Hypercompendia

Via Mark Bernstein, this very interesting use of stretchtext by Joe Davis entitled Telescopic Text.

Stretchtext was used beautifully by Steve Ersinghaus in his poem That Day published in the anniversary issue of The Drunken Boat, and it is something I’m interested in learning to incorporate into my own work.

What intrigues and amuses me with Mr. Davis’ piece is that it is directly contrary to the all important editing process in expanding upon a narrative versus slashing back for brevity.

This is something I’ve wanted to do since I’d started the hypertext stories for the 100 day project and just never got time to spend to learn the full scope of the Tinderbox software and write some type of story too.

Right now, I’m putting the stories, which were each individually written in a Tinderbox file, into a Tinderbox 100 Stories File, hoping to eventually find out if they can be easily exported into html individually which was what I had to do with the stories being written and put online at the rate of one per day through this past summer.

There are things that I’d like to do with the project that would tie the individual stories into each other–some are actually serialized–and this compilation into one Tinderbox file would be the way to achieve that. In the image above, there are only twenty of the 100 hypertexts entered. I want to see exactly how they relate to each other before I put in the rest, make sure I can export each individually, and make use of some of the Tinderbox features. I’ve already created prototypes and some common attributes and there are some other delights to discover.

And yes, maybe I’ll even break out of my grid-form once I feel more comfortable.

It’s really time to take a break from writing and do some reading; nothing’s proven that to me more than a quick scan of the stats on my latest work, Blueberries.

Of the people who read, only one I believe read the whole thing through. Of those that started, it is more interesting as to how far they got based on which links they chose.

Those who chose the first link “dreamt” only went a few links further into the story. This trail was more of the character’s background and childhood experience introducing the basis for her later psychosis. One person chose “sex,” which was the last hyperlink, and sorry to say, they didn’t go very far either.

So what is the impetus for selection? Does it depend upon the individual as far as style (first, second, third link in order) or experience either of reading hypertext or of knowledge of the author’s style? Is it the text itself that creates desire to go further in that direction, whether it be the single word (or phrase) that is obviously the link, or the context in which the link resides?

This is vital information for the writer. If you promise sex, you’d better not lead someone into dinner at Grandma’s. All trails must be interesting; just as in straight linear story, each sentence, each writing space, must entice.

Time to read the Bernstein/Greco compilation, Reading Hypertext. As a hypertext writer, this is important stuff for me to know. Meanwhile, I see where I need to tweak either story or linkage in Blueberries.

(Click here to enlarge map)
So it’s sort of done; about 44 writing spaces and 153 links. While I was surprised to see what all the linking back did to the story–it makes it appear as if you’ve read it all but if you click on a ‘visited’ link you’ll usually find that you haven’t followed many off that next space. There are three different endings and God only knows how many different ways of getting there.

The story is of an artist who is getting ready for a gallery showing and whose past becomes part of the paint that swirls onto the canvas. A little risque in parts, but I had fun with the stream of consciousness method of narrative that works so very well in the hypertext format.

Boy, this story I’m writing would never have made the 24-hour deadline as part of the 100 Days Project. I’m really enjoying the writing of it. It’s psychological realism and while that can get boring reading, it’s the most fun for me to write.

When I get to this point, it involves a lot of rereading, going back to the beginning and trying a few of the paths to insure that all characters are mentioned, all situations at least foreshadowed, all necessary information has been covered via the path chosen when landing on the text in question. It’s not a case of the whole story having to be told in each path, but there has to be some indication of what’s going on or why.

Should be done in another day or two.

There is a certain sense of organized fluidity in writing hypertext in Tinderbox that keeps one busy in a creative manner while narrative comes out in its own pace of choice.

Maybe it doesn’t work as well in outline or chart view, but I’m so settled into the mapview of Tinderbox that I develop a pattern that’s pleasing to the eye even as it it planned around the paths of story. It’s almost a musical blending of notes.

This story came out of a dream about blueberries and it’s been influenced perhaps by reading Adrienne Eisen’s Six Sex Scenes. I really needed to loosen up a bit and let some human sexuality into the story that brings out the human drama and reality of our lives. Maybe a blueberry isn’t really a blueberry.

What a delightful opening by Mark Bernstein to this, his latest book. It is inviting, it is humorous, and I’ll be writing more about it tomorrow.

Been working on another hypertext story but without the 24-hour deadline of the 100 Days Project, I’m not quite as dedicated.

But I believe I’m writing better.

I’ve been meaning to go back and do some serious editing on the 100 hypertexts, being neither confident nor conceited enough to believe that they were put together in their best form with such short time spent putting them together. The ability to write into the hypertext form has become more natural to me however and that is one thing that I treasure; the ability to foresee paths and patterns within a narrative as it unrolls.

I like the process of writing hypertext narrative; it’s a constant rereading and picking up of clues and wanting to find answers to questions.

In writing this morning I tweaked the first few lines of a new story (which is another great thing about hypertext; you’re continually going back and reading what’s gone before, giving you that editorial chance at refining language) and easily selected three possible trails of story.

“I dreamt of blueberries, brown bags full of berries as large as apples. I still catch their cool scent, feel their plump bodies in my hands.

Blueberries smell of morning breeze and sex with white curtains blowing out open windows.”

“Dreamt” is a natural; it can be the psychology of the narrative. It will give me the poetics I am feeling for this story. While it was a tossup between “bodies” and “hands” I chose “hands” to explore the reality of this character’s life. It also allows a more physical, textured path that may bring in the conflicts. “Sex” is the other trail that will lead into the possibilities of intimacy with the reader.

This is the way traditional story telling rolls out too, it’s true. But the choices of which in what order, and the ability to go into greater depth than linear often allows with backstory or asides in the jumping of borders of time is something that hypertext does best.

Just as I was writing this I noticed a post in Facebook by Chris Klimas that tells the story perfectly in a visual:

I don’t understand this world where people don’t want to see the trees that make up the forest; where ‘friends’ number in the hundreds or thousands yet have never been touched or held.

It’s a place where we claim unity via communication of typed sentences, often restricted by number of characters such as in twitter, typing into boxes and pressing a ‘submit’ or ‘publish’ key. Where we needn’t ask anyone to even be there, as a face to face or telephone call may require, to communicate because we just throw it out there and let them catch it at will. We don’t know or even care if they do.

Social networking may be the connection of strangers who pretend to be friends for a few minutes as long as the walls of distance are in place. We seem to care more for people in unknown quantities, in unknown quarters: ‘the poor’, ‘the hungry’, ‘the illegal alien’, ‘the oppressed’, ‘the elderly’, rather than any specific, touchable, reachable neighbor or friend. The whole rather than the individual. Which sounds terrifically magnanimous but at the same time terribly empty. Something rings hollow, false. It’s a juxtaposition of intimacy and distance in space. Even as we widen our circle of communication, we seem to accept less intimacy as we draw our own walls, presenting our lives in limited blocks of text.

This also on today’s ‘twitter’ news from and article on Networking Etiquette at USA Today : “After all, the average person has 120 “friends” on Facebook, according to the company. In real life, the average North American has about three very close friends and 20 people they are pretty close to, said Barry Wellman, a sociologist at the University of Toronto.”

This whole topic fascinates me and I take it personally; I’ve always been better at writing than face to face verbal communication and yet, why does this new approach bother me when I should be reveling in the idea that my time has finally come?