If it was good enough for Bradbury...

When Ray Bradbury was writing Fahrenheit 451, he had no income, home typewriter, or office. He'd go every day to the public library and type the copy one ten-cent page at a time on the library typewriter, and hope to god that it was good because he couldn't afford to rewrite it. Sure, there were glaring holes in the narrative, but the story still went on to become one of the biggest players in literary history, something people just fell in love with and are entranced with, something people still point to as an example of good literature.

I can use a word processor, save documents to my email account, and print for free in the computer lab--really, in comparison, I'm in better shape than Ray. And if he can do it, so can I. Theoretically.

I went to the aforementioned computer lab awhile back to do some writing. Brought with me my tape recorder, which has all of the random snippets of ideas and thoughts I've been getting about my current novel project, and some headphones so I could listen. And nothing happened. Don't know why--I just couldn't get anything written down. It really bothers me that I have no idea if the first part of the manuscript still exists or not. I don't think I'll be able to write any more until I get my computer back and see if I even have anything. Ah well.

Had an epiphany last night. A stupid epiphany, albeit, but worth mentioning here I suppose. I was listening to my roommate watch the sequel to Homeward Bound and it occurred to me why it is that almost all sequels always seem a little hollow, seem to flop no matter how the acting or writing is.

The purpose of fiction, if you could give it that, is to show some sort of growth. The characters need to be in a different place emotionally than they were at the beginning of the story; they need to have grown. Or, if they didn't grow, it needs to be created so that their lack of growth makes a larger statement about the nature of the world. Without that personal change, there is no story. Well, the thing is, in order to make a sequel, you have to send the characters through a similar situation--which means they have to start the sequel in a different emotional place than they ended the original. If they had kept the wisdom they'd gained in the first installment, they'd have never gotten into the situation of the second. Because of this, the viewers or readers sense something sort of off, sense being gypped of an emotional journey--and because we presuppose their journey, the sequel always plays off as a pale imitation of the original because it is at its most basic the same journey. Characters are created to go on a specific journey, and after they've made the full circle, they lose some of their depth; that's just the nature of fictional people.

Any thoughts on my hypothesis?