Inertia is a Property of Matter

After finishing my first book back in January, I had a disturbing thought that (naturally) turned into a burdensome worry: It had been more than a year since I'd started The Wide and Burning World, and I didn't remember how I'd done it! 138k words is the most I've ever written about any single thing, and while it flowed out fairly smoothly, I simply couldn't recall the way I'd actually set forth to make a story that long. What if I couldn't do it again? There are two books left in the trilogy, Salt Spray and Fine Things and Pulling Colors from the Sun. How would I write them, if I couldn't remember how I'd begun in the first place? Was this going to be like so many other projects, doomed to incompletion? It couldn't have just happened, with no method... or could it?

Recently, a feeling I know has started creeping in at the cracks. I'm starting to think plot again, to draft pages when inspiration comes, to repeat wording that I like to myself. This is it! A book is starting to happen. Which sounds dumb, I know, and which of course isn't all of it. I'm becoming increasingly practiced at crafting narrative, inventing characters, researching and editing, and without those skills, I wouldn't be writing. But the way it starts is in embracing the momentum. This book's like a boulder at the top of a hill: I could put my back into it and push it until it rolls or I can be glad the earth is shaking. Now what I've got to learn is to trust that it will happen when I need it to... and that I can put my shoulder to my project if I need to. Let's roll.

Golden Beam from the Darkness

There's nothing like a sudden hit of inspiration. Usually mine comes from my drive to improve things, either my own work or the execution of others'. This time, the ball was in my court, deflated and moldy from being left in the rain too long. Time to pump it up with some perfect words in their perfect order!

The brunt of my classical training in creative writing is in poetry, and it just wouldn't due to publish (yes, someday, I'm getting to it, shut up) Orphans with a poem-fragment in it that wasn't, you know, good. The poem I refer to is one that must evoke a sense of worldliness and a distinctly masculine sexual viewpoint. My placeholder is:

Stretch’d before my eyes,

the radiant tie of your heart to mine.

In the palm of this hand

blood. In the other,

a puddle of pearls.

Tomorrow brings naught but crimson.

But tonight the moons are up

and you are beautiful.

Okay, yeah, there's the reference to the plural moons for an "it's not Earth" nod, and the goofy semen image. But "stretch'd?" Who talks like that? Stilted, randomly archaic and dumb.

Yesterday this occurred to me, instead: 

Launch a ship from my harbor heart
Fleet and fine.
Solid, sleek. Mast and plank
Drenched, adrip but never sinking
And all sails full beneath the sun
An arrow in the sea between us.

If that doesn't make you want to have passionate, urgent sex with the person who wrote it, I don't know how many moons orbit the planet you come from. Such yearning! Such lusty saltiness! And best of all, its author has never been to the ocean or seen a seafaring vessel (in the book, not yours truly, that would be silly).  Success!

It's Always the Quiet Ones

I didn't become a writer. Silly as it sounds, I was born with the bug, and have always been writing in one form or another, the subconsciousness of the action as validating as the act itself. Now I talk about it, proclaim it as part of my life-boildown.

How long might it have taken me to embrace it, without the encouragement of those around me? Not forever, but a long time at least. And now I have that same power, the gift of "You should write more."

Here is where I got my breath stolen away in surprise. I didn't know he wrote wrote, you know? I don't think he really knows it either. Not yet, he doesn't. But someone should tell him.

How Does That Even Work?

My acting experience is negligible, but it does exist (Cough, cough, high school, cough). I also know a few actual actors who have, y'know, talent and skill and careers. It is from conversations with them about their processes, as much as from my own limited knowledge, that I now ask this question of myself:

If I had a career and all the stuff that you need to get one, namely lots of training and practice (this is a hypothetical me, so let's ignore the luck/endurance/connections that getting a career in anything actually takes) and I needed to cry for a role, and I being a totally rad actor could cry for said role, how the hell would I force just one tear out of just one eye?

Is it skill? Luck? Faked by make up? I don't know. When I get weepy, my nose runs in a very undignified way. Can you... control that with acting? I heard a lot of hand-waving about Gary Oldman and Benedict Cumberbatch in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and it was well-deserved. But Mark Strong cries a single, perfect tear of ultimate heartbreak and nuance, and the intensity of his performance has me almost embarrassed. (More on this next time)

It bears mentioning that describing the scene I'm referring to in prose sounds maudlin and trite. I mean, c'mon, "a single tear"? Snort. But on film it works. It's breathtaking. And if I see my man Mark getting type-cast with any more BS occult villain roles (Sherlock Holmes is a silly-ish movie with a serious-ish role, but, jeez, Stardust? He spends half the movie making the wtf-I-can't-believe-I'm-from-the-same-magical-realm-as-these-dopes face, and what else could he do?) I'ma make some casting directors cry.

Winner, Loser

I came back to a comic I wandered away from today (was reading it at work, no other reason), and I'll never stray again, things keep on like they are. Look Straight Ahead is actually doing something. There's a real understanding of how things feel and how to translate that into how things look. You can sense the theory, if you know it, but the experience--an experiential webcomic, now there's a rare bird--is rich enough that the thought process is never obtrusive. A seamless blend of execution and idea. Boom, yummy. Kudos, Elaine. I really like the simple truth with which you're writing Jeremy. Teens are hard; nicely done.

And I'm wandering away from a comic I've been reading for almost a year now. The Concrete World has great story, world and dialogue (minus a few nit-picky errors that crop up now and then). The art is riddled with a problem my illustrator and I call "squishy head"(go see what I mean). I read it diligently despite its miserly update schedule and occasional iffy drawing: Good story is a lot harder to find than pleasing art. And now they're going on hiatus, and I am disappointed and unsurprised. Momentum can be key in an undertaking as demanding as regularly updating your comic. Six pages a month is a dribble, and when you're dribbling it's so easy to just drop it.

The comic I work on updates around fifteen pages a month. It's grueling to produce like that, and it takes a big investment of creative energy and time. But in a medium where dropping off the face of the earth (hiatus is often code for this) is practically expected, it's invest or go home.

The Review Process

I've been thinking about how to put my own little touch on the movie reviews I'm slated to start writing for this blog. That's the "Opinion" part, you know, reviews of things. I've been trying to pick a rating system and a structure. Then I realized I don't want to write reviews.

That's not really what my training has made me good at. Academia teaches us to hunt for evidence, and to use it to either fashion a context or support a claim (or both). Each text is an opportunity to enrich the catalog of experience--both critical experience and vicarious experience. I love these experiences, crave the challenge of contextualizing and the pleasure of the immersion a good narrative experience offers equally. So I'm not going to review. I'm going to illustrate what the evidence inspires in me, be it the frustration of a poorly-constructed character or the delight of a well-crafted visual vocabulary (Or the sexiness of sex/maniacal laughter of watching stuff explode. It's not all snooty CS BS).

There's very little that I consume that I don't at least respect. Even trashy things. It can take just as much integrity to admit that something's enjoyable because it's cheesecake as to analyze high literature. Sometimes I find lessons in "what not to do," but others' mistakes have a lot of value. It's not fair to say something's terrible and not say why, but I intend to go a step further, if I've got something negative to say. If I read/watch something that's broke, I'll try to offer my fix. It's a rare case, I find, that is unfixable. "What if" is a sick game to play with your own work (once it's complete), but it's a productive analytical tool, when looking at someone else's.

Once you know what you like and why, you can start making what you like. And when you make what you like, your audience will feel your passion. That's what I'm all about.