Wednesday, January 8, 2014

New Year, New Writing

With a new year upon us, talk swirls furiously - and often briefly - around resolutions. It seems that writers are fond of making writing-related resolutions; maybe in part because writers are often predisposed to procrastination? Goals to write more, write every day, write a specific number of words each day, etc.

2014 Daily Planner
Year of the Snoopy
Within the past few years, we've had a tradition of going to NYC around Christmas. This trip has also evolved into the time when I buy my daily planner for the coming year. Similar to selecting a new notebook, choosing a new planner is serious business. Specific criteria have to be met. This year, I stood in the NYU Bookstore trying to decide if it was a good idea to spend $24 on a planner. In addition to having monthly overview calendar-type pages (very important planner criteria!), it had a lined page for each individual day. It was like a combination planner/journal.

The need-to-write-more bug plagues me too (I am also perpetually tormented by the procrastination bug); so I justified my purchase by hoping that those individual day pages would help me write daily. Just make it to the end of the page each day. The pages are much smaller than an 8x11, so it seems less daunting. There is no set word count to reach. My handwriting can scrawl into the margins. I can skip a line, draw arrows, make notes. Just get to the end of the page.

I have been noticing - and thinking about - the idea that new year's resolutions are actually pretty silly. There is no reason to believe that the best time for change is January 1. Every day is a fresh beginning, we can change at any moment. As I move through my 2014 planner, a blank page will greet me every step of the way. New day, new blank page. New blank page, new writing.
Every day starts with a new blank page                                   A chance to start over, change, create

Sunday, December 22, 2013

Capturing the Elusive

'Tis the season for the Christmas tree to reclaim its corner of the living room. Admiring the decorated fir from the couch, I'm enraptured by the tree's cozy glow. Hazy golden lights; twinkling reflections across strands of garland; familiar ornaments, remembered from childhood. It's like having a silent, steadfast friend by your side - calmly smiling, pushing against winter's chill.

Elusive beauty...
A fully dressed and lit up Christmas tree looks nice; and this prompts many of us to take a picture of it. I do this every year, and every time I'm disappointed that the Christmas tree picture never does justice to seeing it with my own eyes. Is it a lighting issue? Lack of proper photography equipment and/or the expertise to use it?

Camera aside, it was also impossible to write the first paragraph of this post without it coming across as overly sentimental and possibly crazy-sounding...no, I don't really think the Christmas tree is my friend :) The words above don't come close to the intangible way I feel looking at the tree in the evening - all cozy in my PJs, wrapped in blankets. The radiators sputtering heat; napping pets and a loved one nearby.

Maybe the Christmas tree is so alluring because its essence cannot be captured or defined.

Sometimes I think about how the novel and other written forms have existed for hundreds of years, and wonder how it's possible that there are still any stories left to tell.  Even though the same themes have fueled artistic works for centuries - love, death, betrayal, existential questioning, etc. - these topics have been explored in a myriad of ways. Each writer's unique perspective undoubtedly plays a part. But beyond that, perhaps the reason why our art circles around the same big topics is simply because the "basic" aspects of human existence are impossible to pin down.

We are drawn to the elusive, and search for the grain of knowledge buried within. We take pictures of our lovely Christmas trees, and desperately write about our pains and triumphs. Trying to capture a mysterious meaning, to uncover a slippery truth. We strive to create something tangible that we can look back on and say yes, I was happy then. Yes, I understood, and this will help me understand again.

Happy holidays!!! Cheers to the stories of 2014 - and beyond.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Staying Present

In the midst of brown stumps, 
a cluster of baby green leaves bloomed
The impending winter has reared its head in fits and starts. A delicate dance of assertion and retreat. Dry, blustery cold in the 20s and 30s, followed by a balmy day in the 60s and rain.

The rose bush has been pruned to meager stalks of brittle thorns. In the midst of the brown stumps, a cluster of baby green leaves bloomed. They have hung on since before Halloween. Not spreading out along the rest of the stalk, but not curling up and dropping off either. The forsythia bush has been trimmed away from the garage. At the base of the shrub, miniscule yellow flower petals emerged.

Had this tiny bounty been there since the first burst of spring? Tucked safely behind the abundance of sun and summer days that lingered without a sense of immediate closure, perhaps they had survived  the bugs, wind, drought, and the changing seasons.

Maybe they were tricked by a string of unseasonably warm days. Foolishly making a naive effort,
ignorant to the fact that winter is so close.

Maybe it speaks to the benefits of awareness, of existing within the present as it is. Sensing a comforting warmth and light, stretching and basking in the glow, the branch put forth one last leaf. While understanding that winter would soon sweep in - that flowers must fade - it chose to enjoy the fleeting moment. All other leaves and blossoms had shriveled and blown away. The brave rose leaf and lone forsythia petal remained. Nakedly exposed, clinging to a plant descending into hibernation. Fully enjoying precious time before the freeze.


Stretch, bask in the glow
Live in the present as it occurs

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

The Role of the Supernatural in Character Development

There are some obvious similarities between The Amityville Horror (the 1979 film; I've never read the Jay Anson book) and The Shining (the 1980 film and, of course, the Stephen King novel). There is an evil house/hotel that terrorizes its inhabitants. Both stories also feature a lead male/father character who is extremely afflicted within the surroundings.
  • George Lutz. James Brolin portrays this real person as a man who doesn't waste words. Gruff, with hints of a temper lurking close to the surface. He recently married Kathy, who has three kids from a prior relationship. The newly formed family is still getting used to life together.
  • Jack Torrance. In comparison to the George Lutz film character, we're given much more insight (via the novel) into Jack and the personal history that led him to The Overlook. Alcoholism, rage, drunkenly breaking his son Danny's arm, hints at his misogynistic nature.
Family tensions fill these stories, before the horror starts
When these stories begin, everything isn't peaches and cream. The families grapple with various tensions before moving into the doomed house/hotel.

In Amityville, there are fragile relationships with stepkids; newlyweds who will have to scrimp and scrape to make mortgage payments. A man who likely led a rather solitary, independant life before marriage, suddenly thrust into the role of family man.

In The Shining, there's unemployment, writer's block. A recovering alcoholic with violent tendencies. A strained marriage, and worry about what's going on inside the son's head.

When the lead male character starts to act out, his behavior plays right into the wife's insecurities, anxieties, and fears about the relationship.

When the babysitter gets locked in the closet in Amityville, George and Kathy ask daughter Amy why she didn't open the door. Amy blames her unseen "friend" Jody. George bluntly tells Kathy that it's about time her kids had some damn discipline. The look on Kathy's face says it all. He just touched a nerve. She worries he will never accept her kids as his own, that he doesn't respect her as a mother, etc.

Later on, when Kathy tries to convince him to abandon the malevolent house, he says, "You're the one that wanted a house. This is it, so just shut up!" Another hint at the non-supernatural tensions that pulled at their lives before they moved into the house.

"I've  always been crazy,
but it's kept me from going insane"
- Waylon Jennings
Did the supernatural create his behavior,
or just push him over the edge?
How much influence does the supernatural have on George and Jack's misbehavior? Does the supernatural possess George/Jack, causing them to act negatively against their will? Or does the supernatural sense negativity within George/Jack, and use it to exploit their natural tendencies? Or do George/Jack sense a supernatural presence, then react to it in the same (albiet more extreme) way they would react to any other external stressor (work stress, family stress, etc.) - i.e. by lashing out?

According to Wikipedia,  Stephen King "viewed Jack as being victimized by the genuinely external supernatural forces haunting the hotel, whereas Kubrick's take viewed the haunting and its resulting malignancy as coming from within Jack himself."

Based on how these lead male characters operate in the beginning (before the horror starts) - and based on the backstories provided - the lead male's intense/undesirable actions (as a reaction to and/or result of supernatural forces) don't contradict the way they've been characterized.

Yes, the walls drip blood and there are bad vibes in Room 217. However, the most compelling aspect of these stories is the unraveling of the lead male and the family dynamic. The supernatural horror and male misbehavior is an external extension of darker impulses glimmering in the depths of the lead male characters - impulses that their wives had previously sensed, but believed/hoped would never surface.

Within the world of these stories, perhaps it is easier for the wives to accept their husbands' misbehavior once they begin to believe that their husbands are influenced by supernatural forces. What's scarier? A supernatural presence that can take over your mind and personality, or realizing that someone you love (and even yourself) has undesirable capacities?

Friday, October 4, 2013

Maintaining Mystery

I recently finished In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O' Brien. This novel is built around an unsolved mystery labeled as fiction, and since it is not chronicling a real life event, the author is free to "solve" the mystery any way he wants to. Except he doesn't.
Unsolved Mystery

John Wade has suffered a crushing political defeat, due in part to public revelations of his questionable actions during the Vietnam War. His time in Vietnam - and the death of his alcoholic/verbally abusive father - haunt John's mind and memories. When the reader meets John, it is clear that he is quite unsettled. His wife Kathy soon disappears, leaving a missing boat as the only significant clue.

Despite a comprehensive search, no one can figure out what happened. The local police, family members, and acquaintances suspect John of killing her. Some chalk it up to an unfortunate boating accident. With post traumatic stress that causes him to drift from reality, even John can't say for sure what he was doing the night his wife vanished.

At first it seems a novel with an omniscent (or objective) third-person narrator. But there are well-placed footnotes and chapters dedicated to collected "evidence." Through these techniques, the reader realizes that the narrator is some kind of reporter/investigative writer, and the novel is the narrator's way of presenting a comprehensive overview of the case. I wasn't sure if this narrator was a fictional character enmeshed in the world of the novel; Tim O' Brien caught up in the midst of creating this novel and speaking directly to the reader; or a fictional extension/alter ego of O' Brien.

I started thinking - why don't we find out what happened to Kathy? Is it a cop-out on O' Brien's part? Maybe he couldn't decide what would sit better with readers: if John actually killed Kathy or if he was innocent? If Kathy died or just ran off and made herself scarce so she could start a new life?

To me, the most acceptable scenario is that the narrator is a fictional character within the world of John Wade, Kathy, and the others. It becomes clear that many of the chapters are pure hypothesis - the narrator's explorations of possible scenarios that could've befallen both Kathy and John. If the narrator is a fictional character, then the fact that we don't find out what happened to Kathy is no longer in danger of being a cop-out on the part of the author, but a more realistic mirror of what so often happens in reality. Watch a few episodes of Dateline, and you remember that crimes and odd happenings can go unsolved for decades, despite the amount of people involved/interviewed/investigated.

Sometimes in life there are no answers, despite how bad we want them. The narrator acknowledges this phenomenon in several of the novel's footnotes (one of which, if you read all of it - not just what I included below - is perhaps the most direct nod to the narrator's role within the novel):

"Our own children, our fathers, our wives and husbands: Do we truly know them? How much is camouflage? How much is guessed at?"

"Mystery finally claims us...The ambiguity may be dissatisfying, even irritating...Blame it on the human heart. One way or another, it seems, we all perform vanishing tricks, effacing history, locking up our lives and slipping day by day into graying shadows. Our whereabouts are uncertain. All secrets lead to the dark, and beyond the dark there is only maybe."
[Excerpts from In the Lake of the Woods, by Tim O'Brien]

Writing and exploring the deep psychological well of the human condition  - specifically the premise that we can never know everything about another human - is interesting, yet difficult. There still has to be enough substance within the work to interest the reader, even if the mystery is never fully revealed.

People in life don't walk around with nametags that identify them as this or that. And even if they did, there is never just one nametag/label that can sum up the complex nature of an individual. So should our fictional characters' motivations/longings/personalities, etc. be definitively labelled within our writing, just because as writers, we have the power to create them?

Thursday, September 19, 2013

Poem for Thought

Man paces the beach
rounded calves of
pale freckled skin

Perhaps unaccustomed to
sun exposure

Yet

He flies a kite with casual ease
a nonchalance only gained
from endless practice

He keeps the kite
on a short leash

Simple blue diamond  it hovers
silently persistent
got a monkey on your back?
walk circles to shrug it off

Yet

He treads without alarm or tension
Familiar with this friendly presence
kite peering over shoulder

His soul on a string

----------------------------------------------------------
The above is an untitled poem by Fiona Clifford

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Imagining Details: Literature vs. Film

Sometimes I like to read the reviews included at the front of a book before starting the book itself. This was the case when I first picked up what I'm currently reading: In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O'Brien. The following excerpt from a review stood out...

"...literature's natural strength: the way in which an author can call on a reader's intelligence to help fashion a novel's effects."    - Harper's Bazaar

It got me thinking...when trying to describe something creatively within the structure of a novel/short story/etc., you can't simply set down every excruciatingly imagined, minute detail that your writerly brain can conjure up. To do so would likely mess with the flow of the work. It's very jarring to read an onslaught of description that sort of zooms you out of the narrative; and then once the description is over, to get plopped back down in the plot again. It's a delicate balancing act to thoughtfully include details - so naturally and subtlely that the reader is not consciously aware of receiving them - with just enough clarity to allow the reader's imagination to participate. Where the above quote mentions the reader's "intelligence," I think "imagination" is a more appropriate notion.

Movies can easily show us action,
with less need for the reader to "imagine" what's happening.
Photo Source
Within a movie, there are an abundance of details (objects that make up the setting the scene occurs in; the characters' wardrobes; the addition of soundtrack music to compliment the mood/emotions) - but many of these details are tucked in the background. Though the camera dictates what we see, viewers often encounter movie scenes the same way we take in the world around us. We see what we look at, we hear sounds around us. Smell, touch, and taste are harder to convey in a movie, but sight and sound typically unfold on film in a way that we recognize - in a way that requires less creative effort on the part of the viewer.

As an example, think about the scene at the end of American Beauty when Caroline (Annette Bening's character) has presumably just discovered Lester's dead body. We hear her gasping, the slam of the bedroom door. See her wet hair. Watch her open the closet doors with effort. Watch her notice and reach out for Lester's shirts. Hear the gentle clink as the hangers bump together. Hear her gasps turn to a sustained wail.  Watch her lean into the rack of shirts, clothes swaying back in unison under her weight. Hear the snap of hangers springing from the rail. Notice clothes softly crumbling to the floor, the awkward way Caroline's legs bend out behind her. All this occurs somewhat simultaneously in about 30 seconds. We absorb these details as naturally as if we're in the same room watching it all firsthand, unseen by Caroline.

How would this scene be different if presented in prose?
Photo Source
How would this same scene be different if presented in prose? It likely wouldn't do much for the reader if I wrote that Caroline is wearing a red dress and carrying a black purse. That the closet doors are painted white. That there are plaid shirts, blue shirts, and tan shirts hanging in the closet. Yet these details are also presented in the movie scene - we may notice them or not. We are likely noticing them without truly realizing it. In writing, the mention of these things may add painful bulk to the scene. Then again, writing provides descriptive opportunities that film does not: the ability to integrate touch (the softness of Lester's well-worn flannel shirt against Caroline's cheek); smell (the lingering scent of detergent on the fabric, mingled with her freshly shampooed hair, wet from the rainstorm outside); and taste (salt from her tears, an aftertaste of garlic from dinner with the man she was having an affair with).

To me, in film, the scene is served by the imagination of behind-the-scene movie folks (stylists, props, sound effects, scene dressers, etc.) These folks are responsible for determining what kind of clothes the character would wear; the objects that would be found in the character's bedroom; what music best suits the desired effect of the scene. Then they create a physical, "real life" setting by artfully arranging those details in front of the camera. As a result of all the imagination that went in on the back end, there is less imagination required from the viewer. We simply watch and listen. Film makers are able to present us with a great number of details due to the nature of the medium.

In writing, the reader is not able to absorb details in the same manner. Reading is not the same thing as watching and listening. The author must selectively decide what details to present in order to keep the story moving and not overwhelm the reader. There needs to be enough detail to breathe life into the work - to give the reader enough footing to imagine the world on the page in a concrete, personalized way - without allowing the reader to accuse the author of leaving them stranded in the dark.