Everyone should read the greats, right?
Perhaps my first experience with Stephen King should not have been the plodding, meandering, anti-chronology that is The Gunslinger. Not that flashbacks don't have a purpose; in fact, had the book been written without its hoop-jumping through time, I would have liked it less. For me, what the story lacked was the big, fat WHY. I understand what the Gunslinger's immediate goals are, but never why.
It's exactly as King intended, of course. The Gunslinger himself hardly knows WHY he slaughters an entire village with his six-shooters or travels across a phantasmal Sahara desert with a boy who's been sucked into his universe by the book's anti-hero. He only knows that he must, and he capitulates to the will of the author as every character, good and bad, must always do.
Ok, now I have to ask myself... did Mr. King know what his character's motivation was? I doubt it. The fact that he revised the book in 2003 says much of the book's seat-of-the-pants origin. So much of the story was yet unimagined at the initial 1982 (drafting began in 1970) publishing that later books ended up contradicting it, and the revision altered some details so that the first book fell in line with the others. In a way, I admire King for making this revision... it shows he was willing to admit that he'd made some mistakes.
Yet no matter how much I may decry those things that I perceive as shortcomings within The Gunslinger, Mr. King cannot be mocked. His work stands alone, his legacy already established.
I still think The Gunslinger is a terrible read. King's Colorful language does not fulfill the woeful gap left by my incapacity to feel any empathy at all for the 'slinger, and while I've heard and read that the first book is a joy to read once it can be placed within the context of the multi-book story-arc, I have this lively suspicion that King's brilliance is probably little more than building the rest of the story off the things he arbitrarily imagined in 1970-1982.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Loft Literary Center
I've stumbled upon a writer's paradox.
I'm a firm believer that writers, as a general rule, are fairly empathetic people. Writing is an art that requires feeling, and those types of people who make a practice of really observing the world and find themselves vicariously experiencing another person's life just from a mere conversation are those that embody marvelous literary talent. It could come from anyone. Writers realize this, and it sparks a kind of open-mindedness, an empathy for fellow writers.
The business side of writing is populated by editors, agents, and boogie men. The gauntlet of deleted queries and rejection letters is scary.
Fortunately, we writers have more resources available to us than we could possibly ever use. Countless support groups, advisory panels, how-to websites, and sympathetic organizations provide useful information, if they can be found.
Here's my paradox: The Loft Literary Center is one such helpful institution. It hosts classes, readings, and other activities. However, it has developed a reputation amongst "outsiders" as being the paragon collective of writer's ego. If ever there was a high-brow writer's guild, this is it. Every time I've attended a reading, I have felt like I was snooping in upon an elitist cultural event. It didn't matter HOW good a writer I was, I would never be trendy enough to be a "Loft" writer. It was a paradox, a writer's organization for writers that managed only to make me feel as though my abilities and accomplishments were insignificant. How dare I call myself a writer?
I recently attended a two hour class at The Loft. What a difference. Maybe it was the time of day, morning, rather than evening. Maybe it was that I was in the midst of writers who were actually working to improve their craft by attending this class, rather than in the midst of those intent upon advertising their craft. Regardless, the class was quite good, and I plan to keep attend others.
My angsty paradox has begun to redeem itself.
As a post script, I'd like to add that my experiences with the business side of writing have been far LESS scary than I imagined they might be. Writers aren't the only people that realize talent can come from anywhere. Yes, I may be channeling Ratatouille.
I'm a firm believer that writers, as a general rule, are fairly empathetic people. Writing is an art that requires feeling, and those types of people who make a practice of really observing the world and find themselves vicariously experiencing another person's life just from a mere conversation are those that embody marvelous literary talent. It could come from anyone. Writers realize this, and it sparks a kind of open-mindedness, an empathy for fellow writers.
The business side of writing is populated by editors, agents, and boogie men. The gauntlet of deleted queries and rejection letters is scary.
Fortunately, we writers have more resources available to us than we could possibly ever use. Countless support groups, advisory panels, how-to websites, and sympathetic organizations provide useful information, if they can be found.
Here's my paradox: The Loft Literary Center is one such helpful institution. It hosts classes, readings, and other activities. However, it has developed a reputation amongst "outsiders" as being the paragon collective of writer's ego. If ever there was a high-brow writer's guild, this is it. Every time I've attended a reading, I have felt like I was snooping in upon an elitist cultural event. It didn't matter HOW good a writer I was, I would never be trendy enough to be a "Loft" writer. It was a paradox, a writer's organization for writers that managed only to make me feel as though my abilities and accomplishments were insignificant. How dare I call myself a writer?
I recently attended a two hour class at The Loft. What a difference. Maybe it was the time of day, morning, rather than evening. Maybe it was that I was in the midst of writers who were actually working to improve their craft by attending this class, rather than in the midst of those intent upon advertising their craft. Regardless, the class was quite good, and I plan to keep attend others.
My angsty paradox has begun to redeem itself.
As a post script, I'd like to add that my experiences with the business side of writing have been far LESS scary than I imagined they might be. Writers aren't the only people that realize talent can come from anywhere. Yes, I may be channeling Ratatouille.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Minicon
From what I've heard of the speculative fiction conferences in Minnesota, Minicon is the most literary. I attended Minicon this Easter weekend.
Among the panels for discussion (many of which were very worthwhile, covering topics such as editing and the publication process) was a "pitching and catching" session. It was American Idol for writers. An editor from a [very] large publishing house was at the judge, and anyone who wanted to pitch their book or story idea was welcome to do so, provided they didn't exceed the 3 minute time limit.
They ran out of time. I didn't get to go.
I was crushed. What an opportunity for aspiring writers! ...and I just couldn't raise my hand fast enough.
A friend of mine, a member of my writer's group, looked me in the eye and said, "we're going to corner him [the editor] tomorrow and you're going to pitch your story, even if I have to taser him to keep him from running away!" Thank you, Sam.
We cornered him in a mostly empty conference room the next day, and he went along with the pitch idea without the need for hostilities. His reaction was favorable. He asked several questions to clarify story/world construction, inquired whether I had an agent, and then asked me to send him the entire manuscript.
I think my response was in sentence format. I might have just been babbling.
Hermitage, thou art not devoid of reward. I will embrace thee once more and endeavor to fix various errors within my story before I make my submission. May the editor's inbox be empty when my document arrives.
Among the panels for discussion (many of which were very worthwhile, covering topics such as editing and the publication process) was a "pitching and catching" session. It was American Idol for writers. An editor from a [very] large publishing house was at the judge, and anyone who wanted to pitch their book or story idea was welcome to do so, provided they didn't exceed the 3 minute time limit.
They ran out of time. I didn't get to go.
I was crushed. What an opportunity for aspiring writers! ...and I just couldn't raise my hand fast enough.
A friend of mine, a member of my writer's group, looked me in the eye and said, "we're going to corner him [the editor] tomorrow and you're going to pitch your story, even if I have to taser him to keep him from running away!" Thank you, Sam.
We cornered him in a mostly empty conference room the next day, and he went along with the pitch idea without the need for hostilities. His reaction was favorable. He asked several questions to clarify story/world construction, inquired whether I had an agent, and then asked me to send him the entire manuscript.
I think my response was in sentence format. I might have just been babbling.
Hermitage, thou art not devoid of reward. I will embrace thee once more and endeavor to fix various errors within my story before I make my submission. May the editor's inbox be empty when my document arrives.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Good and Bad of Harry Potter 7
As a fresh writer, I’m keenly interested in the process which established writers used to become so. I read Joanne Rowling's Wikipedia entry with grotesque abandon several weeks back, utterly absorbed by the fact that Harry Potter was her first published book. Isn’t that what all new authors yearn to hear? That maybe, just maybe, their work will turn into a multi-million dollar, culture-electrifying smash?
It’s childish. And yet, that same childishness (perhaps I should refer to it as the state of being “child-like”) is what makes many science fiction/ fantasy works interesting. The ability to recklessly day-dream makes the unlikely become real to the author, who in turn must wrestle with their inner disciplinarian to cultivate those dreams into words that appeal to the market.
Deadly Hallows is the only Rowling book I've actually read; the first six books I absorbed through audio-CDs. I have a few... observations.
-The wedding; Perhaps my mind hasn't completely opened to the "magicness" of magic. Perhaps I just don't understand the sheer size of the Burrow. Either way, I found myself stumbling over logistics in regards to preparation for the wedding. HOW do so many people function in such a tiny space? I also think some of the appeal of the wedding is lost on Rowling's male audience, but that's hardly a reason not to include it. The wedding prep scenes just feel a little drafty to me. That being said, the wedding itself is a fascinating intersection of hackneyed personalities and
storylines.
-Grimmauld Place doesn't become interesting until the book is over. It's unfortunate that the reader spends so many pages in a place where nothing happens. Even the month-long process of observing the Ministry of Magic for their foray within, even though Rowling barely mentions it in passing, is stagnate. The book could have been improved by having another, more immediate means of information present itself to Potter and friends before the reader has a chance to wonder why in the world the muggle police force hasn't done anything about the troupe of men watching the join of number 11 and 13. Sure, this could be easily explained away by magic, but it isn't, and the reader is stuck experiencing the boredom of sitting around, watching paint dry.
My wife presented a counterargument for this point with an appeal to realism: A 16ish year-old boy and a couple of friends would indeed be very likely to spend lots of time "at home" -- especially if that home is as secure as Grimmauld Place.
-Wandering, the tent, and Ron's falling out; Rowling did a great job of making me feel as lost as Harry Potter. Not that the section is confusing or misleading, but that it goes on... and on... focusing around characters who are floundering. Appeal to realism? Or perhaps Rowling could have discovered other, more interesting ways of causing Ron to become so upset that he leaves the party. And Harry's finding the gryffindor sword at the bottom of a frozen pond while being simultaneously reunited with Ron after following a strange patronus spell took every ounce of disbelief suspension I have. It became even less believable to me after I learned that it was Snape's patronus at the end of the book.
-Godric's Hollow: Rowling impressed me twice with her musings on death and the loss of a loved one. I consider this portion of the book, in which Harry Potter visits his parents' grave, to be some of her best writing. However, immediately after, Rowling throws the reader into a miasma of confusing changes in point of view, vague statements apparently intended to be dramatic, and lousy descriptions of events. In what was intended to be an intense, life and death struggle between Harry and Voldemort's horcrux-infused snake, Nagini, the most predominant feature of the text is Rowling's relentless use of ellipses.
-Gringott's: This feels a little bit like Rowling was writing by the seat of her pants, but if so, it adds to the element of uncertainty while Harry and co. penetrate into the vault. The journey out, however, is no worse than the ending of the movie Deep Rising, one of the most laughable, poorly scripted conclusions ever conceived in the history of scriptwriting, complete with ski-doo. If ever Rowling turned the implausible into the convenient for the sake of her protagonist's heroism, this is it. The dragon is the worst cop-out in the entire series.
The end: was extremely satisfying. 4.75 stars. The last quarter point could have been earned if Snape had gone down fighting, rather than limply, while Nagini chomped on him; if Mrs. Weasely's magical combat skills had NOT inexplicably transformed into that of a warrior-mage; and if Voldemort had remained true to his inner character, even at the last. Voldemort is the paragon of cowardice: he has never faced Harry alone, one on one, in a duel, nor would he ever allow such an event to take place. Only when surrounded by his cohorts and while holding all the cards has he dared to confront Harry. In the end, he goes down as a "noble" villain, fighting against the overwhelming odds of the good guys, which makes for a complete ending, but it also goes against everything he has ever done in the past. Voldemort would have fled. The moment the Hogwarts battle drifted south, he would have been watching from afar, not fighting his way to wherever might make the most epic ending of the book.
Now that I've bashed the book, let me also say that once I got passed Grimmauld Place, I read the entire book in one sitting, easily eight hours of reading for me. In books, character development and consistency is more important than what events unfold, and aside from her antagonist breaking his mold of cowardice in the end, Rowling just might rival C.S. Forester in character creation.
It’s childish. And yet, that same childishness (perhaps I should refer to it as the state of being “child-like”) is what makes many science fiction/ fantasy works interesting. The ability to recklessly day-dream makes the unlikely become real to the author, who in turn must wrestle with their inner disciplinarian to cultivate those dreams into words that appeal to the market.
Deadly Hallows is the only Rowling book I've actually read; the first six books I absorbed through audio-CDs. I have a few... observations.
-The wedding; Perhaps my mind hasn't completely opened to the "magicness" of magic. Perhaps I just don't understand the sheer size of the Burrow. Either way, I found myself stumbling over logistics in regards to preparation for the wedding. HOW do so many people function in such a tiny space? I also think some of the appeal of the wedding is lost on Rowling's male audience, but that's hardly a reason not to include it. The wedding prep scenes just feel a little drafty to me. That being said, the wedding itself is a fascinating intersection of hackneyed personalities and
storylines.
-Grimmauld Place doesn't become interesting until the book is over. It's unfortunate that the reader spends so many pages in a place where nothing happens. Even the month-long process of observing the Ministry of Magic for their foray within, even though Rowling barely mentions it in passing, is stagnate. The book could have been improved by having another, more immediate means of information present itself to Potter and friends before the reader has a chance to wonder why in the world the muggle police force hasn't done anything about the troupe of men watching the join of number 11 and 13. Sure, this could be easily explained away by magic, but it isn't, and the reader is stuck experiencing the boredom of sitting around, watching paint dry.
My wife presented a counterargument for this point with an appeal to realism: A 16ish year-old boy and a couple of friends would indeed be very likely to spend lots of time "at home" -- especially if that home is as secure as Grimmauld Place.
-Wandering, the tent, and Ron's falling out; Rowling did a great job of making me feel as lost as Harry Potter. Not that the section is confusing or misleading, but that it goes on... and on... focusing around characters who are floundering. Appeal to realism? Or perhaps Rowling could have discovered other, more interesting ways of causing Ron to become so upset that he leaves the party. And Harry's finding the gryffindor sword at the bottom of a frozen pond while being simultaneously reunited with Ron after following a strange patronus spell took every ounce of disbelief suspension I have. It became even less believable to me after I learned that it was Snape's patronus at the end of the book.
-Godric's Hollow: Rowling impressed me twice with her musings on death and the loss of a loved one. I consider this portion of the book, in which Harry Potter visits his parents' grave, to be some of her best writing. However, immediately after, Rowling throws the reader into a miasma of confusing changes in point of view, vague statements apparently intended to be dramatic, and lousy descriptions of events. In what was intended to be an intense, life and death struggle between Harry and Voldemort's horcrux-infused snake, Nagini, the most predominant feature of the text is Rowling's relentless use of ellipses.
-Gringott's: This feels a little bit like Rowling was writing by the seat of her pants, but if so, it adds to the element of uncertainty while Harry and co. penetrate into the vault. The journey out, however, is no worse than the ending of the movie Deep Rising, one of the most laughable, poorly scripted conclusions ever conceived in the history of scriptwriting, complete with ski-doo. If ever Rowling turned the implausible into the convenient for the sake of her protagonist's heroism, this is it. The dragon is the worst cop-out in the entire series.
The end: was extremely satisfying. 4.75 stars. The last quarter point could have been earned if Snape had gone down fighting, rather than limply, while Nagini chomped on him; if Mrs. Weasely's magical combat skills had NOT inexplicably transformed into that of a warrior-mage; and if Voldemort had remained true to his inner character, even at the last. Voldemort is the paragon of cowardice: he has never faced Harry alone, one on one, in a duel, nor would he ever allow such an event to take place. Only when surrounded by his cohorts and while holding all the cards has he dared to confront Harry. In the end, he goes down as a "noble" villain, fighting against the overwhelming odds of the good guys, which makes for a complete ending, but it also goes against everything he has ever done in the past. Voldemort would have fled. The moment the Hogwarts battle drifted south, he would have been watching from afar, not fighting his way to wherever might make the most epic ending of the book.
Now that I've bashed the book, let me also say that once I got passed Grimmauld Place, I read the entire book in one sitting, easily eight hours of reading for me. In books, character development and consistency is more important than what events unfold, and aside from her antagonist breaking his mold of cowardice in the end, Rowling just might rival C.S. Forester in character creation.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Untitled Short, draft 1.0
The Room1.1 now resides on my laptop and in various backup states. What a horrible title. I guess -everything- is still in the draft stage.
The concept behind this piece is based on a series of real life dreams, not mine. My source was kind enough to write an essay detailing the mood and surroundings of the dreams, which I found compelling and inspiring. The story has some strong horror elements, which I absentmindedly placed in a Gothic, Transylvania-esque setting. The problems: my characters are American; I intended the story to be modern-day even though the mood is somewhat older; I have supporting characters that serve no purpose; and the entire first half of the story is totally unrelated to the latter half.
But it felt so good to write. What happened?
The concept behind this piece is based on a series of real life dreams, not mine. My source was kind enough to write an essay detailing the mood and surroundings of the dreams, which I found compelling and inspiring. The story has some strong horror elements, which I absentmindedly placed in a Gothic, Transylvania-esque setting. The problems: my characters are American; I intended the story to be modern-day even though the mood is somewhat older; I have supporting characters that serve no purpose; and the entire first half of the story is totally unrelated to the latter half.
But it felt so good to write. What happened?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Project update: Trivial Technicalities
Outline in progress. This is way more work than I thought it would be. I should never underestimate projects that require research. I also anticipate several live versions of this reaching something resembling a final draft, so this may be a work in progress for quite a while.
Writing is a Lifestyle
I've run into quite a few definitions of what it means to be a writer. The most common has been "someone who writes." Should I be concerned that this self-evident definition seems to be deemed the most apropos by the majority of self-help authors?
Less frequently, I've read, "a writer is someone who writes every day." Ok. I missed a day. Now what? The intention behind this definition is good, but skipping Tuesday evening's freewrite shouldn't put the writer in danger of losing part of his self identity.
I've also read that, to claim yourself a writer, you must be published. I see the merit in claiming publication as the ultimate litmus test for "writership," but I can't think of a better way to discourage a fledgling. This particular opinion came from a successful novelist who freely admitted that for him, writing meant sitting in his office for 8-10 hours a day, slugging it out with his manuscript for months on end. I admire his tenacity and discipline, and mean to replicate it. But his definition of "writer" hardly lends a hand to the writing community.
What do I think it means to be a writer? I think I gave that away when I titled this entry. Being a writer means taking steps to market yourself; it means creating the time to read prolifically in your genre; sometimes, it means declining social invitations with the genuine reason that, "I need to go stare listlessly at my computer screen for an hour." It's being able to accept all manner of criticism and take the good (with thanks) and discard the bad (without comment). It's mulling through your current project in your head while plowing through your day job. It's critiquing other authors. It's a lifestyle.
Your writing lifestyle will be different than mine. Let me know how it goes.
Less frequently, I've read, "a writer is someone who writes every day." Ok. I missed a day. Now what? The intention behind this definition is good, but skipping Tuesday evening's freewrite shouldn't put the writer in danger of losing part of his self identity.
I've also read that, to claim yourself a writer, you must be published. I see the merit in claiming publication as the ultimate litmus test for "writership," but I can't think of a better way to discourage a fledgling. This particular opinion came from a successful novelist who freely admitted that for him, writing meant sitting in his office for 8-10 hours a day, slugging it out with his manuscript for months on end. I admire his tenacity and discipline, and mean to replicate it. But his definition of "writer" hardly lends a hand to the writing community.
What do I think it means to be a writer? I think I gave that away when I titled this entry. Being a writer means taking steps to market yourself; it means creating the time to read prolifically in your genre; sometimes, it means declining social invitations with the genuine reason that, "I need to go stare listlessly at my computer screen for an hour." It's being able to accept all manner of criticism and take the good (with thanks) and discard the bad (without comment). It's mulling through your current project in your head while plowing through your day job. It's critiquing other authors. It's a lifestyle.
Your writing lifestyle will be different than mine. Let me know how it goes.
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