(This is intended to be part of the introduction to my how-to-write book. This is a pretty messy first draft so I would appreciate comments on what parts are confusing, underexplained, disagreeable, etc. Thanks! [smile]) So, what is fiction anyway? Well, at its root, fiction is a form of magic. “What?!” you may be asking, “I thought this book was supposed to be a logical orderly analysis, not some mystical mumbo jumbo!” Yes, it is a logical orderly analysis. Anthropological analysis of human beings in all cultures and all times reveals that we seem to have this odd instinctive belief that magic ought to exist (regardless of any evidence that it actually does or not). We even seem to instinctively agree on the principles by which magic ought to operate: symbolism and sympathy. Symbolism (aka semiotics) is one of the fundamental bases of human cognition; one of the key instincts which makes us different from the animals. Certain other animals instinctively recognize a few symbols (bees) or can be trained to recognize symbols (dogs, dolphins, parrots, primates) but humans are the only animal which is instinctively inclined to generate new symbols and assign meanings to them. Assigning symbols, such as names, to particular objects or actions is somewhat useful, but symbols become truly useful when a creature can also understand abstract classes and assign a symbol to the whole class. A dog, for example, can learn to recognize a few names of toys, people, food, and activities, but you can't tell a dog to bring you the smaller of two balls. In addition to abstraction, true communication also requires the ability to combine two symbols. Any toddler can understand “put the toy in the box” and “put the toy on your head”. This is why parrots can't truly speak – they are perfectly capable of saying the words, they are perfectly capable of recognizing a single word or phrase and responding to it, they can even understand abstract properties like shape and color, but they can't grammatically combine symbols to form sentences. Sympathy, the idea that two objects may be connected even if they are far apart, is also fundamental to human cognition, particularly tool use. For most animals, if they can't see, hear, or smell something, it might as well not exist (this is why many pets get anxious when their owners go to work, even though their owner has come back safely many times before, and also why most pets will not try to open containers to get objects out of them.) Human infants on the other hand are fascinated by objects that hide and reappear, and go in and out of containers. Toddlers can be told to retrieve an object, and will go into a different room, get the object, and bring it back. More importantly humans can recognize the potential of an object – for example, that a rock is fundamentally similar to an arrowhead, and could be transformed into one. So what about magic? The proper function of the human brain is observe the world and extract theories about causality from these observations. A good theory would be realizing that if it's summer and you are hungry, try looking at the apple tree to see if you can eat some apples. On the other hand, a magical belief such as the idea that making a cave painting of an antelope stuck with a spear will improve one's luck at hunting, or praying to a god will cause that god to make events turn out in your favor, is a bad theory. Human thought is a complex system, and complex systems can be complete or consistent but not both. The human brain naturally generates both good and bad theories because it is a complete system rather than a consistent system – it can theorize about any possible causality, but sometimes comes to incorrect conclusions. (If human thought was instead consistent but incomplete we would be more like Vulcans, perfectly logical but unable to make intuitive leaps.) Okay, fine, magic is a mistaken theory of causality; a common error resulting from otherwise very useful fundamental human thought processes. Which has what to do with fiction, exactly? Well, we call this magical causality 'teleology'. Teleology is the belief that things exist or happen to fulfill a purpose, and this purpose can either be some sort of destiny or the desire (will) of a human or supernatural being. Destiny in turn can also be defined as the desire (will) of a god or the universe. So to simplify, teleology is the belief that things happen because someone wants them to happen. Now, from a strictly scientific point of view this is total nonsense – things do not happen because someone wants them to, they happen because of the laws of physics. But! Humans don't live in just the physical, mechanical universe, we also live in a social universe composed of other humans and animals. And other humans and animals can have desires and be motivated by those desires to cause things to happen. So in the social realm teleology makes sense – a fire is started, a mountain is climbed, a person is killed, because someone wanted that result to happen. Teleology is one of the essential organizing principles of fiction. Perhaps you've heard the rule of thumb, “If a gun is going to be fired in Act 3, it should be hanging on the wall in Act 1.” Aristotle's principle of unity in fiction is the idea that a work of fiction should use as few locations and characters, and as little time, to tell the story as possible. No flab, no extraneous junk allowed; everything in the story must contribute to the teleological purpose of getting to the climax and thereby conveying the moral of the story. Stories are also clearly made out of symbols: settings, characters, every action or speech made by a character is a symbol. Combining these symbols according to the grammar of plot creates a teleological act of communication – in other words, a spell. Every work of fiction is an act of magic.

Seems pretty good to me for an introduction.

My only minor gripe is I'm not sure you've fully explained the "teleology is magic" metaphor; it seems a bit tacked on to the description. I think of teleology to be a form of extra rules that define the "story universe" that make it special; the ones that make sure the heroes and villains in fantasy stories can only be killed in meaningful ways (rather than say, just accidently choking to death on a fishbone), and so on. I guess this does make it a form of magic (heck, my whole "Project Hamlet" village/story simulator game idea I was working on last year is based on teleology magic [grin]), but I'm not sure you've got enough in the intro to make the connection. Maybe if there was one more paragraph explaining the "rules of magic", or linking rituals to teleology (kind of like praying to the sun gods during an eclipse, or rain dances maybe?) I think it would make the connection better.

I'm assuming the rest of the chapter will explain more about teleology? It's a really interesting topic.

I was planning on spending the rest of the introduction talking about why people write and read fiction, still in the context of magic. I definitely plan to talk about teleology more but not for a few chapters.

Where did you thing the additional paragraph on magic should go, in between 4 and 5, or in between 5 and 6, or...?

I'm not completely sure which would be best, but I think it's paragraph 5 that just needs to be longer to explain how people can project patterns of behaviour into rituals ("magic") that aren't scientifically valid. That would probably mean splitting in into two paragraphs, one to provide examples of magic, and the next to explain how human pattern recognition can lean to incorrect conclusions.

As of me, I would also add a little more emphasis on Human Pattern Recognition, since, mostly, this is what Fiction relies on. But that's just my opinion. People DO invent little stories to make things fit better between themselves. You can't beat a loving woman to invent stories, except maybe a JEALOUS loving woman. There is a saying, in France, which goes a little like "there is no person deafer than the one who has decided he wouldn't hear". But it can be modified to suit the purpose of a loving woman always finding new excuses for unexcusable behavior in her man, or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, a jealous woman always finding fault where, potentially, there is none.

We are all making stories. sometimes to lighten our burden (it couldn't be helped. It's not my fault.), sometimes, to make things look better (maybe I shouldn't tell ALL the truth, only that bit which is so convenient...), and sometimes, we even resort to creative misunderstanding (This is priceless!! Yes, sure enough I've always known it was worthless.) to drive our points home. And curiously enough, this is very akin to magic.

Because magic is a way of explaining things that most cannot do. And so is religion, after all. People started fearing the almighty one who was able to torch a tree with thunderbolts and lightning spears, the one who had enough power to take a piece of fire, and bring it back tamed. "it's magic!!" Only that, there is no such thing as magic.

Try telling a Dark Ages man you could cut through his sword with light (understand laser) or even with water (understand highly-pressurized water) and he will just laugh his head off before taking YOURS off, just for suggesting something like that. SHOW him it is possible before he cuts you in halves, and you've created fear in his heart, because you could do something he thaught was impossible.

Magic is making difficult things look easy. Try juggling with two oranges. Then if you can, do it with three. Then four, then seven at a time. Turn it to pineapples, which are bigger, heavier and on the whole, spikier. Still can do it? okay. One-handed, now. Still do it? train a little more, then. And when you can, turn to knives, burning torches, and chainsaws. Maybe add the odd apple to make people laugh when you bite through one while still juggling, and then pick your teeth with a random knife. Don't do THAT with a chainsaw, though, it would prove terminally stupid. When you've trained enough, you can probably add up to fifteen or twenty objects moving at the same time. Train a little more, and maybe you can do it without your hands at all. THAT is magic. Doing things people believe cannot be done, usually with trickery and psychology, and sometimes, some technique and finesse.

But nowadays, people are much more PICKY about magic. They think they know a lot about techniques and technologies. They think Television and telephone, for a start, are NOT magic. But they really cannot be differentiated, from the specialized point of view of the Dark Ages man, from seering and telepathy, which are respectively, looking through a looking glass, or through water to see far away actions, or events of the future, and hearing someone saying things without moving the lips. Magic. And when I think of "Steve Austin, The Three-Billion-Dollars Man", I can only spot Necromancy. Magic.


The "Magic" analogy seemed odd, to me, because I think about magic in a way most people don't. I only think of it as a particular technique. And sure enough, writing fiction requires A WHOLE LOT of techniques. And mastering them, too. And sometimes, playing the fool with the rules, and showing people you can also do it without the dribbly candles, the twisted blown glass, the green bubbly thing boiling in a corner, the upturned empty skull and the stuffed crocodile, metaphorically speaking. Magic is about show. Efficiency doesn't come from show, it comes from elsewhere, and to Hell if I can give a direction. But after all, Magic isn't about everyday people doing it to improve potatoe crops, right? Magic is about highly specialized and extremely serious persons doing dangerous things and tampering with the fate of the universe, displaying powers unknown to mortals, to save it from monsters that are so dangerous only said highly specialized and extremely serious persons dare confront them. Which cannot be scaled, in fact, since no one else does dare. Gandalf doesn't really do anything spectacular, neither in Lord of the Rings, nor in Bilbo. He just HINTS that he is powerful, by staying behind to fight the Balrog, and mysteriously overcoming it. (and we know the Balrog is dangerous because it's gandalf staying behind, right?) There is no business like Magic business.

Maybe if it's a how-to book, you shouldn't use words longer than four syllables. But that's only my opinion, there. There are some VERY serious persons out there who DO write and are actually published, and don't give a damn about knowing about teleology, tautology, exobiology, although they do love the sound of zeugma. Once again, that's only my opinion.

Quote: Original post by Fournicolas
But after all, Magic isn't about everyday people doing it to improve potatoe crops, right? Magic is about highly specialized and extremely serious persons doing dangerous things and tampering with the fate of the universe, displaying powers unknown to mortals, to save it from monsters that are so dangerous only said highly specialized and extremely serious persons dare confront them.

I don't agree with this. Magic is an athlete wearing an unwashed jockstrap for luck. Magic is a christian teenager praying not to flunk a test. Magic is a child who says, I want to be a horse when I grow up. Magic is every individual person's little illogical superstitions and rituals.

I agree with all the sentiments you've presented here, but your analogies to animals being unable to grasp symbolism, I believe, are incorrect. While this is certainly nothing better than nitpicking, I find it distracts from your greater message. I suggest browsing through Piaget's theory of cognitive development.

Watch Alex, the African Gray Parrot, who not only speaks language, but rearranges lingual symbols to make requests, or to represent previously undiscussed concepts. (He figured out the concept of zero.) Also, don't forget Koko the gorilla, who signed "eye hat" when requesting a pair of sunglasses from an observer.

Conversely, human infants do not understand object permanence. That's why they cry when their parents leave the room; without the concept of permanence, their parents might as well have stopped existing.

There's also the bit about being able to turn a stone into an arrowhead, but the New Caledonian Crow has been shown not only to make tools, but to propagate this knowledge among their communities.

I don't mean to sound too nitpicky, because I really appreciate your larger message. [smile]

Hmm, yeah I need to do fact-checking on animal and infant psychology. Although, children younger than 2 years are pretty irrelevant to discussions of fiction because they can't produce it or consume it in the way an adult does.

What would you say is the cognitive borderline between a parrot and a human?

Quote: Original post by sunandshadow
Hmm, yeah I need to do fact-checking on animal and infant psychology. Although, children younger than 2 years are pretty irrelevant to discussions of fiction because they can't produce it or consume it in the way an adult does.

What would you say is the cognitive borderline between a parrot and a human?

You're right about the infants; I guess that one was too obvious for me. [wink]

I'd say that problem is that you're comparing all humans to all animals. It's more of a spectrum, where the smartest animals of the 2nd smartest species overlap with the dumbest humans. Really, though, this is only about your wording; perhaps you could just drop the comparison (as there would be an endless list of exceptions) and focus on the importance of human cognitive behaviors?

Maybe you could talk more about how symbolism and sympathy are so important that we tend to find patterns and significance where there are none, and that could serve as a good segue into the magic section.

Quote: Original post by sunandshadow
So, what is fiction anyway? Well, at its root, fiction is a form of magic. “What?!” you may be asking, “I thought this book was supposed to be a logical orderly analysis, not some mystical mumbo jumbo!” Yes, it is a logical orderly analysis. Anthropological analysis of human beings in all cultures and all times reveals that we seem to have this odd instinctive belief that magic ought to exist (regardless of any evidence that it actually does or not). We even seem to instinctively agree on the principles by which magic ought to operate: symbolism and sympathy.

Starting with a rhetorical question? That's not a very good way to take control of the reader and keep their attention and giving them ideas and questions isn't respecting their thoughts as a reader. To clarify, the cultural universal is religion, not magic. Religion does not always mean magic, so be careful. Also, bringing up the idea that magic does not exist and that there is no evidence to prove it stimulates the reader to choose a side on the issue (the reader may believe magic exists) such a statement takes the reader's mind in a direction that has no relevance to your book.

Quote: Symbolism (aka semiotics) is one of the fundamental bases of human cognition; one of the key instincts which makes us different from the animals. Certain other animals instinctively recognize a few symbols (bees) or can be trained to recognize symbols (dogs, dolphins, parrots, primates) but humans are the only animal which is instinctively inclined to generate new symbols and assign meanings to them.

If I saw an author write "aka" I'd put the book down. I think you mean "key instinct that makes us different" and I would remove the "the" in front of animals. You also seem to abuse parenthesis, almost as if you can't be bothered to incorporate their contents into the paragraph through actual sentence structure.

Quote: Assigning symbols, such as names, to particular objects or actions is somewhat useful, but symbols become truly useful when a creature can also understand abstract classes and assign a symbol to the whole class. A dog, for example, can learn to recognize a few names of toys, people, food, and activities, but you can't tell a dog to bring you the smaller of two balls. In addition to abstraction, true communication also requires the ability to combine two symbols. Any toddler can understand “put the toy in the box” and “put the toy on your head”. This is why parrots can't truly speak – they are perfectly capable of saying the words, they are perfectly capable of recognizing a single word or phrase and responding to it, they can even understand abstract properties like shape and color, but they can't grammatically combine symbols to form sentences.

I don't think the discussion of animal pyschology, on which you are obviously not an expert, is relevant or necessary to structuralist fiction. If anything, you're taking the reader in a much different direction than I think you intended. You did not address a parrot's ability to distinguish size or a chimpanzee's ability to form sentences through sign language.

--I have to run, I'll finish later.