New Identity Card

This is not one of Laskoc’s, but rather of my own.  It was written for a class in German Literature in translation while we were reading Kafka.  We had an option of writing a short story instead of taking the Kafka test.  Even though I could have written the exam, I chose the story instead.  It is rather funny that I learned more about writing fiction in this class than in either of the two creative writing classes I took.  This is a short one and as always there is a PDF at the bottom for your convenience.

New Identity Card

It was a glaring day with due to both the sun and a difference.  Thomas Morgath did not have to go to work so he could go to the Office of Identity and get a new identity card.  He rose at the usual time because he didn’t know how to rise at a different time.  He hoped to get his new card quickly so that he would have the rest of the day to himself.  Since it had been a long time that he had a day off from work there was also an air of excitement and mystery because having not had any free time in so long, Thomas had no idea how he would spend it. more »

The Only Two Tips You Will Ever Need For Better Writing

Although this advice would certainly work for writing any kind of fiction, or perhaps even creative non-fiction, it is aimed at the literary style of writing.  Although there are only two rules to becoming a better writer, they are somewhat involved so I will try to be both thorough and succinct.

#1-Read the best books you can get your hands on.

Yes, this does mean the classics, but so many others as well.  Seek out the best writers from South America, Europe, Africa and Asia.  Look beyond the walls of English Literature.  See this for a small list of books you may want to look up.  The main reason I read so much literary criticism isn’t to see what people think of such and such a writer or the expounding of theories, but to find new books I have never heard of before.  If you truly can’t stomach reading criticism, then go to the library and look at the works referenced sections of these books.  Reading, though, is where this tip gets involved. more »

Art of the Republic-Pt III

This is the final installment.  I hope you have enjoyed it and there is a PDF at the bottom for your downloading ease.

Art of the Republic

A month later, I sat on the stage at one end of Patriot Square.  There were a few other artists present, Halpern and Erzberger, who were high-ranking members of the Academy, and officials including Cerny, the chief of the Department of Information.  The sun was nowhere to be seen, gray clouds piling up over the city.  Novak had been asked if he wanted an awning erected over the painting, but he refused saying that the weather couldn’t do anything to his painting that the crowd couldn’t do as well.  Whilst those officials milled about in the capacities of their duties, Milat pulled me to one side of the stage. more »

Art of the Republic-Pt II

This is the second installment of  Art of the Republic.  The third and final part will be posted this coming Friday along with a PDF file for your download convenience.

Art of the Republic

“I am sorry, but I must attend to this.  I Have to meet someone crucial to the work at hand.”

“I understand completely.  I assume that it will be sometime before I hear from you?”

“Ha, ha.  Yes, back to the hermit’s life for me.  Well, I must be off.”  And with that Milat Novak left.

I was happy to see Milat so enthusiastic over a work, and a new major work at that, but there was something else, something underneath that forced my brows together when I was trying to dispel any malthoughts.  It had flashed across his face for only an instant when Milat had read the note:  fear.  I got up and retrieved my coat before I had even made up my mind to follow Milat, but out the grand front entrance I saw Novak moving across the square.  I had never been one to pry into the lives of my friends, especially that of Milat Novak.  He was the only one I knew who was more adamant about his privacy than I was of my own.  But Milat’s strange behavior had piqued not only my curiosity, but also my concern.  Just as seeing Milat talk about his work had sparked the idea that would perhaps grow into one of my own, perhaps it was this other person, (his muse manifested?), that was partly or wholly responsible for Novak’s new burst of inspiration.  But why then the fear?  What does the artist have to fear?  Failure?  No one could call oneself an artist if they did not have a growing field of failures whose fruit was the compost out of which successes could grow. more »

Art of the Republic-Pt 1.

This is another offering of Laskoc’s fiction.  Considering the length, I will be publishing it in three parts over the next few days.  In Part III look for a PDF file of the whole story.

Art of the Republic (part i)

I took a last look in the mirror, adjusting my tie, then doorwayed out of the townhouse into the unanimous daylight, the gleaming marble facades of the buildings lining the street, the birch leaves fluttering making shadowy faeries dance across the ground.  Four stairs down I nodded to Henry, the driver, and stepped into the car.

“Good morning, Henry.  I am sorry I am running late, so if you could take the direct route through town I should be able to make my appointment at the Hall.”

“I can get you there on time, we don’t have to go through the center of the city.”

“I want to be sure to get there with plenty of time.  Straight through,” I noticed the strange look that flashed momentarily before fading back into his normal expression.

“Yes, sir.”

I have only lived in this residence for a few years, it being provided by the state.  I have not yet grown indifferent to the change in tone and hue of the stones of the various houses.

“If I may, sir?”  Henry looked briefly in the mirror.  I always enjoyed Henry driving because he was not one to often talk to his passengers. more »

Is Literary Fiction a Genre?

Earlier this week I was at a publisher’s website and they said they published the best literary fiction available today.  I looked through some of their titles and a few did seem intriguing.  I then went to their submissions page to see what hoops an author had to jump through and I saw the line “we do not accept genre fiction.”  This got me to thinking about classifications and writing styles, subject matter and scope.  Surely we who read a great deal know exactly what they mean by genre, but how many genres are there?  These pigeon holes can range from the standard romance to science fiction, westerns to fantasy, detective to historical fiction.  But if we are using these terms as a classification device, then would not literary fiction also be a genre? more »

The Fable

These first two very short stories I am posting book end Vashan Laskoc’s writing career, the one below being the first one to find its way into print while The Prisoner was found amongst his papers after his death.  If you like there is a PDF file (simply click the link and it will open the PDF for you to save) at the bottom of this post for your download convenience.  If you do choose to download it, please feel free to copy and spread it about as you like.:

The Fable-Vashan Laskoc

In my younger days, when I was nimble and full of vim, I was a traveling merchant, moving from one town to the next buying and selling, crissing and crossing the land.  During this time I would also listen to stories the townsfolk told, and there is one in particular that interested me greatly for the villages were a great distance apart.  This story was told exactly the same, almost word for word, until the end was reached.  This was the only point where the two differed.  Here is the story: more »

The Prisoner

This is the second offering from Laskoc in this initial posting.  It was found amongst his papers after his death in Buenos Aires.  In the beginning of his career, his stories tended to get longer with each one, but this is a return to the short form, a very short form, and indeed the shortest piece he had ever written.  There is a PDF file at the bottom of the page for download convenience.

The Prisoner-Vashan Laskoc

The prisoner imprisoned upon the heights attained by the ocean floor.  Watched pleasantly by my jailer.  The gleam of Light and Sky suspended in the wall.  Beneath it painted reds, maroons, browns by my fingers the depicting painting.  It is small.  I am captivated by the work, as it depends upon me.  I add to the painting, the only colour I have, changed by time.  The rough canvas shows the relief of my brush’s strokes.  Holding myself until my Jailer’s gentle jerk settles me in the mud.  He holding me but held by me.  I hold that which neither wants, but both need.  With me hidden Rosemary’s Offspring forgotten waiting to crack the stones.  Inventive questions lead to imaginary conversations when they trot me out.  I duck and swerve through the thorns Leader hunted Hunter led.  The razers come to destroy then build anew horizons to house my new canvas.  The Jailer’s gentle jerk pulls me back.

The prisoner