Happy Birthday, William Shakespeare.
Today I am proud to once again take part in “Happy Birthday Shakespeare“.
I am one of many bloggers from all parts of the world who have opted this week to post about William Shakespeare.
The folks responsible for the project (do follow the link I provided to learn more) were wise enough to have not established strict perimeters in regards to these posts. For anyone that enjoys, loves, reads, watches, performs, teaches or thinks about the works of Shakespeare on a regular basis is bound to realize there are thousands of concepts that could be explored. The fact that the Stratfordian’s works mean so many things to so many different types of people, and have done so for such a long period of time is a testament to the power of one of the greatest bodies of work in the history of the English language.
I dare say even Shakespeare’s detractors, (and there are many of them) could actually attack the Bard from hundreds of different angles if they were so motivated. (And often, they are.) In that sense, then, it is clear that no matter what you think of William Shakespeare, there is almost an endless supply of material about which to write and speak.
Today I chose to write about how the works of William Shakespeare expand the two universes of which I am most passionately a member; acting and writing.
To begin with, from an actor’s standpoint, some of the most memorable characters ever to occupy a stage come from the canon of Shakespeare. Even casual consumers of literature could name a few such characters: Hamlet, Richard III, Iago. The list goes on. But those are just the leads of the plays.
As an actor, I love to have something substantive with which to work when I set about the task of giving three dimensions to a character I am playing. Much of this lies in my own imagination and creativity. (If the director is any good that is.) I fill in blanks, create a back story, keep secrets about who I am playing from the audience and even my fellow actors on the stage.
At times this is out of whole cloth and there is nothing wrong with that. Yet much like writing form poetry, the use of a slight road map can enhance rather than hinder that creative process. And while Shakespeare gave us a fair share of silent torchbearers and messengers with a single line, on many occasions he also provided a tantalizing look into the inner working of the smallest of roles, imbuing them with personality and attitude by way of what lines they spoke, to whom, and when they did so.
Consider the Porter in Macbeth. Ostensibly his character is there to provide a bit of comic relief, and of course, to open the door. However his speech upon being awoken from a drunken slumber is more than mere distraction or plot device, as are the paltry few lines he has in the scene afterward. The lines provide the actor playing the porter with a treasure trove of directions that can be taken when bringing the porter to life. What could have easily been scribbled out as four or so goofy lines, and perhaps with a stage direction to trip over something, (hence providing the brief comic relief), has become in fact a small role that often people will audition specifically to get in a production of that play.
Not all of the smaller roles in Shakespeare are blessed with such a rich monologue, but there are many other examples of smaller roles that could have been dispensed with, or at least composed with less thought than that shown by Shakespeare. The Gardeners in Richard II. Glendower in Henry IV, Part 1. The Boy in Henry V. The Gravediggers in Hamlet. This list as well could go on, and for that list I, as an actor owe Shakespeare thanks-for his attention to detail even for the smaller moments, thus expanding an actor’s universe.
As I mentioned, the writer in me is also grateful Shakespeare’s legacy.
The playwright invented over 1,700 common English words. Not popularized or mainstreamed 1,700 words. They did not exist at all until Shakespeare used them. Bits of other pre-existing words sometimes were used in such creations, but the fact remains; here we have a writer who was so dedicated to the nature of his work that when a word in all of his language did not meet his requirements, hehad the audacity to create one that would.
That is not to say that Shakespeare was even the only writer of his time to do this. He was not. But he did so with such frequency and in such a bold manner that it’s not a stretch to say he was one of if not the first master of doing so.
As a writer I realize that I cannot hope to bring anywhere near 1,700 new words into existence. One day after much hard work, I may bring a bring a single word or phrase into the lexicon. But to know that even one of the greatest writers in the history of my language invented words all the time, unwilling to be confined be convention and rules is reassuring for a writer like me, not enamored by the status quo.
And who knows, perhaps it’s not so much that even the greatest writer of them all allowed himself to break the rules and create new words. Perhaps William Shaksepeare was the greatest English writer ever because he ignored the rules and invented so many new words.
***
My thoughts and acknowledgement here will not even make a dent in the worldwide consideration of Shakespeare’s legacy this week. But collectively I’ve no doubt that all of those writers, bloggers, actors, educators and artists that have been inspired and changed by Shakespeare will, by sharing their sentiments this week, send the message that William Shakespeare, far from outdated, irrelevant and distant, is in fact still quite current, apposite, and personal. Just as he has been for nearly four centuries.
Writers Group Virginity.
This coming Monday evening, (April 23), I will be attending a writers group for the very first time.
To some of my writing colleagues I am sure reading that would be akin to reading a skydiving blog written by one who has never been able to get on an airplane. But it’s true. Despite being writer, getting paid for my writing, working intently on my first novel’s third draft, visiting writer message boards and subscribing to various writing oriented blogs, I, Ty Unglebower, have never been a member of a writing group.
While I don’t agree that a writer must join one in order to be taken seriously, I will concede that it is somewhat unusual that a writer would get to this stage in his life and career having not done so. Though this is no tribunal, I will offer my readers a few reasons why I am only now taking this step.
To begin with, availability. My particular geographic area doesn’t have a good track record of providing active groups pertaining to my passions and interests, writing included. Neighboring counties sometimes do, but despite my motivation, I am not one to drive over an hour, or into freeway traffic just to go to a writing group. I realize that many writers would adopt a “whatever it takes” approach to commiserating with fellow writers in order to improve both their craft and their network. Yet such commuting tends to drain and irritate me, and I suspect I’d be of little use to a group once I finally arrived.
Thanks to Meetup.com, (of which I have been a member for seven years, having never attended a single meeting of any kind) I’ve become aware of a group that meets within my acceptable travel perimeters. Hooray.
Yet travel is only one part of this equation. Another part is the critiquing component present in most such groups. I am somewhat ill at ease over the concept of offering criticism to someone else’s writing. Sure, I’ll write a Goodreads review of a book I just read, but with the assumption that by then, the author of said book is unlikely to read it, and unlikely to be affected negatively if they do. I write such reviews as a consumer of the written word. In a writing group I’d be saying things to the face of the writer himself. That tends to put the brakes on objectivity PDQ.
I know that many writers thrive, or claim to thrive, on having people dig into their words. I have experienced the same with some actors on stage. They love to have their creations picked apart, because they see it as the surest route to improvement. I admire people who can feel this way, but it doesn’t make the concept any easier for someone like me, sitting on the other side of the table having to share the thoughts.
Besides, who the hell am I, anyway? I am just another writer who wants people to read and enjoy my stuff. How exactly does this qualify me to mention alleged structural deficiencies in the excerpt written by Mr. Smith as he’s sitting right next to me at the coffee shop table? Not that any writer expects all people to love all of his writing, but that is the exact point I am making; I like what I like and don’t what I don’t. I have tastes, but does that mean I don’t like something because it could be “fixed” or “improved” somehow?
Truth be told, I want to improve as well. I want to continue to evolve my craft. Yet it would be a flat out lie if I were to say I relished the chance to have people, (even other writers), sit two feet away and tell me where they think I have screwed-up. I am sure in some ways I have screwed up, but being told that in such a casual atmosphere? It does give me a small case of the willies, and if I feel that way about receiving such criticism, I’d be an astounding hypocrite to not also feel reluctant to bestow same on other people.
And of course there is the basic, ever-present introvert thing working here, in regards to leaving home and meeting total strangers.
These are some of the reasons I haven’t ever been to a writing group before.
So why am I now reversing my trend and opting to do so?
To begin with, as I mentioned, a group finally opened up within the vicinity of where I live. They meet in various locations, some less convenient than others, but none inaccessible to my driving tendencies. The commute problem was no more.
I also liked this group’s policies about critiques. By design, positive feed back is encouraged and preferred, and I felt more comfortable with that approach than I do the firing squad template of some writing groups.
Also, I’ve been doing more “extrovert-introvert” things lately. That is to say, being more forthcoming and assertive…so long as the environment is likely to be filled with mostly other introverts. I find that writing groups tend to fulfill this requirement.
But mostly, the time had come. I have been digging my heels into the ground this year in hopes of expanding my writing business, as well as my recreational writing. From getting business cards, to building this site, to branching out into writing contests, this has been a year of making more specific steps to enhance my presence as a writer in all of the ways that don’t relate specifically to the page. Joining a writers group is the next logical step in this ongoing effort to enhance my focus.
I need to meet new writers. Local people with whom I can converse in person. As wonderful as my blog readers and Twitter friends are, one needs to have tangible access to colleagues sometimes, and right now, I have none. I don’t yet know what to expect from this group, but I know it will be far more likely to build local writing bridges than anything else I have done before. Perhaps I will even find a new friend, unconnected to all of my other ones.
So, Monday night it is. My writing will not be read at this meeting, and indeed, I don’t yet know when it will be. People tend to volunteer their work when they feel ready to share, as opposed to being forced to under a deadline. I will of course do it sometime. (There are various meetings per month.) I am happy, however, that I won’t have to jump into the deepest part of the pool on the first day. My responsibilities are to read the excerpts posted on the website, and I have already begun to do so.
A week from today, I shall follow-up on this post, and share with you what I experienced during my first writers group session. (By Monday’s deadline for blog posts, I won’t have been to the meeting yet.) Check back then. In the mean time, I’d like to hear about your writers group experiences, if you have any.
Our Best Interest.
Some have accused me of not acting in my own best interests often enough. It’s possible. I think the line between acting in one’s best interest, and being straight up self-centered is a thin one in some cases. Unlike many people more successful than myself, I’d much rather err on the side of not acting in my best interests, than on the side of opportunistic prickdom.
I realize there are healthy ways to pursue one’s best interests, whether as institutions or as individuals. And I certainly understand why we want to avoid destructive choices. What I have a harder time grasping is why so many people and communities and organizations opt not to try something, or allow something, or explore something that holds zero risk to them. In other words, something that may not enhance best interests, but certainly doesn’t hinder them either.
A few months ago a friend of mine told me about an idea he had for an artistic project, which would have required the cooperation of a certain company. The details are too involved to go into here, but suffice to say my artist colleague drew up a proposal, presented it to the appropriate individuals, and was turned down.
Yet he wasn’t turned down because the company felt they would suffer any particular negative impact as a result of their involvement. Indeed they mentioned to my friend that they were impressed by the proposal, and appreciated that the project would not cost them a single dollar in lost revenue, or require them to in any way alter their daily operations. But, as they told him, “Taking part in your proposed project would not enhance our best interests.”
Meaning, I would gather, that while no damage would be done to their bottom line, the very act of cooperating would not bring them more money or business, so it was a no go.
It annoyed me far more than it annoyed him. Reason being, as I alluded to before, I think “best interest” as a concept is taken a too far too often in our value-assessment obsessed society.
People need chances. Access. Knowledge. Community. Such commodities don’t fall out of the sky for most people, so when we have a chance to open those doors for someone without throwing our own journey into disarray, I think we should do so. Truth be told, I think we should sometimes do so even when we do have to sacrifice something. That is being human. But for the purposes of this post, I’ll stick with the times when impact of involvement is negligible or non-existent for us, but could mean a great deal to someone else.
This isn’t about charity, per se, as my artist friend stood to make no money from what he proposed. He in fact would have had to spend some. He isn’t destitute and would have been able to afford it, so cooperation in his case would not have been an act of charity per se. Rather, it would have been an act of inclusion. Of community. Deciding that reaching out in a low-risk proposition to someone who has an idea and needs a venue can be in one’s so-called “best interests” in and of itself.
We must work to thrive, and we must protect ourselves. However does this mean that by default, “my best interest” must be the metric by which we measure every step we take in life? I hope not.
What do you say?
Fruition Block: Forget “Should”.
“Writer’s block” comes about when a writer believes they can’t think of anything to write. They have nothing to say, and don’t know how to go about finding something to say. I don’t believe in it, because I feel that by acknowledging it, I give it power. So I just keep writing something, anything, when I have what others would call writer’s block. It tends to go away when I do that.
Yet there is another concept, much more difficult to evade. I call it Fruition Block. I know how utterly pretentious that sounds, but read on. If you’re into any kind of creative endeavor, (writing, music, painting) I’m sure you’ll find that you’re familiar with this concept.
When you suffer from Fruition Block, ideas are not the problem. You have the ideas. They come to you throughout the day, often out of thin air. And because you are a wise creative type, you write these things down somewhere as soon as you think of them, even if it means dashing in your wet nudity out of the shower, soaking everything in your path as you make your way to your idea notebook and jot down your revelation.
Yet when you have Fruition Block, that naked sprint is the most inspired action you ever take on behalf of your idea. After that, it sits ignored in your idea notebook.
Now I don’t mean simply keeping an idea in a queue until you’re prepared to explore it. We can’t explore every idea we have all at once. That would be lunacy. We must organize and prioritize our creative work. Practicality dictates that some ideas have to wait their turn. But if you aren’t exploring a given idea or set of ideas because you don’t think you should, that is Fruition Block.
Fruition Block has a pack of thugs that work for him. The worst one is his tall, thick, shades-wearing, silent personal bodyguard. He is the one that is called in to do the most gruesome harm to rivals. His concealed weapon? A club with “should” carved into it with which he tends to beat creative types senseless.
But only if his underlings fail in their job. You know them too. They each have certain sentiments tattooed on their foreheads. Have you seen any of the following hoods running around in your mind, wreaking havoc? Some of the more common:
“I don’t have the time to explore that fully just now.”
“The concept is too broad. I should sharpen it before I start to work on it.”
“It’s too complicated. I should simplify it.”
“That idea is not appropriate. I shouldn’t go there.”
“It’s too simple. I should deepen it.”
“I don’t have the tools to give that life; somebody more qualified should try.”
“I should study more before I tackle that.”
“It shouldn’t be so similar to other things that are out there.”
“It should be more similar to other things that are out there.”
“I have more important things I should be doing with my time. I’m an adult.”
I’m here to inform you that you have the right to be creative. Nobody can take that away from you, and the only permission you need to explore your ideas is from yourself.
Of course you have responsibilities, and nobody is suggesting your should jettison them. But Fruition Block’s most successful lie is that one cannot be both creative and responsible at the same time in life. But the song that comes to you, the short story idea, the poem…all deserve your consideration and attention at some point. Some ideas may end up not working, but they are at least entitled to your exploration to find out. None of them should rot on the vine simply because you don’t think circumstances are perfect for it. They never will be.
I’m a writer, and yet I still feel this way at times. That I should be writing one thing instead of something else. Or even that I should not be a writer anymore. But I work each day to conquer that feeling, and I hope you do as well. The world could use more art borne out of sincerity, from all of us.
A Reminder for Introverted Writers
I’m calling this a “reminder” instead of “advice” because most introverts already know about what I’m going to address here. But the everyday realities of being introverted can at times cloud that realization, and make us reluctant to accept it. This post serves just as much as a reminder to myself as to anyone else.
I have no statistics on the ratio of introverts to extroverts among successful writers. I do know that about 50% of the American population is introverted, and I know that the popular assumption is that many writers, particularly of fiction, tend towards the introverted side of the spectrum. Yet I have no doubt that many career writers are in fact extroverted.
Many traits of the introvert, however, are advantageous to the author. A deep, rich inner life. A satisfaction, (or at least a tolerance) for large amounts of time spent alone. High degrees of introspection. And of course, a lot of time spent reading.
What wondrous worlds, characters, incidents and scenarios could be borne of this life within the realms of one’s own thoughts, memories, and imagination!
Yet let us remember that the key to solid, engaging writing is an understanding of humanity and the world in which it lives coupled with a willingness to explore those realities through our writings.
This truth isn’t confined to high literature, either. The way different people talk, dress, act, think, react. The way an environment sounds, smells, and appears, to those familiar with it as opposed to those new to it. The details of a particular vocation. These are critical to memorable writing whether you intend to be socially significant, or to spin a gripping suspense yarn. Or if you are writing a memoir of your own experiences. And that is why a certain level engagement and observation of the world around us is imperative. Flowery prose is not enough.
This is where the reminder comes in.
Introverts, I know how tempting it is to say little and think much. How for many of you the default position is to sit with a book for hours. Days if you could. I am in complete sympathy with you if your natural, unencumbered state would entail interacting only with handful of people while walking through the world with a hood up and eyes down most of the time. Where the loudest thing you hear is your own music or the birds in your own tree out of your own window. Someplace where you deal with strangers only when you damn well please and not when others think you should.
I have visited that place often in my mind over the years. And for many of you, it may be your enviable reality. Yet for us authors and writers, it cannot be so as often as we would like it to be.
Please note that I would never advocate the impossible task of an introvert becoming an extrovert. It won’t happen. You won’t see me embracing small talk at a cocktail party filled with strangers who may or may not present the ideal “R.O.I.” That isn’t me. It cannot be me and I know it cannot be you.
What can be you, and what should be you if you are an author is a greater presence in the world on a more frequent basis. I don’t mean that sometimes you venture out to buy bread. I mean that when you buy bread you should take in everything about the experience sometimes. That includes the nature of the strangers around you. The noise you want to get away from as quickly as possible. The snippets of conversation you overhear. And once in a scary while, being a part of meaningless conversation yourself.
Going to places you haven’t been. Accepting invitations to events you’d normally decline. Making that phone call instead of sending an email. And so on. You know intrinsically what some other examples are, I’m sure.
The reason I advocate these sometimes nausea-inducing activities? Not for their own sake, and not to be more popular or to fit some bogus social mold that others expect of you. I remind you to do these things to make you a better writer.
Much as we introverts would love to believe otherwise, there is a universe outside of our minds. Standing up for our kind, I will say that our inner world is quite detailed and expansive, and that by visiting it as often as we do we can indeed get a better idea of the nature of the real universe in some ways. But in other ways, there is no substitution for being present in the world and in society. And doing so intentionally and not incidentally.
Reading is a crucial activity of the writer. We must read on a regular basis, because after all, we cannot directly experience all of that about which we write. But there are times we must put down the book and for a time experience the part of the world which we can in fact attain.
J.D. Salinger tended to greet people who knocked on his door by brandishing a pistol. He mostly got away with his anti-social behavior because he was in fact J.D. Salinger. Yet even that famous literary recluse did not lack in real world experience.
Before Holden Caulfield was introduced to the world, Salinger had lived quite a life, not much of it pleasant, before withdrawing from the world for the rest of his life once his pinnacle work became a success.
That isn’t to say that one day you may not find the ability to create works, or a singular, defining work like The Catcher in the Rye which would allow you a degree of seclusion. But the odds of creating such a piece without ever having been present in the world around you seems to be astronomically unlikely. Besides, 1951 was quite a different time than our own, and J.D. Salinger was an unusual man.
Most of use are not recluses, anyway. Just introverts. We can make the efforts in some of these areas. We just often choose not to. And it’s all right that we often choose not to. We have extroverts for that. This is just a reminder to break your pattern sometimes, my friends. Do it for your writing, and for your readers. Both will be enriched for you having gone through those few minutes of awkward discomfort here and there. Trust me.
Ty Unglebower 