beginning-endings

The following is an excerpt of a draft of the opening of a novel which I hope to someday write. This piece is being submitted for Vocal's "Self-Editing Epiphany" Challenge, and will therefore include my analysis and reflections following the conclusion of the excerpt. Cheers, friends!

*

*

Presented to you here, dear reader, are three beginning-endings. What is a beginning-ending, you ask? Well, it's in the name: it is a scene or moment which appears at both the beginning and ending of a story - as both the prologue and epilogue of a tale, in other words. If the author is good enough, a beginning-ending will be granted by the story that occurs between it's two appearances a new profundity and significance when encountered for the second time. We will see the scene with new eyes, as it were, even as it unfolds in an identical fashion. The aforementioned good author will hopefully also be able to capture a sufficient measure of mystery and wonder in the first run-through of the scene, of course, so as to keep readers intrigued enough to follow along into the rest of the story. But enough waffling about definitions; here proceed the three beginning-endings of this book's story.

Beginning-Ending I

Our first beginning-ending opens in a full, warmly lit classroom; late summer sun pours through the windows, gilding desks and illuminating whirling motes of dust. Two characters stand out: one student, smallest of the bunch, sits straight-backed at his desk, his curious excitement so fervent as to appear almost painful. In contrast, a slightly older and larger student farther back in the classroom slumps so heavily on his desk that one might be convinced Atlas himself had just removed the weight of the world from his juvenile shoulders. All other students in the room fall on the spectrum of reasonable liveliness graphed between these two outliers. At the front of the classroom, the elderly teacher pauses his chalk-scribbling to glance back at his pupils. A warm twinkle alights in his eye as his gaze flits across the room full of young souls.

Beginning-Ending II

Our second beginning-ending emerges in the scene of a sprawling, vernal garden: moss rolls unchecked over large, scattered stones, as a hazy mid-morning light filters through the matted gnarls of ancient, drooping tree branches. Tufts of wispy grass and pale flowers spring tentatively from the gaps between roots and beside boulders. An elderly woman hunches over one particular floral patch, her silver hair brushing the purple and white petals which she is carefully pruning. A warm breeze passes through the clearing, eliciting creaks from the trees and setting the grass awhisper. The woman looks up, eyes closed and mouth tilting into a smile, and savors the long moment.

Beginning-Ending III

Our third and final beginning-ending opens gradually, like slipping into or out of the space between dreams. A blazing orange sun, low on the horizon, comes into focus. And yet - the horizon is made of clouds! And where there ought to be sky above there floats, pale and distant, inverted mountain peaks; the world is upside down! A silhouetted character walks slowly and purposely across a flat, endlessly expansive cloudscape, towards an ember sun which sinks lower into the clouds below - or slips higher into the clouds above..?

Here ends the excerpt.

*

*

It's always a risk for an author to introduce readers to a term which they personally coined; perhaps doubly so to open a whole novel with just such a gamble. I feel this is the sort of choice which can either communicate that an author is brilliant, original, and dashingly clever - or that they are a pompous, self-important copycat who merely wishes to appear brilliant, original, and clever. I leave it to the readers and commenters of the Critique community here on Vocal to inform me which character I more come across as, if indeed either at all. My intention in opening the above excerpt thusly was not to create or communicate anything about the author at all; I just wanted to open this analysis by observing that such a stylistic choice might, by default, elicit some sorts of assumptions about the writer.

I opened the piece as I did simply because I got really excited about the concept of beginning-endings when the idea first came to me, and could think of no better way of sharing that titillating concept than simply - well - sharing it outright. There are moments, when introducing a concept, that subtlety must be wielded as a lovely nuanced cloth to leave just enough of an idea to the imagination of the readers. To me, this excerpt was not one of those moments. I wanted readers to know that these three scenes were beginning-endings, so gosh darn it I told them that they were beginning-endings. Perhaps this makes for too 'meta' an opening to a piece of fiction. I've never too highly prioritized the structural integrity of the fourth wall in my own writing - but do feel free to tell me if you find my stylistic choices revolting.

Another thing I am compelled to mention is that I do recognize my knack for verbosity; it feels particularly and egregiously noticeable to me in the opening paragraph in which I define beginning-endings, but emerges assertively in every other fragment of my writing, too. I know that, in theory, I need to work on cutting off run-on sentences, on reducing the number of pretentious, pentasyllabic (and beyond) words, on cutting back on the use of semicolons, and on generally expressing concepts in more straightforward ways. But I do really enjoy writing in this overly flowery, gloriously inefficient way, even as I feel the wrath of countless well-meaning English teachers burning hotter with each passing paragraph. And I must say that I have highly enjoyed reading what I perceive as similar styles to my own - so for now, at least within the safety of a critique community and a writing challenge based on vulnerability and dubious choices, I choose not to rein in this habit. Should I keep that wandering line in Beginning-Ending I about all of the students in the classroom landing on a spectrum of fatigue between two outliers? Probably not, but it remains their for now. As before, do feel liberated to let me know what you think about these choices.

Moving on - I have heard it said that one of the most difficult things to accept as a writer is that it is impossible to perfectly share the feelings and images in your own head with another soul; all we can do, rather, is try to get really, really close. The special magic of an author's internal world will always be untouchably perfect, because we are endlessly complex and rich creatures, inside. Externally, though, authors have only the crude modes of letters, words, and phrases with which to forge a portal back into that abstract, infinite, and invisible world of feeling.

All this to say, my feelings of significance regarding the three beginning-endings shared above are quite abstract. I cannot tell you precisely why these scenes are the ones which I know will make the perfect openings and closings to the yarn I will spin, nor why such close attention is paid to the lighting of each scene - only that the muse inside insists that they must be as they are. Certain significances and foreshadowings pertaining to a greater narrative are present within each scene, of course; but the choice to open upon these three specific scenes did not come from careful planning or a pre-thought-out sense of plot. Rather, much of my sense of the narrative has emerged from the need to start with these three scenes, and to lend them some sort of future significance! I know that must sound quite backwards, to some - but I have always viewed story-writing as a process of discovery, more than one of construction. I like to think that I am rifling through the sands of my mind to find pieces of story that fit together, rather than forging some sort of story-machine through sheer force of will. Embracing that philosophy while writing this excerpt means that it is born not so much of a standard, cultivated artistic intention as of unpracticed, creative instinct - and that means it will not necessarily jive narratively or stylistically with anyone other than myself. Living within my own head, I cannot say whether or not this is the case - only that the possibility of its nonsensicality to all but myself feels particularly possible given the spirit in which it was wrought.

So if you ask me something like, what is the significance of Beginning-Ending III? Why do I, the author, think it so uniquely, completely, compellingly crucial? I shall tell you, dear reader - I still do not know.