Enter Stage Write
Those of you who follow me on Twitter, or who may know me from elsewhere probably already know that I am once again cast in a play. As the About Me section of this website indicates, and as I have mentioned more than once in my entries here, theatre is one of my passions, and one of the more frequent uses of my non-writing time.
Yet theatre and writing have a great deal in common, aside from the fact that a play is written by a writer.
For the conscientious actor, there is research. Understanding of story arcs. Creation of characters. Studying words and phrases. Dedication to doing something over and over again until you get it right. The great feeling of knowing the finished product has touched or moved people. Do these concepts sound familiar to you, writers?
The current play I find myself in is Richard III, by William Shakespeare. So the stakes are already somewhat higher. I have done Shakespeare before, but each time one performs his work there is a sense of connection to the paradigm shift in the very nature of writing that his work brought about within the English language. Indeed, when in a Shakespeare play, I am straddling the best of both of my worlds, in a sense.
But no matter the playwright, being in a show is about words. Those words aren’t always good, but considering why a script is terrible will lead to conclusions about writing.
The reverse is also true, however; good writing is theatre, and I don’t just mean scripts. Nor do I even refer to fiction only, as most of the best non-fiction is a form of theatre when you think about it. It has its opening, its introduction to the various players taking part in the story, selective revelation of facts in an order that is more intriguing to the reader, all in an effort to impart some kind of lesson, message, or instruction before the curtain comes down at the end of the article, and the reader is effected for the better in some way. (Hopefully.)
Theatre and writing. Peanut butter and jelly.
Not that I do theatre specifically to improve myself as a writer. I do it for its own rewards. Yet if I choose to pay attention, being in a play can contribute to my lifelong process of making myself a better writer.
I even write about theatre sometimes. Most often I do so on my other blog, called Always Off Book. I hope all of you who read TyUnglebower.com will visit Always Off Book on a regular basis as I write about my experiences in Richard III. It opens up a new window on me that many of you may not have much exposure to. If you stop in, leave me a comment and tell me what you think.
Can you think of any other activities that complement writing, and are complimented by writing in the manner I have described here with theatre? Share your thoughts.
Stop Torturing Your Characters
I use Tweetdeck. For the unfamiliar, it is a desktop application that allows you to view your Twitter feed in a live stream. It also gives you the option of setting up specific columns which will feed to you in real time Tweets from anyone that contain certain keywords or hashtags of your choosing. One of my Tweedeck columns is the “#amwriting” tag.
As you might expect certain phrases, questions, worries and observations tend to come up on a regular basis in such a feed. One of them is about writers “torturing” their characters. Throughout the course of a day, the #amwriting column reveals people who both enjoy torturing their characters, and those who force themselves to do so, despite it being quite unpleasant. Those that are in between the two extremes also speak of this torture. Reminders and advice to torture my own characters is also common.
So much is said about this that yesterday I tweeted that for my current work in progress I had no desire to torture any of my characters, and that I was in fact not in the process of doing so. In fact, I’m opposed to this advice on the whole.
To begin with, I don’t usually feel I am doing anything to my characters when I write. Rather I feel I am revealing something that heretofore was unknown. In that sense I can no more torture the characters in my fiction than I can make love to them or have lunch with them.
Yet the bigger objection I have to this “torture your characters” routine is on practical terms. This advice, like so much other advice about writing, becomes detrimental when taken too far, and I believe many have reached that extreme with this.
Here’s a writing heresy for you, free of charge. This one’s on me:
Your protagonist does not have to suffer.
The literary torture cult arose from a need to implore writers to make sure there is conflict within their story. And conflict you indeed must have. In order to function, most stories require characters that are trying to accomplish things. Characters cannot accomplish things if there is no friction of any kind. Yet that friction does not have to be a heart-wrenching, life-threatening, soul-sucking cataclysm. It does not, in short, have to be “torture”.
Now it certainly can be tortuous. It depends on the story. Sometimes a story does call for a character to be beaten by fate into pervasive despair. Writing that sort of story isn’t really my thing, but it is for many people, and more power to them. Yet losing a hat can also drive a story forward and motivate a protagonist, and I’d hardly call that torture.
The entire point of writing is to explore new ideas and engage in creativity. Surely writers have deep enough imaginations to come up with plots and conflicts that don’t require suffering characters. And while some may accuse me of being obtuse in my response to the “torture” advice, citing that it is a mere metaphor for conflict, I stand by my criticism of its usage as a writing commandment.
Why?
Because whether metaphor or not, the connotations inherent in “You must torture your characters,” is setting a standard that’s harmful to our writing. It elevates one level of literary intensity for one specific type of fiction into a requirement for all fiction, and it doesn’t deserve that elevation. The pressure to conform to the “torture” standard is enough to keep some writers from exploring new type of stories, as well as preventing some would-be new writers from creating at all. Neither is acceptable. It’s time we stop using the term “torture” as we do in the writing world.
Down with BIC: Why “Butt in Chair” Isn’t THE Answer
“The first secret to good writing is BIC. Butt In Chair.”
Among writers there is an endless list of endorsements for this allegedly clever statement. The precept is ingrained to such a deep degree into the collective subconscious of writers the world over that it is held by many to be as sacrosanct as writers must read.
Yet, it isn’t. In fact, in many ways, “BIC” is as unhelpful as it is trite and uninspired.
Don’t misunderstand me. A truth is the backbone of this platitude; a writer must write a lot and on a regular basis. No piece will write itself after all, and there can be many things to distract the writer any given hour from accomplishing his task. Such distractions must not take over, especially if deadlines are involved. I question, however, if BIC is the panacea it is made out to be.
Good habits are fine, but I know that I don’t feel productive when I force my restless, exhausted or uncertain self to sit in silence in front of the computer squeezing prose out of my mind like an ape with a missing finger struggling to squeeze toothpaste out of a near empty tube onto a brush. I would venture to guess that many of you feel the same way.
Even if taking yourself hostage like this is helpful to you though, wouldn’t it be nice to be gentler with yourself than BIC allows?
I don’t always wait for inspiration to strike before I start writing, yet I certainly don’t confine myself to my chair without fail the same time every single day beating prose into existence by typing anything at all until heaven decides to reward me for BICing. Writing is hard enough, and if I let one part of me put a gun to my head as the other part is attempting to write something, I’ll learn to hate writing.
So what do I do? Many of you might cringe to know it, but I will tell you anyway.
I do put my butt in the chair eventually. Then I get up, walk around and sit back down. If I know what I want to say next, I write it. Yet if I don’t yet know, I’ll check my email. If an idea is forming but not yet fully realized in my mind, I don’t shove it under the center stage lights and command it to do a dance it doesn’t know. Instead I’ll often lay in my bed, (or more often on the floor) and sort of meditate on the embryonic sequence of sentences that is coming into existence in my mind. This meditation may be silent, but it may also involve me walking up and down the hallway listening to music.
Or it might not be a meditation at all, and instead involve me going back and forth between the writing and seeing what is going on in my Twitter feed. Then blasphemy of all writing blasphemies I sometimes give up for the day without having written anything.
As you can see, when I write I spend a great deal of time doing things that many writers consider sinful distractions from the craft. Yet I have almost never missed a deadline, either self-imposed or from an editor.
Writing is a different process for each writer. For me there is a point beyond which it cannot be forced. Like a long garden hose being dragged across the lawn, it must be coaxed so that it doesn’t get knotted into itself. My ideas sometimes must be guided through different moments, eased around corners, and unwound from obstructions. If I just ran head long into it each and every time and adopted BIC, coupled by the philosophy of “write, damn you!” intrinsic in such an approach, the resultant knot would be too ponderous for even Alexender the Great to cut his way out of.
BIC may be your way, and you are no less of a writer than I if it is. Yet I think that approach has been somewhat deified. If you are made a better writer, or merely receive comfort from The Church of BIC, I encourage you to attend same. However just as there is more than one church in the world, there is more than one path to productive writing, and nobody should feel beholden to BIC. Only you know how your mind works under given circumstances. Only you can decide the best way to encourage your creativity. BIC isn’t dogma, no matter what anyone tells you.
Being able to give yourself permission to express truth with your own words. That is the goal of writing. If you can accomplish that more often than not and keep your obligations, you are doing what you need to do to succeed.
Coming Attractions: Trailers as Inspiration
Movie trailers are manipulative and I know it. Out of sequence line cuts that appear to say something different than the real movie scene would say. Pop music. Flashes of iconic imagery that have little to do with the plot. Famous people scantily clad. There is an element of deception at play.
Often a movie’s trailer is more impressive, moving, amusing, exciting, touching and memorable than the movie itself. Hell, as often as not the movie trailer ends up being about a different movie altogether than the one it is advertising. (Sometimes by accident, but sometimes by design.) Point being, a trailer is a commercial for a movie, not a movie itself. So it will play on your senses and emotions without shame in order to get you to see the movie.
It usually doesn’t work on me. The cinema is expensive, and I have to drive there, and strangers are sitting next to me when I go to them. And gross stuff is on the floor. And strangers are sitting next to me…
So I’m highly selective when it comes to movies I will go see in the cinema itself. I have to be almost “dying” to see a film before I will go see it in the cinema. Most movies don’t inspire me to take such action, and even the best made trailers on earth won’t change my mind.
Despite that, I love trailers. Even to movies I have no intention of seeing. Deceptive as they may be, trailers are an art-form unto themselves, and even though I know what they are trying to do, I allow myself to be pulled in by them. Because when done well, two or three minutes of selling a movie I don’t even want to see can replicate in miniature the experience of watching a whole movie.
This experience is of course more potent in the cinema itself, but I can get a lot from watching trailers online as well. Every few months I’ll head over to Hulu or Yahoo Movies and watch trailers for an hour or more at a time. (Sometimes with the light off for the added cinematic effect.) And you know what happens just about every time I have one of these sessions? Aside from discovering a handful of movies I might actually want to watch, I feel inspired to write afterwards. At least sketch out a new idea for a future project. An hour or so of watching trailers for movies that I may not want to see tends to align my mind and heart to creativity. (Especially after a few independent movie trailers…those are the most effective usually.)
Some trailers are garbage. When I encounter one that is doing nothing for me, I click “next”. But in most cases the accumulative effect of taking in so many trailers at once makes it worth sitting through a few lousy ones.
Writers, let yourself be manipulated by a trailer. Because in a trailer the supposedly most appealing aspects of the story are thrown into your face for two minutes. It doesn’t matter if the story is not really like the trailer. You don’t plan to see all these movies anyway. The real purpose is to enjoy the trailers for what they are, and to receive an injection of inspiration into your own work.
I’m not suggesting you go out and copy the story someone else wrote for a movie, of course. But if you allow yourself to consume enough of someone elses creativity, your own creativity is bound to benefit. Perhaps you will be inspired to write something that captures the same mood as the trailer. Or there will be an image in it that makes you think of another image that you want to write about. Maybe you can write the story you think the trailer should be. There are all kinds of possibilities.
Watching a whole movie or reading an entire novel has this effect too. I realize that. Yet if you need some quick sparks to jump start your imagination, trailers can provide something when a novel or entire movie won’t fit into your time budget.
Who knows? Watching a trailer may plant the seed of an idea in your head that will at some point evolve into the coming attraction that everyone else wants to read or see.
Keys to an Introvert’s Ideal Social Activity
Later this week I will be auditioning for a play, as I have done many times over the years. (Please visit my other blog in a few days to find out how it went.) Based on who is directing and others who are trying out, I suspect that if I get a part, it will be an enjoyable experience.
I’ve said before that contrary to popular perception, acting is at its core a rather introverted endeavor. Yet that isn’t the main point I wish to make here today. For I am focusing on the aspects of theatre that are not related to my performance, but are also nonetheless introvert friendly. Aspects that many other activities have in common with my theatre experiences. Activities that I think introverts should seek out.
What are these magical aspects, anyway?
The first one is talent. I won’t beat around the issue; I’m a good actor. I have been honing my craft for years now and while there is always more to learn, the fact is I am quite talented at stage acting. I have a great deal of confidence in my abilities. So when I am in a show I can display my contributions right away. No digging, no stupid chit-chat. Here is what I can do, right here and now. Engaging in something at which I excel allows me to cut through the small-talk jungle like a machete through the rain forest. What I do speaks on my behalf at first.
Second is the sense of purpose. When I’m cast in a play, my job from day one is crystal clear to both myself and everyone else; I am to play this role. No need to stake out a position or choose what I will be about with this group. I play the butler, and that is that. Such instant, definable purpose does wonders for the introvert.
Then of course there is commonality. If there are strangers in the cast I am already aware of at least one thing I have in common with them; we are both in the play. That may not make us friends but it makes us strangers with a focal point, if you will. If I decide to, there is a guaranteed reference point for both myself and the other person. A much more effective one than being at the same business card exchange or cocktail party at the Chamber of Commerce.
Again, for the introvert that wishes to expand his sphere of influence a bit, the activity itself is not as important. For me it is theatre. (And recently a writers group.) All that truly matters is the following:
-It is an activity involving teamwork of some kind.
-It is something at which you have a degree of talent.
-It is something that will surround you with other that have the same talent.
-It meets regularly.
-It makes your responsibilities clear from the get-go.
If you are an introvert that is good at cards, find others who are good at cards, and play once a month. Let everyone know they aren’t obligated to talk about work, or make small talk if they don’t want to. They need only bring their cards, and a knowledge of the game of choice. After a few games, chances are the introverts will start engaging one another after the game as well.
Good at bowling? Form a team of other quiet types, and go bowl, and do nothing else. You may find that the time will come where the team wants to go to the diner after the tournament one night.
And even if they don’t, there is still an advantage to interaction, even for introverted types, since even we cannot be an island. Just remember how to make socializing fit in with how you think. Get creative if you have to. You’re an introvert, after all, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.
Introverts, what are some of your social activities that involve other people in a comfortable way?
Ty Unglebower 