Hypercompendia

Looks like it’s a permanent relationship. The two naturally complement each other but I must say it was clearly unintentional and more a case of sticky-fingers on the dragging of the Storyspace icon to the dashboard but not quite making it past the top menu bar of the Applications Window where it stubbornly remains as king.

Here’s an example (below) of what I’ve mentioned as far as paths rolling out and reaching towards a natural connection point. Note the blue box labeled “Whiskey”:

The way the story is flowing is based entirely (up to this point anyway) on backstory since the current resolution of Bonnie’s conflict is known within the first three writing spaces (those in red) which represents the present.

Scott’s conflict is one of understanding and acceptance of what has happened.  What has he missed noticing? What hadn’t he known that was going on in his wife’s life?  What secrets had she kept from him, and, what secrets has he been keeping?

Well some of them come face to face and this particular point appropriately labeled “Whiskey” is one of those meeting points.  Of course what this does to the narrative structure is leave the reader at a dead end–no matter which road he took to get there.  But that’s okay; Susie fix. I like the way this happened and it’s not a case of painting oneself into a corner with hypertext.  There is always a way out.

As I notice two separate trails vaguely leading to a common box of statement or incident, I realize that this journal would not be honest if I did not admit that in my blackest heart of hearts, I have no real intention of giving the reader free rein to wander at will in any of my stories.  He will learn to trust me, to depend upon me, to follow my lead or he will suffer the loss of enjoyment of the narrative.

So there.

As I look over the map to date of The Hanging, definitely early in its "work in progress" stage, I am reminded of the simile of puzzle for narrative, particularly when referring to a mystery story.

But there is a visual likeness that is even more related to one’s working on a puzzle–at least from the writer’s perspective.  Sections are forming as they make sense in their development; the one bright orange maple against the blue sky is pieced together and sits floating on a background of tabletop in the absence of the all-one-shaded blue sky. Perhaps from an edge of the maple a wisp of cloud continues, he too surrounded by blue-edged white pieces that end there–for the time being.

The borders of the puzzle are completed first by their telltale straight edge; this is the structure of the story, what it will encompass, who will take part in it and what will happen to them.  The horizon may be pieced together next, the grey-green hills against the solid sky; a telling point of main conflict that runs through the work.

In Storyspace, I find myself following the path of least resistance when I’m not psyched up for the flow, focusing instead on completing the more obvious.  The deer in the foreground of the puzzle, less than a dozen pieces of tawny grey.  The coyote stalking him is next, a small patch of dirty golden yellow.  Between them, an expanse of dull wheat-dry grass, for now, left open as the sky so the tabletop separates the two.  This is where the bringing together, the solidifying factors must be filled in.  Pieces of puzzle fitting together to make each separate island larger, more complete, extending outward until all reach and touch to form a complete image of story.  And only now, when all the pieces are in place, can the  coyote reach and kill the deer.

Before CW class last night I was talking with a friend about his brand new adventure into weblogging and we discussed the definite difference a writer notices in putting words into the bordered area of a posting box, filling it with text.  I told him about Storyspace, and how you fill smaller boxes with story, and how one box leads to another, broken naturally into pauses for effect, just as paragraphs.

This morning while working on The Hanging I realized something that enforces Steve Ersinghaus’ notion of each Writing Space being necessarily a separate entitity–if well written, a poem–that can stand alone but works better with another Writing Space (much like my reasoning behind marriage!).  I’ve just spent a good half hour on the text below which was written several days ago and while it’s still not finished, it is obvious that taken out of context of the story, blanking out what comes before and after, the focus is on the language used, polishing as one would a poem to make it as concise and lyrical as it can be.

This particular snippet isn’t particularly poetic, but then neither is the scenario.  And it’s still a far cry from what it could be to establish its impact.  But, word by word, forced to focus on this block of story only, it is changing, has changed from simple relation of events, into approaching the drama of the moment.  Storyspace, with its breaking up a narrative into sections, encourages close reading.  This is terrific for the writer; should be kept in mind as well that the reader may also experience this influence, meaning that the writing should shine, without, of course, impeding the flow of story or discouraging the need to click onward.

What’s interesting in working within the medium is the number of points at which the writer comes into the story. While I’ve basically started this story with what may be the ending, there is the necessity of bringing in the backstory and details to develop a viable trail or trails that bring the story to this ultimate conclusion. 

Basically, it’s not as much a case of asking what happened next? but rather, what might have caused this?  So there are a number of episodes and ideas that can be brought to light, and they needn’t be definitive, they may be mere conjecture on the writer’s part, suggestions and guesses that give the reader the ability to decide for himself whether they are relevant.

Very different way of thinking, and hypertext is an excellent medium for the message.

I realize that I’m not writing into the hypertext environment in the same manner that it appears a lot of the hypertext authors have done. But I am writing true to my nature.

Without a plan.

That’s fine, I’m used to it and though there are some pov issues (sometimes I get a thought of character as the character instead of about him) and mood twists, those kinds of things are easily repairable in the many, many readings that occur as the story grows.

The problem here with my current project is that I haven’t gone back to read it in any real manner other than a writing space or two prior to where I want to add some cars to the train. It’s like I’m blurting out vignettes and details as they occur to me in random fashion, find a place to tack them on (Scott’s recall in the present? Bonnie’s thoughts on Scott and marriage? Goody, goody! Let’s have the third person omniscient watch as Bonnie mounts that spiral staircase that will lead her into freefall of unfrozen space!).

There comes a time however that even I must rein in stream of consciousness and tie together tracks that lead from Boston to LA.

This story has been deciding its own tone and it appears to have a rather dark sense of humor. 

Imagine a husband coming home to find his wife hanging from a chandelier in their bedroom.  He calls for help, uprights the chair she’s kicked away and steps up to desperately try to get her down.  He’s got one arm around his wife and with the other is trying to untie the rope.  He loses his balance.

Now lots of things could happen, and some things will never be really funny, but there are so many different ways to handle this and the tone of the narrative, the voice, is what ultimately decides.

I’ve tread lightly into magical realism in straight text but I’m finding that the hypertext environment gives it almost an irresistible element of fun.  Because one can move around so much in Storyspace, one can take things to the very edge and then drop back into the reason of reality without having to explain oneself.  Maybe not a truly new concept to a writer, but certainly one for me.  The closest I’ve come before in this area is in poetry.

Yet the good story is always a series of what thens? and this is no different.  So what happened after Bonnie trudged through the snow inside her house to go upstairs and change her clothes?  Well of course the first thing she did was kick off her slippers…

In the bedroom, Bonnie reluctantly stepped out of her slippers but was very happy to see that the snow wasn’t cold or wet like she would have thought.  The two bunnies, now free of her feet, hopped in long quick leaps across the room.  She watched in delight as two tufted tails disappeared under the bedskirt.  Like stage curtains the dust ruffle shifted and bulged and then their pink noses stuck out, their long whiskers sparkling like necklaces strung with crystal snowflakes.

I had to laugh when I went to read some of the hypertext fiction available and studied their maps. Very often it was the Russian Doll syndrome, otherwise know as Nesting, with a single box showing in the window. I’m sure their chart views, on the other hand, look quite beautifully symmetrical or asymmetrically balanced.

Me, I like working in an open area of Mapview where the damn story sprawls out like skeletal inkblotches. I understand the hierarchy system, only I can’t seem to apply it to whatever I’m writing. Even in Paths which was about as obvious a set a groupings as I’ve come across, and even before severe restructuring for more interesting (albeit author-guided) reading, looked dopey in a tucked-in-for-the-night setup.

I suppose it will be different for each story, but the creative freedom of an open field of Map is likely akin to the blank page/screen of a traditionally written narrative. The borders of the mapview being alterable as it is moved around within the window to provide for all to exist without borders; the borders of an 8-1/2 x 11 page or screen setup being breached by its ability to spill naturally onto another page.

The Storyspace environment, and the knowledge of hypertext linking of information to make it an enjoyable experience changes the story not only in the end result(s) for the reader, but for the writer most of all

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