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This week: Observations from the Art Fair Edited by: Fyn  
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My fascination with letting images repeat and repeat - or in film's case 'run on' - manifests my belief that we spend much of our lives seeing without observing.~~Andy Warhol
The great advantage of being a writer is that you can spy on people. You're there, listening to every word, but part of you is observing. Everything is useful to a writer, you see - every scrap, even the longest and most boring of luncheon parties.~~Graham Greene
Talent is a long patience, and originality an effort of will and intense observation.~~Gustave Flaubert
When two people are paying close attention to each other, check out the others in the group and see who's observing. Human dynamics are amazing, but so much that you might learn is subconscious interplay.~~Steven Erikson
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I didn't always like being in massive crowds of people. I felt claustrophobic, a bit unsafe, afraid of being trampled or shuffled along with the mass of bodies until I was free falling off a cliff.But as a writer, I needed to be in crowds for what better way to have a plethora of subjects to observe. In the focusing on individuals, the crowd blurred at the edges and it was fascinating. I could lose myself in the details without being swallowed.
This past weekend, some thirty-five thousand people descended upon out little town of 2500 people for an event called Art in the Park. All day long, folks swarmed in and out of the hundred and fifty some odd booths selling everything from photography, pottery, paintings, cool dog toys, and brass sculptures to stone carvings, wood whatnots, unique pub posters and, oh yeah, *grin* books! My authors were there for signings and some sold a lot, others, not so much. Some sat there, pleasantly smiling, others got out there, holding their books and actively engaging the passers by. Both systems worked. Other played music, still others sat there, arms crossed as if daring the people to come to them. Music worked, intimidation did not. My authors had motorcycle books, baseball books, poetry books, kids books and picture books. One author didn't sell a thing, although she tried. The next day, being the day the bikes were blessed, I sold three sets of them for her. Depends on the authors, reading the crowds and comfort levels.
Lots of people brought their dogs. A few brought their parrots and one lady had a twenty pound cat on a leash. The kids from the various dancing classes performing for the crowds ran energetically about after the recital was finished. Fairies and pixies, jazzy sequined teens and mimes charmed and smiled. Little ones fell asleep in laps or on the grass, heads pillowed on convenient dogs or big sisters. Elephant ears left powdered sugar smiles and superdogs created mustard mustaches. Sunburned cheeks, face-painted elves and tear-stained smudges spoke volumes of sleepy little ones, only slightly more worn out than their parents. It was a long, exhausting, wonderful, HOT weekend. It was fantastic! And all those people wandering around became myriad images tucked carefully away for future resurrecting as characters, moments, poetic lines or mental sound bytes.
I talked to hundred and and hundred of people. There were the "I've written a book" people and the "I've always wanted to write a book" crowd. There were interesting teens and the tattoo-ed biker with the carrot-colored handlebar mustache. I talked to a family visiting from New Zealand and another from France. Folks wore Izod shirts and Deck shoes, cut-offs and tie-dyed T's, long skirts and sunhats: pretty much one end of the fashion spectrum to the other.
Vendors, like carnies, wave and re-establish old acquaintances. They compared sales, the availability of the porta-potties (very inconvenient) and how great it was that the Boy Scouts came around with ice cold water. There were the complainers (too hot, too windy, too much sun, too much shade, too much/many/little other stuff), the weekend warriors who had set-ups down to mere science, easy-up canopies up in mere seconds, and merchandise laid out in nothing flat. There were newbies, old hats, the overly optimistic and the die-hard pessimists. A microcosm of society existing within the larger swirl of humanity that circled and circled, swarming like sugar craving ants at ten Saturday morning, like recalcitrant children as it wound down to close Sunday evening. Through it all, the 90 degree temps, the swollen, tired feet, the sunburned shoulders and the "Oops, sorry" stomped toes, I never heard an angry word, the cops mostly meandered around, no one reported anything stolen and everybody had a good time.
The moment the announcer said the fair was closed, vendors went into overdrive: packing, stacking, piling, loading, and stowing their unsold goods. Tents collapsed, areas policed, vans and trucks loaded. Two hours later, quiet descended on the town park, grass began to perk back up and the weary and tired wended their ways back home. A few hours later still, town had rolled up the sidewalks, the streetlamps came on and the first lightning bugs signaled across Main Street.
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brom21  says: Sometimes I trip a lot. There are instances where I have shallow characters or ones that do not react realistically. As you said though, it is okay to have flawed a protagonist or antagonist. I can recall overdoing it trying to make them full of emotion and have natural thoughts. Sometimes it is all in the eye of the beholder. Thanks for the encouraging letter!
ahlewis32  writes:You must read the romances by Kristen Higgins. She never writes perfect people. And my husband snores horribly too. One day I finally had enough and got out my phone and recorded him on video. Then I played for our grown children at a family dinner. I think he knows now. lOl
Oh dear!! My hubby would never let me live something like that down! *grin* I'll have to check her out, but no, I've never read anything by her.
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For Authors: June 04, 2014 Issue [#6356]
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