Category: Writing (page 55 of 81)

For Every Virtue, A Vice

Courtesy TuB gin

Disclaimer: Blue Ink Alchemy in no way endorses or encourages the use of substances such as those described in the following post in excess or in lieu of healthier activities. It is important and responsible to use these or any other substance or activity in moderation to ensure as long and fruitful a life as possible.

It is also important to use moderation in moderation lest you become dull.

I’m not an entirely virtuous or pious person. I’ve got quite a list of character defects going. I’d like to think that I’m not a horrible person, but I’m no saint. I don’t exercise outside of walking to and from various train stations, I’ve never counted carbs or calories and some of my personal hygiene habits are a little disgusting. And even if I did all of those things and refrained from some of my worse habits, I’d still have flaws. I’m human.

The point I’m going to try and make is that your characters are human, too. It’s been said before on more than one occasion but it bears repeating. If every character you create is a squeaky clean paragon of virtue free of negative emotions, habits and experiences, your story is going to be boring. And if the character is ‘perfect’ even as disaster is occuring all around them, the character is boring.

When I get into the office in the morning the first thing I do (after disabling the alarm) is make a cup of coffee. Caffiene kick-starts my brain. It tends to be sluggish first thing in the morning. I’m actually writing this post on the train before my first cuppa and it’s been a stop-and-start procedure. In the same way, not every character is going to pop right up out of bed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to face the day’s challeneges or the monster of the week. Sure, a lot of young adult works are going to start this way, but a lot of young adult works are trying too hard. Ask any agent.

Caffiene, for all of its morning-abating qualities, is in fact a drug, and it’s highly likely that using it daily will cause dependence. On Sundays in particular I can develop bad headaches if I don’t bring some into my system using coffee or soda pop. It makes it difficult to concentrate; things don’t flow as they should. More than once I’ve actually had a similar feeling while writing. Things aren’t flowing as they should; the story is missing something. There’s a shot of narrative espresso that will get things back on track. Have you ever encountered this? Have you ever felt your creative gears grind to a halt, only to start back up moments or days or months later when a stray thought falls into place like a caffinated cog?

So here comes the stereotype involving writers and their booze. My liquor cabinet is a shambles, along with a great deal of my apartment, but a couple beers a week tend to find their way to me due to the charity of friends and the fringe benefits of being part of a community-minded cutting-edge start-up. I’m sure bottles of gin and scotch will soon grace my shelves again, but I certainly don’t expect my writing to improve just by them being there. Alcohol does, however, tend to illicit altered behavior, from fostering relxation to causing soft-spoken people to pick fights with strangers of imagined slights. Have you ever imagined a character of yours on a bender? Would they stumble around town? Hit on someone else’s significant other? Wreck their house in a sudden fit of rage? Curl up in a corner and weep? All of the above? The better your know your character and the more human they are, the more you can predict the results of a night on the town. How about when they get in a fight sober? Or get their heart broken? Or lose their job? Our flaws define our reactions and ambitions just as much as our dreams and strengths do, and our characters are no different.

I’ve broken out the tobacco pipe on more than one occasion, though my good one has a broken stem and I can’t find my super glue. I’ve had encounters with other substances, and like President Obama, I did in fact inhale. Experimentation is a part of growth, and a part of our wrting as well. Try something new, turn a trope on its head, change a character’s race or gender, kill your darlings and any witnesses close to them. In the worst case scenario, you’ll have to rewrite some words to undo any damage you’ve done to the narrative. As long as you learned something about where your work is going and how you ant it to turn out, it’ll have been worth it.

Your chararcters are living things, even if it’s just on the page. And for every strength they show to the audience, there should be some sort of weakness, even a fleeting one. For every virtue, your character should indulge in a vice. This will make your work more interesting to write, and increase the chances it’ll be interesting to read, too.

Send Up A Flare

Courtesy Valve Software

Going out into the wilderness is a somewhat dangerous prospect. Wildlife, weather and our own wherewithal are all factors that must be taken into account when facing a journey into the unknown. And when someone like Bear Grylls or Les Stroud enters the wilderness alone (or at least with no overt help from the camera crew) we are in a bit of awe, simply because the scope of such a journey is so staggering. To say nothing of everything that could go wrong.

Most people looking at that sort of undertaking are going to want some company. We take our spouses and significant others on romantic getaways and our friends on road trips. At the same time we’re sharing the road, we’re also sharing the load. Work is less grueling and physical feats less daunting when such things are tackled by more than one person. And when things go wrong, it’s wise to call for help. Fire up the radio, check for cell reception, send up a flare.

It’s not just the wilderness of the world we face, though. Writers, Olympic athletes, artists, professional ball players – when people like this set their sights on a goal, it’s often one that means their name in lights, and their name alone. But that doesn’t mean that they need to get there alone.

It’s foolish to assume that an individual knows everything they need to know to get what they want. For one thing, it’s impossible to know everything; for another, it’s highly unlikely that they have enough experience to adequately predict what will happen next in their quest for their goal, and react appropriately. In spite of this, a lot of people will struggle in silence, trying to forge ahead on their own without asking for an adequate amount of help to overcome their obstacles. They don’t pose questions. They don’t easily admit to weaknesses. They don’t send up flares.

With so many resources available to someone undertaking a new journey, be it in a new artistic pursuit or just a hobby, looking for help when things aren’t going well seems a logical and sound thing to do. And yet, some put off asking for help until they’re at the point of desperation, or they approach asking for help in the wrong way. It’s one thing to admit you suck at something; it’s quite another to invite people to look at your work and tell you just how much you suck. It takes humility and a realistic viewpoint. The people with good enough hearts to respond earnestly to a request for help aren’t going to be looking to tear you down with what they say when they see your work. They’ll want to see you not only improve but also truly enjoy whatever it is you’re doing.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that there’s no reason to be afraid to send up a flare. By this I mean find the forums on the Internet catering to your interest. Engage people in discussion about your passions. Let them give you honest opinions on how you can improve, and take the advice to heart without taking it personally. Believe it or not, putting yourself in front of an audience, even if it’s just for them to tear your work to bits, takes bravery and humility. These are virtues people want to see, and when they do it may be surprising just how many come forward to offer assistance, earnestly, wanting to see you get better. Sending up a flare illuminates everything around you, and when people see your light, it’ll cause them to look towards the heavens as well. And who knows what can happen then?

Don’t Stop Not Caring

Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr

Last night at the Old City Creative Corridor meeting, I had the privilege of listening to Rakia Reynolds, a creative ambassador of Philadelphia. She spoke about branding ourselves as creative natives of this great town, and one thing in particular she said stuck out in my mind. I’m paraphrasing, here, but it boils down to this: “If you can find what you want to do, do what you want.”

I issue this challenge to my fellow writers. Walk into a bookstore. I mean, physically. Make the effort to get out in the world and walk amongst the shelves populated by the works of those who’ve already made their mark in our rarefied field. Take a look in your area of interest – speculative fiction, biography, self-help, instructional books on Twitter, whatever. Chances are you’re likely to find something that may, in passing, resemble what you want to do. The thing is, though, it’s not exactly what you want to do. So, go do exactly what you want to do. Then, shop the hell out of it. Sooner or later, all of the rejection and all of the negativity you feel you’re coming up against will wash away in the wake of one, just one, person giving you an enthusiastic response: “I like this idea. I am ON FIRE about it. Tell me more.”

I say ‘rarefied’ because not everybody feels they have what it takes to put words to paper in a coherent way that’s easy to read. It’s like everybody else who shares our interests knows something we don’t. And maybe, on a basic level, we know it too.

The difference is, to put it bluntly, we just don’t care.

If you start something, if you embark on a new creative endeavour, you’re going to run into static. There will be resistance. Practicality and logistics will rear their ugly heads to tell you the myriad ways in which what you want to do can’t be done. The work of others and a litany of failures will present evidence illustrating why your idea might not be a very good one. What separates the people we envy from the people we’ve never really heard of is that the people we envy didn’t let that static or their own failures stop them from reaching the heights to which they aspired.

Being great and making a difference aren’t really a matter of doing something entirely new or different. It’s a matter of being willing to fail, and making the most of success when it happens. And that willingness, that hunger to capitalize, comes from doing what you want, what you love.

As Howard Thurman said, “Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

Writing as Mortar

Courtesy askthebuilder.com

Pop quiz, hotshot.

You’re not ready to be a professional writer. You want to keep a steady paycheck, which means a steady job, which means no solid blocks of writing for you. You’ve checked Chuck’s list and felt the crushing weight of reality telling you that being a professional writer just isn’t going to happen. But the need is still there. That thing that makes you want to put words on paper for people to read for no other reason than they make sense, possibly to entertain, and definitely because nobody else in the world writes exactly the way you do.

What do you do? What do you do?

You find a way to keep writing.

Writing as a skill, especially one aimed at earning a living, is like any other. It takes practice, experimentation, practice, failure and even more practice. Training your ability to write is like training a muscle group in your body. You pick up the weights and repeatedly use the muscles to lift them, or you run in a circle or bike the same route over and over again. The more you do it, the easier it becomes and the more you can do at one time. However, if you have somewhere else to be or something more urgent to do, you can work in a quick burst here and there.

It’s the same with writing. Even if you’re not doing it to earn a living (yet), you can find ways to keep that intellectual muscle in shape. Lunch breaks, mass transit commutes, commercials during a favorite show, loading screens – that’s just a few examples off the top of my head. During any of these snippets of time, you can write. It doesn’t have to be anything earth-shattering or the next bestseller, but it might lead to something earth-shattering or the next bestseller. You won’t know till you try.

Anybody who works out can tell you that having a regimen or a trainer is the best way to stay on track with your goals and remain motivated. For the writer, that means feedback. There are quick, dirty ways to get that, too. Find a forum in your field or genre and see if they allow sample or snippet posting for peer review. Facebook notes are good for this, especially if you have friends following you willing to tell you when something stinks to high heaven. If you’re feeling up to it, start a blog.

Just like when the trainer yells at you to keep you motivated, a peer giving you feedback probably isn’t looking to erode your self-esteem. The abuse is for your benefit. It might sting and you might resent them in the moment for it, but when the end result turns out looking much better than your initial effort, you’ll be thankful for the harsh words. Try not to take things too personally, unless the critic actually starts attacking your person. Remember, friends don’t let friends publish crappy writing.

Most of us can’t become professional writers right out of the box, and some of us just aren’t ready to make that leap yet. We need to lay bricks instead of writing to make a living. However, there’s no reason we can’t work our art into the mortar between those bricks. If you look at a building held together by mortar, some of the gaps between the bricks or stone are larger than others. It adds character to the building. Again, so it is with writing. Some of our stretches of writing between shifts, tasks and days will be longer than others, and some will be far too short. But the overall effect will be a richer life and one that gives us more motivation, as we seek the next gap between bricks to fill with our mortar of words.

The most important thing is to write, and to not stop writing.

It’s Just Too Easy

Courtesy SUDA 51

I know this is an issue that has been addressed elsewhere. In the majority of modern first-person shooters, even ones touted for their realism, all you have to do in order to survive a firefight in which you’ve been wounded is crouch behind a chest-high wall. Your health regenerates by itself. I’m not entirely sure when this trend began, but it’s removed an element of risk from those games and made them easier than they necessarily need to be.

A similar problem crops up in storytelling from time to time. Rather than carefully constructing the narrative with disparate and possibly contradictory plot threads in the beginning to be woven together at the end, some stories have no qualms about stating everything for the audience as plainly as possible. And some of these tales become embarassingly popular, as the bland plotlines and flat characters spoon-feed ‘entertainment’ to the waiting masses. Go back and watch how many times Anakin & Padme say they’re in love in comparison to the times when they actually show it. Watch Shia LeBouf project danger and tension by yelling a lot instead of wearing an expression other than dull surprise. Listen to the delivery of lines in a Gears of War, God of War or Call of Duty sequel and see if you can discern emotions other than those related to macho swagger.

Now, I’m not saying every game has to be a Killer7 or a BioShock. Not every film will be able to match The Usual Suspects or Inception. Few novels will measure up to A Game Of Thrones or Oryx and Crake. Consider me to be of the opinion that writers who make an attempt to show what’s going on instead of just telling, who opt to challenge their audience rather than making things easier on them, are going to be met with more success and repeat business. Let doubts linger in the shadows of the narrative and characters keep their agendas hidden until the last possible moment. This will engage the audience and make them invested in seeing the story through until the end.

Going back to the bit about regenerating health, the point I’m trying to make is that the player should be empowered to determine how much they risk and how often. If I’m playing Half-Life 2, I might pass up a health station because I know there’s a hard firefight right around the corner. In Dragon Age I churn out health poultices and study Spirit Healer spells to keep my party alive during combat. Some forethought has to be invested, but the end result is a more rewarding experience that I’m interested in repeating.

Writing really isn’t all that different.

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