Tag: Writing (page 30 of 47)

Why Contrivance Sucks

I HAVE FURY

Let’s face it. Fiction is a planned endeavor. The best works are ones that are plotted out from first act to last, from beginning to end. They have structure, flow and purpose. Some even have a message to deliver along with a story to tell.

But when that message is tied to an anvil dropped on the audience, or the story is delivered with gaudy wrapping paper surrounding a poorly-constructed product, the whole thing suffers. You can have all of the CGI in the world in your film but if there’s no coherence to the narrative or depth to the characters, all you have is a bunch of CGI. People can get that by logging into World of Warcraft. Or Grand Theft Auto. Or Second Life.

I’m going to use a key example in all of this. Since this weekend turned out to be something of a success in terms of experimentation, even if it kept me from doing things like going outside or spending time with loved ones or smelling like a human being instead of a pile of rage and shattered dreams, let’s use Star Wars Episode 2: Attack of the Lame Title Talentless Hack Fanboys Clones.

Contrivance is Bad Writing

Courtesy LucasFilm

Plain and simple. If you write a scene that’s intended to be heartfelt, or romantic, or tragic there’s a very basic rule you need to follow. Show, don’t tell. If you can show characters being in love, or caring about one another, the audience will understand what’s going on without having to be told, and what’s more, there’s a much greater chance they’ll actually care about what’s happening. Or, you could just have your characters sitting around talking about how they feel.

There’s a right and a wrong way to show people’s emotions, too. Is it really that hard to weave emotional undercurrents into plot-salient actions and dialog? You don’t need to draw out a scene of two young people frolicking in a field with lilting, string-heavy music playing at fortissimo to show they’re so in love. You might as well be sitting in the wings with a bullhorn shouting, “THESE TWO ARE IN LOVE AND YOU SHOULD EMPATHIZE WITH THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE IN LOVE BECAUSE THEY SAY THEY ARE.”

“You can’t just have your characters announce how they feel! THAT MAKES ME FEEL ANGRY!”
Courtesy Robot Hell

Me too, Beelzebot. Me too.

Contrivance Defies Logic

Courtesy LucasFilm

Let me toss a hypothetical your way. Say you have a plot in which you need to deal with an idea you presented in a previous work. You also have a fan favorite character whose origins you want to explore. How do you work both of them into the same work at the same time?

First of all, why? Why is it necessary for one to have anything to do with the other? If you want to show that character X is a badass, fine. If you want to explain how cloning works, fair enough. But having every single fucking clone patterned on the same person who has the family name of a fan favorite character but about as much development as a patio umbrella and less depth than a teaspoon raises more questions than are likely to be held in the writer’s brain at any given moment.

You know, questions like: Why did they pick this jagoff to be the prime clone?

Why is he trying to assassinate some one in the Republic and fighting Jedi when his clones are going to be used to support both the Republic and the Jedi? Did he just not know? Did nobody tell him what his clones were for? Did he not think to ask?

Did anybody bother to think about this shit, let alone write it?

I paid ten bucks to watch THIS?

Contrivance Destroys Enjoyment

Courtesy LucasFilm

We enjoy stories. We like to read them, listen to them, watch them. We like to envision the action, let the characters grow, anticipate what happens next.

The problem with prequels in general and Lucas’ six hours of wanking onto a green screen in particular is that there’s really only one way for things to resolve. You need to get characters and situations into a certain configuration so the already established works make some sort of sense. Unless you’re going far, far into the past of your own universe – thank God for Knights of the Old Republic – if you don’t do things right you will outright ruin any enjoyment of said previous works.

I can’t think of a better example of this than Star Wars. Every time you see Darth Vader, every time you hear James Earl Jones rumble out his orders and declare the ‘promotion’ of another officer, you see and hear the whiny little psychopath pictured above. It’d be different if Anakin had been characterized as somewhat insecure but nonetheless good-hearted, concerned about the scope of his power and wanting nothing more than a happy, peaceful life.

But no, we got a self-centered, power-hungry, whining, disrespectful asshole.

He had to be with someone so he could have kids, so he’s set up with someone who could have been every bit as inspiring to women now as Princess Leia was back in A New Hope and Empire Strikes Back. You know, a confident, intelligent, competent and brave young woman who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty but still knows how to look good and deal with people.

But no, we got a vacuous, empty, shallow, entirely underdeveloped plot convenience.

She has to leave the scene before the end of the last prequel, since Luke and Leia get separated for their safety by Obi-Wan and Bail Organa. How can we get this to happen? Does she make some kind of brave but stupid decision to make one last effort to reach the man she loves who is now lost in his own desire for justice that has been subverted and perverted by the Dark Side of the Force?

No. Just have her drop dead of a broken fucking heart. They might as well have said the midi-chlorians did it.

Mister Lucas? With all due respect for the pioneering you did in science fiction and special effects back when I was a little boy…

FUCK YOU.

Living by the Creed

Courtesy Ubisoft

I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, crap! He’s finally snapped! He’s going to get himself a white hoodie and start jumping on random people so he can stab them in the neck with a #2 pencil to to make sure people get the irony!” First of all, no. Neither Altaiir nor Ezio jumped on ‘random’ people and I certainly wouldn’t, either. Secondly, I’m talking more about the seminal line in the titular Assassin’s Creed than I am their way of dealing with problems. The line in question: Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.

I was set on this course of thinking by one Henry Rollins. I saw on the Tube of You that he’d given some thoughts on Jesus. This bit’s sort of brief, but focus on what he says at about the 1:45 mark:

Rollins’ awesomeness aside, he makes a very good point that’s helping me get back into the groove of working on Citizen, a boost that I needed after this weekend’s experiment. Basically, it boils down to not listening to what other people might have to say about trying to do something creative or interesting with my life.

According to some, to make it as a writer, you have to pander to a certain demographic. Success in the modern literary world, according to sales figures, means main characters who are little more than blank slates onto which young & impressionable readers can project themselves, shallow stock supporting characters that do little more than fuel the ego of the protagonist (and by extension the author and/or reader) and presenting the whole project in an easily marketable way that can generate enough hype to overwhelm any criticism of the work itself. If sales trends are to be believed, this is the truth of the fiction market.

But remember, nothing is true.

Further, you don’t want to get too complicated, some might say. Don’t get to involved in your characters. Don’t stop to develop them. Don’t build a world that people can believe in. It’s just window-dressing, a green screen, and shouldn’t have any depth to it. Let readers project what they want into it just as they do the personality-deprived protagonist, and by the way, why are you trying to make that into a human being? You can’t spend time doing this stuff and expect to finish what you’re writing, let alone be successful with it, they’d cry. That’s not allowed!

And yet, everything is permitted.

You see what I’m doing here? I don’t have any intention of giving up. I won’t water down what I’m doing just to make it more palatable to the masses unused to the taste of something more complicated than gruel and wallpaper paste. I won’t compromise the visions that keep me up at night in order to make my work trendy. I don’t care what the teeming masses think is true, or what those in the world of business or sales or marketing think an individual is or is not allowed to do. Just because some people gave up on their dreams long ago doesn’t mean I have to do the same.

Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.

It might seem a bit odd to take a line from a video game franchise this seriously, but when I stopped to think about what I’m trying to do, what I need to push myself to finish, I found myself ruminating on why it’s important, and not just to me. I’m certainly not expecting anything I write to change the world or sell a bazillion copies or even help me get away from the environment of the corporate day job. I know that it’d take months or even years after finishing just one novel for it to finally see print, and even then I’d be lucky to sell a dozen copies to friends and family.

That’s the truth of this situation.

Nothing is true.

I’m not allowed to expect anything more.

Everything is permitted.

The Underlying Theme

Courtesy Terribleminds
Courtesy Terribleminds, make with the clicky-clickly

I think I was consciously putting this off.

Not because the idea of establishing a theme for the novel is disinteresting to me, no. I just didn’t want to define a theme and then get preachy about it. I don’t want this to be the kind of story where I decide my theme is “man’s inability to coexist with nature in his quest for lucrative resources” and have the bad guys blast giant trees to bits while sipping coffee and contemplating “shock and awe.”

Okay, all right, enough ragging on Avatar, it was a good movie that is undercut by some crappy story choices and it really isn’t relevant to what I now find myself needing to do.

You see, if someone were to ask me what ‘Citizen in the Wilds’ is about, I’d be at a loss. My impulse would be to launch into a plot synopsis, and that’d bore a potential reader or, worse, potential agent to tears. I certainly don’t want to do that at the upcoming Writer’s Conference in Philly when I’m asked what I’m furiously trying to finish. So let’s see if we can’t nail down a theme, an answer to the question.

Courtesy Wikipedia

The question, as referenced, is “What’s this about?” The question is not, “Who is this about?” I have a protagonist and he’s following an arc that, one or two elements aside, is a pretty archetypal one. I don’t own a copy of “The Hero with a Thousand Faces,” even though I probably should, but I’ve read and seen enough of these journeys to know what makes a good one and a bad one. Luke Skywalker, Frodo Baggins, Alex Rogan, John McClaine and Marty McFly instantly come to mind.

So, just like a plot synopsis, describing how my protagonist starts out, how his circumstances change, when he hits his lowest point and how he manages to overcome the odds is kind of dull in the overarching sense. Besides, as much as I’m trying craft strong, deep characters, the story can’t just be about them. If it were, I’d be guilty of the problem that affects some of BioWare’s games – great characters existing in a lackluster story.

Courtesy Marvel

Peter Parker goes through a bit of a hero’s journey in his origin story, and learns the lesson “With great power comes great responsibility.” I like that lesson, and it certainly applies as a theme to the project at hand. However, is the story really about that? Sure, a lot of the conflict comes from the grand high poobahs of one of the races not using their power & influence responsibly, but that feels more like an impetus for the story to move forward and have tension, rather than what the story is ultimately about. However, I might be on to something with the web-head, here.

Peter has to grow up.

Part of that whole using superpowers responsibly thing involves moving upward from the childlike awe of getting those powers in the first place to realizing how those powers should be used. It’s a lesson that my protagonist learns in a very jarring way, as the use of his magic in the beginning of the story would be a quick way to get himself killed, but as the story goes on and more facts come to light about where he came from, he realizes that his people need to learn a bit about responsibility themselves. The wide-eyed and naive apprentice becomes a dedicated and seasoned teacher. But are people going to be willing to listen to him? How badly have their previous lessons changed their perspective so that any facts he brings to light seem like lies?

Allegories, metaphors and soapbox moments aside, I think I’ve found my theme.

What’s it about?

This is about people learning to use their abilities responsibly, and what happens when they refuse to learn that lesson.

Right. Back to writing about dwarven caverns, forbidden knowledge and turning giant cave-spiders into shishkabobs with stalagmites or melting them with the sudden appearance of magma.

Alchemy’s really fun, when you think about it.

Prototypes

Gears

There have been some interesting reactions to yesterday’s ICFN entry, which I may address later. For now, I’m trying to get the laptop’s graphics up to Azerothian snuff, and in the course of doing so, I’ve seen the word ‘prototype’ flash once or twice. That got me thinking.

A lot of a writer’s drafts could be considered prototypes, the embryonic form of a new work. Even works themselves can be prototypes for something better. At least, that’s been my experience.

The novel I wrote in high school was the prototype for the Lighthouse project that I’ve dropped in the shadows somewhere since everybody’s doing modern supernatural covert stuff. A short story I jotted down a few years ago was the prototype for various attempts to tell the story I’m now working on as my current long-form project. Even some of my character back-stories have gone through prototypical phases. As much as I loved playing Gothmatum as a dark elf necromancer back in EverQuest, his story wasn’t quite as good as the one that informed his creation as a blood elf warlock in World of Warcraft.

Have other writers found themselves in a similar line of thought? Let me know into your thought processes, other writers. Where have your efforts come from? What shattered literary eggshells have given birth to what’s been picked up by agents or become available on pre-order on Amazon or earned you a bunch of cash from people in some other means?

Seriously, I’m curious about this. I hold on to all of my old works because, crap as most of it is, there’s some diamonds in there somewhere and I don’t want to toss them out with the pulpy bathwater.

Exposing Exposition

Bard

Say you have a story you want to tell. For argument’s sake, let’s further posit that this story doesn’t take place on Earth in the year 2010. It takes place in 2055, or on some other planet, or back in the Renaissance. Provided you’ve done your research or laid a good foundation in terms of notes, sketches or perhaps audio logs some post-apocalyptic adventurer will stumble across when our oil runs out, you know who’s who in the world in which your story takes place.

The reader, unfortunately, is likely not as acquainted with the setting as you are, especially if you made the world yourself. If that’s the case, nobody should know the world better than you. Until they start writing fanfiction – and if they do, my friend, then you’re doing just fine.

What I’m getting at is that sooner or later, you’ll need to introduce the settings, concepts and ‘rules’ of the realm in which your tale takes place. That means exposition. Expository writing isn’t really all that hard, as it’s mostly rattling off things already rattling around in your head. However, to the reader, the things you find so fascinating about the distant lands of Yourworldia can be downright boring if you don’t do it right.

Tolkien

I’m a big fan of Tolkien. I’ve talked before about how his descriptions can be a bit dry. The Silmarillion, something of a history of Middle-Earth, is basically a collection of his notes on the subject of how the world came to be and some of the myths and legends that propel the characters of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. It’s about as fascinating as it is dry and difficult to read. The point is that it’s a novel-length exercise in expository writing.

Good exposition, in my experience, is woven into the plot, not set aside and served up as a very dry appetizer to the main course. It detracts from the flow of the plot and bores the reader.

More on this later, perhaps.

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