An Open Letter to an Anonymous Fan
For the purposes of this open letter, the subject will be referred to as Myra. —T.U.
Dear Myra,
I knew it was you. Not right away, but it didn’t take long for me to put two and two together.
It’s not easy being an entertainer/artist without an audience. Try as I might back in my days as a college radio host, I couldn’t get people to call on, or listen to the show, from all I could tell. Not even most of my friends.
So when I got your first “fan” letter, I was pleased, to say the least. I had a few ideas as to who it might be, but when I went to them, they denied responsibility. The mystery remained after the second letter yous end the following week,
Then by the third week, I started to notice certain things. Too detailed and boring to get into in this letter, but suffice to say that between other people’s reactions, observed behaviors, and mostly the timing of everything, I deduced you were writing the letters.
You must have been listening to the show most of the time, as your letters reflected knowledge of what I’d been talking about. Whether you listened because you enjoyed it, or listened because it happened to be on when others were listening, I don’t know. Nor do I know if you wrote the letters because you were an actual fan, or you wrote the letters because you pitied me. Either way, it was nice to get them sometimes, so I didn’t confront you in person, even though I knew. I didn’t know you that well anyway, and why mess with a good thing.
Fandom aside, I’ve always wanted to say to you directly that you were a bit rude coming down to the studio to tell me you were offended by the joke I made. Now, I’m sorry if your religious views were violated by what i said, and I apologize on principle for the offense. (As I did on the air that night, which I will get to.) But to demand an apology in person after barging into the station like a bull in a china shop? I don’t think it was called for. You called have called the station and been calmer about it. You could have written me an actual letter and signed it. It all could have been more civilized than it was. Especially given your fondness for Jesus.
I couldn’t say all I wanted to, because there was this weird dichotomy of dealing with you accosting me during my own show, and then there was “you”, the one who had been decent enough to write all of those letters. I found myself pissed as the former, and still wanting to show due consideration for the latter.
I went on the air and apologized, but also went on a bit of a rant. I mentioned on the air that, “I’m sure this offended whoever is writing me anonymous fan letters as well.” I supposed you knew at that point that the jig was up. I guess I sort of wanted you to know, and not want you to know. It was weird to be offended by someone and appreciative of them at the exact same time.
A few weeks later, fan letters still came, though, with apologies for being late. (I knew why of course.) It was never quite the same, but, to still put in the effort, even if you felt it was a pity job, merits some acknowledgement today.
As it did back then. That’s why I left you that voice mail in the last few days of college. Still not really knowing you at all, I thanked you, and said, “Think about it, and you’ll know what I’m thanking you for.” You never did acknowledge knowing it, just as I never did acknowledging knowing it was you that wrote the letters. The dance remained intact, even after all of the weirdness.
So though I thanked you back then, I wanted to again, even though I have no idea where you are. I also wanted to take this chance, after all these years, to mention that despite your kind service to me in those days, I felt your umbrage was uncalled for, religion or no. You had proven yourself intelligent by then, you could have exercised a bit more of it, and not embarrassed me on my own turf.
But, it is over now, and I don’t carry much resentment over it anymore. I guess in a way this is a reverse fan letter to you, all be it a much belated one. Hopefully you can find some good in it, as I found good in your letters, despite the brush up.
Go in peace.
sincerely, Ty Unglebower
-This post is part of the Open Letter Continuum.
Genre Unknown
I have a genre problem.
Let me start by saying I know that genre is important in marketing. I try to use it when I can. I have Thank You for Ten: Short Fiction About a Little Theater listed as “general fiction.” But I use that for several of my stories because I don’t know what else they would fit into.
I posted a short story called Linger on Wattpad the other day. Due to some of the imagery, I listed it as “horror,” though the more I researched the technical requirements of that genre, the more I determined my story probably didn’t belong there. Yet it is not general fiction either, and it is hardly literary.
Sometimes I think I am writing literary fiction, though. That, I realize, is a rather loose definition these days, but whenever I write something that “feels” literary, some article comes along to explain to me how what I’ve written isn’t experimental enough or socially relevant enough or controversial enough to be literary.
So I have a hard time assigning a genre to my stories.
That’s only part of the issue, however. It is also wise from a marketing standpoint to only write in a certain genre. At least, that’s what they tell me. But whatever genre Linger is in, I can safely say it is not the same genre as Amateurs in the Distance is. Or perhaps it is, if everything I write can be shoved into “general fiction”, but if you read both you will see right away that the tone is quite different between them.
So not only am I bad at choosing what genre a story is, I don’t even stick to one genre.
Am I shooting myself in the marketing foot by being this way? Truth be told, I might be. Especially with my upcoming novel. I will pick a genre and market to it, as I have for most of my short stories. But a story comes to me for reasons that transcend genre. When the time is ripe for a story that I’m pondering, I have to write it. That’s what happened with Linger. I had been working on something else for a few weeks, and Linger kept interrupting my thoughts, and the story I was working on was going nowhere. So I switched to finishing Linger. I still haven’t gone back to the story I was working on. I’m calling that one “adventure,” but it might be fantasy. But which kind of fantasy??
Some aspects of promotion are just beyond my skill set and personality. Some can be improved upon and some cannot. Is my genre ambiguity one that can be work on or not? I’m not sure. I will say that if there is an answer to it that will allow me to pay attention to the stories I feel drawn to write, I can see myself improving in promotion. But if the only way to get better is to choose a genre, understand its every nuance, and refuse to write any story that doesn’t fit into same, than I don’t think I can improve in this regard. Having a story speak to you enough to write a draft, and then to revise and share it with the world is a rare enough process as it is. The last thing I need to do is limit the stories I can work on because they don’t fit into “my genre.”
Whatever “my” genre is.
The Play’s the Thing
Last night I finished up the first draft of my first for length stage play script. (I’m calling it All Five for now.) This was a major writing goal for me in 2014.
Being an actor myself, I know the importance of a good script. This doesn’t make me an automatic great playwright, but I know from where I speak when it comes to good scripts vs bad in the theatre. Good actors will do their best to give life to any script, nut if the characters are flat and the dialogue forgettable, a play is in trouble. (Unless it’s a jukebox musical with a multi-million dollar budget. Even that is no guarantee.) So from the start of this project, I’ve considered my experience as an actor when writing the scenes and lines.
It’s a first draft, and like that of a novel, it has many flaws which will be corrected during revisions. But the importance of three-dimensional characters that reveal themselves through memorable lines informed this project from the very first word. A script is more than well-drawn characters saying pretty things, but the more actors enjoy playing the parts and saying the lines, the better the production will be for the audience, trust me.
This particular script is not action packed. It’s character-driven to be sure. But those characters, if I have done my job, are solid, realistic and memorable. Each of them wants something, and they converse pursuant to those desires. This to me has always been enough for great theatre and great fiction in particular.
Writing a play is in most cases all character. Unless you’re a legend, as a playwright you don’t have the luxury of describing settings in poetic detail. Broad strokes. Simple prose. Suggestions. The same with action. Short, to the point, and without sentiment. And of course goals of characters are revealed most often through what they say, no internal exploration or point of view being practical in a play script. While I enjoy writing stories and novels, it’s nice to get away from all of that sometimes and concentrate almost totally on what everyone is saying. (Without the need for constant dialogue tags of “he said, she said” and such.)
Then again, writing in such a character-driven medium, (which theatre is, even when the play is more action-oriented) can be helpful for writing novels and short stories. Vice-versa is certainly true. It’s all about people, in the end for me. Creating people that want and experience things in a way that moves the imagination of readers or viewers.
An Open Letter to An Act Turned Friend
For the purposes of this open letter, the subject will be addressed as Meg. –Ty
Dear Meg,
I think you and I both know we were never going to sleep with one another. Yes, we talked about it and pretended it would happen for years, and naturally it’s fun to think about and discuss such things. Throw in a few exaggerated “turn ons” and the game is complete. But you being on a different part of the country, plus other issues made it basically impossible. Which was fine by me, because after years of that, even past the point of knowing how much of an act it was, our friendship was certainly no act to me.
I like to believe it wasn’t an act, at least. Ten years is a long time to carry on an act, even with a three year hiatus. After we lost touch, and gained it back, we seemed to pick up right where we left off. Goofy comments about our alleged liaison, but mostly just talking and emailing as always. And phone calls.
You remember the phone calls, right? Sometimes they would last for hours. Sometimes pointless, and sometimes with me trying to help you with your writing assignments. I wasn’t an especially good teacher, but I tried. Sorry for not being very helpful there. But then there were the times I we read entire Shakespeare plays to one another over the phone, switching off the roles. That was fun. Nobody else has ever done that before, and it was your own idea. I liked it.
I also always liked you for what you are, despite the fact we had some ridiculous argument like any two longtime friends are bound to have. Some were my fault, and some were yours, but to me it never changed fundamentally what I thought of you.
Until you started losing the weight.
I knew your body image was always something your struggled with. And I know that technically you were overweight. So I was happy for you when you lost the weight you wanted to. But then over the course of those two years, (during which we started writing less and less, and we never spoke on the phone anymore for whatever reason) your Facebook pictures displayed a continued weight loss that was at first impressive, than surprising, and then worrisome. I know you joined a gym, and started a juice diet and all other such things, but I remained concerned.
I could see the bones in your face, Meg. Maybe to a doctor that isn’t a big deal, but I thought that despite how much you loved your new look, you might have been going too far with it. So, despite my general belief that people ought to do with their body what they think is right, I expressed my concerns to you about it.
Your reaction was a bit hurtful to me. You told me I didn’t know a thing about it, and you also said you didn’t “have to justify” yourself to someone like me. You were mean about it, and all I had done was express a concern. You could have told me if a doctor said you were fine. You could have thanked me for my concern. You could have reassured me you were being careful. Instead, after years of confiding in one another about various things, you basically told me to butt out, because you weren’t going to justify yourself to me. (As though that is what I expected you to do.)
I still don’t know what you actual medical status is, but I have learned that such an angry reaction to someone’s concerns about your weight loss is typical for someone who knows they have gone overboard. That it’s often how people with eating disorders react at first. I am not suggesting you have a disorder, in fact I think you probably don’t. But I am suggesting that your reaction to my concern probably indicates that something about what I said struck too close to home with you. But instead of taking a few steps back and listening to me like you used to, you struck out at me, and paid more attention to all of the people who were telling you how hot you were becoming.
Obviously, things were different after that, though we still talked. Less, and you seemed uninterested in regular conversation with me. (Though I did get text pictures of you as everyone else did from time to time.)
I think my concerns are really the reason you stopped talking to me and blocked me on all social media. I realize the actual last conversation (or should I say confrontation) was about Paula Dean’s racist remarks. (About which I still think you are wholly incorrect, southern or not.) But could my thoughts on a crazy celebrity chef really have warranted an end to ten years of friendship? If it really did, than perhaps we weren’t friends like I thought we were. Perhaps being friends was as much of a fantasy as the known fantasy of us ever sleeping with one another. We originally met in a role playing game environment online. Perhaps out whole friendship was you playing a role for ten years.
Yet in the end, I think it was my concerns about your weight that pushed you away. If that’s the case, I regret that it hurt you, but I don’t regret saying it. i would say it again, if I thought someone’s health was at stake. Perhaps I was incorrect in my assessment of your weight, but you were wrong in your response to it.
Still, I hope you are in fact healthy. I hope I was wrong about your weight loss. And despite how completely unfair it is to have cut me off without warning over these things after so much time, I hope you really are at last happy with how you look.
And I hope you still read Shakespeare sometimes.
sincerely, Ty
–This post is part of the Open Letter Continuum.
Using Common Threads to Spur Creativity
Writers, when in doubt, use a thread.
That’s what I started out doing a year or so ago, as I often do. I wanted to increase my short story production, and I decided I’d pick a loose thread or theme common to the next few stories I’d write. Three or four ideas for stories sprang from that decision almost right away. As the weeks and months wore on and I feared I was running dry on ideas, I went back to that main theme. I played with tense, tone, point of view and everything else, but kept that common theme alive for those stories.I ran toward it over and over. Like a tall landmark in a strange city to which I could always orient myself while traveling.
And you know what? It worked. Worked so well in fact, that the theme I started with, theater antics, became even tighter, as I set all of the stories in one place. Once I did that, other more nuanced themes occurred almost in their own right. When I put them together, I had a collection of which I am quite proud.
Yes, my friends, Thank You For Ten: Short Fiction About a Little Theater (Published a month ago today!) started off as a decision to use a common thread or vantage point for the next several stories I was writing. The idea of a collection came later; it didn’t just descend from the heavens, believe it or not. At first I just wanted some focus for my fiction writing for a while. Out of that came my first ever self-published book.
Writers have done this probably as long as their have been writers, but that’s because it works so well. Collections of stories about cats, a hometown, a single family. Choosing such themes can initiate great creativity. Many minds are wired to be more productive when they can focus on a single item or two, and launch from there. That’s why themes work so well, for readers and writers.
Yet what if you don’t want to produce a collection like mine? Can you still make use of themes and threads? Without a doubt. I’ve been doing it for years before Thank You for Ten came along.
Many times I’ve established themes and commonalities as a beacon to myself, and then written a few stories to fit them; these are not collections, but merely stand alone stories that posses a similar common component. It’s not always as obvious as Thank You for Ten, and in fact often it isn’t. Many times the theme I’ve used is known only to myself. You can use the same tactic for your stand alone stories.
For example,you could decide that in August, all of your short fiction will will demonstrate doubt. You ask, “Whose doubt? Doubt of what?” Exactly! It’s wide open. An astute reader may catch the theme, if they happen to read all of the stories in one sitting. But if you are just using “doubt” as a catalyst to write several stand alone stories, nobody has to know you used a theme unless you want them too.
Then again, themes can also be specific. You might tell yourself that in the next five stories you write, the character will get lost while driving somewhere. More concrete, but certainly not confined to only a single narrative.
Then of course you can tell the same exact story from a different point of view each time.
The best part about using a thread outside of a planned collection, is that in pursuing it you often get ideas for stories that don’t connect at all to said theme. And behold, you’ve got more writing to do.
Threads then, are a bit like writing prompts, but broader. Less specific. Yet they achieve the same purpose; inspiring possibilities within your fiction, and motivating you to write even more often. And writing more often is a thread all writers would love to run through their day, I would think.
Ty Unglebower 