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/lit/ - Literature

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9009259 No.9009259 [Reply] [Original]

How does one write madness from a first person perspective without being melodramatic?

I assume one of the factors is that the characters states/believes in increasingly implausible things with conviction (not violently mind you), but what else is there?

>> No.9009279

>>9009259
Read Beckett's Molloy

>> No.9009296
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9009296

>>9009259
Have you read House of Leaves before? I think the author did it pretty well, not emphasizing the character's actions but his situation as a product of madness without the character implying he'd gone mad.

>> No.9009303

Try and show their internal reasoning, whether logical or emotional, that has them arrive at their conclusion.

>> No.9009320

>>9009259

Just don't. It's a hack gimmick.

>> No.9009321

You could try reading Jung's Red Book

>> No.9009329

>>9009321
Jung is pseud-core

>> No.9009355

>>9009259
The first thing I'd recommend is to leave the 19th century behind and get with the program. "Madness?" What kind? Personality disorder? Mood disorder? Which one?

We have this thing called the "DSM V" now. Get to googling.

>> No.9009710

>>9009355
>We have this thing called the "DSM V" now. Get to googling.
Implying DSM V is half as good as DSM IV.
OP mental illness isn't inherently interesting and inaccurate portrayals of the ill are horrid. Write them mostly like normal people who sometimes think 'crazy' type things. (They're looking at me, is there something wrong with how I look? He's been behind me for the past 2 blocks, they must be following me, I'll try to loose them. I can feel them staring at the back of my head)

>> No.9009773

>>9009710

OK I'll take that on board. I want to portray a breakdown caused by a claustrophobic feeling in a fastpaced society

>> No.9009906

>>9009773
Maybe Social Anxiety or something like that? (I found it myself being suffocated by my fear. They all expected me to succeed effortlessly like they seem to; I'm not them. Lots of talk about the immensity of crowds and the intensity of all the noises and movement happening; Especially in cities, where thousands of people are walking down every downtown sidewalk. I can't handle my job like my colleagues do)

>> No.9010452

>>9009259
Try reading something by someone who lives that perspective maybe? People with a mental illness will have mannerisms different then other characters. Maybe it's not something the character says as much as it's something they do. I'm not talking cutting or wall writing, just something subtle. A sort of psychological limp. Often times psychological trauma is expressed not in violent reactions but a failure to react.

>> No.9010764

>>9009259

You would have to be mad but not know it, for aythenticity

study r9k

>> No.9010813

>>9009259
I am deeply hurt by your calling me a women hater. I am not. But I am a monster. I am the "Son of Sam." I am a little "brat". When father Sam gets drunk he gets mean. He beats his family. Sometimes he ties me up to the back of the house. Other times he locks me in the garage. Sam loves to drink blood. "Go out and kill" commands father Sam. Behind our house some rest. Mostly young — raped and slaughtered — their blood drained — just bones now. Papa Sam keeps me locked in the attic, too. I can't get out but I look out the attic window and watch the world go by. I feel like an outsider. I am on a different wave length then everybody else — programmed too kill. However, to stop me you must kill me. Attention all police: Shoot me first — shoot to kill or else. Keep out of my way or you will die! Papa Sam is old now. He needs some blood to preserve his youth. He has had too many heart attacks. Too many heart attacks. "Ugh, me hoot it hurts sonny boy." I miss my pretty princess most of all. She's resting in our ladies house but I'll see her soon. I am the "Monster" — "Beelzebub" — the "Chubby Behemouth." I love to hunt. Prowling the streets looking for fair game — tasty meat. The wemon of Queens are z prettyist of all. I must be the water they drink. I live for the hunt — my life. Blood for papa. Mr. Borrelli, sir, I dont want to kill anymore no sir, no more but I must, "honour thy father." I want to make love to the world. I love people. I don't belong on Earth. Return me to yahoos. To the people of Queens, I love you. And I wa want to wish all of you a happy Easter. May God bless you in this life and in the next and for now I say goodbye and goodnight. Police — Let me haunt you with these words; I'll be back! I'll be back! To be interrpreted as — bang, bang, bang, bank, bang — ugh!! Yours in murder Mr. Monster