When the first reviews for my most recent novel (Great Sky Woman, Random House 2006) started coming in, my emotions went through the usual roller coaster. The first, from Publisher’s Weekly, was 90% positive, but mentioned that, in their opinion, it was slow in spots. My stomach sank. Slow? In spots? Oh my God—all is lost!
The second review came in two weeks later. This one, from “Booklist,” used words like “magnificent” and “engaging” and “adventure on a grand scale.”
I sighed. Boy, oh boy, did I need to hear that. Why? Because I am an insecure artist. Because I spend, on average, two years researching and one year writing my novels. Because I care so very much about each and every one of my literary children. Because I pour my life into every project I work on, break my head open, remove the protective walls from around my heart. I have to, because that is the only way to access my talent. I CAN’T do less than my very best—that would immediately devolve to hack work, and that I cannot do.
Some say to ignore reviews, that they are only the opinions of people who, often, are jealous of work they themselves could not create. I choose not to embrace that opinion. To me, reviews are the opinions of informed, professional readers. Such people are not necessarily any better informed than the average reader, but what they have to say is certainly worthy of attention.
To be absolutely frank, there have been times I curled up and cried because a reviewer I respected disliked my work. And other times when handsprings across the living room were the order of the day. Such violent ups and downs can hardly be good for your blood pressure (let alone the household pets) but for an artist who cares, really cares about reaching out to the world, about creating a dialogue with readers present and unborn, there seems little choice.
An artist needs feedback. We must know whether what we do communicates the message intended. That doesn’t mean all glory and complement. Harsh but honest criticism can help an artist understand what the public sees when they read the work, watch the film, view the dance. To the degree that such work is intended to make a statement, to communicate a state of emotion or elusive concept, we MUST know how the public reacts.
But there are times when the good review is more damaging than the bad one. It often seems that a large proportion of artists are people who crave a deeper, more fluid connection with the outside world. Who in early life felt their voice stifled, felt invisible in the middle of a crowd. So they learn to speak their truth in some other form, and a creative performer was born.
Deep within such an artist is a driving, gnawing, ravenous urge to be loved, respected, seen, heard. It is the stifled urge of a child dancing in the living room for the guests, saying “look at me! I’m special!”
Of course, attention isn’t always on the artist herself: sometimes we merely want to draw attention to some cause, or effect, or external reality or philosophy we consider important or of interest. At the heart of all of this, however, is the sense that our perceptions are worthy, our hearts strong, our song as valid as that of any other warbler in the forest.
And when those reviews come in, we can either read them at an emotional arm’s length, or we can take them to heart, suffer the slings and arrows—and rejoice in the victories.
Which are more important? I’m not certain. But when those positive reviews come, I notice that I don’t take them as seriously, as deeply, as the negative ones. I don’t dare. That little boy inside me wants too desperately to believe that he is loved and appreciated, that he has made something worthwhile. When the positive reviews come, it is easy to listen to the accolades, to glow in the applause…
But God help you if you ever need it. Then, with an exquisitely perverse precision, it will be withdrawn. Chasing after the approval makes it dissolve, and we become like a third-rate comic frantically mugging for a once-appreciative audience, begging them to laugh until they are embarrassed for him.
I love the process of writing. I love the books themselves. I love my audience. And I love those reviews, too much, it sometimes seems. And at those times, a little voice whispers in my ear: "The writing isn’t for them. Never for them. It was before they were. And if they turn their backs, you will write still. Don’t be lulled by the fact that today’s reviews are positive. Don’t be frustrated if tomorrow’s reviews are bad. Listen to the voice in your heart, the one that whispers of discipline, and pain, and creative ecstasy. That voice was there at the beginning, and will be there at the end."
That voice, and no other, can you trust
Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novel. Show all posts
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
It Was Good Enough For Shakespeare
One of the core conflicts for creative artists of all kinds is the tug-of-war between art and commerce. Frankly, an artist needs to make money, and it is preferable to make it from his craft.
A writer who must work a full-time job to support himself will struggle to find the time to work, and often eventually gives it up altogether. On the other hand, being able to write on any project at all can polish valuable skills, and teach one the rules of the publishing industry.
On the other hand, I’ve met writers who were clearly working on projects, or toiling away at a career, that was burning out their souls. I remember meeting one such writer. His business card read “freelance hack and literary mechanic.” Sadly, but not entirely unexpectedly, he was dead of alcoholism within a year.
How to avoid such burnout? Well, in my own career, in addition writing the books I cared about the most, I’ve written Batman comic books, a Star Trek novel, and a Star Wars tie-in. In my television career, in addition to writing for “Outer Limits” and “The Twilight Zone,” I also wrote four episodes of “Baywatch”(!)
And never for a moment did I feel that I was selling myself out. Let’s get something straight: Shakespeare wrote for money. One can keep a careful eye on the bank account, and still reach the heights of craft. But again, how?
In my own case, the answer is fairly simple. Envision the thought process like this: I draw two circles. In the first, is everything I would like to write (and there are always dozens of projects in the mental hopper!). In the second is everything someone else is willing to pay me for. Where the two circles overlap, I write. In other words, are there projects I’d love to write, but can’t get paid for? You bet, and I generally don’t write them unless they are quite short. And there are projects that producers or publishers might want me to do, but don’t touch my heart at all. Having learned through experience that there are limits to my creative flexibility, I turn those down.
But from time to time, an opportunity arises that is in the no-man’s-land between the circles. There is money, but the project isn’t exactly something you have ever considered writing. What then?
Then, you ask yourself if the project is something that you could be proud of. If you would read it, or respect someone who did. For instance, when my agent called and said that the producers of “Baywatch” wanted to talk to me, I had the office send over six hours of video on the show. I sat on the living room couch and watched them with my daughter, who was about six at the time. After a few episodes, I asked her what she thought. She liked it. I asked why. She said: “Because it’s about nice people working hard to make the beach safe for us.” I thought about it, and then replied, “you know? There are worse things than that in this world, by a long shot.” And decided to try writing for it.
Every show, every project has its limitations. You must use certain characters, must get them into certain kinds of situations, and must avoid certain topics. That can be restrictive, but you can also decide to take it as a challenge. After all, you could give Fred Astaire a stage of any kind, and props of any kind, and he would find a way to create dance. Should you be committed to a lesser level of skill and vision? No.
You must find ways to amuse yourself while writing, to stretch your skills by trying something you’ve never done before, by empathizing with a younger audience if necessary—never ever writing “down” to your audience. That is the death of art. But if you can be truly flexible, you’ll find that more doors are open to you, more opportunities arise, that brass ring comes around more often. A writer ready to leap at any opportunity to show his skill, and who finds it easy to fall in love with about a project will often out-perform a brittle “genius” who must have everything exactly his way in order to write.
And if that approach is good enough for the Bard, it’s good enough for me.
A writer who must work a full-time job to support himself will struggle to find the time to work, and often eventually gives it up altogether. On the other hand, being able to write on any project at all can polish valuable skills, and teach one the rules of the publishing industry.
On the other hand, I’ve met writers who were clearly working on projects, or toiling away at a career, that was burning out their souls. I remember meeting one such writer. His business card read “freelance hack and literary mechanic.” Sadly, but not entirely unexpectedly, he was dead of alcoholism within a year.
How to avoid such burnout? Well, in my own career, in addition writing the books I cared about the most, I’ve written Batman comic books, a Star Trek novel, and a Star Wars tie-in. In my television career, in addition to writing for “Outer Limits” and “The Twilight Zone,” I also wrote four episodes of “Baywatch”(!)
And never for a moment did I feel that I was selling myself out. Let’s get something straight: Shakespeare wrote for money. One can keep a careful eye on the bank account, and still reach the heights of craft. But again, how?
In my own case, the answer is fairly simple. Envision the thought process like this: I draw two circles. In the first, is everything I would like to write (and there are always dozens of projects in the mental hopper!). In the second is everything someone else is willing to pay me for. Where the two circles overlap, I write. In other words, are there projects I’d love to write, but can’t get paid for? You bet, and I generally don’t write them unless they are quite short. And there are projects that producers or publishers might want me to do, but don’t touch my heart at all. Having learned through experience that there are limits to my creative flexibility, I turn those down.
But from time to time, an opportunity arises that is in the no-man’s-land between the circles. There is money, but the project isn’t exactly something you have ever considered writing. What then?
Then, you ask yourself if the project is something that you could be proud of. If you would read it, or respect someone who did. For instance, when my agent called and said that the producers of “Baywatch” wanted to talk to me, I had the office send over six hours of video on the show. I sat on the living room couch and watched them with my daughter, who was about six at the time. After a few episodes, I asked her what she thought. She liked it. I asked why. She said: “Because it’s about nice people working hard to make the beach safe for us.” I thought about it, and then replied, “you know? There are worse things than that in this world, by a long shot.” And decided to try writing for it.
Every show, every project has its limitations. You must use certain characters, must get them into certain kinds of situations, and must avoid certain topics. That can be restrictive, but you can also decide to take it as a challenge. After all, you could give Fred Astaire a stage of any kind, and props of any kind, and he would find a way to create dance. Should you be committed to a lesser level of skill and vision? No.
You must find ways to amuse yourself while writing, to stretch your skills by trying something you’ve never done before, by empathizing with a younger audience if necessary—never ever writing “down” to your audience. That is the death of art. But if you can be truly flexible, you’ll find that more doors are open to you, more opportunities arise, that brass ring comes around more often. A writer ready to leap at any opportunity to show his skill, and who finds it easy to fall in love with about a project will often out-perform a brittle “genius” who must have everything exactly his way in order to write.
And if that approach is good enough for the Bard, it’s good enough for me.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Cassablanca Secret
Good writing is often designed around a character who has a distorted vision of himself or of the world. During the story, he is placed under sufficient pressure to force an epiphany, a moment of clarity in which, he sees the world as it is, not as he wished it to be.
A classic example is “Casablanca,” where Bogart’s immortal Rick has managed to create an insular world in which he can pretend to be utterly detached and uninvolved. He supposedly has no political beliefs, and no real human connections. But the reappearance of Ilsa forces a cascade of events that cause Rick to reexamine his attitudes about love, fate, patriotism, courage, fidelity, friendship, and life itself.
Rick begins as a damaged, closed off character, carrying wounds to his heart and ego. What he WANTS is to be left alone to his self-pity. What he NEEDS is to be re-awakened to a life of purpose. The writers, wisely, give Rick what he needs, not what he wants, and in that manner a classic was born.
In Lifewriting™ we trust that the quality of a writer’s skill will be heightened by his evolution as a human being—in other words, his ability to write people will be based on his capacity for honest observation of himself and others. His ability to turn a plot creatively will be based on his understanding of the world as it is—not as we often fantasize it to be. This ability to create moments of suspense, revelation, humor and horror often triggers an “ah! Life is just like that!” response from the audience, a recognition of universal humanity that can transcend culture and time.
The easiest way to learn this is to look at our own lives. None of us make it through our years without wounds, damage, pain. Just as physical scar tissue shortens muscles and limits mobility, emotional scar tissue creates “armoring” around our hearts. It also begins to warp our reality, as we create justifications for why THIS relationship self-destructed, or THAT job crashed and burned…once again. It’s never our fault, of course. The opposite, and even more damaging reaction is to take not just responsibility for our failures, but massive guilt as well. Our lives don’t work (so the reasoning goes) because we are bad, terrible, horrible people undeserving of healthy bodies or relationships or careers.
Either attitude clouds our vision, makes it difficult to see the world as it is. Those clouded inner eyes and warped “reality maps” make it very difficult to navigate a path to our chosen goals. Again and again we will bark our shins on invisible rocks, crashing into invisible walls, almost as if life is trying to teach us, to educate us, to enlighten us as to the realities of existence.
What we WANT is the comforting womb of our illusions. What we NEED is to be born into the world as it actually is.
Often, we are dragged kicking and screaming into clarity, forced ultimately to accept the ways we’ve been wrong. “Too soon old, too late smart” is one rather fatalistic way of speaking of this process. Too often, we must be old before we grasp that WE are the ones who sabotaged our dreams of success. We are the ones who refused to exercise and eat reasonably—that our bodies are more the result of our behaviors than our genetics. We are the ones who broke communication in our relationships, who lied and withheld and blamed, and thought that “the other person” was responsible for our misery. We are the ones who refused to grow up, to stop blaming our parents, or society, or racism, ageism, sexism or any other “ism” for our lack of happiness.
Too late, we are battered by one failure or disappointment after another, until the ego walls we created to protect our self-image are shattered, and we’re forced into contact with our true selves. The moment of death is supposed to be absolutely first rate at creating such clarity, a realization of our true values, and regret at the way we sold out our true potential.
But there are events that create clarity. The birth of a first child. A near-death experience. Accomplishing some worthy and transforming goal. The first deep and true moment of love or friendship. Transformation. In such moments, we see ourselves for the magnificent, wounded, earthy, spiritual beings that we are. We forgive ourselves, and our families, and the world around us, knowing that we have no right to expect more perfection from others than we ourselves possess. And as the saying goes, “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” No perfect people in this world. Accept it. And move on.
Stories that deal with these core stressors--life, death, birth, transformation, love—are always, and have always been the most popular stories in human history. Under this stress, your character, robbed of their self-justifying lies, must speak the truth. Under these stressors, they are revealed in their magnificence…or sometimes (especially if they refuse to acknowledge reality) revealed in their venality, cowardice, and dishonesty.
This is one of the functions of story. The writer must create story pressures beyond the capacity of the characters to maintain their illusions. Then, and only then, can you reveal their true natures. To do this, just look at the times in your own life that you awakened, transformed, grew, went kicking and screaming into the next level of your life. Then create dramatic exaggerations or simplifications of these passages, and create characters to experience them. Let them be as human—as flawed and magnificent—as you yourself are. As we all are. Heighten their qualities for the sake of drama, to be sure, but always, always, at their core, let them be human, whatever it is that you believe human beings to be.
Let them struggle. Let them learn. Let them love.
Let them live.
Do this, and it will mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship…between you, your muse, and a world audience starved for entertaining truth.
A classic example is “Casablanca,” where Bogart’s immortal Rick has managed to create an insular world in which he can pretend to be utterly detached and uninvolved. He supposedly has no political beliefs, and no real human connections. But the reappearance of Ilsa forces a cascade of events that cause Rick to reexamine his attitudes about love, fate, patriotism, courage, fidelity, friendship, and life itself.
Rick begins as a damaged, closed off character, carrying wounds to his heart and ego. What he WANTS is to be left alone to his self-pity. What he NEEDS is to be re-awakened to a life of purpose. The writers, wisely, give Rick what he needs, not what he wants, and in that manner a classic was born.
In Lifewriting™ we trust that the quality of a writer’s skill will be heightened by his evolution as a human being—in other words, his ability to write people will be based on his capacity for honest observation of himself and others. His ability to turn a plot creatively will be based on his understanding of the world as it is—not as we often fantasize it to be. This ability to create moments of suspense, revelation, humor and horror often triggers an “ah! Life is just like that!” response from the audience, a recognition of universal humanity that can transcend culture and time.
The easiest way to learn this is to look at our own lives. None of us make it through our years without wounds, damage, pain. Just as physical scar tissue shortens muscles and limits mobility, emotional scar tissue creates “armoring” around our hearts. It also begins to warp our reality, as we create justifications for why THIS relationship self-destructed, or THAT job crashed and burned…once again. It’s never our fault, of course. The opposite, and even more damaging reaction is to take not just responsibility for our failures, but massive guilt as well. Our lives don’t work (so the reasoning goes) because we are bad, terrible, horrible people undeserving of healthy bodies or relationships or careers.
Either attitude clouds our vision, makes it difficult to see the world as it is. Those clouded inner eyes and warped “reality maps” make it very difficult to navigate a path to our chosen goals. Again and again we will bark our shins on invisible rocks, crashing into invisible walls, almost as if life is trying to teach us, to educate us, to enlighten us as to the realities of existence.
What we WANT is the comforting womb of our illusions. What we NEED is to be born into the world as it actually is.
Often, we are dragged kicking and screaming into clarity, forced ultimately to accept the ways we’ve been wrong. “Too soon old, too late smart” is one rather fatalistic way of speaking of this process. Too often, we must be old before we grasp that WE are the ones who sabotaged our dreams of success. We are the ones who refused to exercise and eat reasonably—that our bodies are more the result of our behaviors than our genetics. We are the ones who broke communication in our relationships, who lied and withheld and blamed, and thought that “the other person” was responsible for our misery. We are the ones who refused to grow up, to stop blaming our parents, or society, or racism, ageism, sexism or any other “ism” for our lack of happiness.
Too late, we are battered by one failure or disappointment after another, until the ego walls we created to protect our self-image are shattered, and we’re forced into contact with our true selves. The moment of death is supposed to be absolutely first rate at creating such clarity, a realization of our true values, and regret at the way we sold out our true potential.
But there are events that create clarity. The birth of a first child. A near-death experience. Accomplishing some worthy and transforming goal. The first deep and true moment of love or friendship. Transformation. In such moments, we see ourselves for the magnificent, wounded, earthy, spiritual beings that we are. We forgive ourselves, and our families, and the world around us, knowing that we have no right to expect more perfection from others than we ourselves possess. And as the saying goes, “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” No perfect people in this world. Accept it. And move on.
Stories that deal with these core stressors--life, death, birth, transformation, love—are always, and have always been the most popular stories in human history. Under this stress, your character, robbed of their self-justifying lies, must speak the truth. Under these stressors, they are revealed in their magnificence…or sometimes (especially if they refuse to acknowledge reality) revealed in their venality, cowardice, and dishonesty.
This is one of the functions of story. The writer must create story pressures beyond the capacity of the characters to maintain their illusions. Then, and only then, can you reveal their true natures. To do this, just look at the times in your own life that you awakened, transformed, grew, went kicking and screaming into the next level of your life. Then create dramatic exaggerations or simplifications of these passages, and create characters to experience them. Let them be as human—as flawed and magnificent—as you yourself are. As we all are. Heighten their qualities for the sake of drama, to be sure, but always, always, at their core, let them be human, whatever it is that you believe human beings to be.
Let them struggle. Let them learn. Let them love.
Let them live.
Do this, and it will mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship…between you, your muse, and a world audience starved for entertaining truth.
The Billionare Writer's Secret
During a career spanning twenty-five years of novel, film, and television work, I've two major tools most valuable: the yogic “chakras” for characterization, and Joseph Campbell’s model of the Hero’s Journey for plot structure.
These are not random choices, nor were they selected because of the many intelligent and thoughtful essays on their relationship to successful film or world myth.
Rather, they are important because they create a connection between the inner world of the writer, and the external world of the finished work—and the reader.
A plot structure is nothing more than a tool for organizing events in temporal sequence. While there are more such structures than there are professional writers, few of them meet what thousands of students consider a critical test: are they actually easy to use and apply? A simple tool, however limited, can be of greater use than a complicated tool that requires years to master. Remember: you will achieve real quality in your writing only by mastering your basics.
The Hero’s Journey, extracted from thousands of years of world mythology, has the advantage of actually mimicking the path of life itself. The “three act structure” does not. After all…life isn’t divided into three, or five, or eight acts. Such divisions can be useful tools, but they should never be mistaken for some kind of “truth” about existence. In comparison, note this interpretation (there are others) of the steps of the Hero’s Journey, and to explain them, we’ll look at the first Star Wars movie, “Episode IV, A New Hope”:
1) Hero Confronted With A Challenge. “Come with me, Luke, learn the ways of the Force.” This is pretty clear, right? There has to be a challenge, or a beckoning, or the character won’t begin to change—and all great writing is about change.
2) Hero Initially rejects the challenge, :I promised Uncle Owen I’d work on the moisture evaporators.” A real challenge, one that can provoke real change, will be frightening and exciting. A character will usually have some reservations.
3) Hero accepts the challenge. Luke’s aunt and uncle are killed, freeing him from his oath. If your character doesn’t accept the challenge, there is no story—unless the story is about the consequences of not accepting responsibility.
4) The Road of trials. Traveling to the desert town and cantina, getting on Han Solo’s spaceship, traveling to other planets, etc. This is the section where locations and sequence interact. The character travels, learns, commits actions that force inter-action with the environment, and the environment responds positively or negatively, with greater and greater stakes as the story proceeds.
5) Gaining Allies and Powers. Luke meets Han Solo, and Chewbacca, and Obi-Wan, and Princess Leia. He learns of the Force, and the use of Light Sabers, and how to fly and fight and rescue princesses. If your character doesn’t have to grow in order to resolve the problem, you may have chosen the wrong problem or character!
6) Initial Confrontation with Evil, and defeat. Obi-Wan’s death. Or possibly the disastrous attack on the Death Star. One is private and emotional, the other spectacular and physical.
7) Dark Night of the Soul. The moment of greatest weakness. Luke begins to believe he cannot win, and everything he loves will die.
8) Leap of Faith. “Trust your Feelings, Luke.” The leap of Faith is always faith in one of three things: faith in self, faith in your companions, or faith in a higher power. In “Star Wars” it is all three! This may be the only time in the history of cinema that this was true, and helps to explain why George Lucas is a billionaire.
9) Confront Evil—victorious. The Death Star blows up.
10) Student Becomes the Teacher. Luke is presented with medals, which establish him as a role model.
###
The above ten steps are not some cookie-cutter pattern. They are the combined world wisdom about the path of life itself, the process we go through in achieving any worthwhile goal. There will be fear. There will be defeat. We will need to gain new skills and friends and partners. We must be clear on our acceptance of goals and responsibility. We must have faith. And ultimately, if we have struggled, and learned, and sacrificed, and moved through our fear…we learn and grow and succeed. And then we teach others. This is the pattern of life, and any time you organize information and events into a pattern even vaguely reminiscent of this, the human nervous system, worldwide, will recognize it as story.
It is NOT some kind of cure-all for bad story tellers. What these ten steps are is something analogous to the eighty-eight keys of a piano. Understand the emotional and life significance of each step, and then “play them” as your developed instincts dictate. Make your own kind of music. The pattern has worked for about thirty thousand years. It will work for you, too.
These are not random choices, nor were they selected because of the many intelligent and thoughtful essays on their relationship to successful film or world myth.
Rather, they are important because they create a connection between the inner world of the writer, and the external world of the finished work—and the reader.
A plot structure is nothing more than a tool for organizing events in temporal sequence. While there are more such structures than there are professional writers, few of them meet what thousands of students consider a critical test: are they actually easy to use and apply? A simple tool, however limited, can be of greater use than a complicated tool that requires years to master. Remember: you will achieve real quality in your writing only by mastering your basics.
The Hero’s Journey, extracted from thousands of years of world mythology, has the advantage of actually mimicking the path of life itself. The “three act structure” does not. After all…life isn’t divided into three, or five, or eight acts. Such divisions can be useful tools, but they should never be mistaken for some kind of “truth” about existence. In comparison, note this interpretation (there are others) of the steps of the Hero’s Journey, and to explain them, we’ll look at the first Star Wars movie, “Episode IV, A New Hope”:
1) Hero Confronted With A Challenge. “Come with me, Luke, learn the ways of the Force.” This is pretty clear, right? There has to be a challenge, or a beckoning, or the character won’t begin to change—and all great writing is about change.
2) Hero Initially rejects the challenge, :I promised Uncle Owen I’d work on the moisture evaporators.” A real challenge, one that can provoke real change, will be frightening and exciting. A character will usually have some reservations.
3) Hero accepts the challenge. Luke’s aunt and uncle are killed, freeing him from his oath. If your character doesn’t accept the challenge, there is no story—unless the story is about the consequences of not accepting responsibility.
4) The Road of trials. Traveling to the desert town and cantina, getting on Han Solo’s spaceship, traveling to other planets, etc. This is the section where locations and sequence interact. The character travels, learns, commits actions that force inter-action with the environment, and the environment responds positively or negatively, with greater and greater stakes as the story proceeds.
5) Gaining Allies and Powers. Luke meets Han Solo, and Chewbacca, and Obi-Wan, and Princess Leia. He learns of the Force, and the use of Light Sabers, and how to fly and fight and rescue princesses. If your character doesn’t have to grow in order to resolve the problem, you may have chosen the wrong problem or character!
6) Initial Confrontation with Evil, and defeat. Obi-Wan’s death. Or possibly the disastrous attack on the Death Star. One is private and emotional, the other spectacular and physical.
7) Dark Night of the Soul. The moment of greatest weakness. Luke begins to believe he cannot win, and everything he loves will die.
8) Leap of Faith. “Trust your Feelings, Luke.” The leap of Faith is always faith in one of three things: faith in self, faith in your companions, or faith in a higher power. In “Star Wars” it is all three! This may be the only time in the history of cinema that this was true, and helps to explain why George Lucas is a billionaire.
9) Confront Evil—victorious. The Death Star blows up.
10) Student Becomes the Teacher. Luke is presented with medals, which establish him as a role model.
###
The above ten steps are not some cookie-cutter pattern. They are the combined world wisdom about the path of life itself, the process we go through in achieving any worthwhile goal. There will be fear. There will be defeat. We will need to gain new skills and friends and partners. We must be clear on our acceptance of goals and responsibility. We must have faith. And ultimately, if we have struggled, and learned, and sacrificed, and moved through our fear…we learn and grow and succeed. And then we teach others. This is the pattern of life, and any time you organize information and events into a pattern even vaguely reminiscent of this, the human nervous system, worldwide, will recognize it as story.
It is NOT some kind of cure-all for bad story tellers. What these ten steps are is something analogous to the eighty-eight keys of a piano. Understand the emotional and life significance of each step, and then “play them” as your developed instincts dictate. Make your own kind of music. The pattern has worked for about thirty thousand years. It will work for you, too.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The Lazy Mans Guide To Great Characterization
One subject arising whenever writers gather to discuss their craft is the mining of life itself for story material. While a vital and important technique, it is important to remember that real human beings are impossibly complex, far too complicated to serve as story characters without major modification. The most complex character in all of western fiction (arguably), Hamlet, is still only 1% as complex as a real human being.
One must remember that there is a unity between character and plot: they are, in essence, two sides of a single coin. Plot is what a character does in a given situation. A plot must empty a character out, give us everything we need to know about the lead, or the story situation hasn't been thought through very well.
In life, it is reasonable to take the position that we are what we do. True, this is not ALL that we are, but what we do is closer to this essence than what we "think" we are, or what others define us as. Everyone knows that we judge each other on our actions, and it is childish to pretend otherwise.
We learn to characterize by formulating a theory of human nature, and then testing it against the people around us--our family and friends. You should be prepared to defend this theory in conversation and literary debate. After all, there are only two basic questions being addressed in all of fiction:
1) What is it to be human?
2) What is the ethical structure of the universe?
Whatever your own theory is, you should understand it from every direction, and be able to apply it to understand your own strengths and weaknesses.
Look at the three major areas of human life: body, mind, and spirit. What does your body say about you? Believe me, it says worlds about your values, discipline, emotional health, habit patterns and more. What does your career say about you? Are you operating at full efficiency there? Do you complain about money troubles, but not do anything about it? Do you dream, but not perform? Or are you working at a job that you would continue to do even if you won the lottery? To me, this is a major sign of an active, healthy intellect--the ability to do for a living that which you would do for free.
What about your relationship with your husband/wife/significant other? To me, this is where you reveal yourself most clearly. You ARE your partner, flipped upside-down and inside out. If you like what you see across the breakfast table from you, great. If not, you have work to do. Remember: whoever you see over there was the best you could do. If you could have gotten someone smarter, handsomer/prettier, emotionally healthier--you would have. So take a hard look. Often, you can learn more from a person's partner than you can from meeting the person.
Viewed in this way, there is a lifetime of study in understanding the people around us, and in understanding ourselves as well. And a lifetime of potential stories in examining how people's flaws and gaps keep them from achieving their full potential. It can be painful to look at this stuff, but the only thing even more painful is being terminally untrue to your own spirit. That, my friends, is a true tragedy. Better the pain of awareness than the agony of self-betrayal. By a long shot.
One must remember that there is a unity between character and plot: they are, in essence, two sides of a single coin. Plot is what a character does in a given situation. A plot must empty a character out, give us everything we need to know about the lead, or the story situation hasn't been thought through very well.
In life, it is reasonable to take the position that we are what we do. True, this is not ALL that we are, but what we do is closer to this essence than what we "think" we are, or what others define us as. Everyone knows that we judge each other on our actions, and it is childish to pretend otherwise.
We learn to characterize by formulating a theory of human nature, and then testing it against the people around us--our family and friends. You should be prepared to defend this theory in conversation and literary debate. After all, there are only two basic questions being addressed in all of fiction:
1) What is it to be human?
2) What is the ethical structure of the universe?
Whatever your own theory is, you should understand it from every direction, and be able to apply it to understand your own strengths and weaknesses.
Look at the three major areas of human life: body, mind, and spirit. What does your body say about you? Believe me, it says worlds about your values, discipline, emotional health, habit patterns and more. What does your career say about you? Are you operating at full efficiency there? Do you complain about money troubles, but not do anything about it? Do you dream, but not perform? Or are you working at a job that you would continue to do even if you won the lottery? To me, this is a major sign of an active, healthy intellect--the ability to do for a living that which you would do for free.
What about your relationship with your husband/wife/significant other? To me, this is where you reveal yourself most clearly. You ARE your partner, flipped upside-down and inside out. If you like what you see across the breakfast table from you, great. If not, you have work to do. Remember: whoever you see over there was the best you could do. If you could have gotten someone smarter, handsomer/prettier, emotionally healthier--you would have. So take a hard look. Often, you can learn more from a person's partner than you can from meeting the person.
Viewed in this way, there is a lifetime of study in understanding the people around us, and in understanding ourselves as well. And a lifetime of potential stories in examining how people's flaws and gaps keep them from achieving their full potential. It can be painful to look at this stuff, but the only thing even more painful is being terminally untrue to your own spirit. That, my friends, is a true tragedy. Better the pain of awareness than the agony of self-betrayal. By a long shot.
The Three Questions of Science Fiction
There is a great deal of misunderstanding about what that particular branch of literature called “Science Fiction” actually consists of. Is it space-ships and monsters? Time machines? Galactic empires? Well, its all of those things, and often none of them.
Science Fiction, broadly speaking, is story-telling that deals with the impact of organized knowledge on human beings. Usually, this means technology, and the way it changes us—and reveals about us. After all, most technology is an extension of our senses, attributes and desires: computers are brains, cell-phones are voices and ears, cars are legs, planes are the dream of flight.
Many classic S.F. films and books take place in worlds identical to ours, except for the creation of some new device, or the appearance of a new life-form. Others take place in worlds so apparently foreign that only the most dedicated and experienced reader can understand what is going on!
But at the core, there are three questions or musings most often asked or explored in any work with the “Science Fiction” label. Those three are:
1) What if?
2) If Only…
3) If This Goes On…
Although these three "questions" overlap considerably, the first, “What If?”, is the most essential of the three. “What If the Martians attacked?” “What If eternal life was available at a price?” “What If we knew an asteroid would hit Earth in a year?”
The second adds a bit of longing to the equation. “If Only President Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated…” is the kind of question that leads to sociological and historical speculation, or the “Alternate History” branch of S.F. which has become tremendously popular in the last decade. “If Only the gene for generosity (or anger, or bigotry) could be mapped…” “If Only we could selectively prune bad memories…”
There is an emotional quality to the “If Only” questions, and they often speak to a sense of missed opportunity, roads not taken.
The third question, “If This Goes On” is tailor-made for cautionary tales. “If we continue to pollute the environment…” “If one party continues to dominate American politics…” “If more women enter the management class…” “If the space program continues to Privatize” “If human beings become better at modifying their physical characteristics…”
These questions are starting places for speculation. While it is easy to use any of them for trivial or absurd (and entertaining!) questions like “What if a 300-foot radioactive lizard attacked Tokyo?” they can also address profound issues, as in “how would humanity change if we gained incontrovertible proof of intelligent alien life?”
By concentrating on the question, or proposition, at the core of your story, it becomes easier to keep it from becoming a CGI-fest. Ask yourself how YOU would react to a given situation. How your family would react—you know them well. Then friends. Political adversaries. Other nations, and people of other groups. Dig into the meat of it. Study history, and begin to grasp the way societies change in response to technology, for instance the Automobile, or Printing Press, or Computer.
The more deeply you delve, the more likely you will be to create a unique question with unique answers. Then people your world with breathing, believable characters responding as intelligent, feeling people have since the beginning of time. Your work will blossom and reach new levels…
Even if it IS about a 300-foot radioactive lizard!
Science Fiction, broadly speaking, is story-telling that deals with the impact of organized knowledge on human beings. Usually, this means technology, and the way it changes us—and reveals about us. After all, most technology is an extension of our senses, attributes and desires: computers are brains, cell-phones are voices and ears, cars are legs, planes are the dream of flight.
Many classic S.F. films and books take place in worlds identical to ours, except for the creation of some new device, or the appearance of a new life-form. Others take place in worlds so apparently foreign that only the most dedicated and experienced reader can understand what is going on!
But at the core, there are three questions or musings most often asked or explored in any work with the “Science Fiction” label. Those three are:
1) What if?
2) If Only…
3) If This Goes On…
Although these three "questions" overlap considerably, the first, “What If?”, is the most essential of the three. “What If the Martians attacked?” “What If eternal life was available at a price?” “What If we knew an asteroid would hit Earth in a year?”
The second adds a bit of longing to the equation. “If Only President Kennedy hadn’t been assassinated…” is the kind of question that leads to sociological and historical speculation, or the “Alternate History” branch of S.F. which has become tremendously popular in the last decade. “If Only the gene for generosity (or anger, or bigotry) could be mapped…” “If Only we could selectively prune bad memories…”
There is an emotional quality to the “If Only” questions, and they often speak to a sense of missed opportunity, roads not taken.
The third question, “If This Goes On” is tailor-made for cautionary tales. “If we continue to pollute the environment…” “If one party continues to dominate American politics…” “If more women enter the management class…” “If the space program continues to Privatize” “If human beings become better at modifying their physical characteristics…”
These questions are starting places for speculation. While it is easy to use any of them for trivial or absurd (and entertaining!) questions like “What if a 300-foot radioactive lizard attacked Tokyo?” they can also address profound issues, as in “how would humanity change if we gained incontrovertible proof of intelligent alien life?”
By concentrating on the question, or proposition, at the core of your story, it becomes easier to keep it from becoming a CGI-fest. Ask yourself how YOU would react to a given situation. How your family would react—you know them well. Then friends. Political adversaries. Other nations, and people of other groups. Dig into the meat of it. Study history, and begin to grasp the way societies change in response to technology, for instance the Automobile, or Printing Press, or Computer.
The more deeply you delve, the more likely you will be to create a unique question with unique answers. Then people your world with breathing, believable characters responding as intelligent, feeling people have since the beginning of time. Your work will blossom and reach new levels…
Even if it IS about a 300-foot radioactive lizard!
Top Secret -- The One Year Path To Publication
There is a way to virtually guarantee your publication within a single year. No, it has nothing to do with self-publication. This path is not for dilettantes, and will push you to the limit, but it has worked for dozens of my students, and it will work for you.
It is based on writing principles first proposed by two giants in the publishing field, science-fiction writers Ray Bradbury, and Robert Heinlein, over thirty years ago. And no, you don’t have to be a science fiction writer. No matter what your ULTIMATE goal—novel, screenplay, playwright, or poet, you can adapt this method. It is designed to address literally every major problem you have or might encounter as a writer.
1) Write a story a week, or a story every other week.
2) Read 10X as much as you write.
3) Put your stories in the mail. Keep them in the mail until they sell.
4) Never re-write except to editorial request.
And there you go. Now let’s look back at the steps for a bit of further explanation.
1) Write a story a week, or a story every other week. These can be as short as you wish. No, it doesn’t matter if you want to write novels, or your ideas tend to emerge from your subconscious in long form. If you’re a newbie runner training for a marathon, you’d start by running around the block, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t start by running twenty-six miles, that’s for sure! Everything you need to know to write a book is contained in a short story, and writing 100,000 words of short stories will improve your writing far more than that same 100,000 words devoted to a novel. Scriptwriting? Before you can write a script, you need to be certain you understand storytelling. I mean REALLY understand it, subconsciously. Short stories give you a chance to hone your skills. Poetry? Well, in this case, write a poem a week! Non-Fiction? Sure! Write an article a week!
2) Read 10X what you write. There is nothing sadder than a young writer who doesn’t read for fear of “contaminating his style.” This is complete self-delusion. A writer DESPERATELY needs to read everything she can get her hands on…and of the very best quality. Personally, I read one act of Shakespeare aloud each morning, to simultaneously improve my writing and speaking ability.
3) Put your stories in the mail. Every week, or every other week, one of your stories should be submitted to an editor who pays money for publication. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how much. Money is a very cold equation, something different from pats on the back, cheers, contributors copies or even awards. When an editor cuts you a check, there is a lack of warm fuzzy feelings, and a down-to-earth “will my readers like this” that is completely different from the accolades or criticisms of your writing group or class. THIS is the feedback you need: a check that clears the bank. Get your stories out! And web publication is just fine in this regard—as long as there is money. Even a penny a word—or less!--is just fine.
4) Don’t re-write except to editorial request. Once your story is finished and initially re-written, move on. Don’t re-write endlessly, trying to get it “perfect.” You’ll learn more by writing a new story than re-writing an old one endlessly.
If you’ll do this, I promise you your first sales within fifty stories. At the story a week level, that’s one year! Just one year from today, you could be a paid author. And for any real writer, that should be an idea exciting enough to keep them up late, and get them up early, typing away, knowing that that first acceptance check is less than 365 days way.
It is based on writing principles first proposed by two giants in the publishing field, science-fiction writers Ray Bradbury, and Robert Heinlein, over thirty years ago. And no, you don’t have to be a science fiction writer. No matter what your ULTIMATE goal—novel, screenplay, playwright, or poet, you can adapt this method. It is designed to address literally every major problem you have or might encounter as a writer.
1) Write a story a week, or a story every other week.
2) Read 10X as much as you write.
3) Put your stories in the mail. Keep them in the mail until they sell.
4) Never re-write except to editorial request.
And there you go. Now let’s look back at the steps for a bit of further explanation.
1) Write a story a week, or a story every other week. These can be as short as you wish. No, it doesn’t matter if you want to write novels, or your ideas tend to emerge from your subconscious in long form. If you’re a newbie runner training for a marathon, you’d start by running around the block, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t start by running twenty-six miles, that’s for sure! Everything you need to know to write a book is contained in a short story, and writing 100,000 words of short stories will improve your writing far more than that same 100,000 words devoted to a novel. Scriptwriting? Before you can write a script, you need to be certain you understand storytelling. I mean REALLY understand it, subconsciously. Short stories give you a chance to hone your skills. Poetry? Well, in this case, write a poem a week! Non-Fiction? Sure! Write an article a week!
2) Read 10X what you write. There is nothing sadder than a young writer who doesn’t read for fear of “contaminating his style.” This is complete self-delusion. A writer DESPERATELY needs to read everything she can get her hands on…and of the very best quality. Personally, I read one act of Shakespeare aloud each morning, to simultaneously improve my writing and speaking ability.
3) Put your stories in the mail. Every week, or every other week, one of your stories should be submitted to an editor who pays money for publication. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how much. Money is a very cold equation, something different from pats on the back, cheers, contributors copies or even awards. When an editor cuts you a check, there is a lack of warm fuzzy feelings, and a down-to-earth “will my readers like this” that is completely different from the accolades or criticisms of your writing group or class. THIS is the feedback you need: a check that clears the bank. Get your stories out! And web publication is just fine in this regard—as long as there is money. Even a penny a word—or less!--is just fine.
4) Don’t re-write except to editorial request. Once your story is finished and initially re-written, move on. Don’t re-write endlessly, trying to get it “perfect.” You’ll learn more by writing a new story than re-writing an old one endlessly.
If you’ll do this, I promise you your first sales within fifty stories. At the story a week level, that’s one year! Just one year from today, you could be a paid author. And for any real writer, that should be an idea exciting enough to keep them up late, and get them up early, typing away, knowing that that first acceptance check is less than 365 days way.
Turn Writers Blocks Into Stepping Stones
Years ago at a presentation at the UCLA Extension Writer’s Program, I promised an audience to teach them to conquer this beast once and for all. Later, another instructor approached me and said “why did you say that to those people? It’s not possible.”
Poor woman. All she was saying is that SHE cannot break writer’s block, which told me all I need to know about her career. In all likelihood a promising beginning, perhaps an award-winning poem or book…and then pain.
It is not only possible to end writer’s block forever, but you can actually use it to your advantage!
First, let us define it in some useful way: Writer’s block is the inability to
1) Produce new text.
2) Edit and polish existing text
3) Finish projects on a reasonable schedule
4) Send those projects out for editorial judgment.
5) Continue sending them out until they are sold.
Accepting the above, I’m going to give you a definition of the root cause of Writer’s Block that will actually help you in every arena of your life.
“Writer’s Block is nothing more than a confusion of two different states of mind: the Flow state, where you produce new text, and the Editing state, where you evaluate and polish what you have written.”
WB is such a killer because most of us have done far more reading than we have writing, and spend far more time in critical analysis of finished, polished work of the masters than in experiencing our own early drafts. So when we try to create text, we measure our first draft efforts against the polished work of the world’s great writers. Immediately, that “this is garbage!” voice goes off in your head, and you have a block.
It is said that novice writers must work through a million words of garbage before reaching their true voice. How in the world will you ever get through it if you constantly judge every word? If you will learn to turn that voice off, you will learn a massive and important lesson about the structure of the human psyche.
But what exactly is “Flow”? It is the psychological state where time seems to vanish, where you “fall into the page”, where the rest of the world floats away as you concentrate. This is similar to the “hypnogogic” state experienced just prior to sleep, and the first thing in the morning. It is experienced in distance running, dancing (remember the lyrics to “Flashdance”? “She’s moved into the danger zone, where the dancer becomes the dance”) and, to be perfectly frank, it is experienced during sexual relations in the moments just prior to orgasm. It is the dissolution of the subject-object relationship sought by numerous schools of meditation.
1) Alternate days (or work sessions) between flow and editing. If necessary, wear different hats, or sit in different chairs for each. NEVER DO BOTH IN THE SAME SESSION
2) Set yourself a daily output that will get you to your goal of one million words in less than 5 years. 1000 words a day will do it in three years. That’s roughly comparable to earning an AA degree. Not too shabby!
3) Explore and specifically study “Flow State” as a discipline. Do your internet searches and find a physical or mental activity (running, dancing, meditation, Tai chi, yoga, etc.) that opens a doorway to this inner world.
4) Listen to largo rhythm, sixty-beat per minute string music. Vivaldi is perfect for this, and induces “Alpha” (flow) state rapidly and effectively. Stay away from music with lyrics, but soft jazz is also terrific.
5) Practice making pictures in your mind, and then writing down what you see WITHOUT judging the quality of your descriptions. You want to enhance the connection between your deep consciousness and your typing or writing.
6) If you can’t find a good meditation technique, just sit and “listen” to your own heartbeat for 15-30 minutes a day.
There are many other ideas, but these will get you started. The most valuable thing you will learn is to “turn off” or ignore the negative voices in your head. And an artist who learns to do this on demand is on the way to integration of the deep levels of the unconscious…and greater joy in the act of creation.
Poor woman. All she was saying is that SHE cannot break writer’s block, which told me all I need to know about her career. In all likelihood a promising beginning, perhaps an award-winning poem or book…and then pain.
It is not only possible to end writer’s block forever, but you can actually use it to your advantage!
First, let us define it in some useful way: Writer’s block is the inability to
1) Produce new text.
2) Edit and polish existing text
3) Finish projects on a reasonable schedule
4) Send those projects out for editorial judgment.
5) Continue sending them out until they are sold.
Accepting the above, I’m going to give you a definition of the root cause of Writer’s Block that will actually help you in every arena of your life.
“Writer’s Block is nothing more than a confusion of two different states of mind: the Flow state, where you produce new text, and the Editing state, where you evaluate and polish what you have written.”
WB is such a killer because most of us have done far more reading than we have writing, and spend far more time in critical analysis of finished, polished work of the masters than in experiencing our own early drafts. So when we try to create text, we measure our first draft efforts against the polished work of the world’s great writers. Immediately, that “this is garbage!” voice goes off in your head, and you have a block.
It is said that novice writers must work through a million words of garbage before reaching their true voice. How in the world will you ever get through it if you constantly judge every word? If you will learn to turn that voice off, you will learn a massive and important lesson about the structure of the human psyche.
But what exactly is “Flow”? It is the psychological state where time seems to vanish, where you “fall into the page”, where the rest of the world floats away as you concentrate. This is similar to the “hypnogogic” state experienced just prior to sleep, and the first thing in the morning. It is experienced in distance running, dancing (remember the lyrics to “Flashdance”? “She’s moved into the danger zone, where the dancer becomes the dance”) and, to be perfectly frank, it is experienced during sexual relations in the moments just prior to orgasm. It is the dissolution of the subject-object relationship sought by numerous schools of meditation.
1) Alternate days (or work sessions) between flow and editing. If necessary, wear different hats, or sit in different chairs for each. NEVER DO BOTH IN THE SAME SESSION
2) Set yourself a daily output that will get you to your goal of one million words in less than 5 years. 1000 words a day will do it in three years. That’s roughly comparable to earning an AA degree. Not too shabby!
3) Explore and specifically study “Flow State” as a discipline. Do your internet searches and find a physical or mental activity (running, dancing, meditation, Tai chi, yoga, etc.) that opens a doorway to this inner world.
4) Listen to largo rhythm, sixty-beat per minute string music. Vivaldi is perfect for this, and induces “Alpha” (flow) state rapidly and effectively. Stay away from music with lyrics, but soft jazz is also terrific.
5) Practice making pictures in your mind, and then writing down what you see WITHOUT judging the quality of your descriptions. You want to enhance the connection between your deep consciousness and your typing or writing.
6) If you can’t find a good meditation technique, just sit and “listen” to your own heartbeat for 15-30 minutes a day.
There are many other ideas, but these will get you started. The most valuable thing you will learn is to “turn off” or ignore the negative voices in your head. And an artist who learns to do this on demand is on the way to integration of the deep levels of the unconscious…and greater joy in the act of creation.
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