Ever heard of a writing tick?
It's that word or phrase that you use over and over and over and over again.
Like recently, my writing tick has been the word "suddenly". I was writing the other day when I realized suddenly that I use "suddenly" more than is needed. It was a sudden dawning, and I went straight back to my recent writings, taking out the five "suddenly's" in two pages of writing. Suddenly, I just can't stop using suddenly.
My writing tick has suddenly become "suddenly".
(See what I did there? ;))
Then there are those ticks you get when you do long dialogue scenes and need stuff to go in between speakers.
Among some of my dialogue ticks are:
-He shrugged.
-She raised an eyebrow.
-He cocked his head.
-She tossed her hair.
-He shifted his position.
-She glanced at him.
I will use these phrases in copious amounts, and I really need to quit it out, but suddenly, I just--
NOOOOOOOOO.
Write on! x)
Clove
P.S. Have any ticks yourself? The comment box is below! :)
8.28.2013
8.25.2013
Dirty Writing
Yes, I know I don't normally approach religion in this blog, but this is too much of a writing topic for me to put it in my other co-blog where I mainly blog on God and His impact on my life. That being said, I'm writing this to those of us who call ourselves Christians or have any affiliation with religion at all. As always, this isn't a condemnation; it's advice to search your heart in this area.
From the blog title, you've probably assumed I'll be attacking dirty words in writing. If that's your guess, you're absolutely correct.
It annoys me to an extent when I see unsaved authors defile pages with curse words and then have their books published so that their words cannot be erased. Cornelia Funke, for example, she threw me off, to be honest. I can understand when there are "Damn's" and "God's" like in John Flannagan's writing, but Cornelia has exposed children to adult language, emphasis on the "adult".
Extremely disappointing.
Then on the other hand, it annoys me to an even greater extend when I see alleged Christian authors obliterate their testimonies with evil words.
"But I'm not saying the words," they protest, "My characters are!"
Ummm...
Who is making your characters speak?
YOU ARE.
I was talking to one of my friends the other day who said something very profound along the lines of this:
What my friend said is very true.
You could fill your pages with all the "gosh-darnits" in the world, and it still won't sound the same as "God-damn". You could even create a language and come up with word equivalents. Instead of saying "crap" you could say "kesh" and explain that "kesh" is a curse word in such-and-such imaginary language.
HOWEVER.
If you claim Christianity, let me ask you this:
Why would you do that?
If you think it or cause someone else to think it, you've already defiled yourself. Alternate spellings--"dammit" instead of "damn it"--mean nothing at all if your intent is still to cuss.
Another thing.
I don't care if the words have lost meaning to you. People say, "That's so gay," as if they'd say, "That's so cool." If you stubbed your toe and want to yell, "Ow!" then yell, "Ow!" not "To Hell!" Make your characters do the same.
Finally, for the sake of Saint Peter and the false prophet Mohammad, don't say, "For God's sake." Not only is that absolutely ridiculous because God isn't moved emotionally by anything we do, but it's plain taking God's name in vain.
If abiding by what I said here is a problem for you, I'm flat-out demanding you to answer these three questions in the comment box below:
Why would you want to curse in your writing? Why would you conform to the world? What do you gain out of defiling your mind and mouth?
Using curse words is *bleeping* *bleep* for *bleeps*.
JUST DON'T.
Write on...with clean language!!!
Clove
~ ~ ~
From the blog title, you've probably assumed I'll be attacking dirty words in writing. If that's your guess, you're absolutely correct.
It annoys me to an extent when I see unsaved authors defile pages with curse words and then have their books published so that their words cannot be erased. Cornelia Funke, for example, she threw me off, to be honest. I can understand when there are "Damn's" and "God's" like in John Flannagan's writing, but Cornelia has exposed children to adult language, emphasis on the "adult".
Extremely disappointing.
Then on the other hand, it annoys me to an even greater extend when I see alleged Christian authors obliterate their testimonies with evil words.
"But I'm not saying the words," they protest, "My characters are!"
Ummm...
Who is making your characters speak?
YOU ARE.
I was talking to one of my friends the other day who said something very profound along the lines of this:
Yeah, so then I was quoting the end of the Avengers trailer to Mom. "If we can't protect the earth, you can be, uh...sure we'll avenge it." But then I told her, "You know, Ironman curses when he says that, and it just doesn't sound the same without the curse word."
What my friend said is very true.
You could fill your pages with all the "gosh-darnits" in the world, and it still won't sound the same as "God-damn". You could even create a language and come up with word equivalents. Instead of saying "crap" you could say "kesh" and explain that "kesh" is a curse word in such-and-such imaginary language.
HOWEVER.
If you claim Christianity, let me ask you this:
Why would you do that?
If you think it or cause someone else to think it, you've already defiled yourself. Alternate spellings--"dammit" instead of "damn it"--mean nothing at all if your intent is still to cuss.
Another thing.
I don't care if the words have lost meaning to you. People say, "That's so gay," as if they'd say, "That's so cool." If you stubbed your toe and want to yell, "Ow!" then yell, "Ow!" not "To Hell!" Make your characters do the same.
Finally, for the sake of Saint Peter and the false prophet Mohammad, don't say, "For God's sake." Not only is that absolutely ridiculous because God isn't moved emotionally by anything we do, but it's plain taking God's name in vain.
If abiding by what I said here is a problem for you, I'm flat-out demanding you to answer these three questions in the comment box below:
Why would you want to curse in your writing? Why would you conform to the world? What do you gain out of defiling your mind and mouth?
Using curse words is *bleeping* *bleep* for *bleeps*.
JUST DON'T.
Write on...with clean language!!!
Clove
8.24.2013
Text from Today - Biology Mission Impossible
Backstory for the Text from Today:
Me to Josh: I went out to get the water for my Biology lab today. There were like three spiders who had attached their webs to me and were like crawling up to my face. Ugh.
Josh, laughing: That's such a girly thing to say.
True (with slight dramatization) story:
My Biology textbook looks me in the eye with the words, "This mission, should you choose to accept it (and avoid an F), will (not) self destruct in five seconds. (In fact, it'll be waiting, staring at you, making you feel like the lazy procrastinator that you are. You were supposed to have done this on Thursday, idiot, and now it's a Saturday. Good going, moron.)"
Unaffected by the text's libel, I glare back at the tome by the light of the kitchen window and put the teakettle on the stove to boil an egg as I reread and memorize the mission briefing.
The culturing of bacteria from creek water is my end goal, but in order to get there, I must obtain a boiled egg, some hay, white rice, and a little bit of dirt--all of which are bacteria fodder--and four half-jars of creek water. All this must be done in fifteen minutes, the minimal amount of time it takes to fully boil an egg, so I can immediately come back, put the egg yolk in bacteria-full creek water and move on with my life.
I can undoubtedly say that this will be the most impossible of all Mission Impossibles I've embarked upon.
Putting down my Biology textbook, I quickly grab a teaspoon of rice from out pantry before going outside and adventurously risking my life to run in front of a lawn mower until my younger brother, riding said mower, notices. When the machine of death stops inches before my feet, Josiah fixes me with a long stare and asks in a cold voice, "What do you want?"
Ignoring the fact that I had very nearly lost my toes, I reply in an equally curt voice, "Just a few snippets of dry grass."
"What for?"
"That's confidential information. Just hand over the grass."
A long, ugly silence preys upon us as the evening sun pulls out beads of sweat across my forehead and lower back. Josiah finally heaves a sigh, gets out of his luxurious, John Deer seat of gold, and hands me a few of his clippings.
"This never happened," he warns.
I nod and, as I'm already in the baking, Georgian heat, grab a few tablespoons of dirt for my final jar while the machine of death roars in the background. Unlike Josiah, the dirt doesn't object or hold any resistance.
There. Three of the four elements checked off, and the final one is cooking.
Now for the water.
Walking back to the garage, I set down the four jars and stare at them as I consider the best way to fill them with creek water. One of the jars once held ghee, one salsa, one pickles, and another balsamic vinaigrette. None of them will be easy to carry in the fifteen meter trek through dangerous ankle-high thorns and spiderwebs.
Decisively, I grab a cardboard box, put the jars in them, then grab my Jō--four point two feet of hardened, painted wood--and dart off to my backyard forest, one darker than the heart of Mirkwood.
As I go along, I use my Jō staff, affectionately named Gaius Caelum Mucius, to wield off spiderwebs. Despite my best efforts, a silken string still manages to land on my arm and scare the living daylights out of me. Nonetheless, I remain with full composure as I lose myself of the natural impediment and reach the creek.
All in all, there's no good way to get down to the creek water. Basically, I have to jump three feet down and four feet forward to reach the nearest sand bar so I can scoop up the water. From that sand--better named "mud"--bar, there's a cluster of tree roots that aid in the haul up but no better way to get down. I shrug resignedly, grab two jars, and throw Caelum at the sand bar. Caelum sticks, and I leap after him, failing to stay on my feet. The gravel is looser than I had expected, and my knee, as it drops down, sinks several inches into the mud.
After several "heck's" and a couple of "gosh's", I dust my jeans off and gather myself again and fill up the cups with water. Having to repeat the process with the other two jars, I then climb out and carry my items back, getting attacked by two more spiders, one brown and one a freakish shade of yellow, as I retreat to the safe haven of air conditioning and arachnid-free ground.
Mind lost.
Jeans dirty.
Caelum covered in spider webs.
But the mission was completed.
"There were like three spiders who had attached their webs to me and were like crawling up to my face. Ugh."
"That's such a girly thing to say."
Can we all agree that was the world's biggest lie of the century? :D
Write on!
An arachnophobic Clove
Me to Josh: I went out to get the water for my Biology lab today. There were like three spiders who had attached their webs to me and were like crawling up to my face. Ugh.
Josh, laughing: That's such a girly thing to say.
True (with slight dramatization) story:
My Biology textbook looks me in the eye with the words, "This mission, should you choose to accept it (and avoid an F), will (not) self destruct in five seconds. (In fact, it'll be waiting, staring at you, making you feel like the lazy procrastinator that you are. You were supposed to have done this on Thursday, idiot, and now it's a Saturday. Good going, moron.)"
Unaffected by the text's libel, I glare back at the tome by the light of the kitchen window and put the teakettle on the stove to boil an egg as I reread and memorize the mission briefing.
The culturing of bacteria from creek water is my end goal, but in order to get there, I must obtain a boiled egg, some hay, white rice, and a little bit of dirt--all of which are bacteria fodder--and four half-jars of creek water. All this must be done in fifteen minutes, the minimal amount of time it takes to fully boil an egg, so I can immediately come back, put the egg yolk in bacteria-full creek water and move on with my life.
I can undoubtedly say that this will be the most impossible of all Mission Impossibles I've embarked upon.
Putting down my Biology textbook, I quickly grab a teaspoon of rice from out pantry before going outside and adventurously risking my life to run in front of a lawn mower until my younger brother, riding said mower, notices. When the machine of death stops inches before my feet, Josiah fixes me with a long stare and asks in a cold voice, "What do you want?"
Ignoring the fact that I had very nearly lost my toes, I reply in an equally curt voice, "Just a few snippets of dry grass."
"What for?"
"That's confidential information. Just hand over the grass."
A long, ugly silence preys upon us as the evening sun pulls out beads of sweat across my forehead and lower back. Josiah finally heaves a sigh, gets out of his luxurious, John Deer seat of gold, and hands me a few of his clippings.
"This never happened," he warns.
I nod and, as I'm already in the baking, Georgian heat, grab a few tablespoons of dirt for my final jar while the machine of death roars in the background. Unlike Josiah, the dirt doesn't object or hold any resistance.
There. Three of the four elements checked off, and the final one is cooking.
Now for the water.
Walking back to the garage, I set down the four jars and stare at them as I consider the best way to fill them with creek water. One of the jars once held ghee, one salsa, one pickles, and another balsamic vinaigrette. None of them will be easy to carry in the fifteen meter trek through dangerous ankle-high thorns and spiderwebs.
Decisively, I grab a cardboard box, put the jars in them, then grab my Jō--four point two feet of hardened, painted wood--and dart off to my backyard forest, one darker than the heart of Mirkwood.
As I go along, I use my Jō staff, affectionately named Gaius Caelum Mucius, to wield off spiderwebs. Despite my best efforts, a silken string still manages to land on my arm and scare the living daylights out of me. Nonetheless, I remain with full composure as I lose myself of the natural impediment and reach the creek.
All in all, there's no good way to get down to the creek water. Basically, I have to jump three feet down and four feet forward to reach the nearest sand bar so I can scoop up the water. From that sand--better named "mud"--bar, there's a cluster of tree roots that aid in the haul up but no better way to get down. I shrug resignedly, grab two jars, and throw Caelum at the sand bar. Caelum sticks, and I leap after him, failing to stay on my feet. The gravel is looser than I had expected, and my knee, as it drops down, sinks several inches into the mud.
After several "heck's" and a couple of "gosh's", I dust my jeans off and gather myself again and fill up the cups with water. Having to repeat the process with the other two jars, I then climb out and carry my items back, getting attacked by two more spiders, one brown and one a freakish shade of yellow, as I retreat to the safe haven of air conditioning and arachnid-free ground.
Mind lost.
Jeans dirty.
Caelum covered in spider webs.
But the mission was completed.
"There were like three spiders who had attached their webs to me and were like crawling up to my face. Ugh."
"That's such a girly thing to say."
Can we all agree that was the world's biggest lie of the century? :D
Write on!
An arachnophobic Clove
8.23.2013
What I Hear - Set Fire to the Rain
I liked it so much, I'm doing it again. x)
I had this feeling as I was writing this particular WIH that Adele was secretly creating a decrypted recipe, something including ewe, meat, Heinz ketchup, thyme, a very big fire, rain water, a side of human, and dog. The chefs appear to be Jason Bourne, Bernie from Sesame Street, Adele's neice, and some guy named "Hart U. Gone". The finished product seems to be something unchewable...
I had this feeling as I was writing this particular WIH that Adele was secretly creating a decrypted recipe, something including ewe, meat, Heinz ketchup, thyme, a very big fire, rain water, a side of human, and dog. The chefs appear to be Jason Bourne, Bernie from Sesame Street, Adele's neice, and some guy named "Hart U. Gone". The finished product seems to be something unchewable...
*coughs behind hand*
Uhhh, anyway. x)
I let it fall, my heart
"N'd S", it fell
You rose to claim it
It was dark, and I was
Obey
Until you kissed my lips, and you saved me
My Heinz, they're strong
But my niece would fall to ease
Stand in your arms without full into your feet
But there's side to you that I never knew, never knew
All the things you say, they would never chew, never chew
And the games you play, you would always win, always will
But I said, "Fire hair."
To the rain
Watch it, boy,
As I test your face
Well, it burned while I cry cause I heard ice cream in out your name
Your name
We're lame with you
I could stay dead, close my eyes
Feel you he
Forever
Ewe and meat, together, nothing is better
Cause there's side to you that I never knew, never knew
All the things you say, they would never chew, never chew
And the games you play, you would always win, always will
I said, "Fire hair."
To the rain
Watch it, boy,
As I test your face
Well, it burned while I cry cause I heard ice cream in out your name
Your name
I said, "Fire hair."
To the rain
And I put us into the flames
Well, it fell
Something died
Cause I knew thought that was the last thyme
The last thyme
Sometimes I wake up by the dog
And Hart U. Gone must be waiting for you
Even lie when there aren't any "over"
I can't help myself from looking for you
But I said, "Fire hair."
To the rain
Watch it, boy,
As I test your face
Well, it burned while I cry cause I heard ice cream in out your name
Your name
I said, "Fire hair."
To the rain
And I put us into the flames
Well, it fell
Something died
Cause I knew thought that was the last thyme
The last thyme
Let it burn
Let it, Bourne
Let it, Bern-----ie
Write on!
Clove
8.22.2013
Writing challenge #2
So you see...
In my story, I realized I hit a really boring dialogue scene where young adults are basically doing business. Not the most exciting thing to put in a story, if you know what I mean, but necessary nonetheless.
So I decided, heck, since they're doing shady business in a dark pub, why not start a bar fight when the consulting is over to make it fuller and more dramatic? But then I hit another writer's block wall with an incapability to get the right tone. I think bar fights are supposed to be messy, smoky, Lord of the Rings - esque, loud, and with much language involved, but...
Well...
Who am I to know?
Then, when I had that half-sorted out, I hit another writer's block wall in editing. (Yeah, it's been a long day.) How do you jump from perfectly calm to boisterous in a matter of seconds? How can you phrase dialogue to be low and diplomatic then straight to snarling and hating? That snap up is what I'm challenging you, author, to write.
It doesn't have to be in the scene of a bar, but it does have to maintain fluency in the snap of emotion to emotion. Sooo many of my old stories have tried this and failed epically. I thought that, since they do it in the movies, I could just write:
It was a good day to be out on a walk. Ginormous white clouds seemed to have blossomed in the blue dirt of the sky, and a slight breeze was rustling the hems of Eriana's dress. As she was strolling along the garden paths, humming a tune and picking lilies, Cass suddenly ran out in a bustle, crying loudly, "Mutiny! The soldiers are rebelling against the King!"
"What?!"
Yeahhhhh.....
That's the sort of snap that's going to turn ALL of your reader's noses. A written snap requires patience and slow working up. Unfortunately, the reader can't gain information like he would in real life; if there is detail, it must be told.
It was a good day to be out on a walk. Ginormous white clouds seemed to have blossomed in the blue dirt of the sky, and a slight breeze was rustling the hems of Eriana's dress. As she was strolling along the garden paths, humming a tune and picking lilies, she suddenly caught the faint, peculiar smell of smoke.
Rising in curiosity, Eriana tensed when she heard a man's cry, then several more. Concerned with the noise and aromas, Eriana put her flowers down and moved swiftly to the castle. She didn't have time to get inside before Cass, her clothes torn and ragged, large blood-stains soaking her front, ran up and dropped to her knees, sobbing and panting.
"Cass? Cass, what is it? What's wrong?! Are you hurt?" Eriana bent down and began feeling her servant for any open wounds.
The girl was overcome in emotion, but she managed to jerk out of Eriana's grasp with an exclamation. Impatient and panicked, Eriana looked into Cass' dilated white eyes, beckoning her servant again. "Cass, what is it?"
"Mutiny, my lady. Mutiny! The soldiers are rebelling against the King!"
"What?!"
A little better, no? Have fun with this challenge, and if you like your work a lot, post it in the comments below! :)
Write on!
Clove
In my story, I realized I hit a really boring dialogue scene where young adults are basically doing business. Not the most exciting thing to put in a story, if you know what I mean, but necessary nonetheless.
So I decided, heck, since they're doing shady business in a dark pub, why not start a bar fight when the consulting is over to make it fuller and more dramatic? But then I hit another writer's block wall with an incapability to get the right tone. I think bar fights are supposed to be messy, smoky, Lord of the Rings - esque, loud, and with much language involved, but...
Well...
Who am I to know?
Then, when I had that half-sorted out, I hit another writer's block wall in editing. (Yeah, it's been a long day.) How do you jump from perfectly calm to boisterous in a matter of seconds? How can you phrase dialogue to be low and diplomatic then straight to snarling and hating? That snap up is what I'm challenging you, author, to write.
It doesn't have to be in the scene of a bar, but it does have to maintain fluency in the snap of emotion to emotion. Sooo many of my old stories have tried this and failed epically. I thought that, since they do it in the movies, I could just write:
It was a good day to be out on a walk. Ginormous white clouds seemed to have blossomed in the blue dirt of the sky, and a slight breeze was rustling the hems of Eriana's dress. As she was strolling along the garden paths, humming a tune and picking lilies, Cass suddenly ran out in a bustle, crying loudly, "Mutiny! The soldiers are rebelling against the King!"
"What?!"
Yeahhhhh.....
That's the sort of snap that's going to turn ALL of your reader's noses. A written snap requires patience and slow working up. Unfortunately, the reader can't gain information like he would in real life; if there is detail, it must be told.
It was a good day to be out on a walk. Ginormous white clouds seemed to have blossomed in the blue dirt of the sky, and a slight breeze was rustling the hems of Eriana's dress. As she was strolling along the garden paths, humming a tune and picking lilies, she suddenly caught the faint, peculiar smell of smoke.
Rising in curiosity, Eriana tensed when she heard a man's cry, then several more. Concerned with the noise and aromas, Eriana put her flowers down and moved swiftly to the castle. She didn't have time to get inside before Cass, her clothes torn and ragged, large blood-stains soaking her front, ran up and dropped to her knees, sobbing and panting.
"Cass? Cass, what is it? What's wrong?! Are you hurt?" Eriana bent down and began feeling her servant for any open wounds.
The girl was overcome in emotion, but she managed to jerk out of Eriana's grasp with an exclamation. Impatient and panicked, Eriana looked into Cass' dilated white eyes, beckoning her servant again. "Cass, what is it?"
"Mutiny, my lady. Mutiny! The soldiers are rebelling against the King!"
"What?!"
A little better, no? Have fun with this challenge, and if you like your work a lot, post it in the comments below! :)
Write on!
Clove
8.21.2013
What I Hear - Mirrors
So Justin Timbermakes-me-so-crazy-I-think-I'm-going-to-shoot-myself came out with a song a couple months or so ago called "Mirrors". My older brother and I laugh at the song whenever we hear it on the radio because Justin sings with a slur of sorts and contracts a lot of words that aren't real contractions, making his original lyrics impossible to understand.
Now.
What has this to do with writing, you may ask?
Well, because Justin's singing style is so indistinguishable, I thought I'd do a written caption fail.
(Don't know what a caption fail is?
Watch this:
Teeheehee, those guys are great, aren't they? I love Julian Smith's face in the window. XD)
Now the difference is that instead of repeating what Youtube's captions say, I'm going to repeat what I hear.
Literally.
I'm going to write down the lyrics to Justin Timberlake's "Mirrors" as my brain interprets them, word for word. You can compare my version with the lyrics in the video below and see how I did.
So without further ado, click the button below and follow along.
I'm just something to a mire
Cause you're shining something like a mirror
And I can't help but notice
You're reflect in so hard of mine
If you're ever at home
And the gram makes me hard to fine
Just know that I'm always parallel from the other side
Cause with your hand in my hair
And a pocketful of soap
I can tell you there's no place they could've
Koh???
Just put your hand on my lass
Boy, you gotta play it through
You just gotta be strong
Cause I don't want to lose you now
I'm looking right at the other hat of me
The bigger singer sat on my eye
There's a space
And now you're home
Show me how the fight for now
And I tell you, baby, it was easy
Coming back unto you once I figured it out
You were right here all alone
It's like you're my mirror
Come here
And staring back at me
I couldn't get any bigger
But then he wanted the set of me
And now it's clear as his prom missed that we'll make it
Two reflections and two rum
Cause it's like you're my mirror
Come here
And staring back at me
Staring back at me
Aren't you something?
And original
Cause it doesn't seem to make any sample
And I can't help but stack some cause I see truth some in your eyes
I can't ever change without you
You reflect me, and I love that
Achoo
And if I could, I'd look at us all the time
Cause with your hand in my hair
And a pocketful of soap
I can tell you there's no place they could've
Koh???
Just put your hand on my lass
Boy, you gotta play it through
You just gotta be strong
Cause I don't want to lose you now
I'm looking right at the other hat of me
The bigger singer sat on my eye
There's a space
And now you're home
Show me how the fight for now
And I tell you, baby, it was easy
Coming back unto you once I figured it out
You were right here all alone
It's like you're my mirror
Come here
And staring back at me
I couldn't get any bigger
But then he wanted the set of me
And now it's clear as his prom missed that we'll make it
Two reflections and two rum
Cause it's like you're my mirror
Come here
And staring back at me
Staring back at me
Yes, his story is mystery
Tomorrow's a missed her
Eeek!
I can see elephant looking back at me
Can your eyes on me
Baby, key your eyes on me
Cause I don't want to lose your now
I'm looking right at the other hat of me
The bigger singer sat on my eye
There's a space
And now you're home
Show me how the fight for now
And I tell you, baby, it was easy
Coming back unto you once I figured it out
You were right here all alone
It's like you're my mirror
Come here
And staring back at me
I couldn't get any bigger
But then he wanted the set of me
And now it's clear as his prom missed that we'll make it
Two reflections and two rum
Cause it's like you're my mirror
Come here
And staring back at me
Staring back at me
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don't write lyrics as an occupation! :D Hope you liked that. It's been a long day at school, and I needed to laugh, so there you have it. More will be coming! *evil chuckle*
Write on!
Clove
8.20.2013
Irony
Irony is one of those wonderful tactics in writing. I'm personally used to seeing it in Greek tragedy poems, but it's still classically done in modern day fiction.
If you didn't get from the above picture, irony is basically when you say something and mean the exact opposite. You could see a cement wall that has the graffiti printed on it that says, "Stop vandalizing walls."
That would be humorous irony, a snapshot of life that twists your dimensions and makes you laugh. Comic artists, particularly Gary Larson, do a great job of this, and if you don't have a natural mind for conjuring irony, read some of his stuff. (My favorite of his works if Wildlife Preserves where the front cover picture is a bunch of safari animals bottled up in huge glass jars. x) Gets me every time.)
In a more tragic manner, you could have a character like Roy Mustang from Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood
SPOILER'S ALERT
*glares at spoiler's alert for interrupting* *clears throat*
...as I was saying...
Roy Mustang, who, as a military leader, envisions all the things he could do to improve his peoples' lives if he became leader of his country. He ends up losing his physical vision in equal exchange for the superior mental vision he has for his country.
END SPOILER'S ALERT
That's also irony, but there's not the slightest thing funny about it. (Mustang's a character you learn to admire over the anime.) On the other hand, yes, the irony is plain sad, but also, it makes a serious point in the anime.
Then you have foreshadowing irony which is like where...you get all psyched about Frodo going on a journey after you read about Bilbo going on a journey and then...ten pages in...end up getting seriously let down when J.R.R. Tolkein kills you with Elvish choirs.
One of the reasons why I enjoy irony so much is because most average readers won't notice the written irony until they re-read the book. If you fill a book with a good amount of foreshadowing irony, the book can be read over and over and over with the same level of excitement and "oh-did-you-notice-this?'s".
That being said, does anyone find it ironic that I just wrote a full blog post on irony and yet still can't find a single way to involve it in my stories?
Write on!
Clove
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