Monday, April 28, 2008
Don't flog me!
For those of you scabs at the Union, I need to explain my lack of posting for the last few days. As you can see by my oh-so-updated word count log here, I have not neglected my duties. I double posted one day so my count was over by 300 or something, so I held off on posting until I accumulated that much in real life. Maybe there's a better way to fix that kind of mistake, but from now on I will be more careful about checking my posting before I post.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Viewpoint #4
Assignment: Write a one-page sketch, consciously using first person central intelligence. For those of you who actually read this stuff, I am sorry to keep jerking you around with the viewpoint. The exercise comes first. It's hard to fit it into my cliched plot. Hard but fun.
“Fred, you are about the stupidest—I don’t want to get involved here. You have totally screwed yourself now.” I had just arrived at Fred’s place. Krystal was passed out on the couch, an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.
Fred ignored my protests. I stood in the middle of the room with my hands in my pockets watching my old friend frantically gathering Laina’s clothes and toiletries. I knew their marriage had been rocky recently, Laina was a jerk, but then….
I sighed. “If she keeps a diary, throw that in the suitcase.”
“Are you kiddin? Laina with a diary, that’s a laugh.” Fred grunted as he zipped up the suitcase full of Laina’s junk.
“I’m not kidding, it’s the way all wives get back at their husbands. Don’t you remember when they read Nicole Simpson’s diary in court?”
“You go find it then. I’m busy.” He rustled around in the closet and brought out a clothes bag, the kind used for suits.
I retreated to the bedroom, opening side-table drawers and exploring the crevices around the bed. Why did Fred have to call me anyway? I mean, yeah he’s helped me destroy some evidence in my time, hell even tamper with a few witnesses maybe, but never a body. And none of that stuff was really “unethical” because it wouldn’t have affected the outcome of the case. Just moved things along better. I’m the kind of lawyer who gets things done, not like those blowhards who stand around arguing for days or waste time researching stuff. I’m a street lawyer. Not like that poser Grisham wrote about, I come from the street and ain’t going back. Am not. Damn. Grammar sucks.
There was a slight gap between the mattresses at the foot of the bed. Bingo. I pried a slim hardcover volume out. Flipping through the pages, I knew I had found it. As I walked out into the living room with my trophy I realized that if I ever was in Fred’s position, I’d call me too.
“What’s your plan, genius?” I asked him as I tossed the diary on the lumpy suit-bag he was zipping up. It slid off at a crazy angle.
“Well now. I was thinking we could take all this and dump it in the bay. Just a couple of buddies going fishing.”
I scratched behind my ear. “What’s your story going to be when people ask where she went?”
Fred looked blank. Apparently the author had written herself into a corner.
“Fred, you are about the stupidest—I don’t want to get involved here. You have totally screwed yourself now.” I had just arrived at Fred’s place. Krystal was passed out on the couch, an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.
Fred ignored my protests. I stood in the middle of the room with my hands in my pockets watching my old friend frantically gathering Laina’s clothes and toiletries. I knew their marriage had been rocky recently, Laina was a jerk, but then….
I sighed. “If she keeps a diary, throw that in the suitcase.”
“Are you kiddin? Laina with a diary, that’s a laugh.” Fred grunted as he zipped up the suitcase full of Laina’s junk.
“I’m not kidding, it’s the way all wives get back at their husbands. Don’t you remember when they read Nicole Simpson’s diary in court?”
“You go find it then. I’m busy.” He rustled around in the closet and brought out a clothes bag, the kind used for suits.
I retreated to the bedroom, opening side-table drawers and exploring the crevices around the bed. Why did Fred have to call me anyway? I mean, yeah he’s helped me destroy some evidence in my time, hell even tamper with a few witnesses maybe, but never a body. And none of that stuff was really “unethical” because it wouldn’t have affected the outcome of the case. Just moved things along better. I’m the kind of lawyer who gets things done, not like those blowhards who stand around arguing for days or waste time researching stuff. I’m a street lawyer. Not like that poser Grisham wrote about, I come from the street and ain’t going back. Am not. Damn. Grammar sucks.
There was a slight gap between the mattresses at the foot of the bed. Bingo. I pried a slim hardcover volume out. Flipping through the pages, I knew I had found it. As I walked out into the living room with my trophy I realized that if I ever was in Fred’s position, I’d call me too.
“What’s your plan, genius?” I asked him as I tossed the diary on the lumpy suit-bag he was zipping up. It slid off at a crazy angle.
“Well now. I was thinking we could take all this and dump it in the bay. Just a couple of buddies going fishing.”
I scratched behind my ear. “What’s your story going to be when people ask where she went?”
Fred looked blank. Apparently the author had written herself into a corner.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Viewpoint exercise #3
This one made me kinda sick when I wrote it. I’m trying to fulfill the exercises while keeping it interesting. Thus, the bizzarity. So here’s the assignment: Write a scene from the omniscient viewpoint, going into as many viewpoints as you wish, and include a universal truth that you as author wish to convey. (Think Tolstoy and Hugo’s style with the loooong essays in between the action.)
A question to consider, dear reader. Why are some women attracted to violent men? Perhaps the female’s choice is based on inexperience—simple uneducated innocence. If on extricating herself from an abusive relationship every battered woman forever avoided dangerous males as bedfellows, this would be a plausible theory. Or could it be that she did not perceive the problem until it was too late. If that is so, what about the women who go on in marriages for years full of wall-slamming memories and threats? They stay because that male fulfills an empty place in every woman’s soul for a man. They stay because they want love the way other men love their wives or girlfriends, unconditionally. They stay because they think someday he’ll change. But he never changes. He only destroys her more each day.
Krystal had always known Fred. In him was her father, her first boyfriend. Did they create or feed her weakness? Did they deny her worth or did they stifle an inherently damaged soul? Krystal can no longer remember the details anyway. She sat on the deep leather sofa and rocked herself as she cried. She hadn’t meant for him to kill his wife. She knew she was his prisoner now, he had killed for her. That made her an accomplice.
Fred felt exhausted. It had only taken a few shoves of Laina’s head against the wall before she fell unconscious. Must have been a stud behind the wall. Too bad he couldn’t find them so easy when he wanted to hang a picture. He let her lay on the floor while he took the shower she had tried to stop. No one tells me what to do in my castle, he thought. Then when she still hadn’t moved after he got out, the horrible truth dawned on him. He had kicked her for being so stupid as to up and die on him. Now as he glowered at Krystal’s crazy hysterics, he just felt tired all over. He wanted to take a nap, but knew he’d better figure out what to do with the body. First, he needed some clothes.
A question to consider, dear reader. Why are some women attracted to violent men? Perhaps the female’s choice is based on inexperience—simple uneducated innocence. If on extricating herself from an abusive relationship every battered woman forever avoided dangerous males as bedfellows, this would be a plausible theory. Or could it be that she did not perceive the problem until it was too late. If that is so, what about the women who go on in marriages for years full of wall-slamming memories and threats? They stay because that male fulfills an empty place in every woman’s soul for a man. They stay because they want love the way other men love their wives or girlfriends, unconditionally. They stay because they think someday he’ll change. But he never changes. He only destroys her more each day.
Krystal had always known Fred. In him was her father, her first boyfriend. Did they create or feed her weakness? Did they deny her worth or did they stifle an inherently damaged soul? Krystal can no longer remember the details anyway. She sat on the deep leather sofa and rocked herself as she cried. She hadn’t meant for him to kill his wife. She knew she was his prisoner now, he had killed for her. That made her an accomplice.
Fred felt exhausted. It had only taken a few shoves of Laina’s head against the wall before she fell unconscious. Must have been a stud behind the wall. Too bad he couldn’t find them so easy when he wanted to hang a picture. He let her lay on the floor while he took the shower she had tried to stop. No one tells me what to do in my castle, he thought. Then when she still hadn’t moved after he got out, the horrible truth dawned on him. He had kicked her for being so stupid as to up and die on him. Now as he glowered at Krystal’s crazy hysterics, he just felt tired all over. He wanted to take a nap, but knew he’d better figure out what to do with the body. First, he needed some clothes.
Motivational quotes
The pain of discipline is less than the pain of regret
Dwight D. Eisenhower: There is no victory at bargain basement prices.
Walter Elliott: Perseverance is not a long race, it is many short races one after another.
Jerry West: You can't get much done in life if you only work on the days when you feel good.
I'd rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I'd rather be a has-been than a might-have-been, by far; for a might have-been has never been, but a has was once an are.
"The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph." - Thomas Paine
"Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or a gazelle - when the sun comes up, you'd better be running."
"The race is not always to the swift, but to those who keep on running."
"Start writing a new chapter, for if you live by the book you'll never make history." Ben Sobel
Dwight D. Eisenhower: There is no victory at bargain basement prices.
Walter Elliott: Perseverance is not a long race, it is many short races one after another.
Jerry West: You can't get much done in life if you only work on the days when you feel good.
I'd rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I'd rather be a has-been than a might-have-been, by far; for a might have-been has never been, but a has was once an are.
"The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph." - Thomas Paine
"Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or a gazelle - when the sun comes up, you'd better be running."
"The race is not always to the swift, but to those who keep on running."
"Start writing a new chapter, for if you live by the book you'll never make history." Ben Sobel
Monday, April 21, 2008
Viewpoint exercise #2
Assignment: Write a love scene consciously using the effaced narrator in any one of the third-person modes.
I chose an effaced narrator as a fixed point of view focusing on externals alone. Like watching a play. I must objectively report the action and perhaps infer emotions through external actions. So while this is a continuation of the story, the viewpoint has changed.
Krystal clutched her bag close and tip-toed to the door of the bathroom. She stood very close, with her ear cocked as if listening. Suddenly the door flew open and she was nose to neck with Fred. With a quick gasp, Krystal took a stumbling half-step back.
“Oh,” she stammered, “am I interrupting something?”
Fred had a dark blue towel tucked around his flat stomach slick with damp black hair. Beneath dark bristly eyebrows his black eyes crackled with desire. He seized her shoulders with more than the customary violence and pulled her to him in a moist, sticky embrace. She arched her neck back to receive his kisses, smiling the relaxed, open smile of an appreciated mistress. Opening her eyes, she stared through the doorway behind him and started to scream. Fred pressed her face down into his shoulder, half-smothering her.
“Hey, shut up,” He hissed.
Krystal continued to struggle. He dragged her over to the couch and dropped her on it. She bawled out great heaving cries, hiding her tears behind her hands. She had stopped screaming.
“What’s the big idea?” He drawled over her tears. “I thought you wanted it like this. Didn’t ya? I mean, c’mon you started it all.”
I chose an effaced narrator as a fixed point of view focusing on externals alone. Like watching a play. I must objectively report the action and perhaps infer emotions through external actions. So while this is a continuation of the story, the viewpoint has changed.
Krystal clutched her bag close and tip-toed to the door of the bathroom. She stood very close, with her ear cocked as if listening. Suddenly the door flew open and she was nose to neck with Fred. With a quick gasp, Krystal took a stumbling half-step back.
“Oh,” she stammered, “am I interrupting something?”
Fred had a dark blue towel tucked around his flat stomach slick with damp black hair. Beneath dark bristly eyebrows his black eyes crackled with desire. He seized her shoulders with more than the customary violence and pulled her to him in a moist, sticky embrace. She arched her neck back to receive his kisses, smiling the relaxed, open smile of an appreciated mistress. Opening her eyes, she stared through the doorway behind him and started to scream. Fred pressed her face down into his shoulder, half-smothering her.
“Hey, shut up,” He hissed.
Krystal continued to struggle. He dragged her over to the couch and dropped her on it. She bawled out great heaving cries, hiding her tears behind her hands. She had stopped screaming.
“What’s the big idea?” He drawled over her tears. “I thought you wanted it like this. Didn’t ya? I mean, c’mon you started it all.”
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Writing Exercise- Viewpoint
I just bought this super-fun book called "The Complete Guide to Writing Fiction and Non-Fiction (and getting published)" If you like Strunk and White, you'll like this. It's not a formula, but it takes real literature and Aristotle (my hero) and puts it into a guide to writing good fiction. It has exercises at the end of each chapter, and this one is an exercise in viewpoint. I'm supposed to write a sketch of a character in third person focusing on one consciousness. Here it is:
Krystal Douglas slid two shimmering legs out of the taxi and pointed her glossy toes as she paid the driver. It felt good to stretch her legs after the long ride. Snapping her silk-lined wallet shut, she dropped it in her patent-leather bag. Her newly-stretched legs tingled with excitement as she smoothed her mini-skirt over her rotund thighs. She buzzed Fred’s apartment. The speaker box did a fuzzy impersonation of her lover’s voice.
“Yes?”
“It’s me! Can I come up?” She unconsciously flipped her self-highlighted hair as she asked.
“Door’s open.” He replied, and the box was silent again.
Krystal took the stairs because she was trying to lose weight. On achieving the second floor, she decided to get in the elevator. Fred lived on the fifth floor.
She couldn't help reflecting that it would be her apartment soon. As soon as he divorced that old bat. She knocked twice on the door, and then let herself in.
“Fred?” The familiar icy prickles of fear ran through her. What if she’s here? Krystal thought. Every time he didn’t greet her at the door, Krystal wondered if they were about to get caught. As exciting as it would be to watch the scenario, it still scared her. She heard water running in the bathroom.
OK, so that's all for this one, I was also toying with using symbolism as characterization. Hence all the references to shiny fakeness when describing Krystal. I dunno, was it overdone? Is it a good hook?
Krystal Douglas slid two shimmering legs out of the taxi and pointed her glossy toes as she paid the driver. It felt good to stretch her legs after the long ride. Snapping her silk-lined wallet shut, she dropped it in her patent-leather bag. Her newly-stretched legs tingled with excitement as she smoothed her mini-skirt over her rotund thighs. She buzzed Fred’s apartment. The speaker box did a fuzzy impersonation of her lover’s voice.
“Yes?”
“It’s me! Can I come up?” She unconsciously flipped her self-highlighted hair as she asked.
“Door’s open.” He replied, and the box was silent again.
Krystal took the stairs because she was trying to lose weight. On achieving the second floor, she decided to get in the elevator. Fred lived on the fifth floor.
She couldn't help reflecting that it would be her apartment soon. As soon as he divorced that old bat. She knocked twice on the door, and then let herself in.
“Fred?” The familiar icy prickles of fear ran through her. What if she’s here? Krystal thought. Every time he didn’t greet her at the door, Krystal wondered if they were about to get caught. As exciting as it would be to watch the scenario, it still scared her. She heard water running in the bathroom.
OK, so that's all for this one, I was also toying with using symbolism as characterization. Hence all the references to shiny fakeness when describing Krystal. I dunno, was it overdone? Is it a good hook?
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Props to Liz
First of all, I just love the community of the Writer's Union. I've gotten some really good advice and tips and links. My most recent success is with Holly Lisle. Liz was right when she pointed out Holly's lessons on character development.
Here's the character worksheet. http://www.hollylisle.com/fm/Workshops/character-workshop.html
It made me wonder, how would Shakespeare have filled it out for Hamlet. I mean, what kind of pet would Hamlet have had? That would be so cool to know. Also, Indiana Jones. What is the thing he wants most in this world? We know he's afraid of snakes, but in each movie he is searching for some different antiquity.
Reading and watching movies are much more interesting (and productive!) when you are actively searching for the design of the character and plot.
Here's the character worksheet. http://www.hollylisle.com/fm/Workshops/character-workshop.html
It made me wonder, how would Shakespeare have filled it out for Hamlet. I mean, what kind of pet would Hamlet have had? That would be so cool to know. Also, Indiana Jones. What is the thing he wants most in this world? We know he's afraid of snakes, but in each movie he is searching for some different antiquity.
Reading and watching movies are much more interesting (and productive!) when you are actively searching for the design of the character and plot.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Country music + running = easycake
Until I lose some more weight, I have found my perfect running time is a 12-minute mile. If I start out trying to do a 10 or 11 minute mile in time to my peppy rock music playlist, I can only keep it up for ohhh 10 or 11 minutes. Then I end up walking and feeling like a loser.
Sterling threw some Garth Brooks on my ipod and I figured out how to listen to it after a few weeks. Voila! Perfect beat to keep me running for miles without injury or walking. I ran 3.5 miles on Friday, no walking, and it was a blast. Great weather too!
Sterling threw some Garth Brooks on my ipod and I figured out how to listen to it after a few weeks. Voila! Perfect beat to keep me running for miles without injury or walking. I ran 3.5 miles on Friday, no walking, and it was a blast. Great weather too!
Friday, April 11, 2008
The Snowflake Method
So, if you click on the link to the right, you'll find a way of organizing your creativity, although the last 100 years of art trends tells us to toss organization to the wind and just EXPRESS yourself. Well, if you've read Egidius recently you'll see that organized expression is more powerful than slap-dash scenes thrown together the way you feel like it.
The snowflake method only enhances and organizes your creativity, it doesn't squelch it. Yeah, it may feel like a writing class assignment, but it will probably make you better. Look, I'm no expert, take it or leave it, but it's helped me.
One last thought, his characterization stuff is a little hazy. He's really good at the structure of the whole story and the structure of each scene. He doesn't teach characterization very well. And if you look his novels up on amazon, that's what people say about his own books. Good plots, but his characters are paper puppets following the plot.
The snowflake method only enhances and organizes your creativity, it doesn't squelch it. Yeah, it may feel like a writing class assignment, but it will probably make you better. Look, I'm no expert, take it or leave it, but it's helped me.
One last thought, his characterization stuff is a little hazy. He's really good at the structure of the whole story and the structure of each scene. He doesn't teach characterization very well. And if you look his novels up on amazon, that's what people say about his own books. Good plots, but his characters are paper puppets following the plot.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Writing is fun again!
I've been doing the hard work of outlining and characterizing for three weeks now. I've made great progress and interesting discoveries. I really really need to do some research though. Today I rewrote a scene in first-person that I had originally written in third-person. It was a lot of fun, and helped me find my main character's voice. She is no longer a chore to deal with.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Writing breakthrough!
I've been going through and hashing out my plot. I'm going on the theory of three disasters and an ending. I now have the buildup to the first disaster, and the ending. Those next two disasters are still a little fuzzy.
Venturing forth into science fiction
Okay so anyone who has a good science fiction author to suggest to a newb. My experience so far with the genre is:
1. I liked the original 3 Star Wars movies
2. Star Trek is okay...Kirk was a hottie
3. This will offend some of you, but I totally missed the point of Ender's Game, sorry
So...now that you all hate me, I'm asking for advice. I need to get to know the conventions of the genre, specifically time travel.
1. I liked the original 3 Star Wars movies
2. Star Trek is okay...Kirk was a hottie
3. This will offend some of you, but I totally missed the point of Ender's Game, sorry
So...now that you all hate me, I'm asking for advice. I need to get to know the conventions of the genre, specifically time travel.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Word counting
Bleh, today it just wasn't fun. I've been working on the character history of my main girl. It is exceedingly hard for me to just "make up" anything. It's much easier for me to fill in the blanks in some historical character's life.
That's what has brought me sucess so far in my life. The worksheet mentality of "here, fill in the blanks, that means you're smart." I don't feel confident about my creativity. I suppose when confronted with a blank page, or a blank character, the only wrong answer is to do nothing.
That's what has brought me sucess so far in my life. The worksheet mentality of "here, fill in the blanks, that means you're smart." I don't feel confident about my creativity. I suppose when confronted with a blank page, or a blank character, the only wrong answer is to do nothing.
Friday, April 4, 2008
My little guy
I finally got my camera fixed and thought I wold post a cute little picture of Trey who is growing up sooo fast! We think he looks like his grandpa.
The role of preparation in Art
Simon Schama, one of my favorite BBC presenters said, "Art is the marriage of craft and imagination." And while that's not the deepest quote ever uttered, I think it is true. My sister Amelia is at a great art school in NYC that is drilling her on the craft of drawing and painting etc. (Amelia, feel free to explain). And while we all have heard of prodigies and freaks who just sit down and write things perfectly the first time, this still doesn't mean they ignore the craft of their art. Rembrandt spent years as an apprentice where all he did was mix paint over and over day after day. No wonder he was able to express his imagination so masterfully. Then there's J.S. Bach, who worked at his brother's music-copying business hand-copying the best music yet written for hours each day. Do you think that was time wasted because he wasn't writing his 100 notes a day?
So what's my point? How can I liken this to word-count buddies? In all thy getting, get the craft. Stephen King has an excellent book about this. I think so often writing teachers dance around this, but great art involves so much preparation that no one ever sees. You wouldn't build a house by slapping up some boards before even drawing up blueprints would you? So, if you're stuck (like I was on Saturday, thanks Ben for flogging me /wince), just step back and make sure you've done enough plotting, character histories, and research to do justice to the imaginative elements of your work. Apparently J.K. Rowling has files full of stuff she didn't put into the books (although it feels like some books were just excuses to dump a bunch of those character histories into print, oh, excuse me, into a pensieve).
How do you hone your craft?
So what's my point? How can I liken this to word-count buddies? In all thy getting, get the craft. Stephen King has an excellent book about this. I think so often writing teachers dance around this, but great art involves so much preparation that no one ever sees. You wouldn't build a house by slapping up some boards before even drawing up blueprints would you? So, if you're stuck (like I was on Saturday, thanks Ben for flogging me /wince), just step back and make sure you've done enough plotting, character histories, and research to do justice to the imaginative elements of your work. Apparently J.K. Rowling has files full of stuff she didn't put into the books (although it feels like some books were just excuses to dump a bunch of those character histories into print, oh, excuse me, into a pensieve).
How do you hone your craft?
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