One: Loneliest Number

The biggest mistake I've made over the past year is: trying to work on ten projects all at once. It's so difficult to say no to a project that is new and exciting and WILL BE SO GREAT!

But the problem with dating around is that you never get the golden anniversary dinner. I've got a lot of great stuff 80% finished, but no final products and no money earned from writing.

So over the next year, I'm working on ONE thing at a time. I think it's going to do a lot for both my ability to meet my goals, and the quality of my work.

My proof is: by working on one story hardcore over the last few weeks, I've seen an improvement in both those things.

So my writing priority starting Jan. 1 is: my novel's third draft.

And, of course, researching the non-fiction. But that's not really writing, so it doesn't count, right?

talk about it

I've been researching a possible non-fiction project. Here's the process so far:

1. A loooong period of brainstorming, and bouncing various ideas off friends. Scratch that--not ideas, but questions. Which questions were my friends and acquaintances interested in? Which ones made their eyes light up?

2. Lots of note-taking sessions on non-fiction books (Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell was a huge help) and documentaries (16 and Pregnant on MTV is my personal fav) to guide me in terms of structure.

3. Mini eureka moment! An article in the newspaper connected with all the thinking I'd been doing. My thoughts coalesced into an actual thesis I wanted to study more--and one which could be easily translated into a solid structure.

4. Went online and searched for local resources about the topic--there were tons, but I got cold feet. Hit the books instead...of which my library had exactly two.

5. Working through the books at the moment, taking notes upon notes and feeling very much like I'm in Soc. 101. But is this the best way to research?

6. ?!

Damn, I know I need to talk to people in order to get real answers...but I also need a certain amount of background research in order to know which questions to ask.

Portfolio

In order to find work/sell their product, the average (blank) writer needs:

For a TV writer:

2 specs of existing shows
2 pilots
1 manager
1 agent

For a screenwriter:

2 features
1 agent

For a novelist:

1-3 "trunked"/failed manuscripts
0-50 short story credits
1 sale-able manuscript
1 agent

For a playwright:

1 one-act/short play
1 play

Am I forgetting anything? Does anyone disagree? What does your To-Do list look like?

Why does House work?

How come House is such a good show?

It's about very boring yet arrogant people solving mysteries none of us layman could possibly hope to solve. And at the end the "bad guy" isn't punished or even psychoanalyzed, because the "bad guy" is a f*cking disease. No motive at all!

Even the doctors don't have motives for what they do--money doesn't seem to come into it, and nor does empathy.

So the plots are incomprehensible, the characters are unappealing cardboard, and the clothes suck. What's left?

Dialogue? Not anything special. Pretty workmanlike, really. Can you think of any memorable lines? I can't. I can think of the *way* Hugh Laurie says certain things, but not what he actually says.

Cinematography/special effects? They've pretty much dumped the "body chemical POV" so it couldn't be that. And as said before--the clothes suck.

Exoticism? Maybe the first fifty times we saw the hospital, but all these seasons later? No way.

Sex/drugs/rock-and-roll? From the show in which a NUN almost died from her IUD?! Uh-uh.

So what is it? Is it truly:

good/reliable structure + 1 charismatic lead = HIT?

None of this is a take-down of the show--I eat that sh*t up. I've run out of Houses to Hulu for God's sake. But it's a case of the "bumblebee flies anyway"--everyone SHOULD find House hideously boring or incomprehensible. I honestly want to know:

How can this show work?

Play/Script

Two questions:

1. How visual should a play be? They've got to rely on the cheapest of tools, good dialogue. But I think visually. How can I put that in my script without stepping on the director's toes?

2. How big is too big, for a play? How many scene changes are too many? How many extras/characters? For a film script, my story is relatively small scale/low budget. But for a play...what's the proper scale?

The Value of Hulu

Fringe is my new favorite show.

Of course I tried it for an episode when it first began to air--but I kept forgetting when it was on, and the episodes I happened across were a little hit or miss.

When I ran out of House and Bones episodes on Hulu, however, I decided to give it another shot.

That episode was all right, though disgusting. But it was the only thing on Hulu that I was at all interested in, and the TV schedule is overstuffed with Xmas specials at the moment (blah).

So I watched the Season 2 winter hiatus finale--and it was AWESOME.

And it made me want to find out more about the show's mythology, so I bought Season 1 on iTunes.

It's great! The writers run their concepts right to the wall (such as: if someone lets out an thermo-electric charge when he's upset, it would create a ghastly snowball effect. Or, if you want to do a Monster-in-the-House plot, what better "house" than a plane? It's a microcosm of people, and you CAN'T escape!). And the acting is *phenomenal*, esp. from the three leads.

It's also fascinating for a Lost-o-phile like me, because the two shows have a lot of shared motifs: daddy issues, obviously, but also the "knowlegable older (maybe evil?) woman" and a certain back-alley depiction of medical science. There's also the first season's soundtrack which was apparently stolen from Lost wholesale--that's kind of annoying actually.

Of course, the scenes are super-efficient, the dialogue disarmingly good, and the show's found a perfect balance between procedure and mythological/character growth. Though it can be a little too light or slightly derivative at times, I'm hooked.

So here goes my third Fringe episode of the day!

must I speak softy or wear soft clothes or soften my image with domesticity

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/20/magazine/20Meyers-t.html?ref=magazine

How is this article supposed to make a woman feel?

The New York Times profiles one of the few (two? three?) well-paid female directors finding work in Hollywood, and the main thrust of the article is:

1. but she's so feminine!
2. and her success relies on creating "aspirational" home interiors! and that men *can* respect women for their accomplishments! Maybe!
3. but she wouldn't have made it if she hadn't had a male writing partner for the first TWENTY YEARS of her career.

Zero novels written by women break the year's top ten best according to arguably the most influencial reviewers in the country. Time Magazine hasn't had a female "person" of the year since 1986--back, by the way, when it was still called the "Man of the Year." And then there's this Salon article about how much easier it was for female freelancers to find work, respect, and higher pay after taking male pseudonyms:

http://www.salon.com/life/broadsheet/feature/2009/12/14/male_pseudonyms/index.html

At least Rihanna gets it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKWT-h3pmDQ

Foreign Soiled

My boyfriend was reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao last month, and he said it would have been nearly impenetrable if he didn't know Spanish. On the other hand, what are the odds that all those award committee jury members spoke Spanish?

How much foreign language is too much?

My most recent story is set in a French-speaking country, so there are a few French words here and there (ie, "mon petit" is said at one point). I either made sure the words were obvious in their context (such as the above endearment, spoken from an adult to a child she's babysitting) or I provided a translation right away--and I never used more than one foreign word in a scene.

The more sophisticated ways I got around using foreign languages in a foreign country while maintaining authenticity were:

1. My narrator was American, so sometimes she couldn't understand what was being said, either.

2. When people spoke English to her, they were usually translating from French--so I figured out how to say their line in French *first* and then wrote the direct English translation of it. For example, I would use French-English cognates, even if a native English speaker would be more likely to use the cognate's synonym. Sometimes I would also change the order of words, if another order would be *much* more natural in French. I tried to never use American idioms or word order that would be *supremely* unnatural in French.

3. Once, when the narrator is out of commission and two French-speakers have to talk to one another, they exchange one French phrase. I don't translate the phrase, but it's one character asking another to do something--and the second character immediately does what the first asks him to do. At that point, the narrator is in a really hazy, bad place, so I figured a little confusion would be fine. The context definitely required that the characters speak in French, but luckily they didn't have to speak much nor about anything abstract.

Of course, little to none of this would have been possible if I didn't have a relatively strong background in French; I can't imagine doing it in any other language. How much background knowledge IS necessary, though? Was *all* my knowledge of French coming into play, or does one only need to have a feel for the language?

Critical Critiques

On "Ward Six" today, J.R. Lennon writes, "A good editor treats the story as something other than a masturbatory enterprise; she is trying to figure out how to make the world accept and enjoy your vision."

Sure, a writer must think of different perspectives--especially since after Draft 5 or so, it's pretty hard for a writer (or me, anyway) to have any real perspective at all. Trust in one's editor IS necessary if one is going to leap the chasm between writing as therapy/hobby and writing as entertainment/career; nobody can make it alone. But how much should one worry about the editor's personal biases?

I'm not at a point where I have a real editor--I just have literate, kind friends who are willing to read my work and talk to me about it. They've helped me transform my stories, but sometimes I feel as though their advice isn't representative of the general audience but just of their own personal taste/interests.

For instance, one of those friends is an actor who loves Spanish/South American literature. He has a taste for "archetypal" characters, unsolved mysteries, and a bittersweet tone; he also has a high tolerance for magical realism. Another of my friends is very into conventional fantasy, but shies away from explicit physicality, and she is a stickler for authentic, researched detail. Both of these friends are fantastic readers, but when the first says he "loves the characters" or the second says she doesn't understand why a couple had sex, alarms go off in my head.

Does he love the characters because they're love-able, or because he likes recognizable archetypes? Does the sex scene feel disconnected from the story, or is it just not to my friend's taste?

I guess the writer/editor relationship just takes a while to understand, but I struggle in deciding when to second-guess myself and when to second-guess my reader(s).

The ways I've found to get the most useful critiques possible:

1. Ask for problems, not solutions. As the writer, I know the story backwards and forwards by the time anyone else sees it. That means my eye glosses over the problems; I require fresh readers to catch them. But it also means that I'm best prepared to find solutions. Most non-writers are taught that constructive criticism means not calling attention to a thing unless they can offer an alternative to the problem. But while discussing possible solutions can lead to a fantastic brain storm, it's the writer's job to ultimately make a story work, not the readers'.

2. Reassure the readers that I will not ever, ever, ever get mad at them for any of their criticism. If a reader can't come up with a solution, he might think that either the problem he sensed doesn't exist, or that it would be unkind to bring it up. It's essential that the reader not be afraid to mention every little tingle of feeling for fear of the writer becoming defensive. I usually say again and again and again to the reader that this piece is *not* me--I will *not* take criticism of the piece to be criticism of me--and that every little thought the reader had was valuable. I also make sure to stay quiet and not explain anything while the reader is telling me what s/he felt--often listening to the reader figure out a piece out loud is invaluable.

3. Tell the reader what I want them to look for or talk to me about. Usually I have certain questions about the piece, and I'll ask the reader to think about them while reading. I try not to be too specific re: plot or research detail, because it's more valuable to hear what the reader picked up on or missed without any guidance. But when it comes to theme, I will ask them afterwards or on a second reading to think about specifics. And on the first reading, I tell them: I want every thought that comes into your head, and every tinge of feeling you get, too. I tell them to forget about me and think about the piece as though it were a stranger's. Most of my readers are people who yell at the TV during shows or parse movies after viewing, so once they get into the swing of the criticism, they usually feel like they're on comfortable, familiar ground.

4. Listen to what the readers *don't* say. Sometimes things I thought were huge holes weren't actually noticeable. Likewise, sometimes readers will all have misgivings about the same (unexpected!) thing. In my last editing experience, both my readers talked about a certain plot element with a kind of disgusted or confused tone. Though neither mentioned specific problems with it, their tone of voice signaled to me that something was wrong. I think neither mention problems with the element because they thought it was integral to the plot--they couldn't actually imagine the story without it. But based on their half-hidden disgust, I took out the element--and the story is MUCH stronger for it; the element wasn't as integral as it seemed to first or second time readers, and in fact distracted from the real story. Readers often seem loath to suggest big changes or problems with a story's core elements--but often their tiniest hints will reveal real problems with a piece. The hints readers give can often be more telling than their explicit criticism, because readers' instincts are often more sophisticated than their ability to articulate analysis.

I'm so thankful to my friends for being willing to read my stories, and for doing it so ably; without them, my most recent piece couldn't exist. Because of their feedback I could transform it from a weird waking dream into a meaningful story--and my best work to date.

Still, I'm not sure that I picked up on all of the story's problems. Should I have listened to my readers even more? Or just a little less? The story speaks to me now, and it speaks to them--but what about a wider audience, an audience outside of my loved-ones?

ALWAYS BE CLOSING, MOTHERF*CKER!

Tonight, I got very upset. My whole life this year has been about two sets of applications: getting a good spec together for the ABC/Disney fellowship, and getting a good story or two together for an MFA in fiction.

My first batch of MFA applications went out yesterday, and I sent a couple more today. By January 1st, every single part of the application process will be out of my hands, and the thought has sent me into a tailspin.

I always have a plan--ALWAYS. And usually B, C, D, and E plans besides. But now all of my eggs are in the "writing" basket--what happens if nobody likes how I write? What if I've been doing the wrong things this whole time? I cried and cried, and of course my boyfriend was there for me (like the amazing person he is)...

He said, "You're going to let a few people determine how you feel about your writing, and yourself? What makes their opinions so special?"

I said, "This is the entertainment industry I want to work in. It's all about opinion, and people *liking* stuff."

"So," he asked, "who didn't like your stuff?"

I came up with about fifteen people *total* who *maybe* hadn't liked my writing--the ABC people (apparently--I haven't heard a peep from them since I sent in my spec), and people from the few random places I've sent a few random pieces to over the years. But I realized--it wasn't that I was really getting hit with rejection right and left, but rather that I WASN'T SUBMITTING A GODDAMN THING!

So here I am, sniveling in the basement , and I realize: I'm setting myself up to fail.

If I don't like something of mine TOO much, I send it to about five places. Of course, I choose places that don't deal at all with things such as the piece I'm submitting. And so they write back notes like: we can't use this. Or: send us other work. And I trash that piece for good/stop sending *anything* for a very, very long time.

Meanwhile, I save the stuff I actually like, saying to myself: this is GOOD, but not PUBLISHABLE. Save it. Work on it some more. Needs more work, doesn't it?

WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? This is called "fear of success" much as I try to dress it up as normal old fear of failure. Not to say that I *will* be successful if I send out pieces consistently and constantly, but that I'll then have at least a f*cking shot--something I don't have, btw, while crying about the masses of writing stuck on my hard drive and vowing to produce (and squirrel away) yet more.

So here I thought my New Year's Resolution should be about productivity and craft and blah blah, but now I think it will be:

SELL! SELL! SELL! ALWAYS BE CLOSING, MOTHERF*CKER!

Play Mate

I'm adapting the forty-page "short" story I wrote about yesterday into a play. In order to apply for the playwriting opportunity I'd like to, I've got to have the play done by Jan. 1.

The story is finished, so now I can start the adaptation process--but it's turning out not to be as tough as I thought. There have already been several pleasant surprises:

1. Structure. Though I didn't realize it, my story is already in perfect 5-Act structure. The relative act-lengths are even solid. That means that the story might be even stronger than I thought, AND that I've finally absorbed good story structuring!!!! I didn't outline this story, I didn't edit it with act structure in mind, BUT it came out well-laid-out anyway. That makes me unbelievably happy--because it means I'm learning, because it makes me more confident that the story is good, and because it will be relatively easy to adapt.

2. Scenes. My story is heavy on real-time scenes, as opposed to back-story and interior monologue. Not that it has no blathering or philosophizing, but it is mostly dialogue and action--which will translate well onto the stage. To me, constructing a plot using real-time scenes is a mark of professionalism--one I'm delighted to have! It also makes reading the story easier and more fun for the audience, and makes adaptation much easier, too.

So, turning this story into a play may be fun and rewarding--and DO-ABLE!--after all. Right now I'm most worried about the logistics of playwriting, ie, what *can* be done on a stage, what would look good on stage, the terms/shorthand people use, and play-script formatting.

Story Web?

I've got a looooong story that I love.

It's about 12K, and needs all those words (plus some). But since nobody wants to read a forty page short story, I can either cut it to below fifteen or expand it to about three hundred. I was thinking: this particular story isn't done yet. Maybe I could expand.

I was considering: I'd take each page, and expand it to 2K. That would give me an 80K story manuscript totally within the perimeters of the present story.

The big PRO is actually not about the final product though--I thought it might be a a fascinating experiment, a way to push myself deeper as opposed to longer.

The more I think about it, the more I think this might be really good for me as a writer. But *is* it possible to create a readable story like that?

Umami

The Washington Post has a Book World this week (!!!)--but, of course, the section doesn't have reviews in it. Instead, it's all lists of the "best" books of the year, and an essay by Ann Patchett about how she never works.

Well, not *never.* But apparently not much. She's shocked by her output, based on how little time she spends writing.

Anyway, she did say something interesting: that writing is an endurance game. "The process of writing books is somewhat akin to a very long police interrogation in which the detective leans over the table littered with the butt ends of cigarettes and cold coffee in Styrofoam cups and says for the 87th time, 'Now let's go over this again.' It is a study in repetition, the ability to read the same page, paragraph, sentence until it could be recited backward and in French in hopes of figuring out which detail is missing, which idea is false."

I've been frustrated for a long while--about a year--because it feels like I pour time and effort into projects, but ultimately create little of worth. What about the law of Conservation of Energy?! Where does all that work *go*?! I'm bewildered by my input v. output ratio.

I'm aghast when I read my (even slightly) older stuff, because my current piece seems so much better. My writing from a year or two ago seems juvenile and angst-ridden. My writing from a year ago seems dry. My writing from six months ago seems jejune. And I just looked at the personal statement I sent to law schools in Fall of 2007 and it was humiliatingly bad. How did I get in?! What has happened between that crap and this story? Not *that* much could have changed in six months, could it?

Is this just a lack of perspective? Or is this what always happens when one puts in 1,000 hours on the same 40-50 pages? Is this story just uniquely good? Maybe (I hope/wish/pray) I've finally crossed some sort of professional line?

Maybe it's just the cumulative writing time I've now put in...I usually put in 2-10 hours of writing a day, and have for a year and a half. And outside of writing, the circumstances of my life have changed significantly; there's a big difference between just-turned-22 and going-on-24. Maybe it's my growing writing experience, paired with my growing life experience resulting in more mature (better) writing?

Not to boast: I mean, improving is great, but success is better.

So: I've still got another draft to go on this story--but it's a clean-up and cut-down type thing. My beta-reader is looking over it again, I'll sort through what he has to say and apply what I agree with, then print this baby up and look for typos.

Yes, I'm IMMENSELY proud of this story. It truly is the best I could possibly do, and as I said before--it feels like it grew from an inspired seed, it still feels touched by the muse. I'm a materialist normally, and that "inspiration/"artiste" language grates--but something feels *right* to me about this piece.

There's no telling whether it'll open the doors I want, but I'm proud of this story--and of myself--regardless.

Max Beta

A beta-reader got back to me about my story last night. There were certain things I was really nervous about--one plot issue, a political correctness problem, a slow pace at the beginning. He didn't talk to me about any of them.

Beta-Reader's List of Biggest Weaknesses:

MAIN CHARACTER IS UNLIKEABLE:
That weakness really crushed me, because I have a tendency to create unlikeable characters. I don't know why other people find them cold or nasty or self-interested--*I* love them! And it gets difficult hearing that other people hate "somebody" that you love.

The character's mother is dying, which I thought might garner some sympathy. Apparently not enough....so I also had her do something kind in the beginning. I also had her come to someone's aid at the climax. And for her to consider how her actions effected others, near the end.

HOW DOES THIS STORY CHANGE *HER*:
At the climax originally, Supporting Character X was in danger--but got lucky.
At the climax in the next rewrite, Supporting Character X was in danger--and had a horrible thing happen.
In the CURRENT draft, Supporting Character X is in danger--and when Main Character tries to save him, disaster strikes HER. I'm much happier with this version because:

1. it shows Main Character's agency--and agency is vital to creating a compelling character
2. the plot now makes more logical sense--there's now a reason for her particular injury and her next period of growth as a character. It clears up the story's theme.
3. This is *HER* story, goddamnit--why should Supporting Character X get all the glory?

THE AUTHOR FLINCHED:
Sometimes, such as during the above climax, I'd give the before and after, but hide my eyes during the middle. It's a tendency of mine--and I think pretty common--to shy away from showing the really horrible or gut-wrenching part of a scene, for the same reasons we'd avoid seeing or experiencing those things in real life. BUT space = importance to a reader. If something is meant to be the heart of the book, it should be given plenty of attention. Which means the author's flinching confuses the reader's understanding of the story. I went back and worked some more on that... though it's difficult for me to find the line between graphic, extraneous violence and necessary detail.

There were a couple areas where it seemed, on the other hand, that I was providing too much detail. Sadly, there weren't enough of those; this story is 12,500 words and still growing. At this point, I wonder if I should work to expand it to novel-length.

On the one hand, it feels like a complete story. On the other, there are tons of places I feel I could improve the story by expanding. Right now, I need to knock it down to under 12K (at the least), but after I send it out as a (short--ha!) story, I think I will expand those parts.

In the meantime, I'm going to send it to him again and see how he feels about the character's arc now. I also want to make sure all the supporting characters have arcs of their own, and that the whole thing is pretty (and about 500 words shorter). Otherwise, I think I'm done!!!!!

Draft 99

I've worked on this story for 10 days straight, and I think I've taken it to the end of the line.

There is still one major plot kink to work out, and I wish my Beta(s) would get back to me about the pacing...BUT I've only got three or four more hours, tops, worth of work left on it.

On the one hand, I'm gutted. This story is maybe the best thing I've ever written, as imperfect as it is, and I don't want to let it go. So I build castles in the air: what if I expanded it into a novel? And I'm becoming very snappish and obnoxious and stressed. In my innermost heart I know that's because I'm nearly ready to say goodbye and send my baby into the world.

On the other hand, I'm so RELIEVED. This story's deadline is Monday, and now it seems it will be done on time (PHEW). There were certainly times when I thought I'd never finish. (And maybe it's better not to count my chickens; I'm not done yet).

But this is the only real fear I've got left: Am I 100% confident that this story will be successful in the way that I need it to be? Any given piece usually receives the reaction I expect. There are certain pieces that I've sent out knowing full well what would happen to them--that they'd get published, get produced, win a prize, etc. A person usually knows when she's produced a winner. I'm not sure if I feel that certainty for this story.

When I wrote it, it felt right. Something about it still seems right--"right" as in: it feels completely *mine.* It feels organic, but polished. It feels like the love-child of inspiration and hard work. Rather, it feels that way to *me.*

The stakes are so high this time, and as ever, my judgment doesn't truly matter. What if this story doesn't connect?

Bleak Condominium (Nip/Tuck Spoilers)

Wow, Nip/Tuck last night was a sucker-punch. Here's a quick summary:

A/B: Christian owes the IRS $400,000, plus more on credit card bills. He asks Sean to take out an equity loan on the business, but Sean refuses. He tells Christian he'll spot him the money for now--they're family, after all. Christian is touched.

A: But then Sean's long lost meth-head brother comes back from beyond the grave. He needs money and plastic surgery, but he's ready to open up a whitling shop and go clean. Sean gives Christian's loan to his brother, instead. Christian seethes.

B: A father and his (adopted, teenage) son come to the practice. They want Christian to make the son look more like his father.

A: Christian refuses to let the brother (Brendan) stay at the apartment he shares with Sean. He keeps pushing Brendan--screaming at him, etc, until both Brendan and Sean are angry at Christian. Sean says he'll move out of Christian's place and get a new apartment with his brother.

B: In recovery, the son asks the father to go surfing, but the father doesn't have time. Christian offers to take him out. Turns out the father's an international banker. Could he help Christian out in return?

A: Things of Christian's keep going missing: his gold watch, etc. He accuses Brendan, and it seems as though Brendan's the only one with opportunity. Is Christian winning? No--when he comes home next, there's a noseless cokehead hanging out...he's Brendan's best friend, who Sean has agreed to fix, for free. Christian blows up. Brendan asks him what's in it for Sean, being Christian's friend? There's not really an answer.

B: Christian takes the kid out surfing, but when they come back the kid starts weeping. Turns out, his father uses him as a prop in sex parties. Christian, who apparently had the same kind of childhood (!) is aghast.

A: Sean fixes the cokehead, but within the day, he catches the guy snorting...with Brendan (sober?) right next to him. Goodbye and good riddance, Sean says to his brother.
B: He roughs the dad up, and demands $400,000 in blackmail.

A: That night, Sean meets his brother outside his house, and they forgive each other. But when they go inside, Christian's waiting. Brendan has stolen his diamond cufflinks! Christian calls the police, and Sean takes his side. He kicks Brendan out.

B: But Christian gives the kid the $400,000. Go make your own family, he tells him. Family should be the people who take care of you, not abuse you.

A/B: Seems all ends well for Christian, right? Silently, he has a cigar and cognac on the deck while Sean chatters happily behind him. But in montage, we then see:
Christian selling his own diamond cufflinks and watch.
Christian take out a loan on the business, in Sean’s name.

Christian shares his cigar with Sean, and pats him on the back. Family, right?

--------------

So, technically I think the A story was Brandon v. Christian, the B story was Christian and the sex kid, and the C story was the $400,000. Interestingly, the ads for this episode were all about the money--they made it look very light and "topical."

But it was so complex! The whole time, we're waiting for Christian to save Sean--he even says at one point that being Sean's protector is his job! And when he gives the kid the money, it's a great moment because we see Christian as an older version of that kid--a version that has made it.

It's only at the end of the episode that we see he's actually a different version of the *father*.

And this is mid-season of the show's LAST SEASON. THIS is what they want to go out on. Wow, wow, wow. I'll probably have more on this later, but right now I'm blown away by this episode's elegance and emotional punch.

Hopeless Mediocrity: Why I Write

J.R. Lennon at the blog Ward Six asked today: What book made you who you are? In the interest of not hijacking the comments thread, I'm posting my thoughts here.

Peter Pan.

I loved "Hook" and begged for the fancy, twenty-dollar Peter Pan edition. Guess that edition was so fancy as to be unabridged. It was full of spilling blood and real danger, something I'd never read about before.

I loved it! I forced my friends to play "Peter Pan" with me every day, in a kind of live-action fan-fic. (I was always Peter, of course). That period was the first time I dove into a fully-formed fantasy land--not just playing pretend, but forming whole narratives.

The magic died for me on Halloween when, all dressed up as Peter Pan though I was, my parents followed (chatting!) while my friends and I trick or treated. There wasn't any real danger at all.

Still, reading Peter Pan was the first time a story really opened up for me, when fiction became a place to experiment and create and to learn things I couldn't while trapped in real life.

I haven't re-read it since--haven't had the heart to.

To which, J.R. Lennon asked, "So when, in your present day life, do you most feel you're channeling Pan?"

I said:

Peter Pan doesn't belong in a broke grown-up's world, I guess.

When I was younger, I tried all the usual things a curious child/teen/college kid does...but what is there for an adventurous adult? I'd do anything to escape my skin and really learn something... How could all the freshness be rubbed off of life so soon?

I've lost the thrill. Drug highs are limited, and drinking stupefies. Sex may be intense, but it's still always got the same old orgasm at the end. I've traveled more than my budget allows, and found the same shit in all those different places. Half my family live like vagabonds, but they're fundamentally the same as the half that are middle class; i.e., just as bored. The nine-to-five/responsible boyfriend thing nearly killed me. But what else is there? F*ing extreme sports?!

My only answer to the ennui is reading and writing--it's my (quasi) socially acceptable version of playing pretend, I guess. But I wish there were more.

Suggestions welcome! How do people find adventure in real life?

raw nerve

This story has blossomed from thirteen pages to thirty-two, and it keeps growing. There is so much I want to say and so much feeling in it.

This story feels like *mine* though it's taken six or so drafts to create (with still a couple more to go).

The problem is: it has gotten so close to me, speaks so powerfully to me, that I don't know how much more I can work on it. Just reading it leaves me emotionally drained. But how can I make sure it does the same to everyone (in a good way!) that reads it?

There are some polish things I need to do, and I want to work on the dialogue a bit more. But I think I'm coming to the end.

...for now. Because meanwhile, I've been looking at my old manuscript, trying to find shorter pieces to pair with this long one. When I stopped working on it this spring, it was because I knew it was the absolute best I could do, and yet nobody liked it. I had a crisis of faith.

Looking at it now, I understand why nobody liked it--it's terrible. I'd leached all the character out, and left a albeit well-structured husk.

How do I put power back into it? Can I? Do I have to start (once again) from scratch? What is the normal (draft-wise) evolution?!

This is coming on the heels of realizing how little I know about scriptwriting, too. There's so much to learn, and I'm worried; CAN I learn it?!

Gossip Girl's Mid-Season Finale was SPECTACULAR (spoilers)

It became clear Serena and Nate belong together.

That Dan's climb out of Vanessa's friend zone isn't as smooth as it looks.

That Jenny is F*ING badass (I love the growth of this character over the coarse of the three seasons!). And Eric really has lost her.

That Rufus is just as much of a boor and Lily a slut as before. Which is actually kind of refreshing--it's about time people's parents started being bad again, instead of drippy, rich fairy godparents.

My only problem:
The writers (so far, anyway) seem to have no idea what to do with Chuck and Blaire.

Blaire trying to find herself in college could be/started out as a fascinating storyline, and a surprisingly relateable one. But the show has since pulled back, I suspect because someone didn't know what they'd find when they scratched beneath her East Side persona, and were scared to experiment, seeing as she's the heart of the show. BUT it's ridiculous to think she *wouldn't* change, and frankly, everyone else has--she now seems like an artifact of season one. Though in season one, they actually gave her a fair amount of depth.

Chuck is apparently now Mr. Good Guy, which I hate. No, he doesn't have to be on drugs constantly. And yes, it's interesting (in theory) that he basically gave up the drinking once his dad died. But his "growth" hasn't seemed at all organic. For one, nobody has ever asked him about his drinking, which I'm sad about--set up, set up, set up, and yet no punch. And for another--why has his personal philosophy of life completely changed? They attempted to answer it last night--he was trying to become his father--BUT he also wasn't acting at all like his father, in any way other than being into business.

He seemed like a pile of wasted opportunity for much of the season, but the last couple episodes have really turned my stomach:

1. when he kicked the diplomat's son out of the hotel and "rescued" Jenny from him, because the son was a drug dealer. COME ON! For one, *kicked him out*?! Even if Chuck's not into drugs anymore, that seems like a ridiculously indiscreet business move. And it wasn't handled ironically, like this is something an overcompensating kid would do--no, it was handled as though it were the correct move!

2. He basically tells Jenny to just say no?! THAT was a lost opportunity--here's a character who is famously inarticulate about himself, but who gave up drugs apparently cold turkey just a few episodes ago, and he doesn't tell Jenny (of the vastly complicated step-sibling relationship) WHY?! Why drugs might be a bad idea for her, why she should be careful with that guy, why it's retarded to sell drugs at a bar instead of in a private residence? NO INSIGHT?!

And at the end of the episode, it turns out HIS MOTHER IS ALIVE? On the one hand, yes could be interesting seeing his eternal quest for a parent continue...but on the other hand, it feels SO cheap.

If the writers are interested in the parent thing re: Chuck, maybe they should deal with that in his relationship with Blaire. God knows they don't know what else to do with the two of them! Actually, Blaire being really into control and Chuck being super insecure and constantly looking for guidance COULD be really interesting...though I don't know how deep this show would be willing to go into its characters' inner lives.

So, all goes well except for my two favorite characters. It seems as though the writers are at loose ends with those two, though I don't know why. Otherwise, the show is so incredibly taut and well structured, it's always a little intimidating to watch.

But I'll keep doing it somehow :P

Matchmaker

My writing sample should be around 40 pages.

Those forty pages should include two stories.

Complete stories are better than excerpts because stories show the author can handle structure, and excerpts (by definition, seeing as you *should* need the rest of the novel to understand them) don't.

So, I wrote a story that felt right.

The structure and language were fairly good, but the characterization and plotting (since those two are enmeshed, I suppose) weren't.

I changed the characterization.
Tried, and failed to change the plot.
Thought about the theme.
Changed the plot.

Now I'm in a pretty good place with that story. It's dark but not overly graphic.

The other one is based on an excerpt. Though the characters/backstory/setting are different, the plot of this chapter has stayed the same since it was a manuscript section.

I rethought the characters and backstory, and changed bits of the plot.
The language is doing all right.
But it's not really coming together. And now that I've basically memorized it, I'm having trouble editing.

I'm not in a BAD place with the story, but not (yet?) in a good one. It's graphic but not quite as dark as Story 1.

The problem I'm having is with these stories as a pair. When trying to show my range, shouldn't I try to show two different tones? I'm worried that both of these stories are too dark, and that the groups of characters are too similar. The plots aren't even all that different.

That happens to me a lot when I work on two pieces at once--they feed off one another, which is a good thing, but they also echo one another, which isn't.

Anyway, the two pieces together are about ten pages too long. That's especially a problem for places with a *THIRTY* page limit, where I absolutely can't turn in fifty pages of material.

So I started thinking about ANOTHER excerpt that I think is fairly stand alone. It's got a MUCH lighter, almost screwball tone. The characters are much different from the ones I present in Story 1 (which is definitely going in the sample). So, it would make a better match/juxtapose better with Story 1 than Story 2 does, right?

Only I think that Story 2 is more complete than this excerpt, and is more character-centric. Since Story 1 is relatively heavy on plot, Story 2 being heavy on character is important to me.

Another thing to consider, however, is that what I'm seeing as "character heavy" is in actuality angsty-undergrad writing, which has been a struggle for me to leave behind.

As it is now, I think I'll be submitting Story 1 and the Excerpt. Together, they'll be 30-40 pages. I think their plot and tone contrasts make them a better pair. I think they're more mature stories than Story 2 is. For the places which allow longer samples, I may include Story 2, but probably not.

Still, it makes me sad to see Story 2 left behind, after so much work on it. And worried, because though I *think* replacing it with Excerpt is clear-sightedness, it may be a loss of nerve.

Bah. We'll see how my Beta(s) feel. It's so hard for me to see my own work clearly! Does that ever get easier?

Cut the Creatures and Cue the Social Conflict

So this story I’ve got with these weird vampire creatures?

I think the creatures were just stand-ins for the actual cultural problems I wanted to talk about, but which I was still too ignorant to discuss.

The creatures weren’t really around much, except at the climax. Otherwise it’s a pretty realistic story—or at least, non-supernatural.

When I gave the story to my critique partner, she said I needed to foreshadow the creatures more. I agreed, so I tried to bring them into other parts of the story. But then I stayed away from the thing for a week or so while I worked on something else…and when I came back, I realized the reason I couldn’t put the creatures anyplace new was because they were just place-holders.

So, I’ve been doing research into the region in which the story takes place (The Democratic Republic of Congo), as well as neighboring countries (namely, Rwanda). I’d started out wanting to write a story set in Africa because I love reading stories set there. Problem was/is, I don’t know much about the continent—just as much as any layman American does, I’d guess.

Thing is, even if I’m an ignoramus about the continent, many (most?) people aren’t. It’s important to get my information as correct as possible. And while I don’t think it’s necessarily the cheap and easy route for a story to go for magical (realism), it was in this case—instead of finding out more about the actual world my story was taking place in, I substituted fake stuff.

Which was doubly stupid both because the real world is more interesting and more complex than my fake one AND because that complexity and richness was the specific reason I was drawn to stories set there. If I wanted to write a fantasy story about vampire creatures, why not put them in a familiar (to me) locale? Why set a story in the Congo and then not make it AT ALL CONGOLESE? It seemed like a waste. Of course, it was only in draft three that I realized how I was setting up something very interesting (a story about wildlife exploitation and ownership in the Congo) and then transforming it into something quite boring (a story about fake-ass vampires).

So, on to the research—which has already been helpful in my re-imagining the climax, and the theme of the story. I like how both my current stories are turning out, but JESUS CHRIST, I’m on draft one million of both of them. Or rather, draft three.

I always thought I did a lot of drafts, but looking at it now, it seems that I just did an awful but very labor-intensive second draft of all my work, then stopped in disgust. Re-writing really is reimagining, and it really is where the story takes shape. I'll never stop before Draft 5 again!

Earnestness, the Quest

There is a blog I like (zunguzungu) written by an academic. This academic uses lots of post-modern-generator-type language which sometimes makes me worry: Am I smart enough for this blog? But he has a very specific point of view, and thinks everything through thoroughly, so I'm always up for trying to get his take.

Anyway, recently he had a picture of this man with huge black glasses, a gap-tooth, gold ring, and goatee. Next to the picture ran an arrogant yet out of touch personal ad. And I guess we're supposed to laugh at the funky man and his funky attempt at human connection. At first I did, anyway.

But seeing the picture again, I can't help but feel a huge tug of tenderness for this person. It's like the feeling I get when I see people's socks. Socks are so innocent; people wear them to protect their shoes and make their feet comfortable. Nobody but the person wearing those socks give a shit whether they're there or not. Socks remind me of all the things people do in order to face the world every day, and when I see them I melt a little.

Once you start paying attention to people, it's tough to be mean to them. When you think of Person X carefully pulling on his socks, doing his laundry, taking his vitamins, hoping his friends will call, missing the subway--when you think of all the hope and effort it took to get Person X here with you at this moment, it's hard to be a bitch and let him know that all that effort is just going to get him pain and humiliation. Which I guess is why everyone loves the long American Psycho montage of Patrick getting ready in the morning? On the one hand, it's easy to make fun of the care he takes with his body, since he doesn't take care of anything else...but it also humanizes him and establishes him as the main character.

This post is not a personal reminder to show my characters waking up and dressing in the morning. It is a reminder, however, to feel tenderness toward them. All we see are the action movie goons getting shot, but somewhere (in our imagination) they all have mothers being crushed and apartments that now need cleaning out and half-written manuscripts that will now be burned.

So in my writing today: tenderness in, brutality out. I think it'll make my work deeper and truer.

Note to Self: CLIMAX

Today is a big improvement over yesterday, because today, both my stories have (some) middle.

Today is terrible when compared to tomorrow, however, because today neither of my stories have climaxes.

STORY B NEEDS:

--A hook (or at least a stronger one. Draft 3 is a VAST improvement over Draft 2, but this story's sense of self--my sense of why it's special--isn't really there yet...it doesn't have a thesis statement).

--Better Characters (they still feel half drawn).

--More punch in the moments leading up to the climax (as is, the climactic image itself is pretty cool, and I know where I'm going after, but that final moment that zooms the tension up to where it needs to be? Not great).

STORY B NEEDS:

--A middle (I love the beginning, which is actually the first half. But now I have that midpoint reversal, and don't know what it reverses. Or rather, I know what happens to the "story" (the characters) but not the "plot" (their obstacles).

I still think Story B is much stronger than Story A, because I have more of a sense what it's about. So today, I want to do some research on the part of Africa where Story B takes place, so I'll (!) hit on a more interesting and meaningful complication than I have currently. And today, I'm going to re-print the first two-thirds of Story A's third draft and try to figure these people and their situation out.

Both stories, right now, are taking me deeper into their souls.

My main question now: can I go into two at once? I've always been a natural monogomist.

Trompe d'Oeil

Last night I watched an episode of Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. And I'm not going to lie: I watch Vh1 and MTV and Bravo and all those shows everyone makes fun of.

Well, not the Hills anymore. But all the others.

Anyway, this show is fascinating. And I was trying to figure out why.

Last time I couldn't understand why a story was compelling, it was because the main character was in an unsolvable dilemma with his/her humanity at stake. Maybe that's true for Sex Rehab, too.

But I think it's because of the honesty.

On drug rehab and on all the Desperate Housewives of (Insert City), the cast is all brain-fried, drunk, or unbearably self-conscious. Everything feels very fake. I thought this show would be the same, but the combination of smart people with enforced sobriety has made it what Big Brother always wished it could be.

And while watching it, I think I learned the actual meaning of authenticity and honesty. It's been my mission for a while in my writing to be as authentic and as "me" as possible. But that seemed like a vague and unreachable goal. Now, I wonder if all that requires is earnestness.

There are three people on the show that I'm fascinated by:

Duncan (film director) and Jennie (dominatrix). At first, I thought I enjoyed watching them so much because they were (are) quick witted and funny. But now I think it's because they seem so earnest about concentrating only on their mission (to connect to people in a healthy way) and to finally become themselves. That's it--whether they *are* being themselves or not, they seem to be *trying* to be themselves always. Watching both of these people come to realizations on the show is 1. a lesson in the inadequacies of acting (when these people look sad, they look sad in a way I've only before seen on documentaries on subjected women in China, for God's sake--they are sad with all of themselves). 2. the importance of being earnest.

James (surfer). He looks like he's ill, barely speaks, and his actions don't seem linked at all to common sense. But when I saw the episode last night, one thing really struck me. The producers finally decided to show some one-on-one time between him and the therapists/producers, and during that time, James talked about how nothing bad had ever really happened to him except that he slept with apparently every women who would have him (losing friends in the process) and that his mother punished him when he deserved it. Of course, this being TV in the era of Law and Order: SVU, the therapists immediately ask, "Punish you how?" and James talks about throwing things, etc, and about how he lost his virginity early (not to her, lol). Anyway, every time he says something weird, like about his mother throwing a knife at him or having lots of sex at age eleven, the therapists look weirded out and ask him how he feels about that in hindsight. The thing about James is it seems he has no hindsight at all.

When he says his mother threw a machete at him, for example, he *immediately* says that he probably deserved it. And looks embarrassed and sad while he admits it. The therapist says, "what could a kid do to deserve getting a knife thrown at him?" and James can't come up with anything. When they ask, "would you ever throw a knife at a little kid," of course, he says no. The whole time, he's constantly leaping to the defense of everyone else: the older kids and adults he had sex with in his early adolescence, his mother, whomever. Why?! He seems completely unself-aware.

How did he end up composing this completely chaotic narrative for himself--that people treated him badly or at least inappropriately because he looked like he could take it? How did he look back at his whole life and think of it as a million unconnected episodes in which he just happened to be around confused people?

I think of everything as a narrative, and it's obvious that most of the people on the show do, too. For instance, on the same episode, Duncan sees a therapist who says he's probably re-acting the same scene with men now that he began as a child...and Duncan seems to think that's perfectly plausible and even enlightening. But then, they show James, wholeheartedly leaping to the defense of anyone he's ever met, while finding himself in this horrible position (bizarre and alone)...how does this man think about time? How does he make goals for himself? How does he relate to others? How does he think about himself.

When he immediately said that he probably deserved getting a machete thrown at him, it was what would have been a "telling detail" if he were a character in a script or story. It's fascinating watching something so messy, like James's sense of self, and inserting it into the neat box of art: this was foreshadowing, that was a telling detail, the whole show is his climax, and soon we'll find a sort of resolution....

Putting someone who sees his life entirely outside the realm of narrative, and then editing it *into* a narrative arc....

Wow. So, is storytelling inherently dishonest? I've always thought the narrative of what could have or should have happened is, in its way, *more* truthful than a plain recitation of the facts. But maybe narrative *is* all fake.

Ok, utterly confused now. Which is honesty: James's episodic and chaotic thoughts on the world, or Duncan's self-aware narrative arc?

beginnings are beautiful, but all i want is a fucking end

So, now I'm back and the deadline for my two MUST BE PERFECT short stories is fast approaching (as well as my MUST BE PERFECT play) and I'm--what?!--writing a proposal for a non-fiction book.

Why can't I finish anything?

Every time I get near the end of a third draft, every time the finish line even SEEMS to glimmer in the distance BOOM "inspiration" strikes.

Would it be any less procrastination if I were bathing my cat or making a three-hour dinner or chatting on the telephone? I'm starting to suspect that I won't ever finish a goddamn thing.

What's wrong with me? Why can I get 80% there with each of these projects, and why is it so hard for me to complete the final steps? Why can't I say THIS is the ABSOLUTE BEST I can do?

Now that the semi-finalist notification process must be winding down, I'm realizing I probably didn't get a T.V. fellowship this year...which is OK--I was a first-time T.V. scriptwriter, and a first-time applicant. Still, losing burns. And I keep looking back at that script and thinking: I could still make it better.

No matter that it's the most complete thing I've got. And that applying was so important to me because I hadn't finished any of my projects in so long before that. And that my TV scripts are not my priority right now.

There are so many things I want to write--too many things. On the one hand, they all weigh (so heavily!) on me, begging to be made beautiful. But on the other hand, I feel so great when I'm only beginning a project, when it feels so magical that I keep going back to get that rush...and then I end up feeling even more burdened by before!

Ok, so what I'm saying is: I've got to be strong minded. I've got to keep my priorities in check. I've made a six-month schedule, and I'm sticking to it GODDAMN IT because I can't stand this horrible newly-clothed-emperor feeling of working so hard for years and having nearly nothing but "draft zeroes."

Guess this is a pep-talk? Against procrastination disguised as productivity? For sticking to a life plan?

How did I become someone with a rock fucking solid LIFE PLAN?!

Vroom Vroom

I'll be in London for two weeks.

Yes, I will be writing.

No, that is not the point of the trip.

The blog is closed until December. Good writing and happy Thanksgiving!

Resolution Reboot

I've decided to put NaNo on hold. I've decided to put the claymation on hold. I've decided to put my collaborative feature on hold. I've decided to put my teaching internship on hold. I've decided to put my "zombie" manuscript's third draft on hold. I've decided to put my seven half-finished stories and my three ready-for-final-edit stories on hold. I've decided not to take any more classes this year. Just keep the one job I have. Talk to my friends a little less. I've decided to put my second spec TV script on hold, my first TV pilot on hold, and my second edit on last year's TV fellowship application script on hold. The short movie script I've "finished" for Xmas filming is on hold. My newest short film script is, too.

My plate is currently so full that the super-expensive, important, favorite food is about to rot beneath the pile of other stuff.

This past year, I met my New Year's resolutions, and I'm proud of that.

--Blogging. I started this blog in order to interact with other writers, which hasn't happened all that much... but along the way, I've become much more focused in and articulate about my process, which has been an immense help. The blog has been a success, at least for me as a writer, and I plan to continue it.

--Finishing a novel manuscript I could be proud of. Even though I haven't edited it to my satisfaction it IS entirely down on paper, follows a coherent plot, and is worth taking someplace--even if I'm not at the end of the road with it yet.

--Applying to the T.V. Fellowship. I was scared, inexperienced, and who knows how successful? But I did it! I met the deadline, and got a full spec outlined, written, and edited.

--Applying to grad schools. This is still in progress, but going strong (thank God).

The aim in 2008 was to dedicate myself to writing. The aim in 2009 was to find start finding a place in the writing community. The aim for 2010 is to begin a focused effort to specific goals.

When writing first became my priority (as a college grad, not student), I had a hard time finding projects that felt right. But now I'm overwhelmed by ideas I love. The problem is, I've been hopscotching around, doing as much as I can on all of them, never truly feeling proud and finished with one.

So my aim this year is, in short, to finish things. That means working on one or two projects at a time, toward one goal at a time.

Right now, my goal is to have the strongest grad school application I possibly can. That means the only things I'm *not* putting on hold are the things I need to do to meet that goal. So, I've got two stories, four essays, and a play to write, as well as school forms to fill out. AND THAT'S ALL (I swear).

just another brick in the adobe

The last couple days have been packed with procrastination, and I'm sick of how that feels. Today is NaNo catch-up day.

I'm fine in terms of the official word count, but I'd planned to write 2.5K each day for the month, in order to get an entire draft done. Since my drafts seem to be better when composed in condensed time-frames, I figured NaNo would be the perfect opportunity to get a long-held and long-loved idea (finally) down on paper.

NaNo's upsides:

--It's easy to explain a group project like this even to people not especially into writing. And since lots of lay-people are doing it, it doesn't seem impossible or silly for me to try, too--even to people who otherwise forget I write.

--Lots of support. I never thought the forums would help me as much as they have. Hearing about other "nobodies" working to stack up high word-counts and struggling with the day to day drafting process has been great. And the counter at the top of my page--even joining the site at all--has given me a sense of accountability.

NaNo's downsides:

--Because the support and fellowship of NaNo are what brought me to it in the first place, I feel tied to the NaNo timetable; meaning, this is a November project, and it doesn't matter that this November is an incredibly stressful time for me.

--I don't know if such a speedy draft is best for this particular project. On the one hand, speed seems to work well for my writing in general--or at least, it has in the past. On the other, this level of speed doesn't allow for a "perfect" first draft..which, in a project like this, that I've already outlined and thought about, seems a shame. I wonder if a slower first-go might result in a better finished project? Maybe I've outgrown the need to silence my inner-editor by burying her under a mountain of words? Maybe I'd be better off letting her speak a bit during my drafting?

I'm not sure if keeping to my old NaNo inspired style of speed drafting is a way of refining my process or of crippling it....

The Gastault of SHUT UP

I haven't looked at my one finished and semi-polished manuscript in months.

It's not that I haven't been writing; in the meantime, I've "finished" a T.V. script, am going through the first draft of a feature script, "finished" a number of short stories (I was going for fifteen of them, but didn't quite make it), started shooting my clay-mation, and am a third through another manuscript's rough draft.

But this summer, sometime between falling in love (with a person, not book) and taking a beat-down at workshop, I've stopped toying with it, and started avoiding it. Not because I've lost faith in the manuscript, but because it suddenly feels too daunting. The notes for "fixing it" (Draft 1,000,000) are sitting on my desk, and the actual work is buried someplace on my hard-drive.

Yesterday, though, while I was at jury selection (sadly for my research, I didn't actually hear a case) I picked up a short story I'd written a couple months ago. It'd gotten on the page without plotting and without me stopping. When I'd finished the draft, something about it had felt right...

But I decided to put the story away for a bit and forget about it. I've been re-considering my editorial process, and I didn't want this potentially good story to get ripped apart. Yesterday I finally read it, for the first time. Though there were major problems (mostly, the plot is herky jerky), it was a great read! I loved the first half especially. And it had been long enough that I actually didn't remember the story at all, which was fantastic.

I think in editing my manuscript, I cut all the life. I tried so hard to follow the "rules" and only show the "interesting bits" and strengthen the plot, that I edited out the *story.* So with this piece ("Cherub") I'm going to be much gentler.

My process with it now is:
1. Figure out all the characters' arcs.
2. Edit the plot using five-act structure (make sure, mostly, that all the pieces are there, so that the ending is comprehensible).
3. Clarify the most awkward/confusing bits of writing
4. Show it (off?) to a trusted professor
5. Done!

I'm an analytical person, so I like to know why everything works the way it does. But the conscious mind only understands so much--a person can know much more than they can articulate. I've got to start trusting my experience, training, and taste, and forget about justifying everything in the courthouse of my frontal lobe. This story doesn't need to prove itself to anyone--it doesn't have a chance at "perfection," but it does have a chance at being itself.

Beyond this particular story, the hope is: once I've got new editorial confidence and method in place, maybe I won't feel so daunted by the task of infusing life back into my complicated plot-piece of a manuscript. Maybe, in fact, it'll feel natural. And this manuscript will still be something that can connect.

Steppin Up

Yesterday, my collaborator and I made our version of a step-sheet.

We started out with a long walk in which we argued about pacing (Me: FAST! BIG! Her: SLOW! UNDERSTATED!), and character (Me: specific motivation! Her: theme!)

Talked about the few scenes we'd discussed previously and wrote one-sentence summaries for each, which we put on note-cards and taped to a foam-core board.

Looked at them and tried to put them into a three-act structure. Found out we were writing a detective story.

I said: don't detective stories follow five-act structure? And, as a tv writer wanna-be, five act is actually sort of my thing.

We brainstormed for a while, and made a lot of random cards and finally (FINALLY!) found a solid, interesting, specific motivation for our main character. He came to life!

I went back to an old plotline we'd liked, and a five-act version of it sprung out of my mind. It worked!

We re-configered the cards on the board so they were in five acts.

Act by act, we talked about what happened to the main character. At the end of each act, he had to make a decision.

In my head, and a book on mystery writing (I *think* it's based on the act structure in You Can Write a Mystery by Gillian Roberts, but if not--someone please correct me?) the five-act structure for mysteries is:

1. Problem/Decision
2. Easy solution--FAILS!
3. Discover *real* problem
4. Figure out how to solve it
5. Solve it! (or not)

We went through all five acts, and got extremely happy with our main character's journey/the A-story. YAY!

We went back through each act and planted clues that would later be important, or added scenes with characters that had slipped out of sight for a time (for instance, the love interest is kept from the hero for the length of an act, and we'd almost lost sight of her. Likewise, one character is important at the end, so we had to show him for a bit at the beginning).

I wrote it all down in a word document, and we had a forty-scene, five-act stepsheet.

Wow, a whole movie officially plotted, and it only took five hours.

The plan now is: we each have three scenes from the first act (the entirety of the first act, put together) that we're writing today. Tonight we'll put them together and see how they look. Talk about how we felt the first act went, and if we have any changes we want to make to the second and third acts before we assign and write them. At the end of the third act, I have the feeling we'll have a major plotting session again to hammer out every little detail of the fourth and fifth acts, which are bound to change in the drafting process. Then we'll write the rest, and celebrate that we'll have a FULL DRAFT OF A FABULOUS SCREENPLAY!

So, it was a hard, exhausting, but definitely productive day. My favorite kind.

Farty Arty

I was in a high school art room all day, making the BIG BUCKS, and trying to throw together five new scenes for my stop animation.

The process with this movie has been long and convoluted and fascinating, but the most unexpected thing about it is how conventional the whole route to production has been.

1. Premise
2. Brainstorm the plot and character arcs
3. Sketch out the characters (literally in this case, since I had to build them)
4. Build the characters (again, literally)
5. Build the backdrops
6. Test shots
7. Change lighting/location to work better, tweak the characters
8. Write the entire script
9. More test shots
10. Storyboard (20 pictures/3 minute movie!)
11. Revamp the storyboard to add scenes that actually show the characters' inner lives
12. Revamp the script
13. Build new sets/add props

Still need to:
14. Finish all props (ie, make rain. Claymation rain)
15. Finalize lighting and equipment (ie, wires for all the dangly things)
16. SHOOT!
17. Edit the visuals
18. Record sound effects
19. Write soundtrack
20. Record soundtrack
21. Final edit
22. Production icon.

Have I left anything out?!

Now, albeit, I haven't done everything in conventional order...which has cost me a lot of time and effort, but which is unavoidable in a learning experience like this. The point is: I've since learned the conventional process is probably the fastest way a newbie can get from point A to point B still all in one piece

I'd figured that because this was a three minute short, it could be throw together--in other words, that it wasn't a real movie. Figured, this was a week, two-week process. It's been months! My only "excuse"? Hubris...

But, on the other hand, I LOVE IT! Making things with my hands again, thinking in visuals, being on the path to a *finished* product, as opposed to a draft (even a "final" draft! Everyone knows those are never final...). This is right. It's for me. And even after going through this long, convoluted process, I love my vision, and believe I can do it justice. I still know: this is worth it.

Efficiancy and Efficacy

Instead of four separate scenes, each with one goal and one major piece of information to impart, how about one scene that includes it all?

Instead of a setting with two people or four, between a child and a servant, why not a mob scene or a huge fight or the imperial family?

Scriptwriting while doing nanowrimo is a schizo experience.

In nanowrimo, 12,500 words is not enough to establish that two people love each other, and that another's death is a big deal. In scriptwriting, one page is always better than two, let alone five, let alone TEN.

More on this later--I don't understand why some mediums seem so much more efficient than others...or, maybe, it's that *I* am more efficient in some mediums than others...

Creative Calisthenics

My strengths:
--dialogue
--action
--ambiguously moral characters
--HUGE plots/premises

My weaknesses:
--interior monologue
--recognizable heroes/villains
--description.

I have the feeling my weaknesses stem from three causes:

1. natural tendencies/taste (hey, I was the archetypal Buffy-verse fan-girl for god's sake--no surprise my stories are packed with talking, fighting, and ammorality).

2. script-writing. In college, most of my focus was theatrical writing, and it (especially television) speaks to me in a way prose doesn't.

3. agent blogs and "how to" writing guides. Reading them has made me so fearful of boring the reader or padding a story or babbling that I've become much MUCH too harsh with my editing. This isn't a new revelation; I gave up reading "how to" books six months or so ago, and agent blogs since mid-summer.

Agents seemed, to me, to give off the impression that they're judges, arbiters of taste, and that my job is to please them. Which requires following the rules and keeping them entertained and blah blah blah. Now, I don't mean that agents feel this way, but rather: in my insecure, people-pleasing, out-of-touch way, I gave up my own agency (!)--my artistic identity and destiny--and tried to pass the responsability of my work to agents by listening to them to my work's detriment. I got scared of making my own rules and going my own way, and tried to use theirs, go theirs. I put them on a pedestal, and ruined my last novel.

Which I'm still coming to terms with. I've spent God knows how long on the edits, and it turns out my rough draft may be better.

So, in my quest to turn that into a good novel instead of a wordy script, I've decided to write in an entirely different way for my NaNo project.

The premise for my NaNo work is something I've wanted to "find time" for since early summer, and I love working on it.

And:
Unlike my previous manuscript, this one is in first person, and only has one main character.
It has clear villains, though they aren't black-hearted black hats (of course)
There is as much description and internal monologue as I can stuff in.

I've already learned that I have much more latent/instinctive knowledge about plot structure than I'd realized, that internal monologue and scene description aren't as frightening or foreign as I'd thought, and that "prep" becomes busy work relatively early in the writing process.

Of course, it's only the middle of week one, and I'm only about 10,000 words in...but so far I've been very pleasantly surprised with what "playing to my weaknesses" really means. Whether or not this manuscript ever comes of anything, it's doing wonders for my confidence and my sense of self as a writer.

doomed if you don't

Sure, I started NaNoWriMo on time like the consceincious little A-student I am, but it wasn't that great. 1.5K in, and writing it out was a chore.

But yesterday I decided to try and get back to my personal quota-- 2.5K/day. Which meant I was supposed to have five thousand words down by close of business yesterday. I packed them in.

About half were inserted between words that were already there: long digressions about the characters' feelings, backstory, sensory detail, BLAH BLAH BLAH. The other half were mostly centered on meals; a picnic lunch and cold-leftovers for dinner. But it was FUN. And I'm actually pretty excited by what I have down.

Here are the great things about writing a long ass novel:

-- There's room to play.
-- Going inside the narrator's head is fair game.
-- It's ok not to know where you're going until you get there.
-- Or, conversely, it's ok to know where you want to go and let the path wander in no kind of straight line.


For me, writing yesterday was all about the way space can loosen inhibitions and waken the imagination. My story felt new and alive.

And the shorthand of saying: "I'm doing nano" is sure nice, too.

Ok, yeah, I'm a convert. Sometimes being a follower is kind of nice. Going on the warpath: at least not having to martial the troops gives a grunt more time to enjoy the journey.

Novel Revelation

I've tried to read manuscripts before--whole ones, from people who have been working on them for loooong periods. And I've been burned.

The ones I've read have been by people who have never written anything before, and who don't think of themselves as writers. Not to say they weren't dedicated; after all, they'd drafted AND revised a novel-length manuscript, and gone to the trouble of taking a local class/joining a writing group/finding a critique partner.

BUT their manuscripts have generally not read like books. Reading one and commenting on it could become a huge chore, because they weren't novels, they were fictionalized reports. Usually, they'd come from a very smart person in an interesting field, who wanted to write an account of their work without breaking confidentiality or ruining their security clearance. So while the facts were often fascinating, there was little word play, few actual scenes, and tons of barely integrated facts.

What these people *really* wanted was to process their experience, and used fiction to do it.

Which, I suppose, is what all writers do to a degree; they work through things using their fictional characters and fictional situations. The difference isn't whether writing CAN be therapeutic, because it always CAN be--it's whether therapy or understanding is the aim, or if storytelling is.

And though therapeutic writing *can* be powerful and interesting, it's not especially suited for novel-length stories. At best, it lacks momentum, and at worst, it's inaccessible to anyone outside the writer's head.

Which is why reading the manuscript I'm "critiquing" now is such a revelation. I can only hope this is how my own manuscript reads: like a story. Sure, it's a draft, and there are flaws. But it's got the *flavor* of a book; this is the story of the most important and defining period of a fascinating man's life, and he's living in his own world, telling his own story, as opposed to operating in a pale shadow the writer's. This feels like it has its focus on the *audience* as opposed to the writer.

I started reading it yesterday, and I'm finished now--because it was *fun* to read. The story exists in its own world, with its own characters, and I love both the place and the people; when I'm gone from them for too long, I start longing to go back. That's artistry, as well as craftsmanship, and that's why this feels like the beginnings of a professional effort, and not an amateur one.

So, in a nutshell: is the difference between professional and amateur storytelling the difference between a story existing for the audience's pleasure and benefit as opposed to, for the author's?

the criticism dovetailed beautifully

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.

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.

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).

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

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.