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Writing Wednesday: Prisoners and Power

February 27th, 2013

It’s Writing Wednesday again here on the blog and today’s topic is about power. Specifically, I’m talking about power through the caged beast, scenes where one character is locked up, chained, bound, or otherwise detained. In all forms of storytelling, it’s worth taking note of which characters have power in any scene. Sometimes the answer is obvious, other times the answer lies beyond the obvious portrait a storyteller has given the audience.

When a character is being held against their will, it’s always important to note how they’re being detained. Right now, I’ll go ahead and use two examples from Game of Thrones (the show, though I don’t believe the show deviates from the books in this area) where Ned Stark and Jaime Lannister are prisoners. When the audience sees Ned, his eyes are squinted because of torchlight. He’s nearly blind, his voice is hoarse, and he’s incredibly thirsty. Varys comes in to speak with him and gives him water. If Ned is chained in any way, it’s not severe because he can still use his hands to drink. This is simple, Varys has all the power. He has the power to free Ned, give him water, leave him to die, or just speak with the man.

Jaime is a different animal entirely. At first, we see Jamie bound to a pole with his hands behind his back. He smiles, he’s not dying of thirst, and he makes jokes to the people keeping him prisoner. Later, we see a field of prisoners in wooden cages. However, when we see Jamie, he’s bound to another pole within the wooden cage. He smiles and jokes again while his captor tries to assert dominance. It’s even mentioned that his captor can’t leave Jamie at a castle with a trusted ally because they can’t be trusted to hold Jamie. This brings up the question of true loyalty, while showing the power Jamie has, even as a prisoner.

Jaime is an example of the caged beast. The monster that has been captured, but not broken, not controlled or tamed. We’ve seen many examples of this over the years. Recently, the movie Skyfall did a similar thing with its villain. The man was captured and placed within a small room within a larger room. The small room’s walls were clear and guards were able to see his every movement. The small cage was also elevated if I remember correctly, putting the villain on a sort of stage over his captors. We see the same thing with Magneto in the X-Men movies. He’s kept within a clear room of plastic, within a much larger room, and the only way to reach him is to cross a plastic bridge. Such extremes are meant to make the villain feel hopeless, though it rarely works. Such elaborate arrangements are made out of fear, the fear of power, the power of the villain, which is currently on display even in captivity. One can also look at The Silence of the Lambs and note the balance of power between Clarice and Hannibal

Now it’s your turn. How do you display power in your writing? When thinking about this topic, what other examples come to mind? 

WRITING WEDNESDAY: USING PERSONAL EXPERIENCE

February 20th, 2013

Hi, everyone! It’s Writing Wednesday again and this week I’m writing about using personal experience in your stories. I decided to talk about this because it’s something I struggle with. I’ve tried many times and I haven’t really had much success with it. This is one of the reasons that I tend to stay away from writing non-fiction about my own personal experiences. Actually, it’s part of why I was hesitant to start a blog.

Right now, I’m working on a novel that requires me to dig deep into my own life. It’s fiction but I’m drawing a lot from my life. Certain people, places, and situations are inspired by things I was involved in or witnessed a few years ago. However, the story as a whole is fiction and I’ll label it as such. The title of fiction allows me to take creative license with dialogue and situations.

My difficulty with pulling from personal experience usually comes from being too close to the subject matter. Being too close to the subject matter can go in a lot of directions, so today I think I’ll focus on writing about a relationship or friendship. This is what I’m pulling from right now so I can discuss some of the challenges I’ve faced.

The difficulty with writing about something like a relationship is creating tension that brings in the reader. A common mistake when beginning to write a non-fiction piece (or pulling from personal experience for fiction) is something I’ll call “assumed importance.” The subject is important. Why? Because it happened to you. Well, that’s great but it needs to be important to the reader as well. The significance of this moment, day, month, or year needs to be shared with the reader in a way they can make their own.

I’ve worked through this issue a few different ways. The most useful technique has been to write out a whole scene or argument that I can remember. Then I let it sit for a day. When I come back, I put on my fiction glasses (they have googley eye lenses, a miner’s light, and horned, glittered, brimstone rims) and I alter things. I add things to make a point clearer but mostly I cut things. I cut the uninteresting things people tend to say but keep the stuff that sounds natural, as well as interesting. If this is near the beginning of a story, or introducing a new character, I then write down why it’s important. Not why it was important to me, but why it’s important to the narrative as a whole. Then I try to work that in near the beginning as well as I can.

To be honest, working in personal experience, especially relationship troubles with family, friends, or a significant other, takes a lot of work. It can be harder than just making it up because there’s personal attachment. Everything feels important but, in truth, not everything is important. Why do it? Well, I’ve seen people produce some really potent writing when bringing in personal experience. If you can distance yourself from the subject and treat it like a story, you’ll find that you can do the same thing.

By the way, if you’re in a fiction workshop but secretly write a non-fiction story, brace yourself for a difficult workshop. In non-fiction workshops, I’ve encountered a strong sense of respect among writers and certain subject matter. It’s non-fiction, we’re all aware that the things mentioned usually happened near the people writing about it. If you disguise your non-fiction as fiction, people won’t react the same way in a fiction workshop because they assume you’re making it all up. So, for example, if you’re writing about a relative that passed away, your classmates won’t hesitate to tell you that the character may not be relatable or likable. They’re not doing this to be mean (I hope), they’re doing it because they assume the story fiction. I’ve seen this, and things like this, happen many times over the years. It’s always heartbreaking to see someone break down over a situation like that. So that’s my warning, since I’m already talking about personal experience, fiction, and non-fiction.

Also, I should mention something else near the end here. We all drop in personal experience from our lives. Whether it’s internal struggle over doing the right thing, or a fight with a significant other, these things have a way of coming out. What I’ve written today is just about trying to consciously work in large chunks of personal experience into your writing.

Now it’s your turn, do you work personal experience into your own writing? What challenges have you encountered and what techniques do you use to overcome difficulties?

Writing Wednesday: Establishing Characters

February 13th, 2013

Last month I wrote about reader expectations and how failing to meet such expectations can result in the loss of a reader. Right now, I want to talk about how to establish a character quickly within your own writing. Introducing a character and trying to convey something meaningful about can be a tough balancing act sometimes.

When you describe someone, maybe a friend or character, you probably strive to say the most with as few words as possible. If you’re writing a novel, short story, poem, etc., this is very true.

During residency I was asked about one of my former professors from undergrad. I had mentioned that, while he didn’t know anything about fantasy, he taught a few genre writers and genuinely helped them. Well, this prodded someone to ask what I meant by “he didn’t know anything about fantasy.” A fair question, so I told her…

He’s a great writer, his readings are amazing, and he has a gift when it comes to teaching. However, when I mentioned the word “werewolf,” his only point of reference was Teen Wolf with Michael J. Fox. When I mentioned “elves,” his only point of reference was Keebler.

Not only did I make my point pretty clearly but what I said was absolutely true. When I use that description, I’m usually making the point that someone can help a beginner with their writing, even if they lack knowledge of the genre. It’s always meant as a complimentary statement because he’s an incredible professor and friend.

My example was to establish the person with a specific purpose. When first introducing a character, you want to portray a dominant feature about them. You want the reader to feel like they know something about the character other than just physical traits. Let’s take a look at an example from John Cheever’s story, The Swimmer.

“He was a slender man— he seemed to have the especial slenderness of youth— and while he was far from young he had slid down his banister that morning and given the bronze backside of Aphrodite on the hall table a smack, as he jogged toward the smell of coffee in his dining room.”

So this guy, an older man, slender, slides down a banister and slaps the backside of a statue. To me, it says that while he’s not young, he has a young and potentially immature personality. He’s also jogging in the morning, so he’s probably a morning person. The reader knows that this man, young or not, has a lot of energy. All of this is done while creating an image for the reader to enjoy. We can see the man doing this while simultaneously picking up on what it says about his character.

Sometimes, I like to think of type of introduction as answering two questions. What do you want to convey about the character? How can the character interact with immediate surroundings so deliver that message? This isn’t the only way to introduce a character but this is one useful way to think about it. This method is extremely useful for minor characters because the reader spends less time with them. Therefore, you as an author have less time to establish who they are, what they want, and why the reader should pay attention to them.

So now it’s your turn, what kind of introductions do you like to read or write? What other elements can an introduction employ to be impactful? Can you think of any memorable character introductions in stories you’ve read?

While this isn’t an official citation, I do like to give sources for things I use on the blog.

Cheever, John (2010-07-23). The Stories of John Cheever (Kindle Locations 12280-12281). Random House, Inc.. Kindle Edition.

Story Sunday: The Walking Dead: A Story of Survivors

February 10th, 2013

Hi, everyone! It’s Story Sunday again and this week I’m writing about The Walking Dead. For all of you who have been waiting (myself included), season three continues tonight!

Honestly, the topic I’ve chose for today could have fit into Writing Wednesday but I think it works for Story Sunday as well. I was going to look at a specific arc in the show but I kept coming back to one idea, just how different The Walking Dead is from other zombie stories I’ve seen. So I decided to look at the beginning of the show, the world building that took place, and how a (somewhat) unresolved arc set the tone of the show.

In the first episode, Rick runs into a man named Morgan and his son named Duane. Morgan and Duane have a tragic story at the end of the world. Morgan’s wife turned into a zombie and at night she him and Duane can see her roaming around outside of their house. Morgan wants to kill his wife, he wants to put her out of her misery, but he can’t seem to do it. This kind of storytelling sets a personal tone for the story. Zombies aren’t chasing them through the streets, they’re not breaking through doors, though we find out later that they’re capable of such things. What the audience is shown initially is the emotional trauma of being left behind in this new world. Rick, who is only beginning his journey, doesn’t know the fate of his family. This begins another emotional arc for the main protagonist.

The Walking Dead isn’t just a survival story at all costs. The narrative focuses on the repercussions of actually living as a survivor in a world that’s a husk its former self.

In order to continue his journey, Rick leaves behind Morgan and Duane. This is kind of a strange thing for the show to do, but like I said before, it sets the tone for the show. Rick says that he’ll turn on his radio every morning at dawn. This gives the audience, and Rick, some hope that he’ll meet back up with Morgan and Duane. This arc isn’t really given much closer, it just fades away. Rick doesn’t see Morgan or Duane again. He doesn’t hear from them on the radio and he can only hope that they’ve survived. As Rick (and the audience) learns more about the world, the less likely their safety seems.

The writers established that in this world, you may need to leave people behind. Unlike many stories, leaving someone behind can be a permanent choice. The protagonist and the viewers may not get to see the resolution of every person they encounter along the way. For some things will end well, for others they’ll end terribly, and some people will just disappear without resolution.

Now it’s your turn. What did you think of the first episode? Were you hooked after just one episode? What other moments did you enjoy from the first season?

Writing Wednesday: The Walking Dead: Leadership Roles

February 6th, 2013

Hey, everyone! It’s Writing Wednesday again and this week’s theme is The Walking Dead! This week, I’ll be sticking close to what we’ve seen in the show. It’s possible that later in the year I’ll talk about the comic. Today I’ll be focusing on the character of Rick as a protagonist that becomes darker and darker as the show goes on. This post may contain mild spoilers.

If you’ve been watching the show, you know that Rick is pretty much the leader of the survivors right now. This has been true since season one but the position becomes more prevalent and defined as the show goes on. Rick once ruled through democracy but an inability to make certain decisions has forced Rick into the role of leader.

The role of leader is a tricky one. I think many writers are inclined to make their leaders fearless, doubtless, and correct in their decisions. The trick to keeping Rick interesting is that the group is often split on his decisions. Because the group is split, the audience is likely to be split on what Rick should do. This tactic keeps the audience engaged in the decisions being made. It also keeps Rick from being a constant do-good hero without flaws.

Each decision, from killing outsiders to killing insiders, pushes Rick a little further from being “good” by his own definition. In season three, the audience is introduced to the character of The Governor. He’s the leader of a town, an actual working town in the apocalypse. On the surface, he seems like a good guy. Underneath, not so much. He goes to great lengths, killing, experimentation, and an iron fist, to keep his own town safe. Like Rick, he’s a leader who has had to make hard decisions to survive. His group is quite a bit larger than Rick’s, so we can only assume that he’s also made difficult decisions to survive.

However, it’s not to be mistaken, The Governor is a bad guy. He’s portrayed as such, even though the water is murky when it comes to the difference between him and Rick.

What separates Rick from The Governor?

The lines are blurry on this one. Earlier in season three, The Governor had his men kill a bunch of military survivors. The reasoning, according to The Governor, was that those men could overthrow their town. Would Rick do that? Right now, I don’t think he would. However, with each passing episode I believe he’s moving closer and closer to being that kind of person.

So, when the lines are this blurred, the audience needs something to latch on to. Here’s where The Governor’s treatment of Maggie comes in. The Governor forces her to strip down in front of him. If you’ve read the comics, you know he’s even worse. This is something the audience probably can’t imagine Rick ever doing. For all the terrible things Rick might be willing to do, they all revolve around protecting the group. They do not revolve around power. The Governor’s traits are centered around personal power and it’s apparent in this scene.

How does the show keep Rick and The Governor relatable and humanized?

Rick has a family, so this is easy. He has children, a wife, and people that he cares about. These are people he can lose, and so these are people he needs to protect. People and attachments help to keep Rick somewhat grounded during these difficult times.

I don’t think it’s out of place to say that The Governor might be Rick’s potential future. The Governor has lost his wife and seen his daughter turned into a walker. Because of this, The Governor is the protector of a group but has few grounding emotional attachments. In fact, his largest attachment is his zombie daughter. If Rick went through the same thing with Carl, I wonder if he truly would break and become nearly indistinguishable from The Governor.

Now it’s your turn, what do you think? Do you see Rick becoming more and more like The Governor? Do you think the writers have done a good job drawing both similarities and differences between these two leaders? Have you seen other leader portrayed the same way Rick has been portrayed over the three seasons?