Words

There are always words going round in my head; some people think in pictures, some in ideas. I think entirely in words. By the time I come to stick my pen in my ink pot these words have reached a stage of order which is fairly presentable. ~ Evelyn Waugh

 

Waugh may have been exaggerating just a tad, but I very much understand this. I primarily think in words myself. I have never visualized a scene and then written it down. And I most definitely do not write the oft-advocated ‘sloppy’ first draft. I need the proper words to build the proper picture.

 

If there is a picture at all. I do not see a movie in my head, as some readers and authors claim. At most, maybe a few still shots, and those more akin to illustrations than photographs. I do hear what is being said. I may walk about, talking dialog out to myself before ever setting it down. That may be one reason I do not like any music in the background when I write. It interferes with my internal soundtrack.

The Short and the Long

More of my novels fall into the sixty to seventy thousand word range than any other. That is my personal sweet spot, I suppose. I am well aware publishers (these days) prefer a bit more length than that. I am also aware that many classic novels fall into that same range — or shorter. Some even slip into what some define as novella length.

I do not consider any of my stories to be novellas, at least as published. ‘Donzalo’s Destiny’ is, admittedly, divided into novella-length parts that are somewhat self-standing, though making up an overall story. My shortest novel otherwise is around forty-three thousand words; definitely above the novella cut-off.

Though a novella is, essentially, just a short novel — unlike a novelette, which could be considered a long short story. The border between the two is nebulous; by word count, somewhere around the fifteen to twenty thousand point. Depending just on numbers, however, is a mistake. The two feel different. The novella will be more complex in plot and character.

I just finished a story of some seventeen thousand and four hundred words. I consider it a novelette. There are two fairly straightforward plot elements intertwined and little more. Yes, I threw in some brief words toward a subplot romance but they are not at all essential to the narrative. Nor is any character other than the narrator really explored in any depth.

Kipling’s ‘The Man Who Would Be King’ is one of the great novelettes, at a little over fourteen thousand words. Again, essentially two plots — or one plot, as seen by two main characters. The conflict between their views of things pretty much makes the story. Everyone else who appears is not explored beyond their contribution to that story; we don’t know much of who they are, otherwise. Not even the guide, really, who is the strongest character beyond the two leads. His subplot is definitely subordinate to theirs. He could be discarded without changing the overall plot.

What am I likely to do with my own newly-minted novelette? Haven’t the slightest idea. It is set in the universe of my Jack Mack science fiction novels (written under the Oliver Davis Pike pen name), perhaps five or six years after the events in the one most recently published. I could just offer it as a stand-alone freebie. I could write another — or two — and put them together to create a longer book. Maybe both.

Either way, I should probably get to writing on something else.

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Incidentally, the movie of ‘The Man Who Would Be King’ is one of the few that truly does credit to its source material. Definitely recommended (and I’m generally not much of movie fan at all).

Also (not so incidentally), I put together a PDF ebook of Kipling’s novelette than can be downloaded for free at Arachis Press (arachispress.com). Or one can obtain a free epub from Project Gutenberg.

Be Yourself, a poem

Be Yourself

‘Just be yourself’ is lousy advice;
you have loads of choices—invent yourself twice!
More if you wish, it’s all up to you—
nobody can keep you from starting anew.
If you are asked, tell folks that you grew
and you’ll become others before you are through;
this day a villain, tomorrow quite nice—
if you can’t decide, then just roll the  dice!

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Skies, a poem

Skies

Ghostly moon, in skies of day,
who notes your passage, asks your way?
Only children, who delight
in such—to them—a novel sight.

Let me ask then, if I might,
what if the sun crossed skies of night?
Would we gaze up in dismay?
Fall to our knees, begin to pray,

asking God to set things right?
Or laugh, as children, in its light?

Stephen Brooke ©2025

American Magic

In the Seventies and Eighties there was a brief surge of American ‘magic realism.’ Pynchon’s ‘Gravity’s Rainbow,’ Helprin’s ‘Winter’s Tale,’ Delany’s ‘Dhalgren’ — all three of these books have been characterized on occasion as science fiction and/or fantasy, but I consider them neither; magic realism is essentially a sort of surrealism.

You, of course, are free to disagree. It doesn’t much matter whether any of us are right or wrong about it. All categorization is ultimately arbitrary.

I was much more impressed with these novels when they first appeared (and I was young and at least a little less experienced). They feel somewhat contrived now, exercises in literary theory. That does not prevent them from being still worth reading.

And though you find little surrealist tendency in my work, that does not mean I in any way object to it. I would consider Woolf’s ‘Orlando’ as good a work of magic realism as any of those I named, as well, perhaps, as a more enjoyable read.

Surrealism drops in the unexplained (and perhaps unexplainable) and treats it as simply the way things are. It does not create a true self-contained world with its own logic and laws as does speculative fiction (i.e. fantasy and science fiction). It is intended to jar the imagination with the illogical.

Unfortunately, that sometimes results in mere silliness, in whimsy, in tricks of illusion performed purely for their own sake. It can become conceptual showmanship with little true substance, an exercise in self-indulgence. Not that other sorts of fiction are immune to bad writing!

Of the three novels mentioned above, I find ‘Dhalgren’ to be by far the best. Again, you are free to disagree. Delany makes the unreal feel real, which is the point of magic realism. There are echoes of real cities in his abandoned Bellona, and of real people in the vivid characters who roam its empty streets. It is both familiar and unfathomably strange. And the author knows how to tell a compelling story, even if there is not exactly a real plot.

I suppose it — as Pynchon’s work — would also be pigeonholed as ‘literary fiction.’ It is certainly more literary, i.e. informed by literary theory, than the average popular novel. Ultimately, only time will decide whether any of them are great novels. And even time is known to change its mind.

Wish, a poem

Wish

He wished to be a dragoon,
in a colorful uniform,
but the faeries thought he said dragon — 
to them, that seems the norm!

He has no sparking carbine,
he rides no spirited steed;
instead his coat is of scales,
his heart is filled with greed!

Greed for what? Why gold!
And maybe a sheep or two
to snack on when he’s peckish — 
no one will miss a few.

Take care how you pronounce
when you make your wish;
you might want to be a cop
but end up a carp — yes, a fish!

Stephen Brooke ©2025

Faith, a poem

a poem of sorts, anyway

Faith

To believe in a purpose to ones
existence is faith enough.
To believe things matter,
to choose right over wrong,
is not easy. We must strive,
sometimes, for that faith.
We must yearn for it.
We try and, in trying,
we prove we do believe.
At least enough, we believe.

Stephen Brooke ©2025