?” His jaw jutted forward, and he scowled at his guest.
Zoltan kindly smiled and exhaled. He shrugged his shoulders and joined his hands together in a prayerful fashion.
“I knew it. I don’t know why I reacted so surprised. I knew something was up, especially since I found my dagger here, but…why?” Elias said, folding his arms against his chest.
“My good boy, I could see no other way. You have the gift, the donum…now the blanket, if you will.” Zoltan stretched out his shivering hands.
“The donum…the DONUM…this gift is a curse! What else…what else can you tell me?” Elias retrieved a moldy moth-eaten blanket from the box and gently wrapped it around Zoltan’s shoulders.
“If you settle yourself down one iota, I will tell you—you temperamental artists are something else,” he kindheartedly said under his breath.
Elias’ shoulders sank, and he let out a sigh as he sat next to the old man.
“I detected something sinister as the smoke of the kingdom wafted our way,” Zoltan said with an easy monotone. Now for a cup of coffee. Do you have one?”
“What? Coffee? Are you serious? We’re on a banged-up boat in the middle of nowhere. What are you thinking?”
“I see your point,” Zoltan said as he placed his hands one over the other and quickly clapped his upper hand to his lower, at which time a hot pot of steaming coffee and two mugs hovered before them.
“Awesome, Zoltan. You’ll have to teach me that one,” Elias said as he briefly forgot about his frustration with his new and unasked-for adventure.
“Oh, you will learn how and quite a bit more. Now pour the
coffee, and let’s talk,” said Zoltan as a soft, salty breeze gave him a slight stir.
Elias poured the coffee and looked with admiration at his old friend. “So what can you tell me?”
Using both hands to sip from the mug, Zoltan said, “I can tell you very little at this point. I have a morsel of information to share, but not much. Believe me when I say I know very little.”
Short-fused, Elias blurted out, “A morsel. A morsel! You send me here, and YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHY?” You know I was just attacked by a sea serpent and…”
“Good for you, Elias,” Zoltan interjected gleefully, cutting Elias off mid-sentence. “You must have fared quite well as I do not see any hideous blemishes on you, and I don’t see the serpent anywhere,” Zoltan added while looking out to the vast gray rolling waves.
Collecting his thoughts, Elias knew his frayed nerves would lead him somewhere he’d rather keep to himself and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Zoltan…I’m tired and so… alone.” Elias looked down at his hands, sniffed a few times, and then rubbed his nose. He looked out to the sea as a breeze caught his floppy hair and tousled it in a few directions. “Like I was abandoned until you showed up. I just don’t know what to make of all this. It’s time for me to go home and do what I want to do. I earned it, after all. That’s why I traveled to find you in the first place—to find out who I am and do what I love. And traveling to the Under World to find you and all I did there. I’ve done enough—I’ve earned it.”
“You earned it? Yes, I can see your point. First of all, thank you as you saved me from the clutches of Ordak, and you are quite humble as you set the oppressed folks of the kingdom free. But my good boy, I am sorry to say that, now, those things matter not, at least not for the short run.”
“Huh? I feel my life is out of control.”
“Elias, life is full of the unexpected, but we seem to forget that and think life SHOULD be full of the ‘expected,’ Zoltan said in a very calm but exacting tone. “You are in the middle of, shall I say, a twist and, for that matter, a turn—and perhaps another twist. I must say you are who you are whether you like it or not, and you should think of it as a privilege to be you and grab hold of every moment of your life. It is up to you to make the most of it. Let me pour you another cup of coffee.”
“Okay, okay, but I don’t like it, and I’m not talking about the coffee,” Elias said, sitting back and looking at the sea. It was now quiet as the endless waves that relentlessly wrapped themselves around the boat seemed like a warm embrace as they continued to lap lower against the sides. It was still.
“I know you are unhappy with me, and you have every right to be so, but in the end, you will understand. You will. Trust me.”
Ignoring Zoltan’s words, Elias asked, “So tell me, how is everyone—Kelsa?”
“She is just fine. I managed to redirect both her and Cimbora safely to a place where you will see them soon. Don’t ask me why, as I had to act quickly when Ordak was breathing down our necks—before our dear friends, the Bee People, whisked him away. Oh, that was such a special moment just hearing the hum.” They both laughed and sipped from their cups.
“I think I know the moment—yeah, the exact moment. He almost picked up on what you were doing. I could tell you were doing something, but I had no clue,” said Elias.
“To tell you the truth, I was not so sure myself.” Zoltan winked.
“And the others?” Elias asked abruptly, changing the subject.
“Nattymama and your family are fine. Oh yes, and before I forget, you must understand that time counts differently there versus here. It may seem like only a minute to some but an eternity to others, but this will all be clearer to you later.”
“You haven’t even told me where I’m going.”
“Oh yes. In a moment,” Zoltan replied with a light chuckle. “As far as the others, Lantos and Gaspar are back in their homes, I presume, and Akota is being celebrated by the Seraph people and the former Inhabitants of The Kingdom of Gold. And by the way, passing the ring to him has made all the difference for his people. You have shared the donum, and you have yet to realize your brilliance in doing so.”
Elias smiled, but he quickly looked down at the splintering planks below. Zoltan felt his angst and wanted to comfort him.
“Oh yes, you may long for them and feel you are missing out—but you are not truly missing out as you are where you are supposed to be—that’s the difference. Elias, do not pine for what was or what you think is, nor reach for what you think might be. It is today that matters as we may, most assuredly, count the days we have lived, but we cannot even attempt to count the days ahead of us. Life does, indeed, have a starting point for all, but the endpoint is a mystery. But I dare say, life has a habit of going on whether we like it or not—even if we are in it or not,” said Zoltan.
Elias said nothing but looked fondly at Zoltan, then turned and stared at the horizon. As he nodded, a wide smile came across his face as Zoltan sipped from the mug. At that moment, a sparkling aqua and sapphire-colored dragonfly landed on Elias’ knuckle. Without moving his head, he gazed down at the quiet and majestic creature.
“We must be near land,” Elias’ eyes lit up as he kept still and looked intently at the dragonfly.
“Elias, I believe you are correct. That little fellow reminds me of a story I was once told. A story that others have passed down over many years and, as time so masterfully can do, has gobbled up the author’s name. Would you like to hear a story?”
Elias faced Zoltan and looked into his eyes. He couldn’t help Zoltan’s allure as he looked into the recesses of his pupils. The eyes that have seen a thousand years. The eyes that have looked deep inside of him. Elias nodded and smiled.
“A time not so long ago, there was a pond like any other pond—perhaps like the ones around your home or mine. Do you know the kind
of pond I speak of?”
“Sure, Zoltan, go on.”
“Okay then… in the muddy water under the lily pads, there lived a little neighborhood of water bugs—cute little things. This tiny community lived a simple and predictable life in the murky water. Little concerned them, for the most part, so they were happy creatures. As it is with any community, sadness would come at peculiar times. On occasion, and without warning, a water bug would journey up the stem of a lily pad. To an onlooker in the water bug community, this was not a good sign.”
“So the water bug crawled up the stem of a water lily—how is that sad?” asked Elias.
“Well, Elias, all the water bugs knew was that when they saw one of their own make the climb, their friend or family member would never be seen again.” Zoltan paused and looked away.
“That’s not much of a story. So the water bug climbed up the stem, and a hungry bird ate it. Great story, Zoltan,” Elias said, shaking his head.
“Elias, my boy, that is not the end of the story—far from it. Would you allow me to proceed?”
Elias nodded. “Sorry.”
“Okay then. The water bugs knew they would never see their friend again. They, like you, thought the worst. They thought their friend was dead.
As it so happened one day, and with no warning to his family or friends, the littlest of water bugs felt an overpowering yearning to journey up that stem. However, he was determined to return to the community and tell his family and friends what he found on the other side. They pleaded with him not to go, but he did anyway. He began to climb the stem. When he reached the surface of the water, he journeyed out of the water onto a lily pad. Because of his climb, he was very tired, and the sun felt good. So the little water bug decided he must close his weary eyes and sleep.
During his nap, he changed. When he woke, he had turned into a beautiful aqua and sapphire dragonfly with graceful wings and a slender body created for flying. Therefore, that’s exactly what he did. He soared high above and looked at all below him. He skirted downward and skimmed the surface of the water. He saw new worlds in all its beauty. His perspective was new and fresh—one he thought never existed before that fateful day.
One day, while resting on the arm of a boy, he thought of his friends and family and how they must think he was now dead. It reminded him that he desperately wanted to tell them otherwise and share with them the joy he had found. He hovered over the surface of the water where his family and friends lived, and he could barely make out the little community below. The water was murky that day. He attempted to fly through the surface of the water, but when he tried to reemerge into the water, he could not. He tried and tried and tried to break the surface of the water to no avail. He could see the water bugs below as they continued their simple life. He wanted to explain how he was alive and how wonderful life really was. He wanted to talk about the fulfillment he felt.
Attempt after attempt, he thought differently about telling them and began to understand he was now in the place where he should be. He hoped that their time would come and they, too, would realize that they have wings and one day they would join him. With one last look, he knew what he had to do, and he took to flight, never to allow the past to hold him back. He knew he had to taste the wonders of what today brings.”
“So, I’m the dragonfly?” Elias smugly asked.
“You? Maybe the both of us—our friends, too, perchance. But the story, albeit simple, tells more. Think about it.”
“I see where it is about living and becoming, but it is also about death. Right?”
“Oh, Elias, it is for you to grapple with—let us speak of it no more.”
A huge smooth swell, the size of a modest house, mildly rolled under the lifeboat, placing them high above. As soon as they were at the pinnacle, they descended to a level where all they could see around them was a wall of water. As they evened out, the clouds vanished, and the placid wave slowly moved further away. Many smaller ones rapidly made their presence known as they slapped the boat in all directions. Elias and Zoltan held tight to the sides of the craft until all was calm.
“What was that all about?” Elias said.
“My boy, look over your shoulder, and you will see.”
Elias turned, and a good five or six sea miles before them was an iridescent glow the size of a small island of purples, blues, and red. It twinkled in the bright sunlight. Like the waves, the oddity seemed to be covering something as its hues swayed and fluttered to greens, yellows, and orange. It was a magnificent sight.
“Wow! I’ve never seen anything like it before,” said Elias.
“Nor I…nor I.”
“What do you think it is, Zoltan?”
“There’s nothing like a good mystery than one that is about to unfold in front of our very eyes. Let’s wait and see.”
As they got closer to the spectacle, they noticed that around the edges of the colors and lights seemed to unravel. Specs, as they thought, were drifting away, and as they did, the two saw rocks, trees, and a mountain.
“Zoltan, they’re dragonflies. Millions of dragonflies.”
“So they are. Very interesting,” Zoltan said, leaning toward Elias. “There is something I must tell you.”
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Let me know what you think below.
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Coming-of-age or bildungsroman? When you hear the word “bildungsroman” what’s your initial thought? You probably have a good idea of what “coming-of-age” means in literature. For most, bildungsroman is not a term we use or hear regularly. If I had to guess, very few people know much about it. I was among this group until a few years ago as I used the term coming-of-age broadly. However, there are distinct differences between coming-of-age and bildungsroman novels.
The origin of the genre is German, where the word “bildung” means “formative” and the word “roman” means “novel”. Since bildungsroman novels are among my favorites I know plenty of others appreciate this genre. However, it is safe to say that most of us might not recognize the term so I thought I would share some thoughts.
So what is a Bildungsroman?
A bildungsroman is a coming-of-age story highlighting a young person’s psychological and moral development. Typically written in the first person, the protagonist shares their journey to maturity.
You might say that sounds like just another coming-of-age novel. A bildungsroman is always a coming-of-age story whereas not all coming-of-age novels are bildungsroman. A bildungsroman delves into themes of self-discovery and the search for identity. A protagonist’s inner journey including their values, spirituality, and understanding of the world is always a part of the bildungsroman.
A bildungsroman delves into themes of self-discovery and the search for identity.
Coming-of-Age versus Bildungsroman
A coming-of-age novel is a broader designation that oftentimes refers to any novel in any genre that explores the experiences and challenges of a character’s journey from childhood to adulthood. Coming-of-age stories emphasize growing up or coming to terms with the world. The operative phrase is coming to terms with the world. The way I look at it, in a bildungsroman, the protagonist is coming to terms with their view of the world that is found deep within them. As an actual genre or sub-genre, depending on who you talk to, these stories specifically focus on the protagonist’s psychological and moral development.
Although there are others, the major difference between a coming-of-age and a bildungsroman novel is that the protagonist mostly grapples with external challenges. In a bildungsroman the protagonist’s challenges are deep inside of them regardless of where they are in the physical world. Although in some coming-of-age stories, the protagonist struggles with internal issues, their loss of innocence may center more around relationships, sexual awakening, death and mortality, family issues, or social justice concerns.
The Structure of a Bildungsroman
Loss – the protagonist endures a profound emotional loss
Journey – because of their loss, the character embarks on a journey. The journey can be physical in nature, metaphorical, or both. They search for answers to what gnaws at them with hopes to better understand the world and how they fit or must navigate in that world.
Obstacles/conflict and growth – But as the story continues, like forcing a square peg in a round hole, the protagonist makes decisions that are not always the best. They eventually, willfully or not, resolve themselves to accept society’s ways.
Maturity/enlightenment – Psychological growth and change lead to, maturity. Many times the protagonist helps others who are on the same journey.
Although I have found the same books on lists for both bildungsroman and coming-of-age novels, the following, I feel, seem to be good examples of bildungsroman novels:
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
What do you think? Are all of these books bildungsroman? Coming -of-Age? What books would you add to the list? Which ones would you remove?
A Review of Sorts – some of my brief thoughts: A Separate Peace by John Knowles
One of my favorite books in this category is A Separate Peace. I first read it at age fifteen and it made an indelible impression on me. It inspired my novel, Cutting of Harp Strings many years later.
The novels I love evoke strong emotions and provoke thought. A Separate Peace does this for me as I experienced each moment alongside Gene during a poignant period of his life. He navigates a friendship—a love—that is difficult for him to understand. I know he would do anything for a “do-over” and I empathize with him and Finny.
Gene, the protagonist, tells the story of when he was a boy full of jealousy and self-doubt to an adult who learns from his mistakes and finally accepts the consequences of past actions.
With World War II as a backdrop, Knowles compares and contrasts both societal and personal loss of innocence. Gene struggles with his complex relationship with his roommate, Finny, as the immorality of war casts a shadow on all they do.
A good book is worth reading many times, and I have done just that. Each time, I learned something new about this once-in-a-lifetime friendship. Like all relationships, it is full of joy and pain. Knowles was a master at lulling us into what seems to be a simple and innocent adventure but is, in truth, a deep and dark journey within. It reminded me that we must always search for the truth. Finding it, however, can be elusive; we may hear the voice within, but listening to it is another matter.
I hope your next read is a bildungsroman. I hope to hear from you.
NOTE: This is a great source for more information on writing – Master Class
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
Keep reading. Whatever it is you read–keep reading. I have written and published literary fiction, fantasy, and short stories, but I’ve read books from various fiction and nonfiction categories. Most of the time, I confess, I read literary, general fiction, and fantasy and sprinkle in some nonfiction. I love variety. Don’t you?
My mantra is whatever you like to read, keep reading it. At the same time, be open to new genres
What You Read is Open to Interpetation
As a writer of fiction, I believe all works of literature are open to interpretation. I completely encourage this. There’s magic behind reading, and it comes from taking the time to reflect on what we are reading.
My best reads are those that give me something to think about.
Non-fiction vs Fiction
Non-fiction, for the most part, is less about interpreting the prose but about accepting or, sometimes, questioning the facts that are laid out in front of us. But nonfiction has broad categories as well. I’m thinking of self-help, how-to, historical accounts and biographies, and books on belief systems among many others.
Even if you read non-fiction, you just can’t believe everything you read. It’s good to read a variety of non-fiction books about the same subject matter and by doing so, we gain rich perspectives. What’s important in my mind, is, however, whatever you like reading, keep reading.
More about Fiction
When you pick up a book, each story is new and fresh to us, and when we immerse ourselves into each paragraph, sentence, and word it is, of course, through our personal lens—and all the many relationships we have. This is among my favorite reasons to both keep reading and writing fiction.
Fiction is about Relationships
We are all about relationships. Not just relationships with humans, but relationships with animals and any living being including plants, trees, and insects – if you don’t believe me, many belief systems revere many different kinds of living beings. But we also have relationships with our earth, and our God, or not — depending upon what we believe. We can’t forget our relationship with ourselves which I think is sometimes overlooked.
What did I miss?
Given just this short list, building, and sustaining relationships is a full-time job! It only goes to show that when we read literature, depending upon which relationships we value most, certain parts of a story mean different things to every reader. Reading fiction is a very personal undertaking unless you are on some kind of mission to read 500 books a year! But that’s a different sort of reading altogether.
We are unique in every way and, perhaps, it is because of the way we view our existence.
Just think about the reviews you’ve read. Some readers love a book while others hate it. Some readers identify an obscure part of a story and latch on to it while others miss that part altogether. We owe it to ourselves to invite differing opinions on the written word and if we do, perhaps more people will keep reading.
Humans and our Love and Need of the Written Word
There is nothing more human than the written word that we created many centuries ago. Yes, drawings, paintings, sculptures, and other forms of expression are vital and should be appreciated, but the written word does more and allows us to live among those in the story.
Words allow us to tell the story of what it is to be human, to interpret it, and to realize that every emotion we feel today has been felt by millions before us, whether we were queens, farmers, or factory workers. This makes our relationships with each other all the more important.
It is how the characters respond to what comes their way and our response to the character.
When we think of all the genres in fiction, such as horror, mystery/crime, science fiction, thriller/suspense, romance, fantasy, western, historical, or young adult, every story depends on how the characters respond and react to their various relationships in their lives. This opens the magic door for us to eavesdrop and get drawn in. Yes, the plot is important, especially for specific genres, but even so it is all about how we interpret the relationships in the story.
No matter what, keep reading.
What do you think?
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
I was a slow reader when I was young. Full disclosure: I’m still a slow reader—no big deal. But back in third grade and earlier, as a struggling reader, no matter what I did, I could not move up from the “Group 3” readers to Group 2 and certainly not Group 1. For an eight-year-old, that was a very big deal.
I know many teachers still use reading levels, and this is now under great debate, but it was nothing but a horrible experience for me and was a deterrent to my progress as a reader in many ways—anyway, I am digressing from the start so let me get back to my story.
As I said, I tried everything to advance to Group 2. Group 1 was my ultimate dream—weird, but that’s how my eight-year-old brain worked. My mom brought home books, and she would work with me, so I had wonderful support. Though I probably made more strides at home than at school, it just wasn’t enough for the teacher to notice my improvement. I liked reading as I knew, even as a little kid, that I could be a part of an adventure by reading books–and I liked that. But as a slow-reading little kid, this was painful time, but I kept plugging along.
When I was in third grade the bottom fell out for me.
I remember that day so clearly. The teacher, who I will only refer to only as Miss Cringeworthy told us, in her usual harsh tone, to open our readers. Our readers were full of forgetful stories that were anything but what third graders may read today: Matilda, Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Captain Underpants, Stuart Little, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to mention a few..
The book we read was a collection of archaic and unmemorable stories. What we read was the only part of that day that I can’t fully recall. I just know the stories were NOT interesting. Maybe if they were, I wouldn’t have struggled as much.
Our desks were arranged in rows. Miss Cringeworthy always started our reading lesson by having the first kid in the first row read the first paragraph. they would be followed by the second kid who would read the second paragraph and so on down the row to start again with row two.
I was the twelfth kid and near the end of the second row. I looked ahead in the story to find “my paragraph” that I would be reading. Reading it over and over again I hoped I would read it perfectly when it was my turn.
That was my plan – struggling reader or not!.
The Worst Silence
My heart began to beat faster and faster as the eleventh kid was finishing her paragraph. I cleared my throat and I began to read. I thought I was doing fine. But the next thing I heard came from Miss Cringeworthy. At the top of her lungs she bellowed, “STOP!”
It seemed like the worst silence I have ever experienced, as I felt my heart thump and thought the rest of my classmates could hear the “thump” too.
From where she was standing at the front of the room, she began to slowly walk down the aisle to where I sat. The only sound in the air was the click-click of her pointy high heels that she stuffed her feet into that morning. Each short step she tookgnawed at me until she stopped and hovered over me. Looking up, her face reminded me of a bowl of quivering Jello and her eyes bulged out.
I swallowed and looked right at her.
“I taught your older sister,” she said softly.
Pause.
“And I believe your older brother as well.”
Another pause that was much too long for any eight-year-old to endure.
“And you are nothing like them.”
Still looking at her bulging eyes in a pool of jiggling Jello, I wascrushed–I was mortified.
My eyes welled up and I was ready to bust out and cry. But I don’t know how I did it, but I held it in.
But I cried inside. Thankfully the class looked down at their books and said nothing.
She click-clicked her way back to the front of the classroom. That was that…until I told my mom…but that is another story.
Here’s me speaking to a college-level course in 2023 about writing fantasy.
Photo by Lisa Cipolletti >>
So…From a Struggling Reader to Writing Fantasy...Years Later
I never dwelt on this moment but I never forgot it either. Leap forward to 2011. As a lifelong daydreamer and lover of fantasy, I looked back at that moment and decided I wanted to write a story that I would have loved as that kid—and as an adult.
One that would captivate the reader that was full of mystery, marvel, and magic.
My story had to be about a young boy who was searching for answers; a story where the mentor was an encouraging guide. I wanted to write about following our heart and our truth. I wrote the first book, The Amulet: Journey to Sirok,of a fantasy trilogy. I called the series The Elias Chronicles.
Miss Cringeworthy was long gone before I wrote and published Book I of the trilogy, otherwise, I would have delivered her a personally signed copy–with a smile..
Have you ever had an experience like this one? What did you do about it? Let me know.
About E.G. Kardos
I am a fiction writer and the author of five books. My writing draws inspiration from the beauty surrounding us all—both in nature and in each other. Spirituality, friendship, love, and our connection to the universe inspire me to write. Here’s more about me and my books.
