Writing Process 5 | unobtrusive lucidity

The Proof of Bad Writing

Just a couple of quick thoughts, delayed by Blogger’s recent outage.

We were watching Bones last night. I think the writers may actually be pulling that show back from the train-wreck that they permitted it to become. After we finished the most recent episode, Hulu sort of automatically plays episodes of similar programs. This time it chose to play Body of Proof, which is essentially a cheap attempt to copy Bones. Apparently, television networks simply copy the success of others if they can’t come up with anything original (read: most of the time). I don’t recommend Body of Proof: it’s written poorly, the characters are stereotyped, and the directing…well, the directing…

I looked up from reading whatever it was I was reading in the middle of the show, because it had digressed into background noise for me. The scene that was taking place when I looked up involved the protagonist talking to a child in a living room. Her partner enters the scene behind her, standing next to the front door of the home, and tells the protagonist that they have to leave. She acknowledges her partner, says goodbye to the child, and then exits the scene…off to the viewer’s left, leaving her partner standing beside the front door behind her. The show promptly cut to the next scene.

What???

That sparked some conversation in our living room. I feel bad for the actors. I feel bad for them because I can’t tell how good they are, and, if I never see them cast in anything else, I’ll never know, and always have a bad impression of them. I’ve worked in a lot of live performances in my life, and, although most of that time has not been on stage, I’ve learned some important things. An actor can be incredibly gifted, but if they’re working under poor direction…and especially if they’re working under poor direction of a poor script…they’re going to look like they don’t know what they’re doing.

There are other examples, though, of actors that have saved projects with just a little extra help. I’ll use The Happening as an example. The Happening is the only screenplay I’ve seen from Shyamalan that wasn’t outstanding…all of his other films have been superb. The Happening was, however, well directed, and gave the actors, especially Zooey Deschanel and Mark Wahlberg, an opportunity to work with the screenplay in a way that breathed some sort of life into it. Deschanel, in particular, literally transformed some of the scenes with facial expressions alone. The film wouldn’t have survived without their excellent performances, and the direction that permitted them to develop those performances.

My issue with Body of Proof is that it has neither. The direction is poor, and the writing is forced, contrived, and even melodramatic at times. The actors, as a result, appear clueless. Here’s to hoping I manage to see these actors in something else sometime…I’d love to see what their abilities truly are.

Writing Roadblocks

I’ve been accused of not being an optimist.

Actually, I prefer to think myself as realist…or even an optimist prone to melancholic states, take your pick. Either way, there are days that I feel thrilled to have so many amazing options of great books to read and great music to hear, and great ideas to write. There are other days that I honestly don’t have a clue how to balance all of the above, and I feel like I’m spinning on overload. Then, there are days when I don’t even feel like trying.

Here’s the trick to the writing process as I understand it: Good writers are good readers. Good writers (like good actors) are aware of life as it unfolds around them. They experience life. They see things, and observe people. They are profoundly sensitive to the ethos and the spirituality of each moment that they experience. There are days that I’m all of those things, and there are days when I can barely make it from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed in one piece and with minimal collateral damage.

I talked a few posts ago about being present, fully present and engaged, in what and who I’m experiencing from one moment to the next. I think that, for any writer, this is critical, because we write, at least to some extent, what we know. I don’t want to just live this way for what I can get out of it, though, because that’s unfair and de-humanizing to those that I experience life with. I want to really connect with them, because, whoever they are, they are important. As with anything else important, that sort of connection takes time. Writing takes time. Reading takes time. Every one of these things takes time to do well, and, like everyone else, I just don’t ever have enough time.

I’m not complaining, don’t get me wrong. Having all of these things to do and a few friends and family with which to do them is wonderful. There are many who are not nearly as fortunate. I guess what I’m musing aloud here is that, when something is left off of the to-do list for the day, it always seems to be the actual act of placing the words on the page. And projects just don’t get finished that way.

So, perhaps all that advice I’ve always read about making certain to block out time to write every day is a bit unrealistic. I think I should be concerned that it seems such a chore at the moment. Do you ever experience something similar? What do you do about it?

Photo Attribution: where are the joneses

Who Knew?

A friend with whom I was involved in some theatrical productions once remarked on a creative brainstorming session that had been found wanting. The meeting had taken place in a conference room with off-white walls, a long table, and a few white boards upon which to write ideas. Oh, and a calendar.

But…the chairs were comfy.

The irony of that particular meeting was that a nice wooded area lay just outside that building, complete with tables at which to sit and a not-bad-at-all view. My friend’s take on this…obviously…was that there would have been more productively creative juices flowing had the group simply left the conference room and moved outside, where colors and variety and life in general would have inspired.

When I think of the creative process, I find it strange how we tend to limit ourselves. For example, I tend to not hand-write things. I type almost everything, either on a physical or virtual keyboard, usually in my iPod’s note feature (there has been the rare occasion when I’ve scribbled an idea down on a restaurant napkin, but, in retrospect, none of those ideas ever turned into reputable projects). A more applicable example is how I’ve always tended to work out my plots in dry outline or typed note format. Perhaps it was my elaborate outlining methods for grad school term papers that finally left me bent on this, but, in retrospect, I was doing plots this way long before grad school.

In the last few months, however, I found myself sort of shadow boxing with a project that I felt was a really great initial idea. I was writing blindly, squeaking out part of a chapter here or there, but never having any solid idea as to where the project was headed. Fortunately, my podcast addiction saved me. I heard someone reference mind-mapping (apparently there’s an app for that), and claim that the only way to do it right was still with pen and paper. So, a few evenings later, I took out some paper and a package of markers, and mind-mapped away.

The result: an incredibly complex plot with characters that I would never have thought of otherwise interacting in ways that I wouldn’t have seen otherwise. Suddenly, the project begins to tell me which direction it is going…and that’s exactly where the writer likes it to be.

Will this be a good project? Only time will tell that…it may turn out to be like some ideas I’ve scribbled down on napkins. What is certain, however, is that I am now a firm believer in using this method for all of my plots. Something about the kinesthetic motion of creating the map, and the visual ability to see the characters’ paths weave through each other in bright colors, caused synapses to fire that ideas on an outline never did. I’ve left my conference room for inspiring scenic vistas.

And I have no intention of returning.

Image attribution: Keith Davenport under Creative Commons.