The Writer’s Digest prompt for the week isn’t up yet. I have no idea what to do with myself (isn’t it funny how quickly something like that can become part of your essential routine?).
Perspective is a funny thing, isn’t it? I look at SO and the chemist in me thinks silicon monoxide, and wonders where the other oxygen got to. Some people just see a capitalized “so.”
And this one… this means the concentration of A, and I naturally expect that is in moles per liter. Some people just see that part of a quote has been altered to fit the purposes of the quoter.
Where I saw giant fighting robots in Transformers, my graphic designer friend just saw a ponderous number of polygons.
The examples go on and on and on (and on and on and on); who we are shapes what we take away from our experiences.
SO… it’s essential to get some perspective. Quirky little observations are a simple sentence or two and really help immerse you in the person you’re reading about. If someone makes a comparison of fabric to the fur of their Persian cat or their mother’s homemade dresses, it gives us a very simple, very identifiable way to characterize that person. A link to a profession can really help develop a fuller view of the world, from that character’s perspective.
BUT… (a four carbon chain… connected to what, I wonder?)
Don’t overdo it!
People are multifaceted. I’ve met very few people actually consumed by one thing in particular. When I look at my little container of pens, I don’t think of carbon nanorods or silver nanowires; I think of a bunch of dying flowers. Chemistry doesn’t influence every part of my life, because I’m not one dimensional. I have other goals and desires and interests. I know people that are consumed by their careers. They’re boring. Brilliant, but boring. They’re one dimensional, open book sort of people that can make a neat background, but you don’t want a book about one.
That means the bad guys too… I know people that hate Pan’s Labyrinth because Captain Vidal appears to just be evil for the sake of being evil, with no real explanation why. Some people are bastards, yes, but isn’t it more likely that they were drilled and indoctrinated or just fight to make their family proud and keep them safe?
I read books for the Sydney Carton. Even though the Madame Defarge paints an interesting background, I wouldn’t much like a book about Lucie Manette.