GPOY

One of my favorite things when reading, is when I see my experience reflected back at me, and I say, "Yes!  This is exactly what it's like."

I love it on small scales.  A comment about how old socks have stretched so now the hole in the heel is up around the ankle.  A note about the cheap, boxed cookies that some grad student brought for after the guest lecture.  The way the night sky is sometimes pink from light pollution, or the way the CTA guy pronounces "Balbo" like he's a little surprised.  Mentions of families taking pictures in the wild flowers on the side of the highway.  Any mention of fixing a bra with tape or pliers.

It validates my experience.  It celebrates these images that make up my life.  It makes me feel less alone, because someone else has seen these things and felt these feelings.  (And here we could get into a big essay on why representation is important.)

I've talked before about how details make the story breathe and draw the setting up around you.  But I think it's not only that the experience seeps into the details, that these details exist, but also the way that these details are presented.

I enjoy it most when they're presented like it ain't no thing.  It's just how it is.  It's so entrenched that the characters, the narrator, and the reader all take it for granted.  That's why it's so stunning when it's presented to you.  You realize that, yes, that's how it is.  That's this small part of my life spelled out in words, and I've never thought of it before, but I've always known it. 

Which makes it a little tricky.  It's mentioned, and the very act of mentioning it means it's important or gives it "significant presentation."  But if too fine a point is put on it, if it's explained too thoroughly, or presented like "Let me tell you about this thing that you don't know, even though you already know it, because I clearly know it better," it doesn't work.  I get incensed or offended or my suspension of disbelief is ruined. 

It reminds me of that time that I didn't laugh at this guy's joke about Babe Ruth (because it wasn't funny) and he went on to explain to me that Babe Ruth was this famous baseball player.

Dude.  Just no.

I got on a friend's case about this the other day in a story of his I was reading.  I didn't realize how big a deal this is for me until I'd written a page log, ranty response to a sentence he wrote.  It got me thinking about what makes these details work and what makes them not work, and I've come up with two rules for how to warm my heart strings when it comes to presenting real life situations that I have experienced.

• It has to be presented with the same level of acknowlegement that I give it when I encounter it.  So if I don't really think about it, but the character or narrator makes it into a big deal, I'm going to think they're new here.
• It has to be presented with the same level of respect that I give it when I encounter it.  Some things I meet with fondness and nostalgia.  Some things are irritating, but a fact of life, so what are you going to do?

 So clearly, this means that something I find a perfect representation of my experience might mean absolutely nothing to someone else.  Something that falls flat for me might resonate with another person.  You can't please everyone because not everyone has had the same experience. 

Except when I hit just that right note in my writing, when someone tells me "you nailed what I've never been able to put into words," it's the most amazing thing.  It's something to strive for.  It's the heart of all writing.