What I Assume

Though I’ve never paid significant attention to film critics, Roger Ebert has written a fairly stunning column on overcoming personal limitations through the art of writing: I think I’m musing my mind - Roger Ebert’s Journal. I clipped the following quotes on the art and practice of writing for later reference:

When I am writing my problems become invisible and I am the same person I always was. All is well. I am as I should be.

There is no such thing as waiting for inspiration. … The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before.

There is nothing you don’t "get" because there is nothing to get. You are the writer. What you write is what is written. It is exactly right because it is exactly what you wrote. … There is no objective goal, no objective right or wrong. Only the process. Your mind will set itself down in words. Do not criticize. Do not look back at every sentence. Just write. You have no idea where you are headed. Your words will lead you. This above all: Nothing is ever completed until it is started. Start. Don’t look back. If at the end it doesn’t meet your hopes, start again. Now you know more about your hopes.

Revised 11/06/08 in Phoenix, AZ.

A Fog of Fuzz

A fog of fuzz,
two magpies black
and whites aloof, in gray,
against a bearded veil of rain
their forked feet peck and kiss
the ashen leaves that stuff the iron drain.
And gutters flood the graveled road, frame
a fog of fur the magpies cluck at;
pull out a red steam worm.

We break through the storm
from opposite directions meeting for tea,
to pick and scrape at words. And how
can I describe this to you
like it was, like it is
my lover's love
for you.

Mirrors on the Inside

Must have been some miles
through cringing and crunches on a winter sidewalk
this guy comes in and orders coffee black
bits of ice hanging stuck in his silver beard,
his breath still warm enough
to fog in his glasses completely.
I noticed. He nodded.
“They're mirrors on the inside,” he says,
“but I can see my whole face twice in them.
Imagine, seeing your self up close
each time you come in where people are,
every flaw, every scar, every
unshaven needle of hair.
All the time.
It'll drive a man to kill, if he doesn't
find a way out.

“But if I take these glasses off
I'll trip over the chair just sitting down,
straitjacket and entangle myself just
getting this damn coat off.
I'd even miss my mouth when
I mean to sip the mug, and then
sue you for making the coffee too hot."

I smile, he grins. Then blows his heat up
refills himself with fog, and explains,
"So I keep them on, I try to ignore myself,
and stare at the glass itself,
the gray ghost wrapper
that I control.
It fades away again and again."

Going back through Adam Sexton’s Master Class in Fiction Writing (MCIFW) I continue my long review of the book by posting this summary and commentary on Chapter 2 Characterization: Sense and Sensibility.

Sexton begins ch 2 by bridging the storyline path to the topic of characterization by asserting that proper storyline conflicts provide and allow for deeper characterization. “…character drives plot, and vice versa.” But it is true that while storyline provides structure and interest, characters make it meaningful; in fact, many stories that we are familiar with are memorable as much through their characters as by their plot.

The literary case study for this topic is Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. Sexton first notes a few aspects of it’s storyline: though the novel relies on exposition (initiating the story with it–a risk, perhaps), Austen follows exposition with specific scenes (involving dialogue, not much description or action). Sense and Sensibility also employs rather passive protagonists, a curiosity which Sexton urges modern writers to resist.

Tertiary and Secondary Characters

Though there are many characters in this novel Austen brings them in “relatively gradually”, and rarely has multiple characters active in the same scene. “Storytelling”, Sexton writes, “is by definition undemocratic.” Not all characters should receive (nor deserve) equal time on the page. Concern with the protagonist consumes most of the characterization. “Tertiary, or third-level, characters are not especially distinguishable from the furniture, nor should they be. Tertiary characters do exactly what’s expected of them…and no more.” Though these characters are what E.M. Forster would call “flat”–they are consistent and predictable. This is not a criticism, Sexton tells us. In order to preserve character arc with our protagonist, and to continue the storyline in a manner that maintains interest and coherence. Writers need flat characters to do what they do, then get out of the way.

Continuing Forster’s description of “flat” characters we can see that secondary characters are “round”. Forster writes:

“The test of a round character is whether it is capable of surprising in a convincing way.”

We must beware of “blandly heroic” heroes (flat) or surprisingly heroic characters “with absolutely no prior indication that they were capable of doing so (falsely round).” Surprise then convince.

Primary Characters

Primary characters must be round to be effective. They’re probably imperfect–in fact some of the best protagonists are protagonists because they are deeply flawed–but they are convincingly so, and it may be due to their overcoming, working around, or giving into these imperfections as they respond to the conflicts of the storyline that they surprise the reader. In addition to being round, however, “the fourth dimension of characterization is motivation. Writers would do well to understand the (usually several) factors that motivate their primary characters, and while the writer should avoid articulating these explicitly, the motivations should be apparent to the reader through a mixture of scenes and exposition.

Character Dossiers

Sexton recommends that writers create a “dossier” for each character that are hoped to be three-dimensional. This is an activity recommended by many writing instructors, and is mirrored in Step 3 of Randy Ingermanson’s Snowflake method. I paraphrase Sexton’s question points as follows:

• Demographics (name, sex, political affiliation, education)
• Acquaintances
• Habits, interests, failures
• Emotional response triggers (happy, sad, angry, love, hate)
• Secrets (ambitions, mistakes, or truths)
• Singular desire as the essence of the character’s current state

Probably the best, most incisive part of this chapter is Sexton’s four ways of characterizing (with my comments):

1. “What the character does” In response to which I quote the Bible, “You will know them by their fruit. Grapes aren’t gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles…” Matthew 7:16. Sexton suggests this is the best method of characterization.
2. “What the character says (or thinks, if we have access to his thoughts) about himself.” My emphasis on about himself, however accurate or inaccurate this may be. This provides keen possibilities to flip surprise and believability on their heads.
3. “What others say (or think) about the character.” Again, this can be accurate or inaccurate, thereby revealing subtle traits of the target and the teller.
4. “What the narrator tells us about the character.” Sexton suggests this is the second-best method. I ask, Do we trust the narrator? Usually; in these cases the narrator’s authority may rival #1, cutting through the inaccuracies of words spoken about the character. Are there instances where we don’t trust the narrator? Yes, and let the games begin.

Characters in Contrast

Sexton continues that one can characterize by contrast, matching or obversing one character from another, e.g. how different characters respond the the same conflict or situation.

Metamorphoses

The final matter of characterization is metamorphoses. How do the primary characters grow or change in response to the conflicts? (From studying Shakespeare I would add, If they don’t what are the consequences of that failure to grow or change?) Character change in response to conflict can deliver reader satisfaction at the denouement; the story’s conflicts and outcomes become meaningful.

“Crisis reveals character.”

I’ve been drafting an alternate ending for A Mason’s Grip. This ending is considerably longer, which troubles me, but it is a draft, and I post it only to act as a tightly bound string to constrict and swell my thinking finger.

A Mason's Grip

We have signs that we two know
and no one else can recognize.
The Odyssey, Book XIII

This paper is torn in two:
My two mason’s hands grip
the larger scrap which still retains my name.

Your half is between bent fingers torn
bit by bit until
there is nothing to hold onto, nothing
to fear but your perforated palms.

This paper which joined our hands
let scatter, the white flakes of ash
breathed throughout the darkening park,
and eaten by the wind, who stomachs
a nightmare yell, comes back with claws
at my throat, begging me to choose:
to chase the scraps, or cherish
what remains within my reach;
neither path is guaranteed.

I coagulate in indecision
as empty-handed you
grow bored, turn,
and walk the tv on.

Some mornings I can’t bring myself to work on the project at hand, but rather than wasting that time on inconsequential tasks I can at least write on writing. In this instance I’ll post a few summaries and comments on Adam Sexton’s Master Class in Fiction Writing (MCIFW).

The introduction posits that writing is like any craft or skill; not only can it be taught, it must be taught. The question “how?” is answered with some of the best examples in the English language, ones which demonstrate the standard battery of writing skills:

• story structure
• characterization
• plot
• description
• dialogue
• point of view
• style, voice

Sexton suggests that one visit an art museum with a painter (as opposed to a historian or critic) and note how s/he looks at paintings for information and experience, learning from a wide variety of styles and techniques.

Chapter 1, “Story Structure: ‘Araby’” looks at the short story as defined by some of the most gifted writers in the English language. Whereas Lou Reed says, “But you can’t be Shakespeare and you can’t be Joyce / So what is left instead?” (Magic and Loss: The Summation) Sexton suggests that being gifted goes a long way, but otherwise you can write a story that looks like a story. While stories often feature a protagonist and an antagonist the good ones always focus on the main character’s needs.

And so we examine James Joyce’s short story “Araby” as a model for the structure of a short story, one in which the protagonist’s conflict may “be relatively trivial, as long as he needs it sincerely, needs it badly“(5). As an element of the short story’s structure, it is this that draws the reader into the story. Without stating it, Sexton implies that a story that does not intrigue and satisfy a reader is a story that has failed. I think Ray Bradbury would agree with this sentiment–regardless of what your story is saying it must be constructed in a way that is compelling.

Rather than examining what the work stands for or signifies, Sexton turns us to look at the structure: the consciously chosen title, how the opening scene draws us in and convinces us of the world being portrayed by delivering not to our intellect through exposition but to our senses through drama, and “unbalances us” before delivering the story in a mixture of the dramatic and the expository. The conflict in “Araby” is the boy’s crush on the girl, and his promise that “If I go… I will bring you something”. But as literary critics know this can be expanded to mean far more than the surface provides (religious conflict, maturation, etc) via subtext.

Sexton points out that the activating incident in “Araby” comes quickly, convincing the reader to keep reading, and that development occurs as “forces of antagonism” build not only tension but reader-involvement and commitment to our protagonist. And while in some stories the climax comes with finality (”Reader, I married him.”–Jane Eyre) or an explosive mano e mano, “Araby”’s climax is simply a resolution, even if that resolution is failure. The consequences of that resolution lies in the denouement, the “unraveling”–the part where the write can say, definitively, “The End”. “Araby”, Sexton suggests, is weak in this final feature.

This was one of those thrilling middle-of-the-night scribbles which I spent some time on this morning.

A Mason's Grip


We have signs that we two know
and no one else can recognize.
The Odyssey, Book XIII


This paper is lacerated in two:
My two mason's hands grip
the larger scrap which still retains my name.

Your half is between bent fingers torn
bit by bit until
there is nothing to hold onto, nothing
to fear but your perforated palms
knuckles, cuticles, and fingertips
flicking off the shreds like a farewell bid.
The white flakes of ash
breathed throughout the darkening park
to be buried in the wind.

Today I was writing the character sketch of the last primary character in the novel I’m trying hard to finish, and found myself quoting word-for-word what is probably the most famous line in any Star Trek film:

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

I include this trivia to evidence the fact that it’s hard to write anything without what Harold Bloom calls the anxiety of influence playing a role. For instance, nearly every time I reflect of the storyline of the early stages of my novel I say something like a little prayer: “Please let this not be like Harry Potter”, even though the two have absolutely nothing in common. Indeed, the sentiment is as much about my distaste (not, however, disrespect) for Rowling’s writing as it is about fears of attribution and appropriation. But even Rowling’s Potter series is based on everything from Star Wars to The Lord of the Rings to (perhaps most obnoxiously) Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game.

Cognizant of this, I’ve decided that rather than ignore the similarities between my effort and the successful efforts of others, I need to recognize them and focus on how mine is different, or on how my telling of (parts of) the same story needs to be told in it’s own particular way. One should only write the books that can’t not be written, and so all scrutiny to similarities should be acknowledged and considered.

Nearly a year ago, at a peak of mental anxiety, I decided to cease flitting around and write an ambitious novel based on a 10-minute dream. Let me be completely candid and communicate the importance of this particular challenge: while my love of the art of good fiction contributed to my desire, the critical motivation to embark on this challenge was far more personal, centering on nightmares of high school reunions (which I won’t attend) and the fear of mortal obliteration.

I started on this project in the early autumn of 2007, and have been working on it with good regularity in the mornings before work, trudging through outlines, character sketches, chapters, and half-chapters.

But as this summer rolled in I knew I was far behind my own expectations. I was revising chapter after chapter of the first third of the novel incessantly. I knew there was something wrong.

Being an English grad and a lover of literature, I have a comfortable knowledge of how to write, what a storyline looks like, and why character development happens. I’ve read and benefited from Adam Sexton’s Master Class in Fiction Writing. But pulling off the writing of a complete novel was more of a struggle than I had expected, and I began to wonder:

• Would this be a book that I as a reader would want to read?
• Could I keep the increasingly disparate events and characters cohesive for the second and third “acts”?
• Would this novel be a book I would want to have my name on, or if I would try to disassociate myself with a tricked-out nom de plume?

It was then that I stumbled upon Randy Ingermanson’s snowflake method , which oriented me to perceive my idea as if I were a reader picking the book up off the shelf. I began by writing a single-sentence synopsis. That went well; however, at step 2 I froze: I could not write a summary of my novel in 5 cohesive sentences. There was just too much going on, and it was all over the map.

I forced myself to step back and said, OK, you have your main character, you have your scenario, you know the climax of the novel. Now write a 5 sentence summary around that, and make it intriguing.

My end result was not perfect, and it left most of my work on the first third of the novel unusable. But it is something I would want to read, and I am finally confident that I have planted the right seeds. I can now see how my summary fits into the traditional 3-act storyline that Peder Hill elaborates on in this diagram:

Very exciting.

I mean this to be neither “stream of consciousness” nor surrealist. And so while I think a lot of the lines are right, the structure or order is subject to on-going revision. To illustrate this, the original has color-coded lines, which I would use if I thought it wouldn’t be distracting.

How Bad You Want It

someday you might have time to learn to paint
it may be Spring when your son is embarrassed sick of you
air travel and it's thundering take-offs
fast is how it will grow boring
know by heart
her bare feet pressed the glove box
it was you who loosed each embrace
a winter morning too cold to buckle a seatbelt
acrid strings of spittle cling
alone in a public restroom and reading anything
will you call me she asked
young man
waited to shave, want now to stop
the surgeon tugs another bright-eyed insect light overhead
speak up
stay or go, just make up your mind
some in-flight turbulence, and it was a bumpy landing
thousands of unread titles have been written
you didn't build wings let alone melt them
as always, the librarian is turning off lights
there will be time
you can't always be the last to leave
the tv on all day
white noise helps you avoid hearing
music of an untranslated song still makes sense
change from a ten, two ones, two dimes, one penny
fibs chalk-mark the walls
perspirant halos from her perfect ten toes
is sleep black or beige
you have no idea
if the universe has a definite size and shape
blistered and rainbow-swirled
blow more bubbles
uncontrollable
variations within the species
where have you been
where were you when she wore that black dress
the living will never outnumber
a surprise of snowflakes
some February night or morning the newly dead dog froze stiff
know by touch
turning off the alarm that you yourself set
will you please shut the door
weep in the closet
nobody sees
it was the monkey who killed
with two open hands smacking temples
you didn't see it coming
look at this, look at this, dad, look at this
you'll appreciate sunshine and the smell of cut grass when you're feeling better
now it's too late
social behavior within packs condemns the weak and injured
so shut your mouth
despite the language barrier
I saw Darwin on the savanna chased by baboons and hyenas
don't let sleep take you
in bed her back turned against you
the space between stars
the scars will be small
another tattoo that didn't turn out right
no obvious branding of six-sixty-six
stitches will disintegrate
counting from one to ten, you fail at five
and now mother owl won't wake the sun
o, omnipotent
all-ending anesthetic
du kannst fliegen
we'll be there when you wake up
will you be
dreamless like the dead
perchance
one in a million typing monkeys
try your luck and roll the dice
if you can’t say something nice
call it dark matter