Showing posts with label experimental. Show all posts
Showing posts with label experimental. Show all posts

12.02.2012

Character or Plot?

So. There are a few things floating around about this now (see end), and honestly, I think the attitude in some of them is just downright counterproductive.

It's a chicken and egg question.

Personally, I go with character. It's just what happens. The idea for a particular character comes to mind, and then the setting forms around that, and then the situation (or several situations) materialise out of that. I have conversations with my characters. I yell at them when things aren't going the way I want. I praise them when they are. I also do all three with computers, printers, cars, phones, and pretty much any other inanimate object that performs a function.

Do I think my characters are real, three-dimensional beings capable of sentient thought? No. (The computers, cars, phones and other inanimate objects I'm not so sure about, though.) I have favourites among my characters. I get fond of them. I get fond of characters I read about, too. That is kind of the point, darlings.

A majority of the things I write are character-driven. Hell, in the shorter things, quite frequently plot only makes the briefest cameo appearance, if it shows up at all. But it works.* I would also say that a good 90% of the time I only have a very loose idea of what is actually going to happen, and those rare cases I start out with a more solid plan, I am usually surprised by where it goes at some point. Flannery O'Connor wrote a whole essay on how she got surprised by what her characters did. 

Example 1 : "Detox"

I had a character (Magpie), the idea of sin eaters (if you don't know what they are, look it up) and 1500 words to play with. I actually started with the idea that Magpie was going to die, and it would have some sort of repercussion on the narrator, blah blah etc. I didn't have any clue the narrator was going to kill Charley until I got to that point in the story. I could just be dense or a little slow, but I didn't. Looking back at everything leading to that point, I realised I'd been setting it up all along, and that, really, it was the only thing that could happen. But I didn't expect it.

Did my characters take over and dictate how the story would go? No. They're little voices in my head; they'd have a rather difficult time forcing me to do anything. Then again, they're little voices in my head, so by extension, they're little versions of my own thought processes, so even if they did stage a revolt, it would be one part of my consciousness rebelling against another. That's another little tangent, though.

Example 2 : The Great Never-Ending Epic Novel

Somewhere along the pile of drafts, I found myself stuck because there wasn't sufficient motivation for the protagonist to do what he needed to do. Gradually after I came to that conclusion, I realised the solution was the kill off the universal favourite character. 

I was not happy about this. In fact, I was quite sickened by the idea of doing it, so much so that I wasted a lot of time scrabbling around for some alternative just so I wouldn't have to kill that one character. In the end, I accepted it. He has to die to get to point X. And yeah, that scene was fucking hard as hell to write. Most emotionally intense things are because I'm a kinesthetic writer, so I have to feel what's happening to write it. Method acting for the wallflower, so to speak. But again, this was not something I planned from the beginning. In fact, the theme of these two examples is that I always think the wrong person is going to die. 

I know there are people out there who plan out every little detail before they start writing. They have an outline and little summaries and everything all figured out before Once upon a time even graces the page. Fantastic. It doesn't work for me. I don't plan a damn thing out. The plans I do make, I never write, and for my long projects, it's only about halfway through that I start making notes about things just so I have a reminder without having to sift through thousands of words to find a particular description or spelling or whatever. I also, generally, don't go through a lot of physical drafts; I do an awful lot of writing in my head. There are certain pieces that I have done entirely in my head and only written down the final product. But I know other writers who go through draft after draft after draft because that's part of their process. 
And that's the thing I find a little disturbing about the things being said around this realness of characters/importance of plot (my word; 'story' is the one being used, but 'story' is character + plot + themes/subtext so I'm going to be more correct). 

Your experience does not entitle you to dictate another writer's process.

Sorry, but it just doesn't. So you start with a plot and build characters around that.  Or you have a setting and work up. Or you do some other combination. Great. Cool. If that works for you, go with it. That doesn't mean every writer has to write the way you do. It doesn't mean that people who choose a different method should be condescended to, or are less valid for whatever reason. It's just different. 

So, come on, grown up writers - start acting like it. You know a lot, but you don't know everything. I don't know everything. We only know what works from our personal experiences, so stop making it sound like there's this big mandate of the One and Only Way. 

Oh, don't going smirking yet, kids, 'cause you're not off the hook, either. One thing that is definitely true: when you talk about your characters the same way you talk about your friends or, y'know, any other corporeal entity, you sound like an idiot. And for every grumpy grown up writer ready to flay you for that, there's a good number who are just too polite to say anything, but do silently roll their eyes and sigh, 'Oh, children...' 


* I'm not saying it works when everyone does it. I'm not even recommending that beginning writers going playing without a net. I took the time to learn the rules before I started breaking them.

10.21.2012

The Unremarkable Confessions of a Drunken Lover


Give me another -
one part Jack, six parts truth.
Make mine a double,
'cause I'm still standing.

I measure my day in moments of you.
Clutching talismans of unacknowledged import.
My skin nags its ache for you -
nothing quite so sordid, I promise -
just your hand in mine.
Your Self occupying that
so conspicuously empty space
next to mine.
Oh, it's such a cliche...

I cast us as Romantic period lovers
forbidden ever to touch -
Romeo and Romeo,
sans suicide.
I'll use words to immortalise you-me-us
so Someday When
university students can pour over my lines
with apathetic glances
and giggle-whisper over hidden references
I never meant to put.
How many adjectives will it take to contain you
in rhyme and meter?
Vespertilian.
Ethereal.
Magnetic.
Addictive.
(My personal favourite.)

I'll pen epics in your honour.
Become that quintessential knight
questing for his lady's -
sorry. lord's
affection.
Will I ever win his hand?
This poor Pinocchio with naught but dreams and hope on offer.
And his heart.
His heart not once wholly given to any other.
Is that sacred enough to sway your favour?
They've killed all the dragons, love,
but there are monsters still to find.
Just name your price, I'll pay it.

I admit:
all those soppy sentiments and angst-ridden poets
waxing on love lost and not quite grasped,
I looked on with contempt and derision because
how could I -
that ever changing and unchained creature that is me -
how could I ever need another for completion?

But you.
With your quiet looks and unassuming ways.
You with your strength, your honesty,
your untamed muchness bucking to be free.
Have captivated every part of me
and pushed me toward the ranks of all those desperate
to personify and dignify and legitimise their love's desire.

So drown me.
Consume me.
Absorb me.
Transform me into that thing I crave.
Let me join the queue
of tricked out boys all saying:
oh, baby
let me fuck u hard
let me make u cum
let me swallow u
possess u
but just for tonite
but just if u can get me off

Okay.
I'd say those things, too,
given half a chance.
But it wouldn't sound right;
I'm working with higher ideals.
And proper grammar.
Usually.

So let's give this a whirl:
Oh, baby,
let me slip inside your soul,
that tricksy, shining thing you are.
Let me have all those dreams
you're too afraid to wish for,
and hold them still for you to see.
Sink sink sink into me.
But just if it's forever.
But just if you get off on that.
Let me keep you safe every tonight.

But damn, boy.
It's hard work trying to differentiate
from all those faceless names
spouting off all those selfsame words
until I love you is just code for
Hey, babe, I wanna fuck you.
And I won't deny - I can't compete.
But what I lack I make up in sincerity.

And damn, boy.
I spend so much time
trying to be pure and true,
for fear of you just hit-and-running
while denying all the ways
I want you
until all my atoms are just chanting your name.

Okay. Okay.
Just one more round,
and then we'll go.
I promise.
Same again?
I know the shape size weight of your fear
and all it's holding back.
But I'm wondering how many more times
I'm going to make jack o'lanterns in my chest
before you believe
I won't leave you damaged and lost.
I'm in it for the long haul,
and I'll carve up yet another toothy smile
if that's what you need.
Because the shape size weight of my heart -
as ever -
is you.