Category: Writing (page 67 of 81)

Said Lives!

Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr

Let me take you back to elementary school. Junior high or middle school, maybe. Going back a ways for some of us, I know. Just when we were getting started in writing, putting words together in ways that made sense, our teachers told us something that was meant to help us.

“Said is dead.”

All you have to do is look at some of the more laughably horrendous works of fan fiction out there, such as “My Immortal” or “Half-Life Full Life Consequences”, to see why our instructors tried to get us hating “said.” If you use it all the time in your dialog, it becomes repetitive. Boring. You could be relaying the blow-by-blow proceedings of an intense debate on the existence of God and the potential place of a deity in the theory of evolution, but if you use ‘said’ the way you use periods to punctuate the back-and-forth it’ll be about as exciting as waiting for the bus.

As an alternative to said, we were encouraged to use alternatives found in a thesaurus. Lists like this one popped up all over the place, pounding into us the notion of said being dead. This worked to take writing out of the pure beginner stages and help define the characters as they spoke. At worst, we just swapped said for a different word. At best, he used the different verbs to inform other actions in the plot and keep it moving. Nothing wrong with that, other than the fact it doesn’t go quite far enough.

Think about conversations you’ve had. It’s very rare to sit across from someone or stand next to them while nothing else is happening but talking. Are you looking out the window? Twirling a pen? Loading a gun? Are they? These actions convey emotion — restlessness, anger, thoughtfulness, etc. — much better than any replacement for “said”. Not only do writing these actions out as a preface to a line of dialog communicate which character is speaking, they also say something about that character in a way that shows, rather than tells. Win/win.

Of course, too many actions may clutter up the flow of the dialog. Sometimes you just need to say who’s talking. And for that purpose, “said” works just fine.

But just because said lives doesn’t mean you can’t kill it dead.

Our teachers had a point. The overuse of “said” will destroy your work. Even only using it a few times in the same exchange can put the attention of your reader in jeopardy. Think of “said” as a bit of duct tape keeping the flow and coherence of the dialog together until you reach the next action, or an instance of a character actually addressing the person to whom their speaking directly. People do that for emphasis, or to indicate another party present. As strong as duct tape is, if you use too much of it to patch your dialog together, chances are you’re doing something wrong.

Think about the flow of conversation. Weave actions into it to keep the direction clear, the energy high. Use said as sparingly as possible, and find ways to avoid using it if you already have once or twice. Step back from the dialog, turn it upside down, see what shakes loose and patch it up so it holds together. In other words, don’t just tell us about it — write it.

Our characters, after all, are not just what they say or what they feel. They are what they do. But that, I feel, is a subject for another post. For now, let it be known throughout the land and shouted from the rooftops — said LIVES!

Why I Miss Darth Vader

Vader, back when he was awesome.

Yesterday my good friend Rick over at Word Asylum brought up some classic villains. What stuck out in his pretty comprehensive top ten list was the presence of one Darth Vader. I was reminded of what he, and Star Wars in general, were like when it was first introduced. I discussed him briefly back when I talked about villainy in general. Let’s go back a bit, however, and examine one of the most iconic bad guys of the big screen a bit more closely.

Star Wars

Rooted as it was in the adventure serials that people like Lucas grew up with, having good and evil somewhat diametrically opposed was par for the course. Good guys were good, bad guys were bad. And they didn’t come badder than Darth Vader. We are introduced to Vader when his stormtroopers blast their way through a Rebel spacecraft, his motivations are clear when he strangles one of the ship’s officers and he’s more than willing to turn his significant strength and wrath against his own people if they question his faith or their orders. You don’t need a manual or novelization to understand Darth Vader. It’s laid out for you on the screen and, surprisingly enough considering later entries in the Star Wars series, it’s shown instead of told. When someone does try to tell instead of show, Vader chokes the bitch. “I find your lack of faith disturbing” is all that need be said.

The Empire Strikes Back

Rick described this as being Vader at “his lowest point, when the Dark Side firmly had him enthralled.” His loyalty and dedication to the Empire has given way this obsession with capturing Luke Skywalker. On the surface, this is a straightforward motivation – Luke humiliated Vader in battle, and Vader wants revenge. He’s willing to strangle anyone, destroy anything, sacrifice entire Star Destroyers and recruit the most insidious of bounty hunters to get what he wants. His villainy takes on a whole new dimension when it’s revealed that his pursuit of the Millenium Falcon is all a ploy to draw Luke out of hiding, and when Luke does appear, Vader goes from being a merely dark villainous presence to a deep and haunting one.

Vader, we discover, is Luke’s father. Beyond his desire to corrupt Luke and seduce him to the Dark Side, Vader wants Luke to join him, work with him and help him build a peaceful, orderly Empire. He wants to establish a true monarchy by deposing Palpatine, becoming Emperor himself and ensuring his son will succeed him and carry on his goals. It’s his way of seeking reconciliation. However, rather than trying to bridge the gap between them, Vader offers to yank Luke over to his side of things. It shows just how far Vader has fallen to the Dark Side, and what happens next is perhaps the greatest moment of storytelling in Star Wars to date.

When Luke chooses to face death rather than join his father, watch Vader closely. Without seeing his face, without saying a word, Vader conveys an emotion that pierces all his Force powers and imposing armor the way blasters never could. Luke breaks Vader’s heart. Not only is this a telling moment in the relationship between father and son, there’s a reveal here even more shocking than that of Luke’s parentage: Darth Vader, a deadly and cunning manipulative bastard of a villain, has a heart to break.

Star Wars never saw anything like this moment again. It shines as the pinnacle of the saga’s power and beyond everything that comes after, for me, it remains untouched.

Return of the Jedi

There’s a huge difference between the Vader in the first two films and the Vader in Jedi. He sounds weary. He’s still driven and loyal, but the wound he suffered on Cloud City still bleeds inside of him. Inside that dark armor wages a battle between the man he wants to be – Luke’s father, someone the boy will admire and want to be with – and the servant of the Empire he has become. When Luke reappears in Vader’s life, he makes another attempt to appeal for the young man’s favor. In response, Luke searches for the smaller side of the internal struggle he feels, the man Vader once was.

Vader as a villain is no less effective in Jedi but his motivations are now far more personal, the sort of things we see in the closing acts of a Greek tragedy. Brought low by his actions, responsible for the deaths of friends and loved ones, Vader must face his own demons and put them to rest even at the expense of his own life. In the process, he finally wins the adoration of his son. The tragedy of his adult life is left far behind as he achieves his redemption. It’s this cycle, falling into darkness only to struggle back to the light regardless of cost, that defines many of Star Wars‘ better tales, such as that of Ulic Qel-Droma.

Everything After

When the prequels were announced, fans looked forward to seeing what Anakin was like before becoming Vader, discovering the details of his fall and fully understanding the pathos beneath the armor. Instead, we got a whiny, willful, selfish and ill-conceived brat with no real charisma, no redeeming values and little to offer the precious few tangible threads of story laid out by Lucas. By focusing on spectacle and merchandising, Lucas tore out the fangs of his greatest success entirely.

When you have potential like this, you shouldn’t let it go to waste. Take some time to consider the groundwork that’s been laid before you build something new. It’s not hard. I hate to keep coming back to this, but if I can throw together something in a weekend that people feel is better structured than a multi-million dollar production, the people that invest that money should be more willing to take a closer look on where their money is actually going.

But that’s just me. I’m a wide-eyed idealist and a starving artist, and for what it’s worth, I miss Darth Vader.

The Fine Art of the Catherd

Gaming Cat

I’ve been in therapy quite a bit in my adult life.

You’re shocked. I can tell.

One of the most effective pieces of advice I was given by a therapist involved dealing with the internal mechanisms of my brain. Specifically, the phenomenon she called “racing thoughts.” Basically, if a notion came into my head or something bugged me, the notion itself and my thoughts on that notion would begin chasing each other around with little restraint or regard for anything I wanted to accomplish. Something would shock me or blind-side me emotionally, and I’d be a useless weepy rag of a man for at least half a day. It was bad.

Getting a grip on this problem, and by extension myself, was a lot like herding cats. Rather mangy undomesticated ones that that. My inability to properly cope with or communicate important, life-impacting information and events has lead directly to some real disasters. I’ve messed up quite a few things in my life. Some bridges have been burned, never to be repaired. I like to believe in things like redemption, forgiveness and hope, but reality is a lot colder and more harsh than the heavenly kingdom in just about any walk of faith.

See? There it goes. My mind starts chasing its own tail in a spiral of, in this case, self-loathing and regret. Nip that in the bud, mind! I’ve done bad things in my life, sure. But they weren’t all bad. And I can learn from the bad things I’ve done in the past and do better in the future. Yes, I’ve lost friends. Yes, I’ve disappointed loved ones. Who the hell hasn’t? We live on. Pain heals, chicks dig scars.

The Only Real Writer’s Block

Going back to my rosy-eyed optimism, I’m fond of telling people that they are their own biggest obstacle. Yes, the deck might be stacked against you in a certain endeavor, be it because of the success of other people or your gender or your current finances or the fact you can’t get your hands on a trained orangutan. But more often than not, the little doubts and tiny bits of self-loathing we all struggle with are the pebbles in our shoes that keep us from taking another step forward.

It’s especially true for writers. You hum along, banging out words, sending queries, pitching articles and sharing your stories with other writers. Or long-suffering spouses. Or confused pets. Or anybody within earshot. Bottom line is, six days out of seven everything’s fine as far as writing is concerned.

Then comes the bad news. Another rejection for the “I’m doing something!” pile. A disappointingly inadequate paycheck, or word that payment isn’t coming at all for another month or three. A collections call. The sound of the repo man’s tow truck hitching up to your car. Your dog leaves you a ‘present’ in your shoes. The roaches carry off the good china you haven’t managed to wash yet. You get the idea.

Whatever it is, however it comes about, you just stop cold. You doubt your worth as an artist, a writer, a human being. A little voice in your head tells you this was a bad idea. You’ll never make is as big as the people out there who have one tenth of your talent but are twenty times as wealthy and popular. You messed up somewhere, and you’ll never recover. The little bastard in the back of your brain drops a tiny bit of red matter into your heart and wham, super-massive emotional black hole. Because that feeling? Sucks.

Herding Cats While Herding Cats

Writers and artists aren’t the only folks who deal with this. Gamers also run afoul of doubt fairies. Get blasted by other players one time too many, fail in the boss fight time and again, mess up the timing necessary to get that elusive achievement after an afternoon of attempts, and the gamer rage takes hold. You fume. You cuss. You quit.

Now imagine that frustration duplicated at least a few times, in the personage of fellow gamers with whom you have direct contact, but it’s all directed at you. That’s what it means to form a guild, clan or similarly titled organization of gamers within a given game. You not only have to deal with your own anxiety and desire to get your goals across, but you also need to respond to the needs of other gamers. Some are easy to please, some are passive-aggressive in communicating what they want, some just don’t want to play by the rules and some think they’re entitled to special favors just because you’ve made the wise decision to include them in the club (which, by the way, they’re not).

Basically you’re putting yourself through the wringer not only of proving your own self-doubts wrong but weathering the slings and arrows of the outrageous expectations of others doing the same. Egos are projected. Friends become whiners. Any ideals you had get swept aside as people scramble for bits of recognition and validation. It feels like the original notion has been picked up and carried in a direction you don’t like. Red matter, center of heart, black hole, suck. The feeling that comes from herding the cats in ones’ head is aggravated by herding multiple additional cats.

So how do you wrangle these rampant felines?

Catnip for the Brain

The best advice I can give for situations like this is to keep things in perspective. As a writer, there’s nobody else in the world who can tell your story the way you want to tell it. Sure, concepts or themes or plot structures replicate themselves all the time, but the nuances, the fine details, the character ticks and turning points are all you. You’re the teller of that story, and if you don’t get out there and tell it it won’t be told.

As for gamers, games are supposed to be fun. A joy and a delight, a distraction and a touch of escape. We shouldn’t drag our personal problems into our entertainment to the degree that it stops being entertaining. That said, I’m as guilty as doing it as anybody, starting over and ragequitting with the best of them, taking a game too seriously. So I’ll be right there with you, struggling to remember that I’m in the game to have fun. The people that prevent me from having fun, that try to take that fun away to fulfill those false feelings of entitlement, are people I really shouldn’t associate with. Maybe they’ll get over it, giving the gamer form of a cat’s look of “I meant to do that.” And maybe they’ll wander off, hindquarters high in the air in that “I’m the most awesome and everybody else is an idiot” prance cats do so well.

More delicious tuna for the rest of us, I say.

Mind Crimes

Courtesy Universal Pictures

“I respect a movie that kicks me in the balls.”

This comment was how I summed up my initial feelings after watching Repo Men. It’s a Jude Law near-future picture about special ops guys who go after people and rip out their cyborg organs, since they’re 90 days delinquent on payments. I listed it as a potential review for this Friday’s IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! in the poll to your right. By the way, shameless plug: Have you voted yet? If not, go ahead and do so. I’ll wait.

All good? Cool. Let’s move on.

Repo Men (by the way? Better than Repo! The Genetic Opera. By far.) caught me a bit off-guard in what it did, which is something I will not spoil here. But it ties into something I’ve been thinking about. I like movies that make me think, but I especially enjoy films that pull a fast one on me. Quite a few make the attempt to execute a clever or shocking reveal, but only a handful manage to pull it off well. They break through our perception or cynicism, a virtual breaking and entering of our minds.

The Matrix

Say what you want about the sequels that followed it, and I’d say quite a bit, but the original Matrix gave us a slow burn to a pretty neat reveal. As much as I don’t buy into the whole “we’re plugged into machines” rhetoric of some post-modern philosophers (Baudrillard coined “The TV watches you” after all) the idea of machines rising up not to exterminate us, but to use us was something unique in movies and was presented in a way that was both interesting and exciting. As much as the second and third movies took a serious nosedive, the concept remains fresh for some and its originality permeates most entries in the Animatrix.

The Usual Suspects

This film revolves around a central question. We’re drawn into the maelstrom as we’re introduced to the titular suspects, but eventually we, like the detectives, are asking “Who is Keyser Söze?” One of the greatest triumphs of the film is only seen in retrospect. Everything we need to answer that question is right in front of us, practically from the beginning. After the initial shock of the answer wears off, we are compelled to watch the movie again, looking for the clues we missed. If that’s not a successful film, I don’t know what is.

Memento

It really doesn’t take much to make a film’s meaning or answers obscure. It takes quite a vision, however, to turn the entire course of a narrative on its head. Memento‘s timelines are in opposition to each other, one moving forwards as the other moves back through time, yet they work in perfect harmony and keep us just off-balance enough to be uncertain of what comes next. Or what came before. In any event, it’s a damn good movie and fantastic food for the brain.

Inception

These movies challenge us. They dare us to follow them and sort them out. The most powerful example of this in recent memory is Inception. From its exploration of the nature of dreams to the construction of its plot and primary caper, the movie is both a daring exercise in screenwriting and direction as well as the sort of challenge movie-goers tend not to expect. Not everybody chose to take up its gauntlet, seeing it just as a flashy, slick caper flick in the vein of Ocean’s Eleven, but others went deeper, teasing out layers of meaning and finding just as many questions as answers.

If I get to reviewing Repo Men at full, I’ll let you know if it joins this pantheon of movies that perpetuate mind crimes.

There Is No Sex

Schroedinger
Art courtesy Lucian

Once again I’ve provided a provocative title to try and get your attention. Is it working? Is it?

Yesterday’s post on females in fiction has generated some feedback, but thoughts from one of my friends got me thinking. He said, “Why not disregard gender entirely? Why not just write characters?” This is something worth consideration. Tyrande, the Baroness, Hit-Girl… they’re characters no more or less valid than Brann Bronzebeard, Destro or Kick-Ass. They all have interesting angles, they all exemplify parts of ourselves and they call can be used and abused at the hands of different writers. There are differences in character much deeper and more nuanced than their disparate gonads. So why do gonads come into it at all?

Is there, in fact, no sex? Or more to the point, no genders?

Proceeding with Lucian‘s intriguing line of thought, consider the following. While this is not a direct quotation from the conversation we had, it’s still thinking outside of myself, hence it gets the blockquote treatment.

The purpose of gender existing is to help us construct schema for social situations. A schema is a semi-conscious pre-evaluation of a situation based on how things are “meant” to work. Driving’s a good example. Driving has a tight schema: we expect people to drive on a certain side of the road, stop at red lights, etc.

Gender works like that for social situations. You see a person, evaluate male/female, and pre-judge how they will act based on gender stereotypes. The problem is, stereotypes hardly ever really hold true,
and they are usually reinforced into place by social expectation. Not to mention, they are harmful and insulting to “both” genders.

That is how gender works and why it exists.

And why it is very, very boring.

From the perspective of the writer, at least when it comes to fiction, the goal should be to write compelling characters, regardless of their gender. Now, this doesn’t mean that the newsboy on the corner should have as much depth or development as John Dillinger. But the characters we do spend time with should have some dimension to them, things for the audience to discover.

Say what you want about the stories in the Mass Effect universe, but many of the characters we encounter have depth and nuance divorced from their gender. Would Wrex be any less interesting if it turned out he was female? How about Tali’s fans – would they still exist in their large numbers (with me among them) if Tali was a male Quarian? I’d still want to hang with Tali if he were a guy, for the record. I’d also like to believe that Miranda would be just as smug and Jack just as caustic if they were men. Sure, their character models would undertake radical changes and Miranda probably wouldn’t be called Miranda, but that’s beside my point.

Under those layers with varying degrees of curvature and color that we call “bodies,” the characters we create that carry our stories should be interesting, thoughtful, compelling – human. “Human” means more than gender. It applies to our lives, and I think it should apply to our fiction as well.

How important is gender, when you get right down to it? When it comes to what’s really important about our characters – motivation, outlook, goals and fears – is there, in fact, no sex?

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