I'm hoping NaNo will save my writing. I figure, with the high daily word quota and the rule against using pre-NaNo work, I'll be FORCED to blather a bit each day. Which will, hopefully, do wonders for my pacing.
It's awful; I'm so proud of the outlining and plot-work I did on my last manuscript, but now that I've gotten it as tight as it can possibly go, it turns out I've got to insert some breathing space. WHA?
How can that even be done? Where is there room for marshmellow gooeyness, and how can I find it? What do I even blather *about*? As it is, I figure you see everything you need to see, know everything you need to know...but everyone who reads it says it moves WAY too fast--they can't keep up, and they don't really want to. Wow, that's a blow.
And what makes it worse is that they all think my dialogue and language and even premise is really strong, that the problem is: the world I've created is an unfriendly one, that they don't want to be a part of. The characters are apparently all unlikeable, and the place is confusing, and things are flying around too fast.
The problem probably began in me constructing SUCH a tight, complicated outline, in me thinking like a scriptwriter and not a novelist. So while I'll have to re-edit for "story" (as opposed to plot) and GOD KNOWS what else.... I've decided to write a new manuscript using completely different methods.
That new method is: knowing the characters fairly well, knowing the premise fairly well, and letting the plot take shape. It might mean there is much less of a plot at all--but frankly, maybe novels are better off focusing on one thing well, as opposed to big screen style action.
So of course, I'm now wishing November first would never come. How am I going to go from analyzing the sh*t out of structure to just letting it flow?
In some ways this is an outgrowth of my summer-time decision: to be as authentic and truthful and even whimsical as possible. I think that vow was a good one; it brought out a lot more creativity and emotion--in my life, as well as my writing--than would otherwise have been possible. Now's the time for even more trust, even more wonder, even more serenity.
UUUUUUUUUUGH! I'll have to trust my own mind and the characters to take me through this novel, and that's tough for an over-educated over-analyzer like me.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
crawling inside is a slow but endlessly rewarding process
The following are my "lecture" notes for the Oct. 27th workshop I led in Baltimore.
STRUCTURE: CHARACTER NOTE-TAKING/OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong feel for your characters will give the reader a feeling of EMOTIONAL DEPTH, and helps the writer keep their story AUTHENTIC.
HOW TO TAKE CHARACTER NOTES:
Step 1: Inspiration
This is when a sound or image sticks in your mind, or a seemingly fully formed character starts talking in your head. Inspiration can happen anytime, anywhere—something need not seem inspirational to germinate into a fantastic story. The key is to accept and respect that inspiration, whatever its humble basis.
When it comes, get your entire brainstorm on paper as fast as you can. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense yet—this is just an exploration, not even a draft.
Tip: if you’re having trouble “finding” inspiration, try being completely quiet and staring out a window or wall for five or ten minutes. It’s the “ass in chair” method, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll get so bored within a minute or two that your imagination will start running wild.
Step 2: Fill in the Blanks
Let your newly found character stay on the fringes of your mind as you go about your days, just like you do with your friends or family. For example, when you’re shopping, think about what your character would like to buy; figure out what they can afford, where they work, who is important to them.
Whenever you hit on a fact that feels right to you, jot it down. This could happen anyplace, anytime, so keep paper and pen with you.
Once you’ve got a name, age, occupation, and a general feel for your character(s), try filling out surveys for them, or creating an anatomy (see handout). The longer your piece, the more detail you may want to include. And if your piece is longer than a prose poem or short story, you may want to do this for more than one character. As you get to know these “people,” their web of connections will probably grow; characters will introduce you to one another.
Sign of a good character: Contradictions
All people, and so all characters, have both virtues and vices. But what is best about a character is usually also what is worst—it all depends on the situation or context. For example, a character may be a very tough, strong leader. That grit may be fantastic for keeping her family in line, but it may be terrible when it comes to building a romantic relationship. A character may be bold and quick thinking, which comes in handy when he is bullied by his boss, but may make him flaky and irresponsible when dealing with his family. Think of virtues and vices as two sides of the same coin; often, a character need only have one strong virtue or vice in order to be compelling—but that characteristic will define the character, so choose carefully.
Step 3: Put your character in hell
Now that you know him or her inside out, you can probably figure out: what would be the worst possible situation for your character? What journey would force them to grow the most? Let your mind play over the possibilities for as long as it takes—once you know the worst obstacle your character could face, and what changes they will have to make within themselves to face it, you’ve got your premise and all you need of a plot.
Finding the right plot for your character may be the most important step. It will provide a world and structure in which you can explore your character’s many facets. And don’t worry; if you’ve created a character with contradictions and story potential, you’ll be able to mine his or her story for as long as it takes. Many TV shows (Ex. Dexter, the Sopranos) are, at heart, extended character studies. TV shows created by finding a fascinating character or group and putting him, her or them into an intriguing situation each week—and they run for years!
Sign of a good plot for your character: Paradox/Compromise of Self
Do your character’s inherent contradictions force her into a situation in which she cannot remain as she has been, and still get what she needs (her goal)? The plot must force your character to change—a plot is the story of a character’s change. The central dilemma your character faces must 1. spring from her personality 2. seem unconquerable because of that same personality.
Why is this particular situation happening to this particular person, and why are they uniquely unprepared for it? What must they do to prepare? The climax of the story is when the character finally makes the change they must in order to win her goal, but that climax must be hard won; she must have lost at least a piece of herself in the process (the piece that is lost is what is at stake).
Consider: What is your character's central dilemma? What is at stake for her/him? The more personal and important the stakes, the more power the climax will have.
Is This Useful?
Discovering the ins and outs of your character can be extremely useful during the drafting process. As you explore your character and try to figure out how they, personal limitations and all, can figure out their central dilemma, you shape your story. However, it can also be useful once you’ve gotten the draft down. Does the story feel authentic? A way to figure it out, is to see if your characters always act as themselves, and in their own best interests, instead of as unthinking cogs in your plot-machine.
When you’re doing macro-editing; i.e., homing in on your character’s stakes and making the climax as big and bold as possible, it can be useful to mine your character—to try and have them solve their problems for themselves, instead of imposing your solutions onto them. When you’re focused on the characters, what you’re really focusing on is finding the nugget of truth at the heart of your story—and that’s a great thing to think about when reviewing a finished draft, as well as while creating it.
To Sum Up:
The upside to basing your story’s structure on the characters is that you can create a powerful engine for your story. As long as you’ve found a character with potential to mine, you can keep the story going indefinitely.
The downside is that when you allow your character to lead the story, you may create a series of incidents for your characters to get through, rather than a unified plot. Without a full thematic/emotional arc, your story can end up feeling hallow and unfinished.
EXAMPLE: “Star Wars,” Anakin Skywalker
Character Contradiction: Love
He loves people (ie, his mother, his wife, his mentor/surrogate father Obi Won). Yet Jedi Knights must be selfless, and think only of the group--they can't have attachments, and they can't let people become attached to them. He cannot love everyone (as a Jedi) and individuals (as a man) at once.
Paradox:
If Anakin keeps love in his life- if he stays a part of life at all- he can't be a Jedi anymore... but if he isn't a Jedi anymore, he no longer deserves his friend's/family's love.
His struggle is between his ability/need to give all of himself (to love, to ambition, etc) and the healthful rationality of temperance, moderation, and reserve.
EXAMPLE: Twilight, Bella Swan
Character Contradiction: Obedience
She is an obedient, “good” daughter, but she’s also in thrall to a powerful love. She cannot be obedient both to her parents and to her boyfriend/her heart.
Paradox:
Bella's struggle in Twilight is between keeping her man but changing herself, or losing her man but staying true to herself.
In both Anakin's and Bella's stories, the dilemma is: how much of myself should I compromise? How much can I compromise and remain me?
Though both “Star Wars” and Twilight have been panned for their lack of artistry, they are compelling to millions of people—because both are carried by characters trapped in an unsolvable personal paradox. The tension of a character’s dilemma can be enough to drive a story—even over the course of a series.
STRUCTURE: CHARACTER NOTE-TAKING/OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong feel for your characters will give the reader a feeling of EMOTIONAL DEPTH, and helps the writer keep their story AUTHENTIC.
HOW TO TAKE CHARACTER NOTES:
Step 1: Inspiration
This is when a sound or image sticks in your mind, or a seemingly fully formed character starts talking in your head. Inspiration can happen anytime, anywhere—something need not seem inspirational to germinate into a fantastic story. The key is to accept and respect that inspiration, whatever its humble basis.
When it comes, get your entire brainstorm on paper as fast as you can. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense yet—this is just an exploration, not even a draft.
Tip: if you’re having trouble “finding” inspiration, try being completely quiet and staring out a window or wall for five or ten minutes. It’s the “ass in chair” method, and if you’re anything like me, you’ll get so bored within a minute or two that your imagination will start running wild.
Step 2: Fill in the Blanks
Let your newly found character stay on the fringes of your mind as you go about your days, just like you do with your friends or family. For example, when you’re shopping, think about what your character would like to buy; figure out what they can afford, where they work, who is important to them.
Whenever you hit on a fact that feels right to you, jot it down. This could happen anyplace, anytime, so keep paper and pen with you.
Once you’ve got a name, age, occupation, and a general feel for your character(s), try filling out surveys for them, or creating an anatomy (see handout). The longer your piece, the more detail you may want to include. And if your piece is longer than a prose poem or short story, you may want to do this for more than one character. As you get to know these “people,” their web of connections will probably grow; characters will introduce you to one another.
Sign of a good character: Contradictions
All people, and so all characters, have both virtues and vices. But what is best about a character is usually also what is worst—it all depends on the situation or context. For example, a character may be a very tough, strong leader. That grit may be fantastic for keeping her family in line, but it may be terrible when it comes to building a romantic relationship. A character may be bold and quick thinking, which comes in handy when he is bullied by his boss, but may make him flaky and irresponsible when dealing with his family. Think of virtues and vices as two sides of the same coin; often, a character need only have one strong virtue or vice in order to be compelling—but that characteristic will define the character, so choose carefully.
Step 3: Put your character in hell
Now that you know him or her inside out, you can probably figure out: what would be the worst possible situation for your character? What journey would force them to grow the most? Let your mind play over the possibilities for as long as it takes—once you know the worst obstacle your character could face, and what changes they will have to make within themselves to face it, you’ve got your premise and all you need of a plot.
Finding the right plot for your character may be the most important step. It will provide a world and structure in which you can explore your character’s many facets. And don’t worry; if you’ve created a character with contradictions and story potential, you’ll be able to mine his or her story for as long as it takes. Many TV shows (Ex. Dexter, the Sopranos) are, at heart, extended character studies. TV shows created by finding a fascinating character or group and putting him, her or them into an intriguing situation each week—and they run for years!
Sign of a good plot for your character: Paradox/Compromise of Self
Do your character’s inherent contradictions force her into a situation in which she cannot remain as she has been, and still get what she needs (her goal)? The plot must force your character to change—a plot is the story of a character’s change. The central dilemma your character faces must 1. spring from her personality 2. seem unconquerable because of that same personality.
Why is this particular situation happening to this particular person, and why are they uniquely unprepared for it? What must they do to prepare? The climax of the story is when the character finally makes the change they must in order to win her goal, but that climax must be hard won; she must have lost at least a piece of herself in the process (the piece that is lost is what is at stake).
Consider: What is your character's central dilemma? What is at stake for her/him? The more personal and important the stakes, the more power the climax will have.
Is This Useful?
Discovering the ins and outs of your character can be extremely useful during the drafting process. As you explore your character and try to figure out how they, personal limitations and all, can figure out their central dilemma, you shape your story. However, it can also be useful once you’ve gotten the draft down. Does the story feel authentic? A way to figure it out, is to see if your characters always act as themselves, and in their own best interests, instead of as unthinking cogs in your plot-machine.
When you’re doing macro-editing; i.e., homing in on your character’s stakes and making the climax as big and bold as possible, it can be useful to mine your character—to try and have them solve their problems for themselves, instead of imposing your solutions onto them. When you’re focused on the characters, what you’re really focusing on is finding the nugget of truth at the heart of your story—and that’s a great thing to think about when reviewing a finished draft, as well as while creating it.
To Sum Up:
The upside to basing your story’s structure on the characters is that you can create a powerful engine for your story. As long as you’ve found a character with potential to mine, you can keep the story going indefinitely.
The downside is that when you allow your character to lead the story, you may create a series of incidents for your characters to get through, rather than a unified plot. Without a full thematic/emotional arc, your story can end up feeling hallow and unfinished.
EXAMPLE: “Star Wars,” Anakin Skywalker
Character Contradiction: Love
He loves people (ie, his mother, his wife, his mentor/surrogate father Obi Won). Yet Jedi Knights must be selfless, and think only of the group--they can't have attachments, and they can't let people become attached to them. He cannot love everyone (as a Jedi) and individuals (as a man) at once.
Paradox:
If Anakin keeps love in his life- if he stays a part of life at all- he can't be a Jedi anymore... but if he isn't a Jedi anymore, he no longer deserves his friend's/family's love.
His struggle is between his ability/need to give all of himself (to love, to ambition, etc) and the healthful rationality of temperance, moderation, and reserve.
EXAMPLE: Twilight, Bella Swan
Character Contradiction: Obedience
She is an obedient, “good” daughter, but she’s also in thrall to a powerful love. She cannot be obedient both to her parents and to her boyfriend/her heart.
Paradox:
Bella's struggle in Twilight is between keeping her man but changing herself, or losing her man but staying true to herself.
In both Anakin's and Bella's stories, the dilemma is: how much of myself should I compromise? How much can I compromise and remain me?
Though both “Star Wars” and Twilight have been panned for their lack of artistry, they are compelling to millions of people—because both are carried by characters trapped in an unsolvable personal paradox. The tension of a character’s dilemma can be enough to drive a story—even over the course of a series.
Monday, October 26, 2009
notes from the underground
STRUCTURE: PLOT-CENTRIC OUTLINING
THE POINT:
A strong narrative structure gives the reader a feeling of momentum, and helps the writer focus on the story he or she wants to tell.
HOW TO OUTLINE:
Step 1: Find your premise
The premise is your story’s basic idea. This is what you answer when someone asks, “What is your story about?” It is sometimes called a logline.
Tip: If you’re having trouble finding an interesting premise, you might think of two words that contradict each other. Then start imagining how those words came together.
Ex. “Fight Club,” or “Beggar God”
Step 2: Should You Use a 3-Act or 5-Act Structure?
3 ACT
1. Decision
2. Action
3. Consequences
5 ACT
1. Problem—the characters decide to solve it
2. They try an easy solution—but that solution fails
3. They discover the real problem
4. Put together a solution
5. Solve the problem—or, decisively fail to solve it
Tip: For longer pieces, like plays, scripts, or novels, a five-act structure gives a strong framework for your narrative. The three-act structure might work best, however, at the very start of a piece, or for a shorter work (or even while trying to figure out the shape of each act in a 5-act structured story). Figuring out where your first act begins and ends (where the characters make the decision that starts them on their journey) can be especially important, and that’s where a three-act outline might be most useful.
Step 3: Reverse-Engineer Your Characters
What characters would be most interesting to see work through the plotline you’ve just developed? Sometimes characters are very close to our hearts, but don’t fit into the pieces we happen to be writing on at the moment—that’s ok! You can write as many stories as you want—but don’t try and shove them into a story that isn’t theirs. Give them the respect and space to tell their own story.
If you can’t tell whether a particular character belongs in a story or not, think about their thematic or emotional arc. Usually, a plot will tell the story of a particular journey (such as: a journey from isolation to togetherness, or from being a child to being an adult). All the characters should go on a similar journey, in their own way. If a character’s journey isn’t related to the plot’s thematic arc, maybe he or she belongs in a different story.
Tip: When you’re trying to find characters that fit into your plotline, consider: Who is the worst possible person to be in this situation? Who would have the furthest to travel to reach the story’s resolution?
Is This Useful?
Outlining the plot before finding your characters or starting to write might not work for you—or it might not work for every story. Outlines and plots are just tools you can use if you get stuck or don’t know where to start. You can use none, some, or all of these steps—whatever you might need for a particular story.
Sometimes, outlining can actually be most useful when you’re going back to edit a story you’ve already written. If you make an outline after you’ve already gotten a full draft down, it can help you spot any plot holes, characters you’ve forgotten about, or places where you may need to include more information.
To Sum Up:
The good thing about having a strong outline: if you think about the characters’ goals and obstacles before you start, you don’t have to worry about your characters becoming aimless or losing focus while you write their stories.
The downside is that your storytelling might become rigid or you may become bored with the story. Ultimately, you are the master of your story’s universe, and you get to do whatever you want—regardless of what you’ve outlined.
EXAMPLE: Independence Day
Premise: Hostile aliens come to Earth.
In Three Acts:
1. Individuals decide to fight the aliens.
2. Each human tries to stop the aliens from taking over, but the aliens keep winning. So the humans band together.
3. Working together, the humans drive the aliens away.
In Five Acts:
1. Hostile aliens arrive on earth and individual humans decide to stop them. The most powerful humans decide to use diplomacy.
2. But the aliens refuse to cooperate; they have no mercy. The humans must use force.
3. But fighting the aliens as individuals—or even individual countries—is hopeless.
4. So all the humans band together to fight
5. And they win!
The easy solution was to talk to the aliens—FAILS.
The hard but right solution was for the humans to talk to each other—WINS
The plot’s thematic/emotional arc is: we are stronger together than we are apart.
The character’s individual stories each follow the same arc. Ex. Bill Pullman’s pilot starts out as a drunk, isolated lowlife. By the movie’s end he reunites with his family and sacrifices himself for the entire human race.
An isolated, drunken lowlife is the worst possible person to do what his character must ultimately do: come together with the rest of humanity and save the world. Because his journey takes him from one extreme (isolation) to the other (self sacrifice for the good of the group), it’s the most interesting version of the journey possible.
-------------------------------- PS ---------------------
These are the notes I provided for the ex-offender workshop I led last week. Don't worry--I'm not a scriptwriting hack ALL the time; this week we're talking about shaping a story around its characters, instead of the other way around. If you don't agree with some/all of these notes, I'd love to hear it. I'm going back to the workshop tomorrow, so there's still time to set everybody straight ;)
(By the way, I got the three-act structure definition from a blog that I can no longer find, and the five-act is based on a book I read on mystery writing. If any of you remember who said/wrote the three-act structure definition, I'd really appreciate it).
THE POINT:
A strong narrative structure gives the reader a feeling of momentum, and helps the writer focus on the story he or she wants to tell.
HOW TO OUTLINE:
Step 1: Find your premise
The premise is your story’s basic idea. This is what you answer when someone asks, “What is your story about?” It is sometimes called a logline.
Tip: If you’re having trouble finding an interesting premise, you might think of two words that contradict each other. Then start imagining how those words came together.
Ex. “Fight Club,” or “Beggar God”
Step 2: Should You Use a 3-Act or 5-Act Structure?
3 ACT
1. Decision
2. Action
3. Consequences
5 ACT
1. Problem—the characters decide to solve it
2. They try an easy solution—but that solution fails
3. They discover the real problem
4. Put together a solution
5. Solve the problem—or, decisively fail to solve it
Tip: For longer pieces, like plays, scripts, or novels, a five-act structure gives a strong framework for your narrative. The three-act structure might work best, however, at the very start of a piece, or for a shorter work (or even while trying to figure out the shape of each act in a 5-act structured story). Figuring out where your first act begins and ends (where the characters make the decision that starts them on their journey) can be especially important, and that’s where a three-act outline might be most useful.
Step 3: Reverse-Engineer Your Characters
What characters would be most interesting to see work through the plotline you’ve just developed? Sometimes characters are very close to our hearts, but don’t fit into the pieces we happen to be writing on at the moment—that’s ok! You can write as many stories as you want—but don’t try and shove them into a story that isn’t theirs. Give them the respect and space to tell their own story.
If you can’t tell whether a particular character belongs in a story or not, think about their thematic or emotional arc. Usually, a plot will tell the story of a particular journey (such as: a journey from isolation to togetherness, or from being a child to being an adult). All the characters should go on a similar journey, in their own way. If a character’s journey isn’t related to the plot’s thematic arc, maybe he or she belongs in a different story.
Tip: When you’re trying to find characters that fit into your plotline, consider: Who is the worst possible person to be in this situation? Who would have the furthest to travel to reach the story’s resolution?
Is This Useful?
Outlining the plot before finding your characters or starting to write might not work for you—or it might not work for every story. Outlines and plots are just tools you can use if you get stuck or don’t know where to start. You can use none, some, or all of these steps—whatever you might need for a particular story.
Sometimes, outlining can actually be most useful when you’re going back to edit a story you’ve already written. If you make an outline after you’ve already gotten a full draft down, it can help you spot any plot holes, characters you’ve forgotten about, or places where you may need to include more information.
To Sum Up:
The good thing about having a strong outline: if you think about the characters’ goals and obstacles before you start, you don’t have to worry about your characters becoming aimless or losing focus while you write their stories.
The downside is that your storytelling might become rigid or you may become bored with the story. Ultimately, you are the master of your story’s universe, and you get to do whatever you want—regardless of what you’ve outlined.
EXAMPLE: Independence Day
Premise: Hostile aliens come to Earth.
In Three Acts:
1. Individuals decide to fight the aliens.
2. Each human tries to stop the aliens from taking over, but the aliens keep winning. So the humans band together.
3. Working together, the humans drive the aliens away.
In Five Acts:
1. Hostile aliens arrive on earth and individual humans decide to stop them. The most powerful humans decide to use diplomacy.
2. But the aliens refuse to cooperate; they have no mercy. The humans must use force.
3. But fighting the aliens as individuals—or even individual countries—is hopeless.
4. So all the humans band together to fight
5. And they win!
The easy solution was to talk to the aliens—FAILS.
The hard but right solution was for the humans to talk to each other—WINS
The plot’s thematic/emotional arc is: we are stronger together than we are apart.
The character’s individual stories each follow the same arc. Ex. Bill Pullman’s pilot starts out as a drunk, isolated lowlife. By the movie’s end he reunites with his family and sacrifices himself for the entire human race.
An isolated, drunken lowlife is the worst possible person to do what his character must ultimately do: come together with the rest of humanity and save the world. Because his journey takes him from one extreme (isolation) to the other (self sacrifice for the good of the group), it’s the most interesting version of the journey possible.
-------------------------------- PS ---------------------
These are the notes I provided for the ex-offender workshop I led last week. Don't worry--I'm not a scriptwriting hack ALL the time; this week we're talking about shaping a story around its characters, instead of the other way around. If you don't agree with some/all of these notes, I'd love to hear it. I'm going back to the workshop tomorrow, so there's still time to set everybody straight ;)
(By the way, I got the three-act structure definition from a blog that I can no longer find, and the five-act is based on a book I read on mystery writing. If any of you remember who said/wrote the three-act structure definition, I'd really appreciate it).
Saturday, October 24, 2009
i'm going 85 in a 25mph zone
Today, my class workshoped my manuscript's first chapter. This chapter has been my bane for nine months or so, and after having it workshoped four times, I figured this was it-- this was the chapter at its finest.
No.
Basically, they liked what was there, but were utterly lost because of what wasn't. They wanted context on the micro scale (clothes, setting, more speech tags) and on the macro (who is the protagonist?).
I'm crushed.
But after class, some of the students said things that really helped:
--The pace is too fast, and there isn't enough exposition. It reads like a script. A good script, but not a readable prose piece.
--My voice is strong, so I can afford to start a bit slower.
--Start with the main character-- which, in this case, is a virus.
--And read more Stephen King.
I've actually written the (slower) scene they want me to start the story with, and I've got a lot of the exposition in my head. But halfway through the critique, I just felt so lost and frustrated; everyone always says I'm a good writer, but that this isn't my best work. Than what the hell IS my best? I've worked my ass off on this thing!
But by the end of the session, it had become clearer. Guess I'm still too mired in the script mentality-- ie, speed is good, expos is boring.
I've got to commit 100% into this prose thing, or, at least I have to while I'm writing a prose piece. In my heart of hearts, I knew that was true, that I couldn't let go of my script-training; that's why I'm so excited to start my NaNoWriMo project and try a different way of structuring prose, a different focus.
Instead of plotting that one, stepsheet/movie style, I'm working on knowing the characters inside out, creating a VERY basic skeleton, and then working the story out as I go. It'll be much more character based, and have about 1% of my last manuscript's plot.
I'm still going to work on this one, I suppose, though mostly out of obstinance and spite. Hey, every artist has a different but equally valid reason for doing what they do :P
No.
Basically, they liked what was there, but were utterly lost because of what wasn't. They wanted context on the micro scale (clothes, setting, more speech tags) and on the macro (who is the protagonist?).
I'm crushed.
But after class, some of the students said things that really helped:
--The pace is too fast, and there isn't enough exposition. It reads like a script. A good script, but not a readable prose piece.
--My voice is strong, so I can afford to start a bit slower.
--Start with the main character-- which, in this case, is a virus.
--And read more Stephen King.
I've actually written the (slower) scene they want me to start the story with, and I've got a lot of the exposition in my head. But halfway through the critique, I just felt so lost and frustrated; everyone always says I'm a good writer, but that this isn't my best work. Than what the hell IS my best? I've worked my ass off on this thing!
But by the end of the session, it had become clearer. Guess I'm still too mired in the script mentality-- ie, speed is good, expos is boring.
I've got to commit 100% into this prose thing, or, at least I have to while I'm writing a prose piece. In my heart of hearts, I knew that was true, that I couldn't let go of my script-training; that's why I'm so excited to start my NaNoWriMo project and try a different way of structuring prose, a different focus.
Instead of plotting that one, stepsheet/movie style, I'm working on knowing the characters inside out, creating a VERY basic skeleton, and then working the story out as I go. It'll be much more character based, and have about 1% of my last manuscript's plot.
I'm still going to work on this one, I suppose, though mostly out of obstinance and spite. Hey, every artist has a different but equally valid reason for doing what they do :P
Friday, October 23, 2009
miracles, in government buildings
I just wrote an essay about my writing aspirations that turned into one about the joys of teaching.
And I meant all of it, despite yesterday's post. Well, not despite-- in addition to. Who says white is the new black?
On the one hand, teaching--and I've done a fair amount, though I've never had my own class for the course of an academic year--is awful. You're in charge of twenty-five or thirty moving bodies all at once, and all of those minds have got to learn something while you're keeping them safe and engaged. Sometimes it just doesn't gel. In fact, it often devolves (at least at the K-12 level) into babysitting.
BUT
When it doesn't, it is amazing. Just in the past month, I've had the same kids over and over in math class and have actually helped them learn. There's a moment when they figure out a new concept that feels like a miracle-- real, true communication. The teacher has just taken an abstract concept that can't be directly articulated and passed it from her head to a kid's. How miraculous is that?
Just because it happens every day doesn't mean it isn't a miracle-- and yes, that word is WAYYYY overused. But isn't attempting that kind of ineffable communication a writer's life work? It's like watching a reader read your novel and digest it and connect it to her own life, all at once and one-on-one.
So yeah, when I'm exhausted because I haven't had enough time to form the ideas (do the actual writing) in my own mind, or when I'm just physically busted from trying to teach each day all day, it feels AWFUL. There must be balance between forming the ideas and communicating them. But that balance is possible, and finding it is the dream of every teacher, writer, director, actor, composer, painter, sculptor, artist, hell-- maybe every manager. Like all beginners, I suppose, I'm still working to find mine.
And I meant all of it, despite yesterday's post. Well, not despite-- in addition to. Who says white is the new black?
On the one hand, teaching--and I've done a fair amount, though I've never had my own class for the course of an academic year--is awful. You're in charge of twenty-five or thirty moving bodies all at once, and all of those minds have got to learn something while you're keeping them safe and engaged. Sometimes it just doesn't gel. In fact, it often devolves (at least at the K-12 level) into babysitting.
BUT
When it doesn't, it is amazing. Just in the past month, I've had the same kids over and over in math class and have actually helped them learn. There's a moment when they figure out a new concept that feels like a miracle-- real, true communication. The teacher has just taken an abstract concept that can't be directly articulated and passed it from her head to a kid's. How miraculous is that?
Just because it happens every day doesn't mean it isn't a miracle-- and yes, that word is WAYYYY overused. But isn't attempting that kind of ineffable communication a writer's life work? It's like watching a reader read your novel and digest it and connect it to her own life, all at once and one-on-one.
So yeah, when I'm exhausted because I haven't had enough time to form the ideas (do the actual writing) in my own mind, or when I'm just physically busted from trying to teach each day all day, it feels AWFUL. There must be balance between forming the ideas and communicating them. But that balance is possible, and finding it is the dream of every teacher, writer, director, actor, composer, painter, sculptor, artist, hell-- maybe every manager. Like all beginners, I suppose, I'm still working to find mine.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Thoroughbred
On Tuesday, I led a workshop in Baltimore-- my first time leading an entire workshop on my own. It's for ex-offenders, and I guess the career center that sponsors it considers the workshopping at least vaguely therapeutic... but my professor introduced it to me a couple years ago when all my writing experience was shaped by college, and I've always thought of it as a class rather than an ex-offender-focused artsy version of AA.
So I prepped a lecture and a few writing exercises, and drove an hour or two to a mall (the career center is in it, who knows why?) in which EVERYONE stared at me and snickered and acted weird... I think because I was the only non-African American person there. Of course, that made me feel awful. Because as a teacher, I'd been standing out all freaking day, alone with the kids and wearing my "goody two shoes leader" mask for seven hours straight. So I got to the mall and got to put on the "dumbass white girl" mask for a while, and then shove on the "younger than you but more educated and don't worry, not threatening at all" one.
And it was great hearing and discussing the workshoppers' stories, written right there on the fly. It was awesome to talk to them about plotting and structure, and see how new and exciting some of them found it. It's wonderful knowing that my education can be infectious.
After all, I'm terrible at following rules. I never read directions, and find people who do endlessly exasperating. So it should be a relief to lead class all day in the high school, then drive over and lead a quasi-therapeutic workshop for an extra couple hours, right? It should be a relief to be in charge. But it was exhausting, and there was that tinge of resentment: why should I help you, when nobody is helping me?
It was so much fun being a student. My whole job was to figure things out, and tons of people had been hired and masses of equipment bought specifically to help me do it. But now my job is to make sure *other* people figure things out, and while it can be satisfying, it's nowhere near as exhilarating as focusing on the concepts themselves. I've got to do all my writing-related learning in private, on the day's fringes.
Guess I'm an "idea," not a "people," person. Guess I'm not very pragmatic. Guess I'm selfish at heart.
This post has no point, except to say: how come teaching means you can't push *yourself* in your craft? Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but it's so frustrating to help other people do beginner versions of what I yearn every second to do myself. It's so frustrating constantly dragging people along, trying to get them caught up. It makes me think: is there actually a point in getting good at this stuff? If, past a certain point, you're expected to shove your own learning aside and simply pass on what you can? I feel like a used up has-been, at 23.
So, yeah: I do the critiques, I answer the questions, I push myself to be as clear and concise and honest and thoughtful as possible, and yes, teaching IS difficult... but not in the way learning is. Teaching is one kind of exercise in the limits of communication, and learning another, and frankly, the learning kind is so so so so much more fun.
Guess the moral of the story is: work less, write more.
So I prepped a lecture and a few writing exercises, and drove an hour or two to a mall (the career center is in it, who knows why?) in which EVERYONE stared at me and snickered and acted weird... I think because I was the only non-African American person there. Of course, that made me feel awful. Because as a teacher, I'd been standing out all freaking day, alone with the kids and wearing my "goody two shoes leader" mask for seven hours straight. So I got to the mall and got to put on the "dumbass white girl" mask for a while, and then shove on the "younger than you but more educated and don't worry, not threatening at all" one.
And it was great hearing and discussing the workshoppers' stories, written right there on the fly. It was awesome to talk to them about plotting and structure, and see how new and exciting some of them found it. It's wonderful knowing that my education can be infectious.
After all, I'm terrible at following rules. I never read directions, and find people who do endlessly exasperating. So it should be a relief to lead class all day in the high school, then drive over and lead a quasi-therapeutic workshop for an extra couple hours, right? It should be a relief to be in charge. But it was exhausting, and there was that tinge of resentment: why should I help you, when nobody is helping me?
It was so much fun being a student. My whole job was to figure things out, and tons of people had been hired and masses of equipment bought specifically to help me do it. But now my job is to make sure *other* people figure things out, and while it can be satisfying, it's nowhere near as exhilarating as focusing on the concepts themselves. I've got to do all my writing-related learning in private, on the day's fringes.
Guess I'm an "idea," not a "people," person. Guess I'm not very pragmatic. Guess I'm selfish at heart.
This post has no point, except to say: how come teaching means you can't push *yourself* in your craft? Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but it's so frustrating to help other people do beginner versions of what I yearn every second to do myself. It's so frustrating constantly dragging people along, trying to get them caught up. It makes me think: is there actually a point in getting good at this stuff? If, past a certain point, you're expected to shove your own learning aside and simply pass on what you can? I feel like a used up has-been, at 23.
So, yeah: I do the critiques, I answer the questions, I push myself to be as clear and concise and honest and thoughtful as possible, and yes, teaching IS difficult... but not in the way learning is. Teaching is one kind of exercise in the limits of communication, and learning another, and frankly, the learning kind is so so so so much more fun.
Guess the moral of the story is: work less, write more.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Cosmic Dissonance
As a reader, I love:
STRUCTURE
Momentum
Emphasis on cause and effect
Beginning-Middle-End
Intricate
LANGUAGE
Informal
Fast-paced
Colorful
SETTING
A slice of (emotionally foreign) life
Exotic in any way-- that could as well mean American suburban as ancient Egyptian
CHARACTER
Morally hazy
Is that what I write? Should it be?
STRUCTURE
Momentum
Emphasis on cause and effect
Beginning-Middle-End
Intricate
LANGUAGE
Informal
Fast-paced
Colorful
SETTING
A slice of (emotionally foreign) life
Exotic in any way-- that could as well mean American suburban as ancient Egyptian
CHARACTER
Morally hazy
Is that what I write? Should it be?
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