Due to a very busy schedule this week I am unable to bring you a post of a quality that is to my satisfaction. I apologize for this. Two major, looming deadlines synchronized this week and I’ve been very busy. More on this at some point in the future. I hope to be back with you next week,
Nate
“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.”
Like many lessons we learn in our youth, this one has the ring of truth but frequently fails on contact with reality. In point of fact, this is not a truism. It is an attempt at manifestation, a practice we will talk more about soon but that we’ll pass over for the moment. The idea of the sticks and stones adage is simple. We should be injured by physical things and not by nonphysical things thus when ephemeral things like words seem to cause pain we should take comfort in the fact that words cannot cause actual pain.
The problem with this way of thinking is that it crunches words down into nothing, ignoring that words are tools. You can use them to build or destroy. When words are used to destroy a person then the saying becomes meaningless pabulum. We have all seen this. Words used to reduce a spouse or child to a nervous wreck, fearing the constant disapproval of their own family. Words used to destroy a reputation, taking away a person’s livelihood. Words used to accuse, dragging the innocent to jail or an early grave.
“Words will never hurt me” is one of the most empty, worthless lessons I learned as a child. There is a reason so few people in the generations after mine repeat the saying. I was made to repeat the saying not because it was true but because those who taught it to me hoped that my saying it would make it true about me. The irony there is palpable.
If words do not have the power to hurt a person they do not have the power to shape a person at all, as causing pain is the simplest task there is.
So let us dispense with this childish fantasy. The lesson we learned about words in the past were conceited and contradictory. Let me propose a new standard for understanding words.
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through Him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.”
In this understand, words are the foundation. They set the structure and shape of our lives, rooting us in the world and giving us an understanding of what is and is not. Words all rest on a foundation of truth, a single Word that we find at the beginning of all things. Like sticks and stones, words can be used to build upon the foundation, creating monuments, homes and communities.
The problem with words, as with sticks and stones, is when they are used irresponsibly. When you don’t build on the foundation the structures you make quickly collapse. When you casually drop debris on the ground it doesn’t vanish, just stacks up in ever more unstable piles. A diligent person can clear up the rubble and stack the pebbles into new, useful structures but it takes time. Far, far more time than it takes to scatter new loads of gravel along the ground.
All this detritus is unstable. As it grows deeper and deeper it becomes unsafe to cross. And sometimes it moves on its own. Titanic piles of self serving lies, reckless hyperbole and malicious slander can sit stable for years or decades, until a single word, said a bit too loud, shakes it all free and the avalanche sweeps aside everything in its wake.
It will crush institutions.
It will demolish careers.
It will end lives.
I know it. You know it. We have seen this happen, not just in the broad sweep of history but in this, the year of our Lord 2025.
When these avalanches come along they are as indiscriminate as any other disaster. Those who have build studiously and responsibly on the foundation of truth are as vulnerable to this as those who haven’t. When they come, if you aren’t prepared the carnage is shocking.
You realize the gap between stones and words is not so wide as you thought and you begin to wonder how to fix things. You begin to think of ways to deal with the problem. Certainly, you think, an avalanche so large requires an equally large solution. We must seize institutions! We must change laws! We must win elections!
This is the natural response. We see this happen, not just in the broad sweep of history but in this, the year of our Lord 2025.
Yet none of this is true. It’s just more rubble, scattered recklessly over the foundation of truth, laying down a foundation for the next disaster and nothing more. The problem is not the avalanche. It’s the pebbles.
There are many people building many things on our cultural edifice. Very few seek to build them on the foundation of truth and, so long as that remains the case, these disasters will continue to sweep over us. Yet the truth is a mountain and it cannot be moved by the wild movements of a few pebbles. If we seek to build on that foundation we must clear away the lies from it.
To do that, we must first confront the lies we’ve been told about the nature of words. In my generation it was sticks and stones. Now, it’s something much more sinister. The lie of today is thoughts are things. But that is a topic for next week.
For now, clear away the rubble. Find the foundation. Build on the Word. He will always be there.
This is a brief reminder that the deadline to submit a short story for the 2025 Haunted Blog Crawl is one month from today! The full details for submissions are found on the original post!
Hello, hello, welcome back! It has…
Well. I can’t say I had a great couple of weeks off, all things considered. Still, I have vacated and now I am back so it’s time to get down to work. It’s time to talk about fiction and its purposes in our life, a topic which those who enjoy the creation and appreciation of fiction hold near and dear to our hearts.
However, I want to take look at it from a different direction. Generally the fiction aficionado loves talking about the creation of fiction, the care in construction, the integration of timeless truth with a transient narrative. The casual fictioneer looks at things differently.
That is not news. Anyone hardcore storyteller who has tried to discuss movies, TV or books with their casual friends has come to this conclusion. The structure and techniques of story rarely mean much to them. Yet if we want to be storytellers who can captivate a large audience we still need to understand why they look at stories the way they do.
That brings us to the topic of today’s post. Fiction as refuge is an idea I’ve been slowly coming to understand as I watch the gradual disintegration of the stories that formed the cultural zeitgeist for most of my life. This collapse of the narrative integrity of some of these tales is something I cared a great deal about. In this I was not alone. But over time I came to realize I didn’t look at the issue in the same way as many of my peers.
Again, this was not new to me. That’s the way things have been most of my life. Yet the reasons for these differences is something all storytellers need to grapple with, as I believe it is a significant part in what makes some stories last in the eyes of the public and others fade away.
I strongly believe that most people who appreciate fiction look to it as a place of refuge from the world.
Let me try to explain this using the classic TV franchise Star Trek as an example. The essence of Rodenberry’s vision of the future is that humanity would change and mature until they no longer suffered from internal strife and division. Instead, they would travel into the stars, using their newfound cooperation to learn, grow and conquer the stars.
Was this vision a bit naive? Hopelessly optimistic? At times painfully detached from reality? Certainly. However, when you are tired from the constant conflicts in life, slipping onto the decks of the starship Enterprise with your favorite crew to sort out some sort of nonsense science project without any of that drama is mighty appealing. You’re not looking for craftsmanship. You’re not seeking moral lessons or political insight. You just need to feel some sense of meaning with people you know and like. Fiction offers that.
Most fiction franchises rise or fall not on the strength of their plots or their twists or their moods. They stand on the strength of their characters. The crews of Star Trek are packed full of fun, relatable and memorable characters who often carried their TV shows through poor scripts and network hostility. The original cast won over audiences to the point that some of them survived the years after Star Trek was cancelled on the generosity of their fans. James T. Kirk, Spock and Leonard McCoy remain the measuring stick for effective ensemble casts to this day.
When Picard gathered the crew of the Enterprise-D together one more time fans rejoiced. It was a bit like slipping on an old, comfortable pair of slippers one last time. The comfort and relaxation provided by spending a little more time with long loved characters is a precious thing. The timeless nature of fiction makes it possible to find that respite at any time, even if all you can do is talk about stories with others who have enjoyed them with you.
Fiction’s power of refuge is special. It can be horribly misused, both by tearing down the elements of a story that offer shelter and by manipulating others through the way fiction lowers a person’s guard. Audiences can also be tempted to crawl into fiction and abandon reality entirely. None of that is healthy.
Yet, when the boundaries and purposes of fiction are properly respected, fiction as shelter is not just good, it is great. Don’t let the drive for that to replace all the other things fiction can do. Moral teaching, craftsmanship, timelessness, empathy and many, many other benefits come from fiction as well. It’s fine to work them into a warm, comfortable story. But if you want those other elements to reach as broad an audience as possible, studying your fiction as a source of respite may be the most important element of all.
Nate Chen Publications 