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Can't Beat Those Early Influences
"When did you first want to be a writer?" people ask me.
Seventh grade started out with the 1971 World Series in which I picked the Pittsburgh Pirates to win against the defending Baltimore Orioles. I was the only one in my class who picked the Pirates to win. I was probably the only kid in Northern California who acknowledged a choice for the Series that year, because the Pirates beat the San Francisco Giants three-to-one to win the National League Championship Series, and the Orioles thumped the Oakland A's three-zip to take the American League pennant. If I weren't enough of a nerd child before that memorable October, picking the Pirates sealed the deal and started a scourge of Pirate-themed playground hazing.
I had no innate understanding of baseball or sports underdogs.
But there were the Pirates' caps, which were unlike any other baseball caps and therefore the coolest baseball caps in existence.
Dad also taught in the Oakland public schools. We would have needed special dispensation to root for Baltimore.
Baltimore took the first two games, and my prediction's hopes looked dire. But the Pirates prevailed, and boys didn't tease me after that. They all secretly thought Baltimore was a slam dunk and were stunned at my lucky prescience, even though the Series went the full seven games. The only thing better would have been for me to hit a real home run on the playground. The best I could do was sail a kickball over the fence a few times.
I should have been a soccer fan.
I think it was the entire class who entered a diocesan essay contest about Citizenship that winter. I have no recollection now of what I wrote, nor do I have a copy of the original essay. Those were carbon paper days, and there were no Xerox machines or hard drives at our disposal.
On March 24, 1972, my teachers announced that I placed third in the contest. When they called my name in class, I wondered what I had done wrong -- there would have been a few things to choose from. But that day was to be a happy occasion, teachers beaming, principal proud, classmates stunned once again.
The next fiction outings featured classmates and scary stories -- people coming out of the ground, strange cults in an isolated house. These stories gave my little sister nightmares, much to my delight. My fascination with the unseen monster, and how one's imagination is far worse than reality, still hasn't left me. (Check out the Cthulhu Mythos by H.P. Lovecraft -- a collection of short fiction -- to gain some insight into just how original modern science fiction and dark suspense is.)
When my sister's daughter was old enough to read my early stories, she wondered what nuthouse in the world could be persuaded to take me. Unseen monsters know no generational bounds, I guess.
The point is, I didn't have to place first in that essay contest to know what I would do someday. It was like a switch, like believing the Pirates would win. Something got awakened that early Spring day in 1972, and it doesn't go away, even through long periods of career dormancy, child-rearing dormancy, or any one of many Other Priority dormancies -- we all have them.
You know if writing, on whatever level, is something you want to do. You know you observe things in ways that many others don't, and you know your power of invention. Stories begin to accumulate in your mind, and if you're lucky, you get some chances or even stolen moments to put them to paper.
Remember Roseanne, writing while her son slept? What a great "writer episode" that was.
Whether to read to your kids, to perform at family gatherings or reunions, or for your eyes only, few things have the ability to provide insight more than putting words on paper. If you have that voice in your head nagging for you to put your own words down, give it a shot.
Hit your own home run.
Seventh grade started out with the 1971 World Series in which I picked the Pittsburgh Pirates to win against the defending Baltimore Orioles. I was the only one in my class who picked the Pirates to win. I was probably the only kid in Northern California who acknowledged a choice for the Series that year, because the Pirates beat the San Francisco Giants three-to-one to win the National League Championship Series, and the Orioles thumped the Oakland A's three-zip to take the American League pennant. If I weren't enough of a nerd child before that memorable October, picking the Pirates sealed the deal and started a scourge of Pirate-themed playground hazing.
I had no innate understanding of baseball or sports underdogs.
But there were the Pirates' caps, which were unlike any other baseball caps and therefore the coolest baseball caps in existence.
Dad also taught in the Oakland public schools. We would have needed special dispensation to root for Baltimore.
Baltimore took the first two games, and my prediction's hopes looked dire. But the Pirates prevailed, and boys didn't tease me after that. They all secretly thought Baltimore was a slam dunk and were stunned at my lucky prescience, even though the Series went the full seven games. The only thing better would have been for me to hit a real home run on the playground. The best I could do was sail a kickball over the fence a few times.
I should have been a soccer fan.
I think it was the entire class who entered a diocesan essay contest about Citizenship that winter. I have no recollection now of what I wrote, nor do I have a copy of the original essay. Those were carbon paper days, and there were no Xerox machines or hard drives at our disposal.
On March 24, 1972, my teachers announced that I placed third in the contest. When they called my name in class, I wondered what I had done wrong -- there would have been a few things to choose from. But that day was to be a happy occasion, teachers beaming, principal proud, classmates stunned once again.
The next fiction outings featured classmates and scary stories -- people coming out of the ground, strange cults in an isolated house. These stories gave my little sister nightmares, much to my delight. My fascination with the unseen monster, and how one's imagination is far worse than reality, still hasn't left me. (Check out the Cthulhu Mythos by H.P. Lovecraft -- a collection of short fiction -- to gain some insight into just how original modern science fiction and dark suspense is.)
When my sister's daughter was old enough to read my early stories, she wondered what nuthouse in the world could be persuaded to take me. Unseen monsters know no generational bounds, I guess.
The point is, I didn't have to place first in that essay contest to know what I would do someday. It was like a switch, like believing the Pirates would win. Something got awakened that early Spring day in 1972, and it doesn't go away, even through long periods of career dormancy, child-rearing dormancy, or any one of many Other Priority dormancies -- we all have them.
You know if writing, on whatever level, is something you want to do. You know you observe things in ways that many others don't, and you know your power of invention. Stories begin to accumulate in your mind, and if you're lucky, you get some chances or even stolen moments to put them to paper.
Remember Roseanne, writing while her son slept? What a great "writer episode" that was.
Whether to read to your kids, to perform at family gatherings or reunions, or for your eyes only, few things have the ability to provide insight more than putting words on paper. If you have that voice in your head nagging for you to put your own words down, give it a shot.
Hit your own home run.
Authenticity in Technical Detail
When you write about a particular industry or set your book in a particular locale, authenticity is everything. Knowing details that only insiders or residents know is critical to giving your story credibility.
I knew when I wrote SHAKEDOWN that the technical detail for the financial scam had to be dead on balls accurate to be plausible to anyone in the financial industry. Systems professionals who might read the book just to see if they could find a hole in the plotting also needed to be convinced.
When your research is complex, it's best to ask the experts.
I was lucky to know a number of systems professionals who were able to explain the technical detail I needed to construct a believable scenario by which money could move around with a false trail. It blew me away that they didn't have to think about it much -- they just pulled out their pens and started scribbling schematics on napkins! (These are the guys they need in Washington.) But they gave me insights that I wouldn't have otherwise been able to obtain. Whether you build systems, construct locks, or write regulations, you tend to know how to break them, where to find the loopholes. Experts help you establish credibility so that you sound like you know what you're talking about.
Erasing a money trail, as it turns out, is painfully difficult, and requires a significant amount of collusion among very different divisions of a company and beyond, but this is how bad guys navigate.
While "suspension" of disbelief" goes a long way for the casual reader -- if we don't have familiarity with a technical subject, we tend to believe what's on the page in a novel -- I knew that my phone would be ringing off the hook if I got it wrong.
There's one paragraph where the technical aspect of the financial plot is explained, in dialogue. One paragraph in 421 pages, one that most people probably skipped right over. But for those in a position to evaluate it, that paragraph was the O.K. Corral.
So how many hours did the research take? A lot, and the plot changed over time, got less elaborate. But it didn't matter how much time it took, because it came out right in the end. That's where you need to focus.
How do you articulate what you need to know if you don't know what you need?
Explain it in terms of the plot.
What has to happen to make your story work, or to feed your other plot points? What answers do you need? And don't forget to explore options. Consult different experts, people who know their trade -- when the answers coincide, you're there.
Geographic and historical details are also important. Even if the facts appear momentarily, and they're not rally central to the story, they can disconnect a reader very quickly if they're inaccurate:
I knew when I wrote SHAKEDOWN that the technical detail for the financial scam had to be dead on balls accurate to be plausible to anyone in the financial industry. Systems professionals who might read the book just to see if they could find a hole in the plotting also needed to be convinced.
When your research is complex, it's best to ask the experts.
I was lucky to know a number of systems professionals who were able to explain the technical detail I needed to construct a believable scenario by which money could move around with a false trail. It blew me away that they didn't have to think about it much -- they just pulled out their pens and started scribbling schematics on napkins! (These are the guys they need in Washington.) But they gave me insights that I wouldn't have otherwise been able to obtain. Whether you build systems, construct locks, or write regulations, you tend to know how to break them, where to find the loopholes. Experts help you establish credibility so that you sound like you know what you're talking about.
Erasing a money trail, as it turns out, is painfully difficult, and requires a significant amount of collusion among very different divisions of a company and beyond, but this is how bad guys navigate.
While "suspension" of disbelief" goes a long way for the casual reader -- if we don't have familiarity with a technical subject, we tend to believe what's on the page in a novel -- I knew that my phone would be ringing off the hook if I got it wrong.
There's one paragraph where the technical aspect of the financial plot is explained, in dialogue. One paragraph in 421 pages, one that most people probably skipped right over. But for those in a position to evaluate it, that paragraph was the O.K. Corral.
So how many hours did the research take? A lot, and the plot changed over time, got less elaborate. But it didn't matter how much time it took, because it came out right in the end. That's where you need to focus.
How do you articulate what you need to know if you don't know what you need?
Explain it in terms of the plot.
What has to happen to make your story work, or to feed your other plot points? What answers do you need? And don't forget to explore options. Consult different experts, people who know their trade -- when the answers coincide, you're there.
- "I need someone to remain in a coma for six weeks."
- "What kind of internal injuries would be serious but generally not life-threatening?"
- "I have an arsonist character that can't get caught. How can he avoid it?"
- "What kind of handgun would an old vet pass on to a son going to war?"
- "What color is the blood when someone's shot near the heart -- dark red or bright red?"
Geographic and historical details are also important. Even if the facts appear momentarily, and they're not rally central to the story, they can disconnect a reader very quickly if they're inaccurate:
- No one drives on the lower deck of the Golden Gate Bridge because there's only one level of roadway.
- Marin County isn't south of San Francisco.
- There's a hairpin turn off Presidio onto West Pacific, near the golf course.
- What were the dates of the Zodiac killer communications in early 1974?
- What's at the top of Nob Hill, and what's the view?
It helped to grow up near San Francisco. But if you use an unfamiliar locale as your setting, there are ways to get a sense of place -- photographs, interactive online maps that show actual street geography, reading local newspapers, public records, even a brief visit if your pocketbook will allow it. Notice these details. Pay close attention to color and sound and light, because they can bring your setting to life.
I have to admit that it helps to have a book already under your belt to prove you're an author -- when you write mysteries and thrillers, asking questions that are related to crime and murder and arson can raise eyebrows, especially if you're not well known.
Just be prepared for some semi-serious teasing about exactly why you want the information!
Then go write it down.
The Joy of Conflict
Crash, directed by Paul Haggis and released in the US in 2005, won the Best Picture, Best Editing, and Best Writing, Original Screenplay Oscars in 2006. If you want a great lesson in creating characters with truth, this is it.
Key characters want something that they either can't get or will find very difficult to get -- this establishes conflict, the life-blood of fiction. One of the more compelling things about Crash is that what each character wants shifts as they travel the arc of the story and realize things about themselves. These shifts are brought about by changes in what they desire.
They experience profound changes as people. Look closely at how the characters are drawn at the beginning of the movie and compare that with how you see them at the end. In the beginning, they are almost caricatures, but as the movie progresses, the writer lets us see their flaws, and glimpse some of the influences that deepened those flaws over time. When crisis strikes, we see how each character has really been forged, and they see themselves. They face painful, heart-wrenching decisions, and we can relate to much of it, even though the situations may not exactly match our own. They descend or rise with their enlightenment.
When I read through old writing workshop notes, I see that I was often told (and still am) that my characters had to actually make decisions, make their own choices, and not just be carried (by me) along the story's path. This takes some time to figure out as you work through the plotting and the story. It comes a small length at a time as you progress through revision.
Connections are also important in Crash. Look at how the characters lives are intertwined, how they come together in unexpected ways, and how they influence one another's behavior. It's like watching the pieces of a puzzle float into position, and it's not overstated or heavy-handed -- a risk with the technique that can often make the reader (or filmgoer) feel as if he's being beaten over the head with symbolism.
This is an area where your character research can be beneficial, because all that thinking leads to subtlety -- an image, a feeling, or a choice that feels natural because it actually comes from somewhere. It isn't forced because it is steeped in real emotion, real truth.
Look at some of your earlier drafts and see if you can spot opportunities to deepen your characters' experiences. Give your characters real, personal conflict and make them work hard to resolve it, and you'll soon see them take shape before your eyes.
Key characters want something that they either can't get or will find very difficult to get -- this establishes conflict, the life-blood of fiction. One of the more compelling things about Crash is that what each character wants shifts as they travel the arc of the story and realize things about themselves. These shifts are brought about by changes in what they desire.
They experience profound changes as people. Look closely at how the characters are drawn at the beginning of the movie and compare that with how you see them at the end. In the beginning, they are almost caricatures, but as the movie progresses, the writer lets us see their flaws, and glimpse some of the influences that deepened those flaws over time. When crisis strikes, we see how each character has really been forged, and they see themselves. They face painful, heart-wrenching decisions, and we can relate to much of it, even though the situations may not exactly match our own. They descend or rise with their enlightenment.
When I read through old writing workshop notes, I see that I was often told (and still am) that my characters had to actually make decisions, make their own choices, and not just be carried (by me) along the story's path. This takes some time to figure out as you work through the plotting and the story. It comes a small length at a time as you progress through revision.
Connections are also important in Crash. Look at how the characters lives are intertwined, how they come together in unexpected ways, and how they influence one another's behavior. It's like watching the pieces of a puzzle float into position, and it's not overstated or heavy-handed -- a risk with the technique that can often make the reader (or filmgoer) feel as if he's being beaten over the head with symbolism.
This is an area where your character research can be beneficial, because all that thinking leads to subtlety -- an image, a feeling, or a choice that feels natural because it actually comes from somewhere. It isn't forced because it is steeped in real emotion, real truth.
Look at some of your earlier drafts and see if you can spot opportunities to deepen your characters' experiences. Give your characters real, personal conflict and make them work hard to resolve it, and you'll soon see them take shape before your eyes.
Glimpsing Your Character's Soul
There are many tools out there to help you get to know your characters. But think like James Lipton, the host of Inside the Actor's Studio. He asks his subjects what their favorite curses are and what they want to hear God say when, if Heaven exists, they arrive there. There are questionnaires by Bernard Pivot, a French talk show host known for interviewing authors. Even Marcel Proust answered questionnaires -- once at thirteen and once at twenty.
http://senselist.com/2006/09/06/the-questionnaires-of-james-lipton-bernard-pivot-and-marcel-proust/
You can find questionnaIres that deal with physical appearances, basic likes and dislikes, family and marital situations, where they live, who their friends are. They resemble a character study for a play, researching or establishing where your characters are coming from. They're important.
But you want to dig deeper into your character's emotional lives, paying attention to what sights and sounds and tastes and smells evoke memory, what touches their soul.
Here are a few starters, some basics:
When you develop your own questions,span your characters' lifetimes. Invoke all the senses. They can be clues to the emotional past, deepen your sense of what your characters appreciate and why -- critical components to their three-dimensional well-being. You won't disclose all these details through telling in your story. But you will refer to them, use them to establish patterns and themes, at critical moments in your character's emotional upheaval. Your readers will feel closer connections to them.
What are your favorite questions?
http://senselist.com/2006/09/06/the-questionnaires-of-james-lipton-bernard-pivot-and-marcel-proust/
You can find questionnaIres that deal with physical appearances, basic likes and dislikes, family and marital situations, where they live, who their friends are. They resemble a character study for a play, researching or establishing where your characters are coming from. They're important.
But you want to dig deeper into your character's emotional lives, paying attention to what sights and sounds and tastes and smells evoke memory, what touches their soul.
Here are a few starters, some basics:
- Favorite season, soap, toys and games as a child and as an adult, comfort food, favorite flavoring (i.e., in coffee or pastries or liqueurs)
- Most rebellious act
- Best practical joke
- Favorite novel, nonfiction, movie, play, song, music, cookie
- What do they find difficult not to touch when it is nearby?
- What memories are aroused by their favorite and least favorite smells?
- What memory is associated with their favorite and least favorite sounds?
- What are the sounds and smells of their profession or avocation? Which are most pleasing? Most repellent?
- What's the one memory from a past love that doesn't go away?
- If they could have their choice of view out their window, what would it be? An ocean? A golf course? A cityscape?
- If they could have dinner with three people from history, who would the three people be?
- Who would they like to wake up to when they die?
- What would they most want to say if they could see their closest deceased friend for only ten minutes?
- If their parents are deceased and could return for only ten minutes, what would your character most want to say to them?
- Is there anyone they want to kill?
- Is there anyone they want to meet?
- If there's one thing they could get away with stealing, what would it be?
- What is their attitude toward money? Does it match their spending habits? Do they resent people who seem to have it?
- For a party, are they more likely to bring wine or food?
- If they bring food, will they bring an appetizer, main course, or dessert?
- Would they be more likely to be a painter or a bricklayer if they had to choose?
- Do they smell their clothes before wearing them?
- Do they smell the clothes of their children before dressing them?
- What do they do when they're awake and everyone else is asleep?
- Would they have a dog or a cat?
- What do they drink in a restaurant? at a bar? alone?
- What is their morning routine, their "toilette?"
- What is their secret vice that no one knows about (Mallomars or spying on the neighbors)?
When you develop your own questions,span your characters' lifetimes. Invoke all the senses. They can be clues to the emotional past, deepen your sense of what your characters appreciate and why -- critical components to their three-dimensional well-being. You won't disclose all these details through telling in your story. But you will refer to them, use them to establish patterns and themes, at critical moments in your character's emotional upheaval. Your readers will feel closer connections to them.
What are your favorite questions?
The Beauty of Difficult Words
Oxford University Press publishes a reference book entitled Better Wordpower -- a terrific reference of vocabulary from different professions and disciplines almost guaranteed to make you sound like an expert. This is good enough, but inside you'll also find a synonym / antonym list, common foreign phrases, words that are often confused, a wonderful section discussing basic etymology (really good for aspiring GRE test takers), and a collection of difficult words.
The difficult words are less common, more provocative, than many of the GRE words I had the pleasure of studying a couple of years ago. The GRE words can consider themselves replaced. Oxford's list piques both interest and curiosity. Musical, Updike words. Try building a sentence around these suckers. It’s not so easy. These words have to be fitted to a paragraph, tailored to a character’s voice or scene, or they’ll sound like you’re trying too hard. Too writerly.
Your assignment is to construct sample sentences. Let's post a few!
From the Oxford book:
piceous - Black, glossy, like pitch. I’m using this and I know exactly where. It’s perfect.
verglas - A thin coating of ice or frozen rain (on an exposed surface). The word sounds fragile.
deipnosophist - a master of the art of dining, according to Oxford; a master at the art of table conversation, say other sources. Sitting next to someone you can't stand at dinner, especially if you're on a diet, makes you a diepnonosophist.
claque - A group of people hired to clap in a theater. What does it pay?
serein - a fine rain falling in tropical climates from a cloudless sky after sunset. You get the same thing outdoors at
pavonine - Like a peacock. Fifties hair?
limaceous - Related to slugs or snails. Lots of possibilities.
virago - A fierce or abusive woman. Not quite the same as the maiden goddess of the harvest.
callipygian - Having a beautiful, well-shaped butt. "Her callipygian days were behind her."
The Paris Review Archive
If you haven't yet discovered The Paris Review interview archive, you're in for an incredible treat. From the 1950s forward, here they all are, a diamond necklace of discussions with some of the most gifted, most admired, most cantankerous writers of the last 60 years -- novelists, biographers, essayists, poets. Poets all.
"The good writing of any age has always been the product of someone's neurosis, and we'd have a mighty dull literature if all the writers that came along were a bunch of happy chuckleheads."--William Styron, Interview, Writers at Work: First Series (1958)
On the Paris Review website, the Styron interview is referenced as having taken place in 1954 (the 1958 reference above indicates a later published collection). Along with Styron, to name a few, there's Graham Greene, Ralph Ellison, Isak Dinesen, Truman Capote, Thornton Wilder, Dorothy Parker, and Ernest Hemingway. Hemingway seemed particularly disdainful of the interview process, stubbornly chiding George Plimpton for asking "old, tired questions." Hemingway's responses are often understandably, but disappointingly, as clipped as the dialogue in his short stories.
In later years, you'll find John Dos Passos. Maya Angelou. John Cheever. Pablo Neruda. A.S. Byatt. Margaret Atwood. Margaret Drabble. T.C. Boyle. Umberto Eco.
The questions progress from a rather hesitant tone (perhaps they were edited?) to a more directly personal, charged character that some might call intrusive. You'll find more questions about the writing process itself, and writing habits, topics many authors are hesitant to articulate, as Hemingway famously was: do writers consciously consider plot, do the characters really take over the reins (Cheever's response to this is hilarious), how does a writer know when he/she is done, personal questions about the moment they realized they would be a writer and when they told their families, as if wanting to write were a sin requiring confession to one's parents. Journalism students might be interested to note the different interview styles across the decades.
The link below will take you to the 1950s interviews, which are available in full -- just follow the tabs to the others, many of which are excerpted. You're sure to make discoveries here. Most libraries are likely to have some access to these brief moments of literary history through subscriptions or archival records.
So if you're feeling solitary and unloved as a writer, laugh and cry a few tears over these treasures and understand you're not alone.
http://www.theparisreview.org/literature.php/prmDecade/1950
Quote from THE INTERNATIONAL THESAURUS OF QUOTATIONS (compiled by Eugene Ehrlich and Marshall De Bruhl)
The Backroads of Revision - Part IV
I am always baffled when I hear someone tell me that they don't want pre-publication feedback on their writing because they don't want anyone telling them what to do.
"He [the writer] must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed -- love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice." (William Faulkner, in a speech accepting the Nobel Prize, Dec. 10, 1950)
What's the fear?
"[A] life of writing books is a trying adventure in which you cannot find out where you are unless you lose your way."--Philip Roth, The Counterlife (1987)
SHAKEDOWN was originally a short story. When I look back through the initial workshop comments from 2002 and 2003, I see the following:
That's lost, right?
Three and four years later, I was still learning from those workshop comments. But in that time, I had started to practice in earnest. I wouldn't have started to practice -- not nearly as soon, anyway -- if I hadn't been forced to look at the story's flaws through the eyes of an objective group of readers who were good enough to be honest with me. My strongest recommendation is that you seek out the same.
"But I know what they're going to say," you may think. This is getting closer to what the fear of criticism really is: that someone will either articulate an idea that you had begun to form and, in your view, "steal" it away, or come up with an idea that you hadn't thought of that actually improves the story. This makes the story not your own, doesn't it, and will cause major resistance. It's at this most critical time that you need to keep an open mind. Remember, it's a single brushstroke on which you elaborate.
You don't know ahead of time what the readers of your drafts will say, not most of the time. By all means give yourself a reasonable amount of time to think the story through, to work out where you want it to lead. Then fire it into the trenches, because your critiquers will also tell you what does work about the story, and that's equally valuable.
It's an odd thing, revision. As long as potential changes or choices are only in your head, you're not as compelled to deal with them because you're the only one who sees them. When you hear them from someone else, or see red marks that aren't your own on the page, it spurs you on. It validates some of what you already suspect, and forces you to take the next step. That's a good and positive thing. It gets your story closer to completion. It frees you from the vacuum.
Keeping it all to yourself is unfortunate, because a lot of good writing goes unnoticed that way. A lot of talent goes undeveloped, and a lot of wonderful stories die on the vine.
Don't let yours be one of them.
Quotes from THE INTERNATIONAL THESAURUS OF QUOTATIONS (compiled by Eugene Ehrlich and Marshall De Bruhl)
"He [the writer] must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed -- love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice." (William Faulkner, in a speech accepting the Nobel Prize, Dec. 10, 1950)
What's the fear?
- They're going to make my story into something it's not. Where a story goes, and what happens in it, is the writer's decision. Workshops and editors compel you to look at your story in a different way, to think of your characters in different environments, in different action. This is healthy. It makes you sure of where you're going, and it makes your story stronger. What you've done with your first draft is get their interest -- now you need to give them more. Remember, a critical comment is a brushstroke on a canvas. You supply the contrast, the conflict, the emotion. The brushstroke may form the basis for something, or you may paint over it. How -- or even if -- you execute your response is up to you. Always will be.
- I'm not listening to anyone whose writing is inferior to mine. Writing and editing are different skills. This is why we have editors. Even the writers in workshops who were just beginning, or who had a lot to learn about craft, could still tell me if a scene moved them, or if they connected to a character. This is what you're after. It's important feedback. Writers who finish a first draft sometimes put a metaphoric lock on it, thinking it will keep the story safe, intact. But your most valuable critics will try to pick that lock open, to break it. When they succeed, if you pay attention, the next lock on your next draft will be stronger.
- If I write just to please other people, I'm just pandering. I write for myself. This is perfectly fine and okay if you don't care about being read. But if you care about being read, about having your story mean something to someone else, you'll keep the reader in mind. You're out of business if you don't.
When you doubt what's on your own pages, I think it means that what's on the page is not the full truth -- and you know it. When workshop comments make you doubt yourself and your story, push through those doubts. It's the revision equivalent of getting back on the bike, and it will steel you against professional rejection later on when the reasons might be a complete mystery and not worth any lengthy contemplation.You can't write in a vacuum. When you consider the reader, you get to the truth of your story, the emotive truth, giving something through your stories that others can recognize in their own lives, an experience that lives beyond the page. Truth is elusive, and lies beneath heavy layers of language and structure and dialogue and action. Truth requires work.
"[A] life of writing books is a trying adventure in which you cannot find out where you are unless you lose your way."--Philip Roth, The Counterlife (1987)
SHAKEDOWN was originally a short story. When I look back through the initial workshop comments from 2002 and 2003, I see the following:
- "A suggestion from an old writing class: show don't tell."
- "What happened at the end?"
- "Get closer to the bone here. More emotion. Too detached."
- "[protagonist] is not really conflicted...need to feel some degree of empathy for him and right now I don't."
- "...their lives were totally untouched by the betrayal...that doesn't feel real as a reader."
- "What do [the] characters look like?"
- "The characters are so passive...[they are] dominoes that fall when they're pushed."
- "...Business tends to put people to sleep."
That's lost, right?
Three and four years later, I was still learning from those workshop comments. But in that time, I had started to practice in earnest. I wouldn't have started to practice -- not nearly as soon, anyway -- if I hadn't been forced to look at the story's flaws through the eyes of an objective group of readers who were good enough to be honest with me. My strongest recommendation is that you seek out the same.
"But I know what they're going to say," you may think. This is getting closer to what the fear of criticism really is: that someone will either articulate an idea that you had begun to form and, in your view, "steal" it away, or come up with an idea that you hadn't thought of that actually improves the story. This makes the story not your own, doesn't it, and will cause major resistance. It's at this most critical time that you need to keep an open mind. Remember, it's a single brushstroke on which you elaborate.
You don't know ahead of time what the readers of your drafts will say, not most of the time. By all means give yourself a reasonable amount of time to think the story through, to work out where you want it to lead. Then fire it into the trenches, because your critiquers will also tell you what does work about the story, and that's equally valuable.
It's an odd thing, revision. As long as potential changes or choices are only in your head, you're not as compelled to deal with them because you're the only one who sees them. When you hear them from someone else, or see red marks that aren't your own on the page, it spurs you on. It validates some of what you already suspect, and forces you to take the next step. That's a good and positive thing. It gets your story closer to completion. It frees you from the vacuum.
Keeping it all to yourself is unfortunate, because a lot of good writing goes unnoticed that way. A lot of talent goes undeveloped, and a lot of wonderful stories die on the vine.
Don't let yours be one of them.
Quotes from THE INTERNATIONAL THESAURUS OF QUOTATIONS (compiled by Eugene Ehrlich and Marshall De Bruhl)
Our New Financial Task Force
I'm frequently asked if a financial fraud of the type described in SHAKEDOWN -- a massive insider trading scheme -- could happen. A couple of years ago, I would have thought it difficult to perpetrate such a fraud over an extended period of time. Post-Madoff, I wonder if that's naive, not just because determination and collusion go a long way in managing a successful long-term fraud, but because some of the regulators either seem to have lost their bearings, or don't have enough people on board to work a meaningful caseload.
Last November, a new financial task force was signed into creation by Executive Order. The New York Times picked up a Reuters piece on January 8 that quoted U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder explaining the new task force's responsibilities. The piece also mentions more than 5,000 cases of fraud at financial institutions pending investigation at the Justice Department, and 2,800 cases of mortgage fraud being investigated at the FBI.
7,800 cases sounds like a lot. 5,000 pending cases sounds like a lot.
I had to remind myself that there was no information about how many firms were named in these investigations, or how many investigations might still be related to Madoff. It could be 7,800 investigations about 7,800 distinct financial institutions, or 7,800 cases about half a dozen firms. There was no information about how many licensed securities reps or mortgage brokers might be involved, or in which states, or the nature of the complaints (suspected or actual fraud). All this information would be important to lend perspective to the reported numbers.
But the issue I can't stop thinking about is this: if we can't adequately resource the financial task forces and oversight efforts that are already established, long established, at the SEC, FINRA, FinCEN, the Justice Department, and the FBI, how will we resource another?
In relation to the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, we learned that it was hurriedly enacted to calm investor sentiment after Enron's failure, and that it could never do what people initially believed it would do -- namely, to prevent Enron-scale fraud. In relation to potential terrorists, we hear that meaningful cautions aren't sufficient enough to warrant restriction of flight privileges until those cautions can be verified. In relation to Madoff, we hear that, even after well-sourced warnings about financial wrongdoing, the regulators looked the other way. We hear about TSA employees leaving their posts, and mounted airport security cameras (that calm at least some traveler fear through their presence) not working.
So, on top of all this, when I hear about a 5,000 case backlog of financial investigations at Justice, and that the new financial task force will be led by the already-backlogged Justice, I start to think that what taxpayers are financing is inaction. I start to think that what oversight has come to mean is window dressing -- however well-intentioned it might be to ease our sentiment.
Is this what the new task force is fated to become -- a calming gesture?
Of course government oversight groups do a job, and some people have to be doing that job very well. Criminals are still arrested and prosecuted, and someone is doing something protective, every day. Most of the security cameras probably work. That's a good thing, and we don't want to forget that -- or the people doing these difficult jobs.
But there are too many lapses not to force some difficult questions, even if we keep a good perspective, and even if we acknowledge that the Administration is trying to do a positive thing.
Fighting financial crime is not a new concept. It's been going on since 1929. But we act as if every new instance is a standalone instead of part of a broader pattern of poor leadership and ethical lapse that is made worse by competitive earnings pressure. So let's take a look:
Last November, a new financial task force was signed into creation by Executive Order. The New York Times picked up a Reuters piece on January 8 that quoted U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder explaining the new task force's responsibilities. The piece also mentions more than 5,000 cases of fraud at financial institutions pending investigation at the Justice Department, and 2,800 cases of mortgage fraud being investigated at the FBI.
7,800 cases sounds like a lot. 5,000 pending cases sounds like a lot.
I had to remind myself that there was no information about how many firms were named in these investigations, or how many investigations might still be related to Madoff. It could be 7,800 investigations about 7,800 distinct financial institutions, or 7,800 cases about half a dozen firms. There was no information about how many licensed securities reps or mortgage brokers might be involved, or in which states, or the nature of the complaints (suspected or actual fraud). All this information would be important to lend perspective to the reported numbers.
But the issue I can't stop thinking about is this: if we can't adequately resource the financial task forces and oversight efforts that are already established, long established, at the SEC, FINRA, FinCEN, the Justice Department, and the FBI, how will we resource another?
In relation to the Sarbanes-Oxley Act, we learned that it was hurriedly enacted to calm investor sentiment after Enron's failure, and that it could never do what people initially believed it would do -- namely, to prevent Enron-scale fraud. In relation to potential terrorists, we hear that meaningful cautions aren't sufficient enough to warrant restriction of flight privileges until those cautions can be verified. In relation to Madoff, we hear that, even after well-sourced warnings about financial wrongdoing, the regulators looked the other way. We hear about TSA employees leaving their posts, and mounted airport security cameras (that calm at least some traveler fear through their presence) not working.
So, on top of all this, when I hear about a 5,000 case backlog of financial investigations at Justice, and that the new financial task force will be led by the already-backlogged Justice, I start to think that what taxpayers are financing is inaction. I start to think that what oversight has come to mean is window dressing -- however well-intentioned it might be to ease our sentiment.
Is this what the new task force is fated to become -- a calming gesture?
Of course government oversight groups do a job, and some people have to be doing that job very well. Criminals are still arrested and prosecuted, and someone is doing something protective, every day. Most of the security cameras probably work. That's a good thing, and we don't want to forget that -- or the people doing these difficult jobs.
But there are too many lapses not to force some difficult questions, even if we keep a good perspective, and even if we acknowledge that the Administration is trying to do a positive thing.
Fighting financial crime is not a new concept. It's been going on since 1929. But we act as if every new instance is a standalone instead of part of a broader pattern of poor leadership and ethical lapse that is made worse by competitive earnings pressure. So let's take a look:
- How will the duties of the new task force differ from those of the SEC, FINRA, FinCEN, Justice, and the FBI? What is new?
- Has anyone analyzed redundancy of duties with other groups? And I'm not talking about an elaborate two-year consulting engagement here -- just some straightforward, unbiased, roll-up-your-sleeves analysis that could be done in a month by someone knowledgeable.
- Is there a clear definition of the new task force's authority?
- What about accountability?
- Is there a clear definition of its limits?
- How will it be financed?
- How will it be resourced?
- How extensively will it be resourced?
- What will be the financial expertise of its staff?
- What will be the investigatory expertise of its staff?
- What will they be paid (we need real courage here)?
- Will the new task force have enforcement capability?
- What technology will it have at its disposal?
- How proactive will it be allowed to be?
- Will it have a confidential -- really confidential -- hotline?
- What will the penalty be for false reports to this task force?
- What range of action might the task force take on the basis of varying complaints? Is it documented, spelled-out?
- How will task force members document their responses and their decisions to respond or not respond to complaints of wrongdoing?
- Who will review these decisions for propriety and consistency?
- What new punitive deterrents will be in place -- ahead of the task force -- for companies and individuals perpetrating financial crimes?
Because the people on this new task force have to be at least as smart, equipped, technologically savvy, financed, and even motivated as those perpetrating the frauds.
Because the gloves have to come off when a former stock exchange Chairman is the one behind history's largest and longest-running Ponzi scheme.
Because the last thing we need when the next crisis blows is someone standing behind a podium sipping their water and telling us, "Well, we didn't think we had enough information to go in."
Should You Do a Book Tour?
There seem to be mixed feelings about whether book tours are worth it. Unless you're a blockbuster or someone whose work is heavily anticipated either critically or commercially, book tours are unlikely to be financed on your behalf by your publisher. So what’s the answer?
I can't speak for non-fiction, which is generally agreed to be more commercially viable and lends itself better to promotion. But if you're writing fiction, brace yourself -- you'll very rarely make enough in book sales at any individual signing to finance your event. If your book was heavily promoted prior to publication, or reviewed in a major paper or book review, this may increase sales a bit, but be careful about expecting it.
So why sink several thousand dollars into an effort that is unlikely to pay for itself? Most fiction writers today have to be responsible for their own marketing and promotion. As with any other marketing or promotion decision, financing a book tour is an investment.
Here's the deal. It's not The Book that goes out on tour. It's not The Book that talks on the radio or meets with book clubs. It's not The Book that greets that one fan who has anticipated your arrival at their neighborhood bookstore.
It's you.
People don't come to see The Book. They come to see you. From that perspective, the purpose of a book tour is not to sell The Book. It's to sell yourself as an author.
The investment is in you.
Pre-Event Promotion
Talk with the stores about what they do to promote events, and what you can do to help promote yours. If there are writing groups or chapters of national groups (Romance Writers of America or Mystery Writers of America, others depending on your genre or book subject), approach them with an announcement of your event. No big deal to this, and no reason to be intimidated. Just be professional.
Find out how well connected the events coordinators / managers are at your prospective stores. The more influence they have with contacts in the local community and with local press, the better this is for you in terms of getting the word out about your event. Stores will usually take care of getting your event listed in local press calendars, but ask, just to be sure this is covered.
Booksellers will often say that how the event is structured is up to you. If you want a bookseller to coordinate a question and answer session, or if you want to do your own presenting, or if you need equipment to do a demonstration, make your needs and expectations clear before you arrive.
If your book is getting any kind of critical or bookseller attention, make sure the booksellers know it, especially the store managers and owners.
Be Nice
As a writer, you work in solitude most of the time, and you become accustomed to having your own way in terms of schedule and distraction. Thinking about cultivating a public image is foreign territory.
If you decide to go on tour, it helps to be polite and professional when meeting booksellers and the public. If your personality naturally leans in this direction, consider yourself lucky. I heard a lot of stories from booksellers about authors who show up and are withdrawn and unengaging, or openly resentful if the store is not packed with people. Remember that this could reflect negatively on you, and on a public image that has just begun to form. Early impressions have a way of sticking. People will readily talk about negative experiences and impressions with authors -- just as they will about positive ones. So lose the writerly curmudgeon in yourself, just for a few hours.
Be gracious is attendance is low, and don't call attention to it. This rarely has anything to do with the store, and isn't really anyone's fault. If you're unknown as an author, it takes time to build name recognition over time. Just remember that the people who do come to your events will love that you're there because they came to see you. Retain your sense of humor, and respond to them as you would to a crowd of 100.
Share Information
Be prepared to share a bit about how you write -- your routine, your experiences with revision and revision techniques, and how you prepare to start something new. If there are other writers or members of writing clubs in the room, they will want to hear about this. Some writers are very guarded about sharing this kind of information, considering it an invasion of privacy. But it needn't be. You don't have to share every detail.
If you want to set limits about what you talk about, think about it ahead of time so you can redirect the conversation -- politely -- in a direction that you choose. If you can tie your story to actual news, and offer your own insight about how your work "connects" with real life, that tends to initiate some interesting discussions.
You may wish to focus the conversation on the book itself, on the story, but keep in mind that many people who attend signings have not yet read the book because they're there to get the signed book from you. Practice discussing the book without spoiling the plot, using generic references. It's really tough!
Support Comes After the Event Too
All the bookstores were tremendously supportive, but some really got going after the event, more so than before. I think this gets back to establishing a relationship with the store, events managers, and store managers -- another reason for touring. A bookseller's experience with you in the store is important. Your behavior may have a lot to do with how extensively your book is hand sold after you go home.
Booksellers have a lot of demands on their time. They get a pile of ARCs every day, and are asked to give special treatment to a lot of books. "Big" books will get priority over yours. Be persistent. If your book is any good at all, it'll get attention.
* * *
There's nothing like making a personal connection with people who have read or are reading your book. I didn't realize how powerful an emotion this would be. It focuses the tour on reading and writing -- as it should. For me, a signing was a success if one person showed up because, to that person, a personal handshake and greeting was important. I'll always be grateful for that, and for the memories that linger long after the unpacking is done.
I can't speak for non-fiction, which is generally agreed to be more commercially viable and lends itself better to promotion. But if you're writing fiction, brace yourself -- you'll very rarely make enough in book sales at any individual signing to finance your event. If your book was heavily promoted prior to publication, or reviewed in a major paper or book review, this may increase sales a bit, but be careful about expecting it.
So why sink several thousand dollars into an effort that is unlikely to pay for itself? Most fiction writers today have to be responsible for their own marketing and promotion. As with any other marketing or promotion decision, financing a book tour is an investment.
Here's the deal. It's not The Book that goes out on tour. It's not The Book that talks on the radio or meets with book clubs. It's not The Book that greets that one fan who has anticipated your arrival at their neighborhood bookstore.
It's you.
People don't come to see The Book. They come to see you. From that perspective, the purpose of a book tour is not to sell The Book. It's to sell yourself as an author.
The investment is in you.
Pre-Event Promotion
Talk with the stores about what they do to promote events, and what you can do to help promote yours. If there are writing groups or chapters of national groups (Romance Writers of America or Mystery Writers of America, others depending on your genre or book subject), approach them with an announcement of your event. No big deal to this, and no reason to be intimidated. Just be professional.
Find out how well connected the events coordinators / managers are at your prospective stores. The more influence they have with contacts in the local community and with local press, the better this is for you in terms of getting the word out about your event. Stores will usually take care of getting your event listed in local press calendars, but ask, just to be sure this is covered.
Booksellers will often say that how the event is structured is up to you. If you want a bookseller to coordinate a question and answer session, or if you want to do your own presenting, or if you need equipment to do a demonstration, make your needs and expectations clear before you arrive.
If your book is getting any kind of critical or bookseller attention, make sure the booksellers know it, especially the store managers and owners.
Be Nice
As a writer, you work in solitude most of the time, and you become accustomed to having your own way in terms of schedule and distraction. Thinking about cultivating a public image is foreign territory.
If you decide to go on tour, it helps to be polite and professional when meeting booksellers and the public. If your personality naturally leans in this direction, consider yourself lucky. I heard a lot of stories from booksellers about authors who show up and are withdrawn and unengaging, or openly resentful if the store is not packed with people. Remember that this could reflect negatively on you, and on a public image that has just begun to form. Early impressions have a way of sticking. People will readily talk about negative experiences and impressions with authors -- just as they will about positive ones. So lose the writerly curmudgeon in yourself, just for a few hours.
Be gracious is attendance is low, and don't call attention to it. This rarely has anything to do with the store, and isn't really anyone's fault. If you're unknown as an author, it takes time to build name recognition over time. Just remember that the people who do come to your events will love that you're there because they came to see you. Retain your sense of humor, and respond to them as you would to a crowd of 100.
Share Information
Be prepared to share a bit about how you write -- your routine, your experiences with revision and revision techniques, and how you prepare to start something new. If there are other writers or members of writing clubs in the room, they will want to hear about this. Some writers are very guarded about sharing this kind of information, considering it an invasion of privacy. But it needn't be. You don't have to share every detail.
If you want to set limits about what you talk about, think about it ahead of time so you can redirect the conversation -- politely -- in a direction that you choose. If you can tie your story to actual news, and offer your own insight about how your work "connects" with real life, that tends to initiate some interesting discussions.
You may wish to focus the conversation on the book itself, on the story, but keep in mind that many people who attend signings have not yet read the book because they're there to get the signed book from you. Practice discussing the book without spoiling the plot, using generic references. It's really tough!
Support Comes After the Event Too
All the bookstores were tremendously supportive, but some really got going after the event, more so than before. I think this gets back to establishing a relationship with the store, events managers, and store managers -- another reason for touring. A bookseller's experience with you in the store is important. Your behavior may have a lot to do with how extensively your book is hand sold after you go home.
Booksellers have a lot of demands on their time. They get a pile of ARCs every day, and are asked to give special treatment to a lot of books. "Big" books will get priority over yours. Be persistent. If your book is any good at all, it'll get attention.
* * *
There's nothing like making a personal connection with people who have read or are reading your book. I didn't realize how powerful an emotion this would be. It focuses the tour on reading and writing -- as it should. For me, a signing was a success if one person showed up because, to that person, a personal handshake and greeting was important. I'll always be grateful for that, and for the memories that linger long after the unpacking is done.
Casting the Movie
I don't know if other writers do this, but I picture actors in the roles of my characters as I'm writing. But I was in for a shocker, discussing roles recently with a screenwriter buddy. He said that everyone in the book would have to be younger "on screen," to make the story more appealing to moviegoing audiences. Who are, of course, younger.
What, we fifty-somethings don't get off our couches to go to the movies anymore? But we're baby boomers. Nothing stops us. There's room in theaters for our scooter chairs, and the Film Forum has tea. We can't eat the jiffy-lubed popcorn anymore, but does this mean we should be counted out? There are still Junior Mints to perfume our tooth adhesive. We can sneak in baggies of oat bran if we wait for the lights to go out. There are bathrooms.
If my baby-boomer friend is right, and he probably is, it would mean that Helen would have to be in her twenties.
If you haven't read the book, I won't write a spoiler, but I will say that a twenty-year old woman would not have anywhere near the insight that Helen has at thirty-eight, and that a twenty-year-old Helen in particular would have been too angry to entertain even a casual relationship with Hollister, given his job at the time.
W. Somerset Maugham said, "In Hollywood, the women are all peaches. It makes one long for an apple occasionally."
If Hollister were in his thirties and still building a career instead of reflecting on a successful one, he wouldn't have had the time to put two and two together, nor would he have cared to. If I back up the story to the 1980s, Wall Street was enjoying one of the longest-running bull markets in history. Who cared about regulation? Companies back then would have thought that Sarbanes-Oxley was a foot creme.
Change the ages, and the whole story structure comes crashing down. There would be no resonance.
CUT TO DIRECTOR ROLLING HIS EYES. FADE TO BLACK.
This is why writers are advised to heave their manuscripts over the Nevada border in exchange for a Hollywood check, and get the next flight back where they came from. (I think it was Hemingway who originally made this observation, though I suspect Faulkner and Fitzgerald would have agreed with him.)
Raymond Chandler once said, "If my books had been any worse, I should not have been invited to Hollywood, and if they had been any better, I would not have come." He also said, "In Hollywood the woods are full of people that learned to write but evidently can't read. If they could read their stuff, they'd stop writing."
When it comes to books and plays, Hollywood does and will do what it wants. Scripts are written for audiences. Just ask Scott Spencer. And look what Lillian Hellman had to do to These Three under the Hays Code before the story could be retold as originally intended -- as The Children's Hour -- twenty-five years later.
Twenty-year-olds want to see themselves on screen. Fifty-something actors, especially if they're not aging well, are too chilling a reminder of what's to come, and what twenty-somethings want to see that? Or so the focus groups tell us.
But we want to see ourselves too, cry the baby boomers.
Stories lose something when they can't be told as intended. Screenplays are different from novels -- they have a different structure, and must be reworked extensively to retell a story in pictures. Lines of dialogue are changed, sometimes even made better. Characters are trimmed, consolidated. The lessons of revision. Consequently, the stories are similar but not the same. Studio movies cater to a perceived sensibility, tied to sales, that books can still occasionally overlook. But we hope the essence of a story, its emotion, is preserved, that Hollywood can grow more comfortable with portraying a world as it really is, as it did with Michael Clayton.
It's the story, always the story, that really matters, that should matter. Who plays each role shouldn't matter if they play it well. We want good guys to win when they're thirty. But we especially want them to win when they're fifty. They have fewer chances left.
Ah well. As Kyle MacLachlan said, "Hollywood is not good when it comes to age."
At one of the book signings for SHAKEDOWN this summer, we sat around casting the movie and had terrific fun doing it. I won't tell you who we decided on, but characters were cast at the appropriate ages. And that's how I'll remember them.
DIRECTOR: What crust.
WRITER: My bread.
DIRECTOR: Not any more.
Quotes from www.brainyquest.com. />
What, we fifty-somethings don't get off our couches to go to the movies anymore? But we're baby boomers. Nothing stops us. There's room in theaters for our scooter chairs, and the Film Forum has tea. We can't eat the jiffy-lubed popcorn anymore, but does this mean we should be counted out? There are still Junior Mints to perfume our tooth adhesive. We can sneak in baggies of oat bran if we wait for the lights to go out. There are bathrooms.
If my baby-boomer friend is right, and he probably is, it would mean that Helen would have to be in her twenties.
If you haven't read the book, I won't write a spoiler, but I will say that a twenty-year old woman would not have anywhere near the insight that Helen has at thirty-eight, and that a twenty-year-old Helen in particular would have been too angry to entertain even a casual relationship with Hollister, given his job at the time.
W. Somerset Maugham said, "In Hollywood, the women are all peaches. It makes one long for an apple occasionally."
If Hollister were in his thirties and still building a career instead of reflecting on a successful one, he wouldn't have had the time to put two and two together, nor would he have cared to. If I back up the story to the 1980s, Wall Street was enjoying one of the longest-running bull markets in history. Who cared about regulation? Companies back then would have thought that Sarbanes-Oxley was a foot creme.
Change the ages, and the whole story structure comes crashing down. There would be no resonance.
CUT TO DIRECTOR ROLLING HIS EYES. FADE TO BLACK.
This is why writers are advised to heave their manuscripts over the Nevada border in exchange for a Hollywood check, and get the next flight back where they came from. (I think it was Hemingway who originally made this observation, though I suspect Faulkner and Fitzgerald would have agreed with him.)
Raymond Chandler once said, "If my books had been any worse, I should not have been invited to Hollywood, and if they had been any better, I would not have come." He also said, "In Hollywood the woods are full of people that learned to write but evidently can't read. If they could read their stuff, they'd stop writing."
When it comes to books and plays, Hollywood does and will do what it wants. Scripts are written for audiences. Just ask Scott Spencer. And look what Lillian Hellman had to do to These Three under the Hays Code before the story could be retold as originally intended -- as The Children's Hour -- twenty-five years later.
Twenty-year-olds want to see themselves on screen. Fifty-something actors, especially if they're not aging well, are too chilling a reminder of what's to come, and what twenty-somethings want to see that? Or so the focus groups tell us.
But we want to see ourselves too, cry the baby boomers.
Stories lose something when they can't be told as intended. Screenplays are different from novels -- they have a different structure, and must be reworked extensively to retell a story in pictures. Lines of dialogue are changed, sometimes even made better. Characters are trimmed, consolidated. The lessons of revision. Consequently, the stories are similar but not the same. Studio movies cater to a perceived sensibility, tied to sales, that books can still occasionally overlook. But we hope the essence of a story, its emotion, is preserved, that Hollywood can grow more comfortable with portraying a world as it really is, as it did with Michael Clayton.
It's the story, always the story, that really matters, that should matter. Who plays each role shouldn't matter if they play it well. We want good guys to win when they're thirty. But we especially want them to win when they're fifty. They have fewer chances left.
Ah well. As Kyle MacLachlan said, "Hollywood is not good when it comes to age."
At one of the book signings for SHAKEDOWN this summer, we sat around casting the movie and had terrific fun doing it. I won't tell you who we decided on, but characters were cast at the appropriate ages. And that's how I'll remember them.
DIRECTOR: What crust.
WRITER: My bread.
DIRECTOR: Not any more.
Quotes from www.brainyquest.com.