Last night Mighty Reader and I met for drinks and dinner before going off to see "How to Steal A Million," which is a 1966 William Wilder comedy starring Audrey Hepburn and Peter O'Toole. It was the final night of an Audrey Hepburn film festival and the movie's quite fine and I don't know why it's not better known. But that's all just setting, isn't it?
Last night Mighty Reader and I were talking about writing, which is hardly a surprise because I have very few topics of conversation aside from What I'm Writing Now and Mighty Reader is very patient with me. A few days ago I finished the rough draft of my philosophical detective story and while I let it sit ignored for a while before I work on revisions, I am already toying with another book. As we discussed this new writing project, I became increasingly defensive. Being the overly twitchy sort that I am, I blamed my defensiveness on Mighty Reader, accusing her of actively disapproving my idea. Later I realized that what had actually happened was that this new novel makes me extremely uncomfortable and, really, embarrassed. Which is, I think, precisely why I need to write it.
That question (why I'm writing this particular novel at this particular time) is actually what put me on the defensive last night. The new novel has a singularly unappealing lead male character and the lead female character isn't particularly charming either and the book is not anything like a tale of redemption or growth, at least as far as I can tell. My description of it, Mighty Reader tells me, did not make her want to read the book so why do I want to write it?
One thing I have learned over the years is that the more uncomfortable a writing project makes me, the more I must be on to something. Also, there are some big technical and artistic challenges presented by this new project, and the other thing I've learned over the years is that each book I write must have a higher degree of difficulty than the last or I'm just not challenged enough by the project to approach it with enthusiasm. I have a growing list of projects I've abandoned because they no longer look like they'll be hard to write. Something about that seems backwards, but that's the way I roll, as the kids say.
So I have set myself what seems to be an impossible challenge (for me at least): writing about uncomfortable and embarrassing subjects that I shy away from through the stories of people I don't necessarily like and producing a beautiful narrative that people will love to read. Well, it will give me something to do, won't it?
In the mean time, tonight it's "Porgy and Bess" from the Seattle Opera. We've never been to an opera before. I'm wearing fancy cuff links and expensive shiny black shoes.
Showing posts with label Dark Subjects. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dark Subjects. Show all posts
Friday, August 12, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Too Much Beauty
Do you always try to create beauty when you write?...Should you?
When I was in my earlier stages of writing a few years ago, the organizer of a writer's group I joined told me that my writing was too beautiful all the time, even the scenes that had to do with conflict. What he meant by that was that I was always choosing sounds that sounded good together and describing scenes that were full of nice things like gardens and clear skies. He argued that too much beauty made a reader numb to it, like how a marmot might take a rose for granted after living its entire life in a rose garden.
He told me to listen to Shostakovich.
If you've never listened to Shostakovich (aside from at least one arrangement of "Tea For Two" that he did very prettily as the result of a bet), I'll say that he can be a bit ugly at times. His violin concerto No. 1, for example, begins with dark cello sounds, interrupted by the tense violin that sounds as if it is in great pain. Swampy clarinets come in. Low strings pulse. The violin continues to suffer. It grows quiet. It grows delirious. Really, listening to it sometimes, I just want to pinch the last bit of its life away.
But, eventually, if you do stick with the music, following it through several minutes of sadness mixed with some more barbaric sections, there comes a moment when Shostakovich gives us a few seconds of a truly beautiful run. It surfaces unexpectedly, all the more special because of the dark journey we have taken to get to it.
In a way, the darkness becomes the set up for that fleeting moment of beauty, and, at least for me, hitting the rewind button to skip back a few seconds to the nice part doesn't ever create the emotion as well as coming to it after listening from the very beginning again.
I realize, after yesterday's discussion, that this lesson of including the ugly things between the beauty has always stuck with me, even though I don't consciously think about it anymore. I was caught off guard when I heard that my writing made people uncomfortable or upset (as someone else put it), but as I think back on it, I realize that I had chosen that path while I was creating these stories. I let myself put some ugliness in because I liked the way it contrasted against the beauty. And, I realize now that everything I've written recently follows the same approach. That's why I wrote about a cannibal, and a lot of sections of Cyberlama delve into the ugliness as well.
Not every book has to be like that, though. I'm currently reading Judy Croome's Dancing In The Shadows Of Love, that has consistent beauty, in my opinion. And, within that story, I can still see an emotional range. It's like the marmot can live in the rose garden but still notice that one rose is more beautiful than all the other ones. Instead of contrasting the rose to the mud, the contrast occurs between a pretty rose over a less pretty one. Or something. The experience of reading it is different in a sense that I'm not as afraid that my shoes will get dirty. It is a more comfortable journey.
I guess, then, that there's sort of a basal level of beauty that a writer builds into the foundation of a story, and then, based on that basal level, it is her or his job to create a dynamic range that can rise above and sink below that level. As long as the range is there, the writer can choose (or maybe the writer can't choose?) where the middle of that range lies. Without any range at all, the writing might feel monotonous.
As far as deciding just how much beauty to put into it, that's something that I'll often wonder about. Maybe it's an arbitrary decision. I don't really know.
Where are you on this? Do you think about beauty when you write? Do you try to contrast it with ugliness? More generally, is beauty important at all?
When I was in my earlier stages of writing a few years ago, the organizer of a writer's group I joined told me that my writing was too beautiful all the time, even the scenes that had to do with conflict. What he meant by that was that I was always choosing sounds that sounded good together and describing scenes that were full of nice things like gardens and clear skies. He argued that too much beauty made a reader numb to it, like how a marmot might take a rose for granted after living its entire life in a rose garden.
He told me to listen to Shostakovich.
If you've never listened to Shostakovich (aside from at least one arrangement of "Tea For Two" that he did very prettily as the result of a bet), I'll say that he can be a bit ugly at times. His violin concerto No. 1, for example, begins with dark cello sounds, interrupted by the tense violin that sounds as if it is in great pain. Swampy clarinets come in. Low strings pulse. The violin continues to suffer. It grows quiet. It grows delirious. Really, listening to it sometimes, I just want to pinch the last bit of its life away.
But, eventually, if you do stick with the music, following it through several minutes of sadness mixed with some more barbaric sections, there comes a moment when Shostakovich gives us a few seconds of a truly beautiful run. It surfaces unexpectedly, all the more special because of the dark journey we have taken to get to it.
In a way, the darkness becomes the set up for that fleeting moment of beauty, and, at least for me, hitting the rewind button to skip back a few seconds to the nice part doesn't ever create the emotion as well as coming to it after listening from the very beginning again.
I realize, after yesterday's discussion, that this lesson of including the ugly things between the beauty has always stuck with me, even though I don't consciously think about it anymore. I was caught off guard when I heard that my writing made people uncomfortable or upset (as someone else put it), but as I think back on it, I realize that I had chosen that path while I was creating these stories. I let myself put some ugliness in because I liked the way it contrasted against the beauty. And, I realize now that everything I've written recently follows the same approach. That's why I wrote about a cannibal, and a lot of sections of Cyberlama delve into the ugliness as well.
Not every book has to be like that, though. I'm currently reading Judy Croome's Dancing In The Shadows Of Love, that has consistent beauty, in my opinion. And, within that story, I can still see an emotional range. It's like the marmot can live in the rose garden but still notice that one rose is more beautiful than all the other ones. Instead of contrasting the rose to the mud, the contrast occurs between a pretty rose over a less pretty one. Or something. The experience of reading it is different in a sense that I'm not as afraid that my shoes will get dirty. It is a more comfortable journey.
I guess, then, that there's sort of a basal level of beauty that a writer builds into the foundation of a story, and then, based on that basal level, it is her or his job to create a dynamic range that can rise above and sink below that level. As long as the range is there, the writer can choose (or maybe the writer can't choose?) where the middle of that range lies. Without any range at all, the writing might feel monotonous.
As far as deciding just how much beauty to put into it, that's something that I'll often wonder about. Maybe it's an arbitrary decision. I don't really know.
Where are you on this? Do you think about beauty when you write? Do you try to contrast it with ugliness? More generally, is beauty important at all?
Monday, June 6, 2011
Dark Literature and Young Readers ... or, You Know, Readers in General, Too
There's been a kerfuffle in the YA community over an article in the Wall Street Journal about the current trend of darkness in young adult literature. Is darkness a current trend? As far back as I can see in literary history, there has always been a fuss about what's published - for young readers, adult readers, whoever. This article, however, seems to have sent the YA writing community into quite the huff. My Google Reader has been bombarded with blog posts stating their opinion about the article. I haven't seen one blog post yet that stands up for what Miss Gurdon says.
Sometimes I look over at my four-year-old daughter and I freak out inside. I think about what she'll be exposed to in the future, even what she's exposed to now. I recently sat through a short class about addictions, and let me tell you - it was eye-opening. I discovered that children as young as four years old can get addicted to pornography. FOUR YEARS OLD? That shocks me to no end. I almost cried when I heard that because it's sad how even children are not immune to things we often consider only adult issues.
Then I calm myself down and tell myself, "You're a good parent, you're a good parent." I will raise my daughter with things like morals and standards and lots of love and a home that is safe and parents she knows she can come to about anything. Unfortunately, lots of children don't have those things, and that's where all that dark YA fiction comes into play.
Most of the blog posts I've read countering the article linked above have made the claim that teens need this kind of fiction because (1) it's the only place they can feel safe in their life, (2) there is usually a positive POV despite the dark subject material, and (3) teens need to be prepared for the real world.
Rather than going into my opinions on each of those, I just want to make the point that our world seems to be getting increasingly darker. It's sad, but true, and what I see as the real issue here isn't what's permitted to be published in YA fiction (or fiction in general), but how we're dealing with all these "dark things" in society. I see the issue that so many authors feel a need to write about these dark things as a reflection of what's going on in teens' lives right now. That's the problem. If there are so many rapes and drugs and awful things surrounding young adults - and authors feel the need to address these things and deal with them through fiction - then the problem doesn't lie in the fiction, now does it?
I recently read a book by our one and only Scott G.F. Bailey, and I was shocked at the darkness in it. I wrote to Scott and said, wow, this is really dark. He said, yeah, I know. It's an adult novel, and it disturbed me not with the subject matter, but the tones of the novel. Honestly, I have never read a YA book with such dark tones. Usually, even in YA novels that deal with darker subjects, the tones seem to be handled on a lighter level. Maybe, though, Miss Gurdon is really talking about tone in her article, not subject matter. Maybe there are YA books out there that I haven't read that are really, really dark in tone. Teens can handle subject matter. Adults can handle subject matter. I think it's tone that can really make the difference. I appreciated Scott's book. It was amazingly well done. I appreciated the darkness he portrayed because it contrasted the world in a way that helped me appreciate what he was really saying in that book - and I think he did it through tone. I wouldn't have seen those things otherwise.
So, with all this dark YA fiction talk, I think it's important to first realize where the problems really lie. If parents have issues with all that dark fiction, they should first realize that the world is a dark place, and to raise their children in such a way that helps them make their own firm decisions on what they should/want/need to read instead of freaking out that the dark fiction is going to destroy them in a world where they're going to face all of that anyway.
Sometimes I look over at my four-year-old daughter and I freak out inside. I think about what she'll be exposed to in the future, even what she's exposed to now. I recently sat through a short class about addictions, and let me tell you - it was eye-opening. I discovered that children as young as four years old can get addicted to pornography. FOUR YEARS OLD? That shocks me to no end. I almost cried when I heard that because it's sad how even children are not immune to things we often consider only adult issues.
Then I calm myself down and tell myself, "You're a good parent, you're a good parent." I will raise my daughter with things like morals and standards and lots of love and a home that is safe and parents she knows she can come to about anything. Unfortunately, lots of children don't have those things, and that's where all that dark YA fiction comes into play.
Most of the blog posts I've read countering the article linked above have made the claim that teens need this kind of fiction because (1) it's the only place they can feel safe in their life, (2) there is usually a positive POV despite the dark subject material, and (3) teens need to be prepared for the real world.
Rather than going into my opinions on each of those, I just want to make the point that our world seems to be getting increasingly darker. It's sad, but true, and what I see as the real issue here isn't what's permitted to be published in YA fiction (or fiction in general), but how we're dealing with all these "dark things" in society. I see the issue that so many authors feel a need to write about these dark things as a reflection of what's going on in teens' lives right now. That's the problem. If there are so many rapes and drugs and awful things surrounding young adults - and authors feel the need to address these things and deal with them through fiction - then the problem doesn't lie in the fiction, now does it?
I recently read a book by our one and only Scott G.F. Bailey, and I was shocked at the darkness in it. I wrote to Scott and said, wow, this is really dark. He said, yeah, I know. It's an adult novel, and it disturbed me not with the subject matter, but the tones of the novel. Honestly, I have never read a YA book with such dark tones. Usually, even in YA novels that deal with darker subjects, the tones seem to be handled on a lighter level. Maybe, though, Miss Gurdon is really talking about tone in her article, not subject matter. Maybe there are YA books out there that I haven't read that are really, really dark in tone. Teens can handle subject matter. Adults can handle subject matter. I think it's tone that can really make the difference. I appreciated Scott's book. It was amazingly well done. I appreciated the darkness he portrayed because it contrasted the world in a way that helped me appreciate what he was really saying in that book - and I think he did it through tone. I wouldn't have seen those things otherwise.
So, with all this dark YA fiction talk, I think it's important to first realize where the problems really lie. If parents have issues with all that dark fiction, they should first realize that the world is a dark place, and to raise their children in such a way that helps them make their own firm decisions on what they should/want/need to read instead of freaking out that the dark fiction is going to destroy them in a world where they're going to face all of that anyway.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Don't Touch That Subject Matter!
Happy Monday everyone,
Don't forget that tomorrow's the big day! The Notes From Underground Anthology will be available as both a print book and an e-book. If you've signed up for our mailing list, we'll hopefully be sending you a discount code very soon. We're also sending our wonderful contributors the cover of the image ahead of time--check your e-mails later today!
I spent my weekend reading about Tibetan dialectics and Buddhist views of reincarnation. It's a bit amazing that I was raised Buddhist and yet don't follow the logic of reincarnation very well. I'm glad the narrator of Cyberlama isn't Buddhist herself, otherwise my ignorance would really show through.
Religion has always been an interesting topic for me to explore. When I was a child, my mother--whom I love dearly--was always very open-minded about religion. I often went to church with some Mormon friends that I was very close to, and later on I would go to church with some Catholic friends.
But, although I was very interested in religion, I was afraid to bring it up in my writing for a long time. So many people take religion so seriously that writing about the subject matter always made me feel like I was playing with fire.
When I finally did allow myself to explore the topic in my stories, it was very freeing. I created characters that were atheists and Mormons and Catholics and Buddhists. I had them interacting with each other, which also allowed me to explore bigger themes in my stories. Overcoming my fear of offending my readers has really broadened my range and made my writing a lot more interesting, at least in my opinion.
Are there topics that you consider off-limits in your writing? Religion? War? Sex? Racism? Miley Cyrus? Are there topics that should remain off-limits? Have you ever written something that offended others?
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Inappropriate Subject Matter
As I get farther along in the first draft of my work-in-progress, I begin to suffer some sort of vague but growing doubts about the subject matter and the characters I have chosen. I'm not second-guessing my choices so much as I'm starting to feel a bit ill at ease over the reception this book will get from my agent, possible future publishers, Mighty Reader, et alia.
Mighty Reader and I were talking just last night (over dinner of chicken Provencal, if you must know) about books we won't read even if we admire the authors who've written them. There are subjects that I'll simply steer clear of: modern warfare, terrorism, pedophilia, serial killers, anything with explicit sex scenes, cyberpunk stuff, clown romances (kidding; I love clown romances), white collar crime; there are also subjects that aren't so nice that I will read: adultery, occult stuff, slavery, poverty, murder, imprisonment, death of all sorts. And the book I'm currently writing might, maybe, be one that I wouldn't necessarily pick up off the shelf and buy were I in a bookstore. Which is what I find most interesting here, that I'm writing a book about things and characters that I usually don't read about.
And, really, mosty my issue is that I'm writing about characters for whom I don't feel I necessarily have adequate standing. I am not an escaped female slave, nor am I a priest, nor am I a widow, nor am I a gay man, nor am I an American Indian. All of these characters appear in my book, as do (I attempt) all of the worst things about their lives when viewed through the above-mentioned societal identifiers. Who am I to presume to speak for any of them? Also, there is a violent act in each chapter. Is this the sort of book I normally buy? Not in the least. But it's the sort of book I am writing. Imagine my embarrassment at the library as I ask for books about how African slaves were tortured during the colonial era, or what the symptoms of syphillis are. Really, thank god for the internets sometimes.
Anyway, Davin's already written a post about "dark subjects" so I won't get into the question of avoiding possibly-inappropriate subjects, but I will wonder if any of you have awakened to the reality that you're writing a book about things you would normally never even consider reading about?
Mighty Reader and I were talking just last night (over dinner of chicken Provencal, if you must know) about books we won't read even if we admire the authors who've written them. There are subjects that I'll simply steer clear of: modern warfare, terrorism, pedophilia, serial killers, anything with explicit sex scenes, cyberpunk stuff, clown romances (kidding; I love clown romances), white collar crime; there are also subjects that aren't so nice that I will read: adultery, occult stuff, slavery, poverty, murder, imprisonment, death of all sorts. And the book I'm currently writing might, maybe, be one that I wouldn't necessarily pick up off the shelf and buy were I in a bookstore. Which is what I find most interesting here, that I'm writing a book about things and characters that I usually don't read about.
And, really, mosty my issue is that I'm writing about characters for whom I don't feel I necessarily have adequate standing. I am not an escaped female slave, nor am I a priest, nor am I a widow, nor am I a gay man, nor am I an American Indian. All of these characters appear in my book, as do (I attempt) all of the worst things about their lives when viewed through the above-mentioned societal identifiers. Who am I to presume to speak for any of them? Also, there is a violent act in each chapter. Is this the sort of book I normally buy? Not in the least. But it's the sort of book I am writing. Imagine my embarrassment at the library as I ask for books about how African slaves were tortured during the colonial era, or what the symptoms of syphillis are. Really, thank god for the internets sometimes.
Anyway, Davin's already written a post about "dark subjects" so I won't get into the question of avoiding possibly-inappropriate subjects, but I will wonder if any of you have awakened to the reality that you're writing a book about things you would normally never even consider reading about?
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
When My Characters Talk to Each Other...
...they sometimes don't say what they're supposed to say. And that really annoys me. It goes like this:
I'm writing a scene. This scene has a specific purpose. I need to convey to the reader that there is conflict between the two characters in the scene, and I need to show that conflict and what's behind it. I also need to set up the next scene. This scene also has to be structured so that my protagonist is active in it, making a forward move with his life. So I put my protagonist in a hallway with the other character, and tell them to talk.
They do not, however, discuss the point of contention between them. No, they chat about all sorts of stuff that's really pointless. Shut up and get on with it, I say to them, striking out all of the things they've just said.
Let's try it again, shall we, boys? Off my pen goes, skipping across the page, quotation marks and attributions left and right, and when I stop to read what I have wrought, I see that once more my two characters are chattering away about pleasant things that have nothing to do with this scene.
One basic problem, of course, is that I'm trying to have my characters speak like real people, who rarely (if ever) get to the point. Real conversations are almost never direct, and real people almost never bring up actual conflict. Why? Because they're real people, and conflict is really unpleasant.
A more clever writer than I could show the conflict in the spaces between the pleasantries (there's some very nice dialog between Charles Darnay and his uncle in "A Tale of Two Cities" that speaks volumes through what remains unsaid), but I'm stuck with my own level of cleverness and so I'd like to twist my characters' arms and just have them say the words I have planned for them.
What they keep saying is stuff like:
"Oh, that Gary isn't such a bad guy, once you get to know him. You should give him a break. I've known him for years."
"Really, well, if you can vouch for him, that's saying something."
"He likes you okay, I think. Hey, are you hungry? Wanna grab a bite?"
when what I really need them to say is more like:
"What's with you and Gary?"
"I hate that guy. I don't trust him."
"Why? He's one of my best friends."
"I don't trust you, either."
That's more like it. Though an even better (and far less "real world" realistic) way to do it would be for my protagonist to grab the other guy's arm and say, "I don't trust you or Gary." It's quicker, it's got physical action (way better than dialogue for showing character) and it gets to the heart of the conflict. It seems so obvious, too.
I have a theory that I write this kind of dialogue-that-goes-nowhere whenever I'm uncomfortable with the conflict between characters. I don't want them talking about this stuff. Which, perversely enough, means that the conflict is something I should have more of in the book.
Which brings me to the real point of this post: Are there ideas you shy away from in your stories? Do you think your stories would be better or worse if you pursued those ideas instead of avoiding them?
I'm writing a scene. This scene has a specific purpose. I need to convey to the reader that there is conflict between the two characters in the scene, and I need to show that conflict and what's behind it. I also need to set up the next scene. This scene also has to be structured so that my protagonist is active in it, making a forward move with his life. So I put my protagonist in a hallway with the other character, and tell them to talk.
They do not, however, discuss the point of contention between them. No, they chat about all sorts of stuff that's really pointless. Shut up and get on with it, I say to them, striking out all of the things they've just said.
Let's try it again, shall we, boys? Off my pen goes, skipping across the page, quotation marks and attributions left and right, and when I stop to read what I have wrought, I see that once more my two characters are chattering away about pleasant things that have nothing to do with this scene.
One basic problem, of course, is that I'm trying to have my characters speak like real people, who rarely (if ever) get to the point. Real conversations are almost never direct, and real people almost never bring up actual conflict. Why? Because they're real people, and conflict is really unpleasant.
A more clever writer than I could show the conflict in the spaces between the pleasantries (there's some very nice dialog between Charles Darnay and his uncle in "A Tale of Two Cities" that speaks volumes through what remains unsaid), but I'm stuck with my own level of cleverness and so I'd like to twist my characters' arms and just have them say the words I have planned for them.
What they keep saying is stuff like:
"Oh, that Gary isn't such a bad guy, once you get to know him. You should give him a break. I've known him for years."
"Really, well, if you can vouch for him, that's saying something."
"He likes you okay, I think. Hey, are you hungry? Wanna grab a bite?"
when what I really need them to say is more like:
"What's with you and Gary?"
"I hate that guy. I don't trust him."
"Why? He's one of my best friends."
"I don't trust you, either."
That's more like it. Though an even better (and far less "real world" realistic) way to do it would be for my protagonist to grab the other guy's arm and say, "I don't trust you or Gary." It's quicker, it's got physical action (way better than dialogue for showing character) and it gets to the heart of the conflict. It seems so obvious, too.
I have a theory that I write this kind of dialogue-that-goes-nowhere whenever I'm uncomfortable with the conflict between characters. I don't want them talking about this stuff. Which, perversely enough, means that the conflict is something I should have more of in the book.
Which brings me to the real point of this post: Are there ideas you shy away from in your stories? Do you think your stories would be better or worse if you pursued those ideas instead of avoiding them?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Dark Matter
My second work-in-progress deals with a dark subject matter. It’s based on a true story that involves a violent crime and how a person’s life has led them to commit this crime.
When I first started writing this book, I began having nightmares. My internet research also led me to interact with people I wish didn’t actually exist. I’ve tried to stop working on this book, but something keeps drawing me back to it.
I write to understand people. Whenever someone intrigues me, for better or for worse, I tend to write about them. If my work is worth anything, I hope that it provides insight into characters that might not seem sympathetic at first—I hope that it encourages people to accept each other for who they are.
But should some things remain unwritten?
I’ve asked myself that a lot lately. Even though I’m approaching the subject from a sympathetic perspective, I wonder if the world would be a better place if I simply left it alone.
Of course, I’m not the first person to approach a subject like this. Many great works deal with the dark matter. Crime and Punishment and Macbeth are just a couple of examples. No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy is the latest book I’ve read dealing with something like this. For me, what makes this book palatable is the fact that I can distance myself from it when I need to. I can look out at the world and see that things aren’t as bad as all that. This book works because it reminds me to be grateful for reality. Maybe that’s what makes the journey into the darkness worthwhile. Maybe dark matters serve to remind us of the light.
The fact is, I couldn’t stop working on this story even if I wanted to. But this experience has led me to think more deeply about what I send out into the world. Whether I’m writing a light-hearted piece or something more serious, I ask myself if the book I’m writing is worth more than the paper it’s printed on.
~DM
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