I'm hoping NaNo will save my writing. I figure, with the high daily word quota and the rule against using pre-NaNo work, I'll be FORCED to blather a bit each day. Which will, hopefully, do wonders for my pacing.
It's awful; I'm so proud of the outlining and plot-work I did on my last manuscript, but now that I've gotten it as tight as it can possibly go, it turns out I've got to insert some breathing space. WHA?
How can that even be done? Where is there room for marshmellow gooeyness, and how can I find it? What do I even blather *about*? As it is, I figure you see everything you need to see, know everything you need to know...but everyone who reads it says it moves WAY too fast--they can't keep up, and they don't really want to. Wow, that's a blow.
And what makes it worse is that they all think my dialogue and language and even premise is really strong, that the problem is: the world I've created is an unfriendly one, that they don't want to be a part of. The characters are apparently all unlikeable, and the place is confusing, and things are flying around too fast.
The problem probably began in me constructing SUCH a tight, complicated outline, in me thinking like a scriptwriter and not a novelist. So while I'll have to re-edit for "story" (as opposed to plot) and GOD KNOWS what else.... I've decided to write a new manuscript using completely different methods.
That new method is: knowing the characters fairly well, knowing the premise fairly well, and letting the plot take shape. It might mean there is much less of a plot at all--but frankly, maybe novels are better off focusing on one thing well, as opposed to big screen style action.
So of course, I'm now wishing November first would never come. How am I going to go from analyzing the sh*t out of structure to just letting it flow?
In some ways this is an outgrowth of my summer-time decision: to be as authentic and truthful and even whimsical as possible. I think that vow was a good one; it brought out a lot more creativity and emotion--in my life, as well as my writing--than would otherwise have been possible. Now's the time for even more trust, even more wonder, even more serenity.
UUUUUUUUUUGH! I'll have to trust my own mind and the characters to take me through this novel, and that's tough for an over-educated over-analyzer like me.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
crawling inside is a slow but endlessly rewarding process
The following are my "lecture" notes for the Oct. 27th workshop I led in Baltimore.
STRUCTURE: CHARACTER NOTE-TAKING/OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong feel for your characters will give the reader a feeling of EMOTIONAL DEPTH, and helps the writer keep their story AUTHENTIC.
HOW TO TAKE CHARACTER NOTES:
Step 1: Inspiration
This is when a sound or image sticks in your mind, or a seemingly fully formed character starts talking in your head. Inspiration can happen anytime, anywhere—something need not seem inspirational to germinate into a fantastic story. The key is to accept and respect that inspiration, whatever its humble basis.
When it comes, get your entire brainstorm on paper as fast as you can. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense yet—this is just an exploration, not even a draft.
Tip: if you’re having trouble “finding” inspiration, try being completely quiet and staring out a window or wall for five or ten minutes. It’s the “ass in chair” method, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll get so bored within a minute or two that your imagination will start running wild.
Step 2: Fill in the Blanks
Let your newly found character stay on the fringes of your mind as you go about your days, just like you do with your friends or family. For example, when you’re shopping, think about what your character would like to buy; figure out what they can afford, where they work, who is important to them.
Whenever you hit on a fact that feels right to you, jot it down. This could happen anyplace, anytime, so keep paper and pen with you.
Once you’ve got a name, age, occupation, and a general feel for your character(s), try filling out surveys for them, or creating an anatomy (see handout). The longer your piece, the more detail you may want to include. And if your piece is longer than a prose poem or short story, you may want to do this for more than one character. As you get to know these “people,” their web of connections will probably grow; characters will introduce you to one another.
Sign of a good character: Contradictions
All people, and so all characters, have both virtues and vices. But what is best about a character is usually also what is worst—it all depends on the situation or context. For example, a character may be a very tough, strong leader. That grit may be fantastic for keeping her family in line, but it may be terrible when it comes to building a romantic relationship. A character may be bold and quick thinking, which comes in handy when he is bullied by his boss, but may make him flaky and irresponsible when dealing with his family. Think of virtues and vices as two sides of the same coin; often, a character need only have one strong virtue or vice in order to be compelling—but that characteristic will define the character, so choose carefully.
Step 3: Put your character in hell
Now that you know him or her inside out, you can probably figure out: what would be the worst possible situation for your character? What journey would force them to grow the most? Let your mind play over the possibilities for as long as it takes—once you know the worst obstacle your character could face, and what changes they will have to make within themselves to face it, you’ve got your premise and all you need of a plot.
Finding the right plot for your character may be the most important step. It will provide a world and structure in which you can explore your character’s many facets. And don’t worry; if you’ve created a character with contradictions and story potential, you’ll be able to mine his or her story for as long as it takes. Many TV shows (Ex. Dexter, the Sopranos) are, at heart, extended character studies. TV shows created by finding a fascinating character or group and putting him, her or them into an intriguing situation each week—and they run for years!
Sign of a good plot for your character: Paradox/Compromise of Self
Do your character’s inherent contradictions force her into a situation in which she cannot remain as she has been, and still get what she needs (her goal)? The plot must force your character to change—a plot is the story of a character’s change. The central dilemma your character faces must 1. spring from her personality 2. seem unconquerable because of that same personality.
Why is this particular situation happening to this particular person, and why are they uniquely unprepared for it? What must they do to prepare? The climax of the story is when the character finally makes the change they must in order to win her goal, but that climax must be hard won; she must have lost at least a piece of herself in the process (the piece that is lost is what is at stake).
Consider: What is your character's central dilemma? What is at stake for her/him? The more personal and important the stakes, the more power the climax will have.
Is This Useful?
Discovering the ins and outs of your character can be extremely useful during the drafting process. As you explore your character and try to figure out how they, personal limitations and all, can figure out their central dilemma, you shape your story. However, it can also be useful once you’ve gotten the draft down. Does the story feel authentic? A way to figure it out, is to see if your characters always act as themselves, and in their own best interests, instead of as unthinking cogs in your plot-machine.
When you’re doing macro-editing; i.e., homing in on your character’s stakes and making the climax as big and bold as possible, it can be useful to mine your character—to try and have them solve their problems for themselves, instead of imposing your solutions onto them. When you’re focused on the characters, what you’re really focusing on is finding the nugget of truth at the heart of your story—and that’s a great thing to think about when reviewing a finished draft, as well as while creating it.
To Sum Up:
The upside to basing your story’s structure on the characters is that you can create a powerful engine for your story. As long as you’ve found a character with potential to mine, you can keep the story going indefinitely.
The downside is that when you allow your character to lead the story, you may create a series of incidents for your characters to get through, rather than a unified plot. Without a full thematic/emotional arc, your story can end up feeling hallow and unfinished.
EXAMPLE: “Star Wars,” Anakin Skywalker
Character Contradiction: Love
He loves people (ie, his mother, his wife, his mentor/surrogate father Obi Won). Yet Jedi Knights must be selfless, and think only of the group--they can't have attachments, and they can't let people become attached to them. He cannot love everyone (as a Jedi) and individuals (as a man) at once.
Paradox:
If Anakin keeps love in his life- if he stays a part of life at all- he can't be a Jedi anymore... but if he isn't a Jedi anymore, he no longer deserves his friend's/family's love.
His struggle is between his ability/need to give all of himself (to love, to ambition, etc) and the healthful rationality of temperance, moderation, and reserve.
EXAMPLE: Twilight, Bella Swan
Character Contradiction: Obedience
She is an obedient, “good” daughter, but she’s also in thrall to a powerful love. She cannot be obedient both to her parents and to her boyfriend/her heart.
Paradox:
Bella's struggle in Twilight is between keeping her man but changing herself, or losing her man but staying true to herself.
In both Anakin's and Bella's stories, the dilemma is: how much of myself should I compromise? How much can I compromise and remain me?
Though both “Star Wars” and Twilight have been panned for their lack of artistry, they are compelling to millions of people—because both are carried by characters trapped in an unsolvable personal paradox. The tension of a character’s dilemma can be enough to drive a story—even over the course of a series.
STRUCTURE: CHARACTER NOTE-TAKING/OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong feel for your characters will give the reader a feeling of EMOTIONAL DEPTH, and helps the writer keep their story AUTHENTIC.
HOW TO TAKE CHARACTER NOTES:
Step 1: Inspiration
This is when a sound or image sticks in your mind, or a seemingly fully formed character starts talking in your head. Inspiration can happen anytime, anywhere—something need not seem inspirational to germinate into a fantastic story. The key is to accept and respect that inspiration, whatever its humble basis.
When it comes, get your entire brainstorm on paper as fast as you can. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense yet—this is just an exploration, not even a draft.
Tip: if you’re having trouble “finding” inspiration, try being completely quiet and staring out a window or wall for five or ten minutes. It’s the “ass in chair” method, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll get so bored within a minute or two that your imagination will start running wild.
Step 2: Fill in the Blanks
Let your newly found character stay on the fringes of your mind as you go about your days, just like you do with your friends or family. For example, when you’re shopping, think about what your character would like to buy; figure out what they can afford, where they work, who is important to them.
Whenever you hit on a fact that feels right to you, jot it down. This could happen anyplace, anytime, so keep paper and pen with you.
Once you’ve got a name, age, occupation, and a general feel for your character(s), try filling out surveys for them, or creating an anatomy (see handout). The longer your piece, the more detail you may want to include. And if your piece is longer than a prose poem or short story, you may want to do this for more than one character. As you get to know these “people,” their web of connections will probably grow; characters will introduce you to one another.
Sign of a good character: Contradictions
All people, and so all characters, have both virtues and vices. But what is best about a character is usually also what is worst—it all depends on the situation or context. For example, a character may be a very tough, strong leader. That grit may be fantastic for keeping her family in line, but it may be terrible when it comes to building a romantic relationship. A character may be bold and quick thinking, which comes in handy when he is bullied by his boss, but may make him flaky and irresponsible when dealing with his family. Think of virtues and vices as two sides of the same coin; often, a character need only have one strong virtue or vice in order to be compelling—but that characteristic will define the character, so choose carefully.
Step 3: Put your character in hell
Now that you know him or her inside out, you can probably figure out: what would be the worst possible situation for your character? What journey would force them to grow the most? Let your mind play over the possibilities for as long as it takes—once you know the worst obstacle your character could face, and what changes they will have to make within themselves to face it, you’ve got your premise and all you need of a plot.
Finding the right plot for your character may be the most important step. It will provide a world and structure in which you can explore your character’s many facets. And don’t worry; if you’ve created a character with contradictions and story potential, you’ll be able to mine his or her story for as long as it takes. Many TV shows (Ex. Dexter, the Sopranos) are, at heart, extended character studies. TV shows created by finding a fascinating character or group and putting him, her or them into an intriguing situation each week—and they run for years!
Sign of a good plot for your character: Paradox/Compromise of Self
Do your character’s inherent contradictions force her into a situation in which she cannot remain as she has been, and still get what she needs (her goal)? The plot must force your character to change—a plot is the story of a character’s change. The central dilemma your character faces must 1. spring from her personality 2. seem unconquerable because of that same personality.
Why is this particular situation happening to this particular person, and why are they uniquely unprepared for it? What must they do to prepare? The climax of the story is when the character finally makes the change they must in order to win her goal, but that climax must be hard won; she must have lost at least a piece of herself in the process (the piece that is lost is what is at stake).
Consider: What is your character's central dilemma? What is at stake for her/him? The more personal and important the stakes, the more power the climax will have.
Is This Useful?
Discovering the ins and outs of your character can be extremely useful during the drafting process. As you explore your character and try to figure out how they, personal limitations and all, can figure out their central dilemma, you shape your story. However, it can also be useful once you’ve gotten the draft down. Does the story feel authentic? A way to figure it out, is to see if your characters always act as themselves, and in their own best interests, instead of as unthinking cogs in your plot-machine.
When you’re doing macro-editing; i.e., homing in on your character’s stakes and making the climax as big and bold as possible, it can be useful to mine your character—to try and have them solve their problems for themselves, instead of imposing your solutions onto them. When you’re focused on the characters, what you’re really focusing on is finding the nugget of truth at the heart of your story—and that’s a great thing to think about when reviewing a finished draft, as well as while creating it.
To Sum Up:
The upside to basing your story’s structure on the characters is that you can create a powerful engine for your story. As long as you’ve found a character with potential to mine, you can keep the story going indefinitely.
The downside is that when you allow your character to lead the story, you may create a series of incidents for your characters to get through, rather than a unified plot. Without a full thematic/emotional arc, your story can end up feeling hallow and unfinished.
EXAMPLE: “Star Wars,” Anakin Skywalker
Character Contradiction: Love
He loves people (ie, his mother, his wife, his mentor/surrogate father Obi Won). Yet Jedi Knights must be selfless, and think only of the group--they can't have attachments, and they can't let people become attached to them. He cannot love everyone (as a Jedi) and individuals (as a man) at once.
Paradox:
If Anakin keeps love in his life- if he stays a part of life at all- he can't be a Jedi anymore... but if he isn't a Jedi anymore, he no longer deserves his friend's/family's love.
His struggle is between his ability/need to give all of himself (to love, to ambition, etc) and the healthful rationality of temperance, moderation, and reserve.
EXAMPLE: Twilight, Bella Swan
Character Contradiction: Obedience
She is an obedient, “good” daughter, but she’s also in thrall to a powerful love. She cannot be obedient both to her parents and to her boyfriend/her heart.
Paradox:
Bella's struggle in Twilight is between keeping her man but changing herself, or losing her man but staying true to herself.
In both Anakin's and Bella's stories, the dilemma is: how much of myself should I compromise? How much can I compromise and remain me?
Though both “Star Wars” and Twilight have been panned for their lack of artistry, they are compelling to millions of people—because both are carried by characters trapped in an unsolvable personal paradox. The tension of a character’s dilemma can be enough to drive a story—even over the course of a series.
Monday, October 26, 2009
notes from the underground
STRUCTURE: PLOT-CENTRIC OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong narrative structure gives the reader a feeling of momentum, and helps the writer focus on the story he or she wants to tell.
HOW TO OUTLINE:
Step 1: Find your premise
The premise is your story’s basic idea. This is what you answer when someone asks, “What is your story about?” It is sometimes called a logline.
Tip: If you’re having trouble finding an interesting premise, you might think of two words that contradict each other. Then start imagining how those words came together.
Ex. “Fight Club,” or “Beggar God”
Step 2: Should You Use a 3-Act or 5-Act Structure?
3 ACT
1. Decision
2. Action
3. Consequences
5 ACT
1. Problem—the characters decide to solve it
2. They try an easy solution—but that solution fails
3. They discover the real problem
4. Put together a solution
5. Solve the problem—or, decisively fail to solve it
Tip: For longer pieces, like plays, scripts, or novels, a five-act structure gives a strong framework for your narrative. The three-act structure might work best, however, at the very start of a piece, or for a shorter work (or even while trying to figure out the shape of each act in a 5-act structured story). Figuring out where your first act begins and ends (where the characters make the decision that starts them on their journey) can be especially important, and that’s where a three-act outline might be most useful.
Step 3: Reverse-Engineer Your Characters
What characters would be most interesting to see work through the plotline you’ve just developed? Sometimes characters are very close to our hearts, but don’t fit into the pieces we happen to be writing on at the moment—that’s ok! You can write as many stories as you want—but don’t try and shove them into a story that isn’t theirs. Give them the respect and space to tell their own story.
If you can’t tell whether a particular character belongs in a story or not, think about their thematic or emotional arc. Usually, a plot will tell the story of a particular journey (such as: a journey from isolation to togetherness, or from being a child to being an adult). All the characters should go on a similar journey, in their own way. If a character’s journey isn’t related to the plot’s thematic arc, maybe he or she belongs in a different story.
Tip: When you’re trying to find characters that fit into your plotline, consider: Who is the worst possible person to be in this situation? Who would have the furthest to travel to reach the story’s resolution?
Is This Useful?
Outlining the plot before finding your characters or starting to write might not work for you—or it might not work for every story. Outlines and plots are just tools you can use if you get stuck or don’t know where to start. You can use none, some, or all of these steps—whatever you might need for a particular story.
Sometimes, outlining can actually be most useful when you’re going back to edit a story you’ve already written. If you make an outline after you’ve already gotten a full draft down, it can help you spot any plot holes, characters you’ve forgotten about, or places where you may need to include more information.
To Sum Up:
The good thing about having a strong outline: if you think about the characters’ goals and obstacles before you start, you don’t have to worry about your characters becoming aimless or losing focus while you write their stories.
The downside is that your storytelling might become rigid or you may become bored with the story. Ultimately, you are the master of your story’s universe, and you get to do whatever you want—regardless of what you’ve outlined.
EXAMPLE: Independence Day
Premise: Hostile aliens come to Earth.
In Three Acts:
1. Individuals decide to fight the aliens.
2. Each human tries to stop the aliens from taking over, but the aliens keep winning. So the humans band together.
3. Working together, the humans drive the aliens away.
In Five Acts:
1. Hostile aliens arrive on earth and individual humans decide to stop them. The most powerful humans decide to use diplomacy.
2. But the aliens refuse to cooperate; they have no mercy. The humans must use force.
3. But fighting the aliens as individuals—or even individual countries—is hopeless.
4. So all the humans band together to fight
5. And they win!
The easy solution was to talk to the aliens—FAILS.
The hard but right solution was for the humans to talk to each other—WINS
The plot’s thematic/emotional arc is: we are stronger together than we are apart.
The character’s individual stories each follow the same arc. Ex. Bill Pullman’s pilot starts out as a drunk, isolated lowlife. By the movie’s end he reunites with his family and sacrifices himself for the entire human race.
An isolated, drunken lowlife is the worst possible person to do what his character must ultimately do: come together with the rest of humanity and save the world. Because his journey takes him from one extreme (isolation) to the other (self sacrifice for the good of the group), it’s the most interesting version of the journey possible.
-------------------------------- PS ---------------------
These are the notes I provided for the ex-offender workshop I led last week. Don't worry--I'm not a scriptwriting hack ALL the time; this week we're talking about shaping a story around its characters, instead of the other way around. If you don't agree with some/all of these notes, I'd love to hear it. I'm going back to the workshop tomorrow, so there's still time to set everybody straight ;)
(By the way, I got the three-act structure definition from a blog that I can no longer find, and the five-act is based on a book I read on mystery writing. If any of you remember who said/wrote the three-act structure definition, I'd really appreciate it).
THE POINT:
A strong narrative structure gives the reader a feeling of momentum, and helps the writer focus on the story he or she wants to tell.
HOW TO OUTLINE:
Step 1: Find your premise
The premise is your story’s basic idea. This is what you answer when someone asks, “What is your story about?” It is sometimes called a logline.
Tip: If you’re having trouble finding an interesting premise, you might think of two words that contradict each other. Then start imagining how those words came together.
Ex. “Fight Club,” or “Beggar God”
Step 2: Should You Use a 3-Act or 5-Act Structure?
3 ACT
1. Decision
2. Action
3. Consequences
5 ACT
1. Problem—the characters decide to solve it
2. They try an easy solution—but that solution fails
3. They discover the real problem
4. Put together a solution
5. Solve the problem—or, decisively fail to solve it
Tip: For longer pieces, like plays, scripts, or novels, a five-act structure gives a strong framework for your narrative. The three-act structure might work best, however, at the very start of a piece, or for a shorter work (or even while trying to figure out the shape of each act in a 5-act structured story). Figuring out where your first act begins and ends (where the characters make the decision that starts them on their journey) can be especially important, and that’s where a three-act outline might be most useful.
Step 3: Reverse-Engineer Your Characters
What characters would be most interesting to see work through the plotline you’ve just developed? Sometimes characters are very close to our hearts, but don’t fit into the pieces we happen to be writing on at the moment—that’s ok! You can write as many stories as you want—but don’t try and shove them into a story that isn’t theirs. Give them the respect and space to tell their own story.
If you can’t tell whether a particular character belongs in a story or not, think about their thematic or emotional arc. Usually, a plot will tell the story of a particular journey (such as: a journey from isolation to togetherness, or from being a child to being an adult). All the characters should go on a similar journey, in their own way. If a character’s journey isn’t related to the plot’s thematic arc, maybe he or she belongs in a different story.
Tip: When you’re trying to find characters that fit into your plotline, consider: Who is the worst possible person to be in this situation? Who would have the furthest to travel to reach the story’s resolution?
Is This Useful?
Outlining the plot before finding your characters or starting to write might not work for you—or it might not work for every story. Outlines and plots are just tools you can use if you get stuck or don’t know where to start. You can use none, some, or all of these steps—whatever you might need for a particular story.
Sometimes, outlining can actually be most useful when you’re going back to edit a story you’ve already written. If you make an outline after you’ve already gotten a full draft down, it can help you spot any plot holes, characters you’ve forgotten about, or places where you may need to include more information.
To Sum Up:
The good thing about having a strong outline: if you think about the characters’ goals and obstacles before you start, you don’t have to worry about your characters becoming aimless or losing focus while you write their stories.
The downside is that your storytelling might become rigid or you may become bored with the story. Ultimately, you are the master of your story’s universe, and you get to do whatever you want—regardless of what you’ve outlined.
EXAMPLE: Independence Day
Premise: Hostile aliens come to Earth.
In Three Acts:
1. Individuals decide to fight the aliens.
2. Each human tries to stop the aliens from taking over, but the aliens keep winning. So the humans band together.
3. Working together, the humans drive the aliens away.
In Five Acts:
1. Hostile aliens arrive on earth and individual humans decide to stop them. The most powerful humans decide to use diplomacy.
2. But the aliens refuse to cooperate; they have no mercy. The humans must use force.
3. But fighting the aliens as individuals—or even individual countries—is hopeless.
4. So all the humans band together to fight
5. And they win!
The easy solution was to talk to the aliens—FAILS.
The hard but right solution was for the humans to talk to each other—WINS
The plot’s thematic/emotional arc is: we are stronger together than we are apart.
The character’s individual stories each follow the same arc. Ex. Bill Pullman’s pilot starts out as a drunk, isolated lowlife. By the movie’s end he reunites with his family and sacrifices himself for the entire human race.
An isolated, drunken lowlife is the worst possible person to do what his character must ultimately do: come together with the rest of humanity and save the world. Because his journey takes him from one extreme (isolation) to the other (self sacrifice for the good of the group), it’s the most interesting version of the journey possible.
-------------------------------- PS ---------------------
These are the notes I provided for the ex-offender workshop I led last week. Don't worry--I'm not a scriptwriting hack ALL the time; this week we're talking about shaping a story around its characters, instead of the other way around. If you don't agree with some/all of these notes, I'd love to hear it. I'm going back to the workshop tomorrow, so there's still time to set everybody straight ;)
(By the way, I got the three-act structure definition from a blog that I can no longer find, and the five-act is based on a book I read on mystery writing. If any of you remember who said/wrote the three-act structure definition, I'd really appreciate it).
Saturday, October 24, 2009
i'm going 85 in a 25mph zone
Today, my class workshoped my manuscript's first chapter. This chapter has been my bane for nine months or so, and after having it workshoped four times, I figured this was it-- this was the chapter at its finest.
No.
Basically, they liked what was there, but were utterly lost because of what wasn't. They wanted context on the micro scale (clothes, setting, more speech tags) and on the macro (who is the protagonist?).
I'm crushed.
But after class, some of the students said things that really helped:
--The pace is too fast, and there isn't enough exposition. It reads like a script. A good script, but not a readable prose piece.
--My voice is strong, so I can afford to start a bit slower.
--Start with the main character-- which, in this case, is a virus.
--And read more Stephen King.
I've actually written the (slower) scene they want me to start the story with, and I've got a lot of the exposition in my head. But halfway through the critique, I just felt so lost and frustrated; everyone always says I'm a good writer, but that this isn't my best work. Than what the hell IS my best? I've worked my ass off on this thing!
But by the end of the session, it had become clearer. Guess I'm still too mired in the script mentality-- ie, speed is good, expos is boring.
I've got to commit 100% into this prose thing, or, at least I have to while I'm writing a prose piece. In my heart of hearts, I knew that was true, that I couldn't let go of my script-training; that's why I'm so excited to start my NaNoWriMo project and try a different way of structuring prose, a different focus.
Instead of plotting that one, stepsheet/movie style, I'm working on knowing the characters inside out, creating a VERY basic skeleton, and then working the story out as I go. It'll be much more character based, and have about 1% of my last manuscript's plot.
I'm still going to work on this one, I suppose, though mostly out of obstinance and spite. Hey, every artist has a different but equally valid reason for doing what they do :P
No.
Basically, they liked what was there, but were utterly lost because of what wasn't. They wanted context on the micro scale (clothes, setting, more speech tags) and on the macro (who is the protagonist?).
I'm crushed.
But after class, some of the students said things that really helped:
--The pace is too fast, and there isn't enough exposition. It reads like a script. A good script, but not a readable prose piece.
--My voice is strong, so I can afford to start a bit slower.
--Start with the main character-- which, in this case, is a virus.
--And read more Stephen King.
I've actually written the (slower) scene they want me to start the story with, and I've got a lot of the exposition in my head. But halfway through the critique, I just felt so lost and frustrated; everyone always says I'm a good writer, but that this isn't my best work. Than what the hell IS my best? I've worked my ass off on this thing!
But by the end of the session, it had become clearer. Guess I'm still too mired in the script mentality-- ie, speed is good, expos is boring.
I've got to commit 100% into this prose thing, or, at least I have to while I'm writing a prose piece. In my heart of hearts, I knew that was true, that I couldn't let go of my script-training; that's why I'm so excited to start my NaNoWriMo project and try a different way of structuring prose, a different focus.
Instead of plotting that one, stepsheet/movie style, I'm working on knowing the characters inside out, creating a VERY basic skeleton, and then working the story out as I go. It'll be much more character based, and have about 1% of my last manuscript's plot.
I'm still going to work on this one, I suppose, though mostly out of obstinance and spite. Hey, every artist has a different but equally valid reason for doing what they do :P
Friday, October 23, 2009
miracles, in government buildings
I just wrote an essay about my writing aspirations that turned into one about the joys of teaching.
And I meant all of it, despite yesterday's post. Well, not despite-- in addition to. Who says white is the new black?
On the one hand, teaching--and I've done a fair amount, though I've never had my own class for the course of an academic year--is awful. You're in charge of twenty-five or thirty moving bodies all at once, and all of those minds have got to learn something while you're keeping them safe and engaged. Sometimes it just doesn't gel. In fact, it often devolves (at least at the K-12 level) into babysitting.
BUT
When it doesn't, it is amazing. Just in the past month, I've had the same kids over and over in math class and have actually helped them learn. There's a moment when they figure out a new concept that feels like a miracle-- real, true communication. The teacher has just taken an abstract concept that can't be directly articulated and passed it from her head to a kid's. How miraculous is that?
Just because it happens every day doesn't mean it isn't a miracle-- and yes, that word is WAYYYY overused. But isn't attempting that kind of ineffable communication a writer's life work? It's like watching a reader read your novel and digest it and connect it to her own life, all at once and one-on-one.
So yeah, when I'm exhausted because I haven't had enough time to form the ideas (do the actual writing) in my own mind, or when I'm just physically busted from trying to teach each day all day, it feels AWFUL. There must be balance between forming the ideas and communicating them. But that balance is possible, and finding it is the dream of every teacher, writer, director, actor, composer, painter, sculptor, artist, hell-- maybe every manager. Like all beginners, I suppose, I'm still working to find mine.
And I meant all of it, despite yesterday's post. Well, not despite-- in addition to. Who says white is the new black?
On the one hand, teaching--and I've done a fair amount, though I've never had my own class for the course of an academic year--is awful. You're in charge of twenty-five or thirty moving bodies all at once, and all of those minds have got to learn something while you're keeping them safe and engaged. Sometimes it just doesn't gel. In fact, it often devolves (at least at the K-12 level) into babysitting.
BUT
When it doesn't, it is amazing. Just in the past month, I've had the same kids over and over in math class and have actually helped them learn. There's a moment when they figure out a new concept that feels like a miracle-- real, true communication. The teacher has just taken an abstract concept that can't be directly articulated and passed it from her head to a kid's. How miraculous is that?
Just because it happens every day doesn't mean it isn't a miracle-- and yes, that word is WAYYYY overused. But isn't attempting that kind of ineffable communication a writer's life work? It's like watching a reader read your novel and digest it and connect it to her own life, all at once and one-on-one.
So yeah, when I'm exhausted because I haven't had enough time to form the ideas (do the actual writing) in my own mind, or when I'm just physically busted from trying to teach each day all day, it feels AWFUL. There must be balance between forming the ideas and communicating them. But that balance is possible, and finding it is the dream of every teacher, writer, director, actor, composer, painter, sculptor, artist, hell-- maybe every manager. Like all beginners, I suppose, I'm still working to find mine.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Thoroughbred
On Tuesday, I led a workshop in Baltimore-- my first time leading an entire workshop on my own. It's for ex-offenders, and I guess the career center that sponsors it considers the workshopping at least vaguely therapeutic... but my professor introduced it to me a couple years ago when all my writing experience was shaped by college, and I've always thought of it as a class rather than an ex-offender-focused artsy version of AA.
So I prepped a lecture and a few writing exercises, and drove an hour or two to a mall (the career center is in it, who knows why?) in which EVERYONE stared at me and snickered and acted weird... I think because I was the only non-African American person there. Of course, that made me feel awful. Because as a teacher, I'd been standing out all freaking day, alone with the kids and wearing my "goody two shoes leader" mask for seven hours straight. So I got to the mall and got to put on the "dumbass white girl" mask for a while, and then shove on the "younger than you but more educated and don't worry, not threatening at all" one.
And it was great hearing and discussing the workshoppers' stories, written right there on the fly. It was awesome to talk to them about plotting and structure, and see how new and exciting some of them found it. It's wonderful knowing that my education can be infectious.
After all, I'm terrible at following rules. I never read directions, and find people who do endlessly exasperating. So it should be a relief to lead class all day in the high school, then drive over and lead a quasi-therapeutic workshop for an extra couple hours, right? It should be a relief to be in charge. But it was exhausting, and there was that tinge of resentment: why should I help you, when nobody is helping me?
It was so much fun being a student. My whole job was to figure things out, and tons of people had been hired and masses of equipment bought specifically to help me do it. But now my job is to make sure *other* people figure things out, and while it can be satisfying, it's nowhere near as exhilarating as focusing on the concepts themselves. I've got to do all my writing-related learning in private, on the day's fringes.
Guess I'm an "idea," not a "people," person. Guess I'm not very pragmatic. Guess I'm selfish at heart.
This post has no point, except to say: how come teaching means you can't push *yourself* in your craft? Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but it's so frustrating to help other people do beginner versions of what I yearn every second to do myself. It's so frustrating constantly dragging people along, trying to get them caught up. It makes me think: is there actually a point in getting good at this stuff? If, past a certain point, you're expected to shove your own learning aside and simply pass on what you can? I feel like a used up has-been, at 23.
So, yeah: I do the critiques, I answer the questions, I push myself to be as clear and concise and honest and thoughtful as possible, and yes, teaching IS difficult... but not in the way learning is. Teaching is one kind of exercise in the limits of communication, and learning another, and frankly, the learning kind is so so so so much more fun.
Guess the moral of the story is: work less, write more.
So I prepped a lecture and a few writing exercises, and drove an hour or two to a mall (the career center is in it, who knows why?) in which EVERYONE stared at me and snickered and acted weird... I think because I was the only non-African American person there. Of course, that made me feel awful. Because as a teacher, I'd been standing out all freaking day, alone with the kids and wearing my "goody two shoes leader" mask for seven hours straight. So I got to the mall and got to put on the "dumbass white girl" mask for a while, and then shove on the "younger than you but more educated and don't worry, not threatening at all" one.
And it was great hearing and discussing the workshoppers' stories, written right there on the fly. It was awesome to talk to them about plotting and structure, and see how new and exciting some of them found it. It's wonderful knowing that my education can be infectious.
After all, I'm terrible at following rules. I never read directions, and find people who do endlessly exasperating. So it should be a relief to lead class all day in the high school, then drive over and lead a quasi-therapeutic workshop for an extra couple hours, right? It should be a relief to be in charge. But it was exhausting, and there was that tinge of resentment: why should I help you, when nobody is helping me?
It was so much fun being a student. My whole job was to figure things out, and tons of people had been hired and masses of equipment bought specifically to help me do it. But now my job is to make sure *other* people figure things out, and while it can be satisfying, it's nowhere near as exhilarating as focusing on the concepts themselves. I've got to do all my writing-related learning in private, on the day's fringes.
Guess I'm an "idea," not a "people," person. Guess I'm not very pragmatic. Guess I'm selfish at heart.
This post has no point, except to say: how come teaching means you can't push *yourself* in your craft? Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but it's so frustrating to help other people do beginner versions of what I yearn every second to do myself. It's so frustrating constantly dragging people along, trying to get them caught up. It makes me think: is there actually a point in getting good at this stuff? If, past a certain point, you're expected to shove your own learning aside and simply pass on what you can? I feel like a used up has-been, at 23.
So, yeah: I do the critiques, I answer the questions, I push myself to be as clear and concise and honest and thoughtful as possible, and yes, teaching IS difficult... but not in the way learning is. Teaching is one kind of exercise in the limits of communication, and learning another, and frankly, the learning kind is so so so so much more fun.
Guess the moral of the story is: work less, write more.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Cosmic Dissonance
As a reader, I love:
STRUCTURE
Momentum
Emphasis on cause and effect
Beginning-Middle-End
Intricate
LANGUAGE
Informal
Fast-paced
Colorful
SETTING
A slice of (emotionally foreign) life
Exotic in any way-- that could as well mean American suburban as ancient Egyptian
CHARACTER
Morally hazy
Is that what I write? Should it be?
STRUCTURE
Momentum
Emphasis on cause and effect
Beginning-Middle-End
Intricate
LANGUAGE
Informal
Fast-paced
Colorful
SETTING
A slice of (emotionally foreign) life
Exotic in any way-- that could as well mean American suburban as ancient Egyptian
CHARACTER
Morally hazy
Is that what I write? Should it be?
Friday, October 16, 2009
Anatomy of a Three Minute Film
Tomorrow, I'm taking the last standardized test of my life-- and beginning film on my clay creature stop animation.
I got the story idea sometime in the early spring. Brainstormed with my cousin when I went to visit family in France in last May-- that's when it started to coalesce. Everyone was so enthusiastic, I felt like I had to make the film.
In June, I wrote the script and made my first sketches of the clay creatures.
In July I made the creatures.
In August, everything just sat-- I started wondering if I was really going to do this.
But in September, I happened to mention it to my mentor, and she seemed enthusiastic. I promised I would have it ready for her to see in a week.
Of course, I didn't. But in the last three weeks I've been building the set, researching stop animation, and watching as much short-film stop animation possible.
I'm setting everything (creature, set, camera) up tonight, and taking a few shots to get a feel for it. Tomorrow afternoon/evening, here I come! The goal is to get all shots done (about 2,200-2,700) by Tuesday. Yeah, it's basically impossible-- 700-800 shots/day, for three days. One of those days I'm taking the GRE, the next I'm going pumpkin picking, and the next I'm working.
But this coming week, I want to concentrate on editing, so it's absolutely got to get done. This is turning out to be a project I'm proud of, and I want a chance to show it off-- in time for Halloween, in time for meeting up with my former professors, and in time to show my film-making credentials to my possible writing partner!
Hmmm-- got something to prove, don't I?
I got the story idea sometime in the early spring. Brainstormed with my cousin when I went to visit family in France in last May-- that's when it started to coalesce. Everyone was so enthusiastic, I felt like I had to make the film.
In June, I wrote the script and made my first sketches of the clay creatures.
In July I made the creatures.
In August, everything just sat-- I started wondering if I was really going to do this.
But in September, I happened to mention it to my mentor, and she seemed enthusiastic. I promised I would have it ready for her to see in a week.
Of course, I didn't. But in the last three weeks I've been building the set, researching stop animation, and watching as much short-film stop animation possible.
I'm setting everything (creature, set, camera) up tonight, and taking a few shots to get a feel for it. Tomorrow afternoon/evening, here I come! The goal is to get all shots done (about 2,200-2,700) by Tuesday. Yeah, it's basically impossible-- 700-800 shots/day, for three days. One of those days I'm taking the GRE, the next I'm going pumpkin picking, and the next I'm working.
But this coming week, I want to concentrate on editing, so it's absolutely got to get done. This is turning out to be a project I'm proud of, and I want a chance to show it off-- in time for Halloween, in time for meeting up with my former professors, and in time to show my film-making credentials to my possible writing partner!
Hmmm-- got something to prove, don't I?
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Bluestocking Bluebook
I take back most, if not all, of what I said about the class I'm taking. Since the first session, the instructor *has* seemed engaged, and though we mostly use texts I've already read, she's putting their ideas into a revision system that 1. makes revision seem digestible 2. will probably work.
Part of my problem was that I've been revising my current manuscript for so long that I've stumbled into each of her revision steps, albeit not in her order.
But during a panic attack over this story I realized: this is a good roadmap! *This* is why I took that class.
So here are the steps:
1. Re-read the piece, hardcopy, with no pen and no criticism.
2. Write a logline
3. Write a one paragraph (catchy) summary
4. Write a step-sheet
5. Go through each chapter (in the story's case, each act/section), and create a have/need map.
6. Section by section, turn all the "needs" into "haves."
7. Repeat steps 5-6 as necessary
8. Line edits-- make it pretty!
Analytical little me is going to have a field day with this one!
Part of my problem was that I've been revising my current manuscript for so long that I've stumbled into each of her revision steps, albeit not in her order.
But during a panic attack over this story I realized: this is a good roadmap! *This* is why I took that class.
So here are the steps:
1. Re-read the piece, hardcopy, with no pen and no criticism.
2. Write a logline
3. Write a one paragraph (catchy) summary
4. Write a step-sheet
5. Go through each chapter (in the story's case, each act/section), and create a have/need map.
6. Section by section, turn all the "needs" into "haves."
7. Repeat steps 5-6 as necessary
8. Line edits-- make it pretty!
Analytical little me is going to have a field day with this one!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Collaboration and Control
After writing class on Saturday, I got coffee with a fellow student.
Our manuscripts are both skirting the edge of literary/horror and both have a medical tinge. We're both twenty-odd years younger than anyone else in class. Turns out, we also were both taught by the same teachers at the same university at the same time. Ok, she graduated *one* year ahead of me.
It was bliss talking shop to somebody else in my boat. Some who is
1. serious enough about writing to make social and financial sacrifices in an effort to make it her number one priority-- and who is in for the long haul;
2. has the training to know the basics and the jargon that makes critique so much easier and friendlier;
3. has the curiosity and imagination to do fascinating and in-depth research, as well as using the world around her as inspiration;
4. is open-minded enough to not worry about being low-brow; and
5. is my age! I never knew before trying out these writers' groups and classes how different our aesthetic is from people even ten, fifteen years older... it was a relief to be around someone who wouldn't be confused at a literary jump-cut, or flinch at melodrama or super-human violence. Not to say everyone in their early to mid twenties has the same aesthetic-- but I do find a disconnect between how people my age and people even a decade older understand stories.
We started talking scripts, and are currently doing research so we can beat out a story in a couple weeks-- the idea is phenomenal (or at least, it'll be fun and challenging to work on) and it's such a *relief* not to be in total control.
With this claymation project, it's all me: the story, the lights, the sound, the camera work, the set, the schedule, and on and on and on. With all my manuscripts and short stories, there are fewer logistics, but I still bare all responsibility. It's only my vision on the page.
Which is nice in it's way-- but it's also overwhelming--and lonely. *This* is why I thought television writing would be wonderful-- because collaboration is part of the joy. We write to communicate, right? It's easy to loose that when you have to spend all your time in your own little world, all by yourself. It's fascinating to layer visions-- the actors', director's, production crew, AND the writer's. In this case, writers'.
It'll be a new experience for me to collaborate (long-term) on a script, but so far it's invigorating. I would never have thought of this story alone, but it immediately sparked my imagination, and I do think I have a lot to add to our partnership. This will be an adventure, but the comradery alone is enough to make it exciting and worthwhile-- let alone all I have to learn from this woman, our project, and how we function as a team.
Our manuscripts are both skirting the edge of literary/horror and both have a medical tinge. We're both twenty-odd years younger than anyone else in class. Turns out, we also were both taught by the same teachers at the same university at the same time. Ok, she graduated *one* year ahead of me.
It was bliss talking shop to somebody else in my boat. Some who is
1. serious enough about writing to make social and financial sacrifices in an effort to make it her number one priority-- and who is in for the long haul;
2. has the training to know the basics and the jargon that makes critique so much easier and friendlier;
3. has the curiosity and imagination to do fascinating and in-depth research, as well as using the world around her as inspiration;
4. is open-minded enough to not worry about being low-brow; and
5. is my age! I never knew before trying out these writers' groups and classes how different our aesthetic is from people even ten, fifteen years older... it was a relief to be around someone who wouldn't be confused at a literary jump-cut, or flinch at melodrama or super-human violence. Not to say everyone in their early to mid twenties has the same aesthetic-- but I do find a disconnect between how people my age and people even a decade older understand stories.
We started talking scripts, and are currently doing research so we can beat out a story in a couple weeks-- the idea is phenomenal (or at least, it'll be fun and challenging to work on) and it's such a *relief* not to be in total control.
With this claymation project, it's all me: the story, the lights, the sound, the camera work, the set, the schedule, and on and on and on. With all my manuscripts and short stories, there are fewer logistics, but I still bare all responsibility. It's only my vision on the page.
Which is nice in it's way-- but it's also overwhelming--and lonely. *This* is why I thought television writing would be wonderful-- because collaboration is part of the joy. We write to communicate, right? It's easy to loose that when you have to spend all your time in your own little world, all by yourself. It's fascinating to layer visions-- the actors', director's, production crew, AND the writer's. In this case, writers'.
It'll be a new experience for me to collaborate (long-term) on a script, but so far it's invigorating. I would never have thought of this story alone, but it immediately sparked my imagination, and I do think I have a lot to add to our partnership. This will be an adventure, but the comradery alone is enough to make it exciting and worthwhile-- let alone all I have to learn from this woman, our project, and how we function as a team.
Friday, October 9, 2009
The Control Continuum
How important is being true to one's own vision? How faithful can one even be?
Being true to oneself is the only way to create truthful work
V.
The writer understands the subtexts and themes and intricacies the *least*, because she is too close to the work to see it clearly.
I've worked over the past six months or so to be totally myself in my writing, readers be damned. Not that I threw all structure, grammar, or pragmatism to the wind... I've just tried to become more comfortable with the unknowable, even when the unknowable is my own mind. I've tried to stop trying to control *everything*, and let myself (as a writer, and my work as art) loosen up, be free, shelter from judgment-- relish instinct.
But now that I've found a novel writing groove, and a short story writing groove (finally!), I've got to make this claymation.
The claymation's been sitting in my head for months and months, and now that I've got people who want to see it, I've finally got to finish the damn thing. And it's bizarre to have full control over an entire production like this.
1. Find the idea
2. Write the script
3. Create the clay creatures
4. Build the set
5. Film
6. Edit
7. Soundtrack
8. Get it out there
I'm on the tail-end of #4 right now, and it's suddenly hitting me that even if I *don't* like it, I'm in total control of this project-- even down to the production values. The (lazy) demon on my shoulder says, "cut a few corners-- who cares?" The (masochistic) angel on my shoulder says, "You'll care, if you're going to show this to anybody, knowing it's not your best possible work."
The control issue is bizarre in writing, I think, because each media needs such different levels of it. On the one hand, there are short stories that are limited enough in scope that they can flourish on an absolute minimum of plot, and a maximum of whimsy. Novels require a bit more in terms of logistics, simply because they're so big-- but their logistics are all writerly. No extra lay-out of money required to help those logistics along. I think the medium that requires the MOST writing control is television.
Television writing is *incredibly* constrained; you've got a certain set of characters, a certain location, a certain basic set-up, thematic limitations, and everything's got to be done to a strict time/page/action formula (approx. 8-pg pulses), and all in about 55 script format pages.
And yes, with television writing there are certain physical concerns-- please don't expect the sets or the CGI to be fancy. Please don't require athletic feats that will take weeks to prepare. But no way you've got to stage the thing.
That's where the play/movie continuum takes over; not only have you got to write the thing with at least a novelistic level of writerly control, you've (at least as an unknown) got to actually make it *happen* in a physical way.
So on the one hand, I've taken great pains to give up control and give more say to instinct for my short story writing-- which has taken a turn for the much better. And on the other, I'm making a movie-- in which I've got to build the "actors" no less.
Why am I making myself schizophrenic? Well, because it's fun. And fascinating, to stretch those control/instinct muscles in all kinds of new ways.
Being true to oneself is the only way to create truthful work
V.
The writer understands the subtexts and themes and intricacies the *least*, because she is too close to the work to see it clearly.
I've worked over the past six months or so to be totally myself in my writing, readers be damned. Not that I threw all structure, grammar, or pragmatism to the wind... I've just tried to become more comfortable with the unknowable, even when the unknowable is my own mind. I've tried to stop trying to control *everything*, and let myself (as a writer, and my work as art) loosen up, be free, shelter from judgment-- relish instinct.
But now that I've found a novel writing groove, and a short story writing groove (finally!), I've got to make this claymation.
The claymation's been sitting in my head for months and months, and now that I've got people who want to see it, I've finally got to finish the damn thing. And it's bizarre to have full control over an entire production like this.
1. Find the idea
2. Write the script
3. Create the clay creatures
4. Build the set
5. Film
6. Edit
7. Soundtrack
8. Get it out there
I'm on the tail-end of #4 right now, and it's suddenly hitting me that even if I *don't* like it, I'm in total control of this project-- even down to the production values. The (lazy) demon on my shoulder says, "cut a few corners-- who cares?" The (masochistic) angel on my shoulder says, "You'll care, if you're going to show this to anybody, knowing it's not your best possible work."
The control issue is bizarre in writing, I think, because each media needs such different levels of it. On the one hand, there are short stories that are limited enough in scope that they can flourish on an absolute minimum of plot, and a maximum of whimsy. Novels require a bit more in terms of logistics, simply because they're so big-- but their logistics are all writerly. No extra lay-out of money required to help those logistics along. I think the medium that requires the MOST writing control is television.
Television writing is *incredibly* constrained; you've got a certain set of characters, a certain location, a certain basic set-up, thematic limitations, and everything's got to be done to a strict time/page/action formula (approx. 8-pg pulses), and all in about 55 script format pages.
And yes, with television writing there are certain physical concerns-- please don't expect the sets or the CGI to be fancy. Please don't require athletic feats that will take weeks to prepare. But no way you've got to stage the thing.
That's where the play/movie continuum takes over; not only have you got to write the thing with at least a novelistic level of writerly control, you've (at least as an unknown) got to actually make it *happen* in a physical way.
So on the one hand, I've taken great pains to give up control and give more say to instinct for my short story writing-- which has taken a turn for the much better. And on the other, I'm making a movie-- in which I've got to build the "actors" no less.
Why am I making myself schizophrenic? Well, because it's fun. And fascinating, to stretch those control/instinct muscles in all kinds of new ways.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
or maybe it's the readers who have the power
This week Herta Muller won the Nobel Prize and Hilary Mantel won the Booker.
Not that I generally like the Booker Prize books (almost always, I find them needlessly intricate and dense, which feels melodramatic... though Wolf Hall, the most recent win, is a historical novel about Henry VIII's court-- which is probably dramatic enough in its own right to break the cycle of boring settings and frustratingly "lyrical" language).
Not that I generally read the Nobel laureates (why so serious?).
But on the heels of my post that more people (especially women) should be more selfish and protective of their writing, the gender of both winners stood out.
Maybe it's not that women are too softhearted or servile or distracted. Maybe just as many women try as hard to write as men do. Do as many succeed to critical acclaim?
I don't know. *I* read a lot of female writers, and most my favorite writers are women:
Ann Tyler
Ruth Randell
Jane Smiley
Zadie Smith
Margaret Atwood
Z.Z. Packer
could write grocery lists and I'd read them, they're so high in my esteem... and those are just the writers who have books laying open in front of me as I type this. Because only a few prizes that go to books I usually like (the Whitbread/Costa *first* novel award, the Edger), I don't pay much attention to who wins the vast majority of them. But thinking about it, women are well represented with the (first novel) Costa prize, too, and the latest Edgar breakout star is Tana French (also a first novel winner).
It's strange that women are wayyyyy better represented in awards for first novels than for the awards generally, though, isn't it?
I don't know much about this subject, so if anyone does, please chime in. Maybe a lot of women show "talent" at the beginning, but get burned by their publishers, or burnt out emotionally, or maybe I'm just a first novel lover and don't pay enough attention to the industry's critical darlings generally.
What's going on with female writers and acclaim?
Not that I generally like the Booker Prize books (almost always, I find them needlessly intricate and dense, which feels melodramatic... though Wolf Hall, the most recent win, is a historical novel about Henry VIII's court-- which is probably dramatic enough in its own right to break the cycle of boring settings and frustratingly "lyrical" language).
Not that I generally read the Nobel laureates (why so serious?).
But on the heels of my post that more people (especially women) should be more selfish and protective of their writing, the gender of both winners stood out.
Maybe it's not that women are too softhearted or servile or distracted. Maybe just as many women try as hard to write as men do. Do as many succeed to critical acclaim?
I don't know. *I* read a lot of female writers, and most my favorite writers are women:
Ann Tyler
Ruth Randell
Jane Smiley
Zadie Smith
Margaret Atwood
Z.Z. Packer
could write grocery lists and I'd read them, they're so high in my esteem... and those are just the writers who have books laying open in front of me as I type this. Because only a few prizes that go to books I usually like (the Whitbread/Costa *first* novel award, the Edger), I don't pay much attention to who wins the vast majority of them. But thinking about it, women are well represented with the (first novel) Costa prize, too, and the latest Edgar breakout star is Tana French (also a first novel winner).
It's strange that women are wayyyyy better represented in awards for first novels than for the awards generally, though, isn't it?
I don't know much about this subject, so if anyone does, please chime in. Maybe a lot of women show "talent" at the beginning, but get burned by their publishers, or burnt out emotionally, or maybe I'm just a first novel lover and don't pay enough attention to the industry's critical darlings generally.
What's going on with female writers and acclaim?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
A Paper-Blossom-Packed Garden
On Ward Six (a blog I love and have learned lots from, by the way), a discussion started under a post called "How Much of Your Life Should Writing Take Up?" about the work/family balance.
I made the comment:
As the daughter of artists who put family first, I say: screw that! Selfishness is a way of looking out for oneself-- so other people won't have to. I'd give anything for my mother and father to have put me second more often and spent more time and energy pursuing their dreams, because now they’re bitter, dissatisfied, and deeply unhappy—I don’t want the responsibility of acting as “proof” that their lives have been meaningful, and the large-scale talent squandering is shameful. Personally, I believe you’re fooling yourself if you think making your domestic life a priority over the health of your soul is best for anybody in the long run.
Selfishness is not the same as self-indulgence.
But I've been thinking about my comment, and I'm sorry if I sounded harsh or judgmental—
It’s not that I think a domestic or private life is impossible to maintain as an artist or writer. God forbid writers should have to give up love as well as money in order to be “successful.”
But I've heard that women (in general) have been trained for a long time to believe that our time is not our own-- that we owe time to whoever seems to need it. That includes kids and husbands, of course, but also friends, parents, and anybody who needs help. Apparently, it’s all part of the same "domestic sphere"/"angel in the house" job requirements that have conspired to make a lot of women wary of shouting opinions. The push to volunteer is a legacy of that, apparently, as well as being “super mom.” With co-parenting and greater domestic equality, I think a lot of men are being pressed in the same way.
I think that giving too much energy and time to friends and family is just as self-indulgent as giving too much time to naval gazing or wandering Paris or [insert writer-stereotype]. I think selfishness is necessary sometimes, because if you are never selfish, it only means you’re heaving the burden of your happiness and health onto somebody else.
That person doesn’t need the responsibility, and you don’t need them imposing their views and desires onto you. I think making sure you are as fulfilled as possible in your career is one way of taking the burden of your happiness off of others, and is not self-indulgent-- I think it's, in fact, the most responsible thing you can do. That doesn’t mean you have to scribble away all the time, but it does mean you have to take charge of your own writer-ly destiny, and do what you can to cultivate your own garden.
This topic is personal to me, because when I was focused on "domestic bliss" and "security" and blah blah (at twenty-one and with no kids, thank God), I was absolutely miserable. Not because I'm not a nest-er and not because anyone was oppressing me and not because my boyfriend demanded I be barefoot and pregnant. I let everything besides writing take over my life it because cooking and cleaning and holiday-decorating and planning a life of financial ease and frequent, relatively loving sex was a lot easier than being a writer, and I was scared.
I lost my nerve. I tried to adopt a new self-- one that would have an easier time of it, or so it would seem.
Now, obviously, a lot of people can have kids and husbands and jobs and volunteer work and disabilities and second jobs and WHATEVER and still write. I can't. I can't even work a full-time office job and write.
So I quit. The man and I broke up. I moved someplace cheaper. Got a job with more flexible hours and a more social environment (so I'd be comfortable working alone at during the evenings). I did everything possible to put writing at the center of my life, and stuck around people who understood that. It hasn't been easy financially *or* socially, but it's also been the one thing I *don't* regret, and I've seen the subsequent improvement in my stories and novels.
I'm not saying everyone needs to drop out and tune in, I'm just saying: you can't deny who you are, even if it's inconvenient to be that person. And especially when it comes to women, and *most especially* when it comes to domestic life, it seems like the entire world assumes that a person's writing should play second-fiddle... or third-, or fourth-... to other people's, or material, needs. But someone else *can* do all the other things: someone else *can* keep the house clean, someone else *can* run the errands, someone else *can* take care of the kids, and someone else *can* even make the money-- maybe not as well, and maybe not as happily, and maybe not even indefinitely-- but it's possible for other people to do these things for you. But nobody else can take care of your soul.
At least for me, that was a sad but necessary revelation. I'm proud of myself for taking responsibility, even if it looks like selfishness. My point was to reassure anyone else struggling with supporting others as well as her/himself that it's NOT self-indulgent to look after yourself (including your non-material needs). Selfishness and responsibility are inter-changeable at times-- and creating art is one of those times.
I made the comment:
As the daughter of artists who put family first, I say: screw that! Selfishness is a way of looking out for oneself-- so other people won't have to. I'd give anything for my mother and father to have put me second more often and spent more time and energy pursuing their dreams, because now they’re bitter, dissatisfied, and deeply unhappy—I don’t want the responsibility of acting as “proof” that their lives have been meaningful, and the large-scale talent squandering is shameful. Personally, I believe you’re fooling yourself if you think making your domestic life a priority over the health of your soul is best for anybody in the long run.
Selfishness is not the same as self-indulgence.
But I've been thinking about my comment, and I'm sorry if I sounded harsh or judgmental—
It’s not that I think a domestic or private life is impossible to maintain as an artist or writer. God forbid writers should have to give up love as well as money in order to be “successful.”
But I've heard that women (in general) have been trained for a long time to believe that our time is not our own-- that we owe time to whoever seems to need it. That includes kids and husbands, of course, but also friends, parents, and anybody who needs help. Apparently, it’s all part of the same "domestic sphere"/"angel in the house" job requirements that have conspired to make a lot of women wary of shouting opinions. The push to volunteer is a legacy of that, apparently, as well as being “super mom.” With co-parenting and greater domestic equality, I think a lot of men are being pressed in the same way.
I think that giving too much energy and time to friends and family is just as self-indulgent as giving too much time to naval gazing or wandering Paris or [insert writer-stereotype]. I think selfishness is necessary sometimes, because if you are never selfish, it only means you’re heaving the burden of your happiness and health onto somebody else.
That person doesn’t need the responsibility, and you don’t need them imposing their views and desires onto you. I think making sure you are as fulfilled as possible in your career is one way of taking the burden of your happiness off of others, and is not self-indulgent-- I think it's, in fact, the most responsible thing you can do. That doesn’t mean you have to scribble away all the time, but it does mean you have to take charge of your own writer-ly destiny, and do what you can to cultivate your own garden.
This topic is personal to me, because when I was focused on "domestic bliss" and "security" and blah blah (at twenty-one and with no kids, thank God), I was absolutely miserable. Not because I'm not a nest-er and not because anyone was oppressing me and not because my boyfriend demanded I be barefoot and pregnant. I let everything besides writing take over my life it because cooking and cleaning and holiday-decorating and planning a life of financial ease and frequent, relatively loving sex was a lot easier than being a writer, and I was scared.
I lost my nerve. I tried to adopt a new self-- one that would have an easier time of it, or so it would seem.
Now, obviously, a lot of people can have kids and husbands and jobs and volunteer work and disabilities and second jobs and WHATEVER and still write. I can't. I can't even work a full-time office job and write.
So I quit. The man and I broke up. I moved someplace cheaper. Got a job with more flexible hours and a more social environment (so I'd be comfortable working alone at during the evenings). I did everything possible to put writing at the center of my life, and stuck around people who understood that. It hasn't been easy financially *or* socially, but it's also been the one thing I *don't* regret, and I've seen the subsequent improvement in my stories and novels.
I'm not saying everyone needs to drop out and tune in, I'm just saying: you can't deny who you are, even if it's inconvenient to be that person. And especially when it comes to women, and *most especially* when it comes to domestic life, it seems like the entire world assumes that a person's writing should play second-fiddle... or third-, or fourth-... to other people's, or material, needs. But someone else *can* do all the other things: someone else *can* keep the house clean, someone else *can* run the errands, someone else *can* take care of the kids, and someone else *can* even make the money-- maybe not as well, and maybe not as happily, and maybe not even indefinitely-- but it's possible for other people to do these things for you. But nobody else can take care of your soul.
At least for me, that was a sad but necessary revelation. I'm proud of myself for taking responsibility, even if it looks like selfishness. My point was to reassure anyone else struggling with supporting others as well as her/himself that it's NOT self-indulgent to look after yourself (including your non-material needs). Selfishness and responsibility are inter-changeable at times-- and creating art is one of those times.
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