Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Five Beautifully Brilliant, Inspiring Manifestos + A Few Thoughts on My Own

I’ve been thinking a bit about manifestos lately, about declarations that transcend time, create energy and fuel dreams. While manifestos are often really specific to a situation, there’s a timelessness to the writing that really speaks to me — which is why great ones endure. I’ve been thinking about it in terms of myself — I’ve been asked lately, in more than a few different avenues of my life, to define what’s important and true for me. I’m still thinking about it, pulling my thoughts together, but of course I had to dig up a few of the declarations that made an impact on me:

RIOT GRRRL MANIFESTO

A very long time ago I was a punk, and I was a girl, and when those two things came together in the form of the Riot Grrrl movement, it was really amazing. I would need a whole memoir (or maybe a film screenplay or three) to really go into “my life and Riot Grrrl” but it would be adequate enough to say that I wouldn’t be who I am today without this particular music-loving version of the feminist movement. I still remember reading it in college and becoming SO EXCITED, the tingling in my stomach when I was reading something that articulated all these inchaote thoughts and feelings into one cohesive statement. YOU ARE NOT ALONE is often one of the most valuable feelings to get from reading; a beautiful manifesto gives that, and gives inspiration to the possibilities that can arise out of coming together.

BRUCE MAU’S INCOMPLETE MANIFESTO FOR GROWTH

If the Riot Grrrl manifesto had the most impact on me as a girl, but I think Bruce Mau’s is my favorite creative-oriented one of all time. Architects and designers love it because Mau’s one of their tribe, and a particularly brilliant member at that; I may not be either an architect or a designer, but I find it applicable as a writer for its emphasis on process, change and the importance of mischief, play and mistakes. Read it: it’s ripe for thinking.

STYLE STATEMENT: A MANIFESTO OF STYLE

Here’s where I reveal my inner Oprahness and my fashion-ness as well. But this manifesto about fashion and style had a big impact on how I shopped, spent and chose clothing, and it would be kind of dishonest not to include it in a list of manifestos that have changed my life, thinking or behavior in some way. (The PDF download of it has the fuller, more articulate explanation behind each point; I like it better.) This is not a style manifesto that told you what was “in” or “out,” or that pink was the new navy, or anything like that. It advocated clarity, thoughtfulness and discernment when it came to matters of fashion and style, and acknowledged the impact of wardrobe and dress on life in ways that aren’t normally addressed in most fashion writing. And it got me to stop buying so much and radically clean out my closet! Some of its tenets — “Commit to quality and it will commit to you” — found applications not just in my closet, but in my personal life. Closets, boyfriends — if a manifesto can effect change in those areas of life, you know it’s working on some level!

LINCHPIN

This is actually a book by business and marketing guru Seth Godin, and it’s a curious book to read as an artist and writer. But here’s a fun secret: many business books are actually obsessed with growth and self-development, because being an entrepreneur is actually a very creative act at the core of its word. Linchpin was thought-provoking because it expands the idea of art and what artists do — well, perhaps distills it down may be a better way of putting it — and what lingers for me from reading it was the idea of “shipping,” which is Godin’s way of saying relentlessly putting out work as an act of integrity, and the idea of art as a gift you give to the word, which helped solidified my decision to offer any short stories I do on this site.

FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT’S 10-POINT MANIFESTO FOR APPRENTICES

Here it is:

1. An honest ego in a healthy body.
2. An eye to see nature
3. A heart to feel nature
4. Courage to follow nature
5. The sense of proportion (humor)
6. Appreciation of work as idea and idea as work
7. Fertility of imagination
8. Capacity for faith and rebellion
9. Disregard for commonplace (inorganic) elegance
10. Instinctive cooperation

Short, but it’s dense with ideas and conviction. Reading it again and again, it inspires a new thought or inspiration — which is what the best manifestos do, right?

++++++++++

Of course, this has got me thinking of my own manifesto: what I’d put in it, what I’d leave out, what I’d address. More to come on that later, but I’m dwelling on freedom, white space, and mystery and magic: a combination of the High Priestess card for Tarot, the art direction of Fabien Baron and the imagination of Angela Carter. And some riot grrrl, of course. Manifestos: quick to read, long to think over.

More manifestos!

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Inspiration on Thursday, April 28th, 2011 | 2 Comments »

Revision is hell: in which I reveal how crazy I truly am

I’ve hit a rough patch with my novel lately. Part of it is energy and working, and trying to balance a million priorities within the same 24 hours as everyone else. Part of it is that I’m at what I’ve learned is my weak spot in a story (the bit right before the third act turning point.) But it’s really because I am S-T-U-C-K. Stuck! I keep hitting dead ends, reversing tack and trying new things, hitting awesome NEW walls, going into tailspins and, whoa, new incontrovertibly impenetrable dead ends! Isn’t writing just awesome?

Of course, I know this is part of the process — doing hard time in an MFA program got me well acquainted with the ups and downs of long-form writing and revising. It’s still hard when you go through it, though: the doubt, the uncertainty, the cloud of irritation, general spaciness and questionable grooming (non)choices you exist under as you try to slog your way through a bog of narrative issues.

Besides the agonizing issues of “Should my werewolf disappear before or after the mysterious appearance of the clan chieftain?” or “Should I kill off the best friend in view of the protagonist or maybe I should have it discovered by her boyfriend, this precipitating the shapeshifter equivalent of the nervous breakdown?”, the hardest thing is feeling like I’m wasting time going in wrong directions. For this draft of this section, I’ve already burned through 10,000 words that have gone nowhere — investigations and explorations into new threads of stories, expanding moments that I thought were key but now seem secondary, and a whole scene involving an oral report on John Milton’s Paradise Lost that is really an apology and declaration of love. (It sounded good in my head.)

I keep trying to remember that it’s okay to go “nowhere” in stories — that, as Kanye West likes to tweet, #ITSAPROCESS, because your characters, if they’re good, will always have something to reveal when you’re writing. But after awhile, encouraging tweets/mantras only go so far, and soon you’ll resort to doing crazy things like talking to your characters to get through these rough patches.

Which is actually what I did last weekend after a whole week of eking out nonprogress on my book. Five whole days of sitting down for hours at my laptop after whole days of being chained to a computer for my job resulted in nothing but frustration. It really made me want to throw myself under the train. After I couldn’t take it anymore, I went for my daily walk, my head too full of that fog of frustration to really notice that it was the first truly glorious day of spring. (Yet another item to add to my “Why I sometimes hate my novel” list.) I tramped along, stewing over how much I hated myself for being such a fuck-up and Why weren’t my characters behaving?!!

I was loping along when suddenly I had this strange thought: that I was walking exactly like my werewolf prince, sort of hunched over, brow furrowed, preoccupied. (You don’t know how many times I’ve written that he’s furrowed his brow. He’s a brow-furrower. It’s his thing. On him, it’s sexy. On me, it makes me look oddly hungry.) And then — and here’s where I reveal what a lunatic I am — it was as if he was there beside me, both of us just strolling along on a fine spring day. Well, if he’s here, I thought to myself, I may as well ask WTF is going on with him right now. And so we had a chat, and it turns out that even though he was plotting his disappearance from my story, it didn’t mean that I could stop being in touch with his point of view. He kind of glowered about it (he’s kind of broody that way), but he had a good point: characters’ opposing choices often fuel a narrative’s energy. And so for the rest of the walk we talked about what was happening with him, how that affected my protagonist (she joined us at some point but being a cool, independent sort, she had other things to do), and a few other things.

When I was a kid, I used to talk in my head to imaginary people all the time. Everyone assumed that I would outgrow this. Apparently, I have not.

I don’t think I’m the only writer who’s ever chatted in my head with my characters, though I’m pretty aware that it makes me sound certifiable or at least very New Age-y. But sometimes it’s good to get a reminder that 1. it’s important to understand your “antagonist”; 2. it’s good to take walks; and 3. in some subconscious level, you’re not totally in control of the story. And if it takes having long, intense discussions with your characters in your head, well, I’d gladly pay a price of seeming like a literary looneybin in order to zoom forward with 10,000 more words of solid writing that actually does something.

++++++++++

And if all else fails, this TED video was a good reminder that being “wrong” is actually a valuable learning process. (When she gets to 13:26, she goes into the particular way “wrongness” works with stories, via examples of “This American Life.”)

And of course, this old favorite from J.K. Rowling, on the benefits of failure:

J.K. Rowling Speaks at Harvard Commencement from Harvard Magazine on Vimeo.

Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Progress Reports, Writing on Monday, April 25th, 2011 | No Comments »

What Dance Central Taught Me About Creating Characters

Anyone who knows me right now knows what a crazy Dance Central enthusiast I am. You know, the Microsoft Xbox Kinect dancing game where you can get down to songs like “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” or “Poison.” But little did I know that my favorite time-waster could actually give me some lessons in writing — in particular, on the daunting yet fulfilling process of characterization.

As someone whose been essentially trained as a writer and filmmaker to believe “CHARACTER IS EVERYTHING” in terms of writing a story, it’s fascinating to see how other disciplines work with character building — especially fields like gaming, which have become more and more narrative-focused. On an industrial level, it’s weird but cool to see how gaming breaks up aspects of the process — characters get a sketch artist, maybe a head writer conceptualizes it, and someone else might pull together a game’s narrative, which is fascinating especially when you come from an “auteurist” one-genius-does-it-all perspective.

Dance Central has been putting out a series of sketchbook blog entries giving a behind-the-scenes on the process of how it crafted and voiced its main characters. The game itself isn’t a narrative, but the characters are definitely distinctive, with strong personae. I play Dance Central a lot with my sisters and niece (still trying to get five stars on the Hard level of “Drop It Like It’s Hot”!) and we all have strong reactions to and even discussions on the avatars: my niece loves Miss Aubrey (I can’t stand her, she’s so snotty and girly!), I like Emilia and Oblio (she’s tough, and he’s so mysterious, like a ninja!) but my nephew likes Mo. Characters really are often the locus of emotional attachment to an entertainment, be it novel or game or film, and DC is no different. I found the behind-the-scenes to be interesting as a fan, but also as a writer, giving me some points to think about when it comes to pulling characters together.

THE IMPORTANCE OF COSTUME DESIGN

“Knowing characters” in terms of fiction and film is often highly psychological and focused on the inner life. While there’s no doubt that this is highly necessary, it’s interesting how gaming often focuses on the externals of a character: appearance, costume, hair. And it’s true, these visuals are kind of a shorthand, no matter what medium it’s in. I found it interesting that the game creators did a lot of research into dance music scenes and their fashion trends, and then extrapolated characters that would be part of those worlds from them.

I worked often as a costume and wardrobe designer in film, and what was most fascinating to me was how actors used costume to approach character — thinking about externals like clothes allowed them to think through what their characters’ daily lives were, what their histories and attachments were, how their aspirations were coded in their choices, and what the gulf was between how they presented themselves and who they really were in the story. I’ve always been interested in clothes and fashion, so it’s a natural bridge for me to think about how they would dress and why they wear what they wear. I’d imagine it be worth it for many writers to think through the questions of what their characters wear and why. Approaching the question of characterization from the outside in could yield some interesting insights, not to mention be fun to research.

QUESTIONS, QUESTIONS

I was really intrigued by the idea of a character questionnaire filled out by the Dance Central creators as they conceptualized their characters. On the one hand, the artiste in me is like “So reductive!” (I can also hear a few of my screenwriting teachers sneering in the background as well.) But on the other hand…what better, simpler way to get an initial handle on your character than a simple slate of questions?

Sometimes I wonder if we make our story preparation dense and complicated as a way to stave off anxiety about writing a story, by making prep almost as hard as actual work. The idea of a questionnaire seems almost like cheating. But I actually had a screenwriting prof who reduced the movement of a story into a set of questions that could be applied to each sequence of a screenplay…there were no super-complicated beat sheets or step outlines, no crazy treatments to draft. And curiously enough, it made for a clearer, more vital first draft than the most heavily outlined stories beforehand, at least for me. There’s something to be said about simplicity and clarity.

THE EASTER EGG

One of the fun things about games are the “hidden treats” that game creators build into them. Called “Easter eggs,” I got a big kick about learning more about Dance Central’s “pink ninja” character, who you get if you type in some special code and unlock certain achievements. The element of surprise is always important in a story, especially a longer-form narrative, and I like to imagine what the “Easter eggs” of a story are. For films, I think, they’re often strange little detours of a story — I just saw Hanna this weekend, and the trip she takes to Morocco is unexpected for the film, but yields so much emotional payoff that it’s vital. But characters need “Easter eggs,” too, no? Strange affections, odd enthusiasms, mannerisms — it’s these bits that keep them from becoming predictable or easy to peg. Also, plant them wisely and they grow into unexpectedly rich veins of story. I just watched Never Let Me Go, and there’s a strange incident where the main character riffles through some porn magazines, paging through them methodically and impatiently. It’s an odd moment, but forms the basis of a major connection later in the film. It’s worth thinking through characters’ eccentricities, secret behavior and hidden characteristics — and seeing what directions they can lead stories.

Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Writing on Monday, April 11th, 2011 | 1 Comment »

Welcome to the Thunderdome, i.e. Revision is Hell

I finished the first pass of revising my novel! Because I miss being in artsy-fartsy school and don’t have class assignments, community and a teacher/mentor to bounce ideas/share the pain with, all my ruminations and observations on “process” are going to go here. Stats, pictures, notes, remembering what I did so I can not repeat mistakes, and keep doing the good of the good.

First step: Took a break! I figured I need space, just like any other dysfunctional relationship. Also, I had laundry to do, friends to email, nieces to bedazzle things with, sweethearts to tend to, birthday cards to send, i.e. LIFE.

Second step: Be scared and contemplate my future as a depressed, bitter boozehound. Truth is, while I am really good at cranking out isht, I have never been a great re-writer, mostly because I get lost in long-form projects like scripts. (Which aren’t long, relatively speaking, but are structurally intricate to the point of being architectural.) I had developed a process of multiple, multiple drafts of a screenplay, with each pass focusing on one or two aspects (one character, story events, dialogue.) But starting at the 110,000+ words, I knew that wouldn’t work for a novel. Doing ten to fifteen drafts of a novel? No wonder writers become alcoholics!

Third step: Figure out what my story is really about. The thing about screenwriting is that it’s a highly planned process for many writers — you spend a lot of time working on your structure and story before you type “FADE IN.” Your first draft can happen extremely quickly, and while you may make significant changes, you’ve spent tons of time and preparation already close to the imaginative heart of your story and what it is about. And even if there are significant changes, the form of a script is minimalist enough to do multiple surgeries upon. (And chances are, once you’re in production, there will be even more script emergencies to run the damn thing through the editing process again and again.)

But the first draft of a novel was a process of discovery in and of itself, and I found out that events that I had planned for didn’t quite fit as the story evolved. A whole new character emerged, and others changed from what I originally conceived. In that grand, coffee-fueled fugue state that was writing, certain exciting things happened in the story that I didn’t plan for, and other things didn’t work anymore. I had a hot mess on my hands. By the time I got done with the first draft, though, I had a much fuller understanding of the story and, more importantly, characters. I was totally in love with them, and my biggest feelings of failure came because I knew parts of the novel were not worthy of them! So I chose the most vital, exciting parts of the story that I knew I wanted to keep and decided to retool around these. Anchors, so to speak.

I also went back and figure out my simple story arc and theme, a kind of compass. Things I wish I did: wrote out a summary of the story, like the kind that you read on the back of a book. (Add that to the list for the next pass.)

Fourth step: Just start already. Since my previous revision process for screenwriting was not going to work the way it had before without a very good chance of me going bananas, I decided to try out a revision technique I had never done before, which was one extremely thorough, painstaking revision on the first pass. I knew what parts of the story felt strong to me, the parts that expressed closest the book in my heart I wanted to make. I knew my theme, the bigger thing the story was saying, I knew the story events that felt true to me, and even had a vague idea of what I knew I wanted to dump. So I started.

Fifth step: F*@! that. Well, actually, I did up focusing on story and plot most of all this round. (It’s the first thing I address in scripts when I revise — so much for trying to suppress my inner screenwriter.) I read each “scene” slowly and tried to decide if it was necessary, paying to attention to my weirdly imperative inner directive that there be something pulling the reader ahead in each one. (This is when it’s really great to have done so much screenwritng — this stuff comes more easily now.) I reworked phrasings and word choices, I honed characters and dialogue, I reshaped beginnings and endings, and did as much work as I could in each scene before I moved on. It was utterly exhausting. I did it all on the page and by hand, too, thinking that I wanted a tactile connection to writing. (Don’t you think a little different when you write by hand vs. being on a computer all the time?)

The only problem I had was when I had to significantly rework events in the book to fit with the parts I had discovered or decided were “true.” I got a notebook (from Muji!) and began putting any major new swaths of material in there. I used the notebook to basically document and chart stuff, everything from “Change Chewy’s hairstyle to a Mohawk throughout” to notes on historical fact-checking and the like. The notebook is kind of a work in and of itself. In a total hardcore move, I marked up various strands and aspects in different colored inks: pink for the love story (duh), green for skateboarding or diving stuff, blue for the bromance, etc. It was kind of both fun and a royal pain to keep this going, to the point where the cute barista at the Barnes & Nobles Cafe I worked at said I looked like a weird scientist who likes office supplies and kindergarten. I’ll take what I can get, I guess, especially from cute baristas.

Sixth step: Type in changes. SO BORING AND IT TOOK FOREVER. Seriously, it took WEEKS. I wanted to just KILL MYSELF and DRINK HEAVILY through it all. So much so that I think I am going to work on my next pass on the old ball-and-chain, i.e. laptop, to avoid this step again. The only great thing about it was the good opportunity to refine word choices again and again.

Now I am done with my first major revision! Accomplishments: cut about 20,000 words. Conclusions: colored inks work! Seriously, it was so much faster to find connected changes that I needed to line up against one another. Also: I hate entering things on the computer. Next: will start on the second revision soon. Hope: it won’t be as grueling as this one. L’aventure commence…

Tags: , , ,
Posted in Writing on Thursday, March 10th, 2011 | 4 Comments »

Advice That I Wish Someone Gave Me After Getting My MFA

The end of 2010 marked approximately six months after I got my MFA from film school, so it was perfect time to take stock of the distance I had traveled, where I was going and all that good “big picture” stuff. Then, @spidvid over at Twitter asked for post-grad film school advice, and a few other friends of mine talked about our experiences after graduation and compared notes, which got me thinking. The logical conclusion to all this introspection? Blog post, naturally! I actually ended up doing a lot of these suggestions here, but not in a guided “here, Kat, do this and you won’t freak out so hard when you graduate” kind of way. More like a “WTF DO I NEED TO DO TO STOP FEELING THIS ANXIETY” walking-in-the-dark kind of way. In other words, trial and error. Avoid my abuse of all caps and keep these in mind when you’re rounding the final lap of an intense creative immersive experience and face the abyss of post-grad life. It doesn’t have to be such an abyss!

Write down a list of everything you learned in school right after you leave it.

No, I don’t mean some memoir explaining your creative evolution or anything fancy like that. This sounds way more daunting than it really is — it really is just a list! I also find that it’s really useful to do this with any concentrated experience, like a workshop, or a class, or even a particularly challenging work gig. You don’t have to go into mega-detail — it’s really just a quickly-jotted list of concepts, practices, tips, tricks, ideas, etc. that you absorbed during your experience. Just try to jot down everything, from the most basic “I’ll never forget that” info to more complicated, personal realizations. I still have mine in a PDF, and it’s got stuff on everything from technique to production to psychology that would make very little sense except to me and other film school people. Hilariously enough, it’s called “WHAT I LEARNED IN FILM SCHOOL.” Here were a few things on this list:

  • 180-line rule (a nerdy directing thing)
  • Wiping the shot at the beginning (another nerdy directing thing)
  • Always try to have actors enter/exit frame
  • Where does the camera have to be to have maximum dramatic impact
  • Generative images
  • “Begin late, leave early”
  • Using events to create sense of future in scripts
  • Visualize the day you want to have on set before you actually get there
  • Don’t put out chocolate in craft services till afternoon — too early makes people lose energy early in the day, but it’s a nice boost in the afternoon when energy lags (a producing thing, but kind of applicable to everyday life!)

You’d be surprised how much you’ll forget once you get caught up in the stream of life, so it’s great to have a record. You’ll read it even a few months out of school and get a big kick out of all that you learned. You’ll get an even better kick when you look it over and realize that you could even add to the list, which is a great sign that you’ve kept learning and growing, even well past graduation date.

Start working on your post-grad projects way before you graduate.

Even if it’s just to suss out ideas or find collaborators, it’s important to plant serious seeds to projects you want to work on when you leave school. You’ve just spent a concentrated, intensive period of time running at a creative high (or running on empty!) You want to keep creative momentum going. Give some thought as to where you’re at when you’re ending: are you poised to take advantage of momentum? Are you in need of recharging your batteries? Then design a project that fits. My advice would be to do something manageable, with a clear, discrete goal — there’s nothing better than being able to say you finished something just a few months after you graduated.

Start working in general before you graduate.

Yeah, you’re super busy and burnt out and stressed. That’s just part of being in film school, or perhaps grad school in general. But the stress that comes from engagement and doing is PEANUTS compared to the anxiety you’ll feel from the fear that you may be NOT DOING WHAT YOU LOVE. Especially in a creative field with no real employment structure or route to security, you need to start building contacts and experiences outside your school’s sphere before you leave it. Find some small way to engage in the larger field — if you’re going into production, start taking on PA jobs on larger sets. Start a film blog and start writing. Start assistant editing. It’s a lot to add on an already crowded plate, but there won’t be an empty abyss you’ll face the day after you get your diploma. Basically, if you’ve been in student mode, you have to start thinking of yourself as a professional before you actually “go professional.”

(Also, if you’re like nearly everyone I knew at film school and took out loans to go to school, you will especially want to do this, just for your own financial security/peace of mind’s sake.)

Take advantage of what you can before you leave school.

This means: using the school’s editing labs to put together your director’s reels; renting equipment you may not have access to anymore; using the fancy laser printers to print out beautiful copies of your beautifully edited scripts; get mentors and professors to critique your work or offer introductions to colleagues. There are all sorts of intangibles that a school environment has that you have every right to take advantage of — all that tuition you’ll be paying (or repaying, in the case of loans) should let you do this.

Accept doubt and define success.

Perhaps one of the hardest things for people to deal with after graduating is the sudden loss of structure, which school gives. Taking on projects and work for post-school is just part of a larger process. I’ve spent the last 6-7 months trying to create a structure in my life that supports both writing/filmmaking and making a living, and it’s only just started to come together. (Dear bad economy: thanks for making it so much easier. Ha!)

I realized most of all, in the months after school, that one of the things that school structures gives you in a perpetual sense of growth, of something to work for. You may be incredibly tired and stressed out, but above everything, you are growing as an artist and craftsperson. But when that sense of growth goes, things like doubt and anxiety begin to seep or rush in. The important psychological thing to do is to sustain that feeling of progress, of learning, of growing.

There’s two things to do, really. First, you have to realize that doubt is one of the biggest specters you’ll face once you leave the confines of school. It doesn’t matter if your student short got into Sundance or you landed an agent or manager or whatever…if there’s one thing I learned under the experienced filmmakers who taught me, it’s that you’ll always deal with the uncertainty of getting to do the thing you love for your living, even when you’re a “success.” So get that idea that you’ll never deal with doubt once you’ve “made it” out of your head. I don’t have any wise words on doubt, other than to remember what made you love making films (or writing stories or designing clothes or whatever) in the first place, and try to carve out some definition of success and achievement that isn’t defined by an external set of circumstances.

That leads to the second thing to do, which I got from Danielle LaPorte‘s brilliant Fire Starter Sessions: Ask yourself how you want to feel in your work? Most of us would say “happy” or “successful,” but it really pays to be specific about this: what does “happy” or “successful” mean to you? Challenged, peaceful, sexy, powerful, liberated, bold, innovative, loving, intellectually brave? Then, seek out and create experiences that make you feel that way. That’s what I try to remember. I’ll let you know how that goes :-)

Tags: , , , , ,
Posted in Thoughts & Musings on Tuesday, February 15th, 2011 | No Comments »

Old Zine Writing: A Story About Love, Sex, Punks, College and the 90s

What better way to procrastinate on revising your novel than by revising your old zine writing from eight years ago?

Back in the day I did a zine that ended up being called Continental Drift. (The drawing that’s in my rotating banner is from one of the issues.) My past life as a zinester means a lot to me: I met many friends through zines, read so much brilliant, inspiring writing and thinking and feeling, and it has ended up playing an essential role for me as a writer. I read a lot of my past zine stuff and, these days, it’s like Who wrote this? (In both good and bad ways.)

Most of my zine writing, especially at the beginning, was trying to figure out my thoughts, record my impressions, and just go on and on about music and records and movies and books. But near the end I started getting all arty and writing out fiction sketches — just shards of characters, incidents, moments. This was one place where they all came together to form a story. I found the old file from many years ago, dusted it off and edited it. And now it is called “Distance Covered in Four Songs” and here it is!

If it had tags, it would have: love, sex, college, punks, the 90s, parties, long distance, alternawaifs. That sums it up pretty well.

It is personal and emotional, of course, like a lot of zine writing is, but I feel so distant from it to feel fine about letting it go into the world as its own entity: something that transformed itself beyond my small, narrow experiences into its own thing. Who wrote this? is a very relevant question. I remember the person who wrote this and it feels like a great distance has been traveled and I live on other shores now. But it is a place I remember with great affection, even if I’ll never go there again. Which is what college feels like, often.

Here is the story. According to Figment, it takes about 18 minutes to read. The PDF and ePub have acknowledgments and a note at the end that tells you how much of the story is true:

——–> Read it online at Figment (if you’re a member, give it a heart, I feel so unpopular there, ha ha)
——–> Read it as a PDF
——–> Read it as an ePub document (have no idea if this works, just thought I’d give it a go.)

I actually read my shorter work out loud in the final stages of revision (an old practice from film school), so I have this story as an mp3 as well — just holler if you’re audio-inclined. I spent the summer listening to audio books and I quite enjoyed them, especially when authors or readers had nice voices to listen to.

Of course, everything is an opportunity for a soundtrack. It’s particularly relevant for the story, since music is very much something between the two characters. So here is a mix featuring the four songs in the story, along with five more that remind me of the time period that the story takes place within. There’s Unwound, My Bloody Valentine, Lync, Rye Coalition, and Red House Painters, among others, so it’s good even if you don’t read the story. Life deserves good sound design.

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Stories on Friday, February 11th, 2011 | 4 Comments »

Neil Gaiman on Writing Novels + The Name of My Book (For Now) + THE FIRST DRAFT IS DONE!

Writing a novel is marathon running. Writing a novel is that sort of weird process where it seems for a long time you’re not making any progress at all. It’s like trying to build a wall or dig a ditch across miles and miles, and you just do it, one word at a time. You’re going to have the good writing days, and you’re doing to have the bad writing days, and it’s going to take a year or two years, or more, to get to the end.

– Neil Gaiman, genius author of Fragile Things, American Gods, Coraline and many, many more

When I read these words by Neil Gaiman, I had that delicious shiver of recognition, because this is exactly what it feels like for me to write a freakin’ novel! He’s a much better writer than me, and if it’s like this for him, then it’s going to be 100x like this for me. I kept this in mind as I pegged away at my novel for many, many months this year, and thought of it again when

I FINALLY FINISHED TODAY!

Yes, at 11:40pm Central time on 12/30/2010, just in the nick of time for 2010, I got to type “THE END” at long last. And then I typed “THE END, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!” but then erased it because, knowing me, I’d forget to take it out the “MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!” part for some reason in the future. But yes, “THE END”!

(Some final stats for this draft: 102,570 words, 315 pages, Times New Roman, 12pt. font.)

I spent the last three days in a writing “vortex,” as Jo March used to call it. I didn’t really eat anything but soup and crackers and candy, I wore the same sweatshirt and sweatpants the entire time till even my parents said something about it, and I was crochety, grumpy and spacy beyond belief. I did take one walk and I did go to my nephew’s birthday party, although I had to renege on a promise to take him to see “Tron: Legacy” because I was exhausted. Oh, and I did build a snowman today in between Part II and Part III:

That was a nice break.

But mostly I just wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote till I was done. And tomorrow, to celebrate, I’m going to get one of those gloriously brutal neck-and-shoulder massages from the Chinese bodywork people at the mall.

Oh, and the title! Either my titles come right at the beginning, or right at the end. This one came at the end. It is called, as of now, THE WOODS. No, not after the Sleater-Kinney record, but after the most prominent setting in the book, the place where “all the magic happens,” as they say. Where girls run through the darkness, kisses taste like dirt and snow, and mutilated animals are found hanging in trees, dripping dark blood on the ground.

Tags: , , , ,
Posted in Progress Reports, Writing on Thursday, December 30th, 2010 | No Comments »

Letters I Wish I Had Gotten From My Future Self When I Was 5/10/15, Etc.

Sometimes I wonder how creepy and cool it would be to get letters from my future self.

Imagine it: you’re on your way to air out your mailbox (or face the depressing stack of bills and junk mail sitting in the void, since no one really writes letters anymore.) You open it, and there is a mysteriously addressed letter from a place called “The Future.” By a future version of you. I’m sure deep in my memory there exists a science-fiction film based on this scenario, but on a sincere level I would’ve welcomed a bit of guidance from my future self, especially over bumpy parts of my past. (Or maybe I would’ve freaked out and given myself a nervous breakdown — you never know.) Anyway, just as a weird little exercise, I imagined what my present self would’ve sent back to past mes at different ages. Other than werewolf skaters and first love, this is what’s on my mind lately — trying to get the pieces of my past to connect with what’s out there in the future, making the span of time feel continuous and meaningful.

Dear 5-Year-Old Me,

Congratulations on your first library card! You’re going to check out these books all the time: D’Aulaire’s Mythology, some novel about a Midwestern prairie settler girl and her favorite corn doll (told from the point-of-the-view of the doll, GOD I wish I could remember the name of this book, it had a purple library binding cover) and random issues of Mademoiselle, even though you have no clue what they are talking about. Pay attention to this mix, because it’s going to be the key to your imagination when you start writing. You’ll get a toy typewriter for Christmas and you’ll read the Peanuts and think typing “It was a dark and stormy night” again and again is what people mean they talk about “writing.” You don’t really have to begin each and every single story with a dark and stormy night. (Although curiously, every movie you make in film school will take place at night.) You may want to try just beginning your story in the middle and then figuring out what the best beginning would be, since this is what you’ll end up doing when you reach my age. Oh, and when Lisa B. makes fun of your laugh, don’t listen to her. She’s a hater. What’s a “hater”? It’s a word everyone will use in 2009. You can start now.

You’re also going to have a dream that you’ll remember for the rest of your life, one where you come to school with a box of donuts and no one wants them for some reason and you’ll wake up crying because you can’t give away your donuts. You’re going to spend a lot of time unlocking the message of this dream, which is basically deep down you worry that what you have to offer isn’t valuable to someone. The key is that what’s valuable is not just what’s in the box, but in the act of giving, so give even when you think no one out there is that interested.

Oh, and chasing your newest sister around the kitchen while screaming like a maniac at the top of your lungs and waving around a plastic sandbox shovel because she pissed you off? Don’t do that, either. She’s going to bug you about it for years.

xo k.

Dear 10-Year-Old Me,

This is going to be the weirdest age for you, because deep down you will not understand why half of your friends like boys, who are still mostly stupid and gross except for two main exceptions, who sit in two rows over from you, next to one another. Everyone will be preoccupied with boobs, which you don’t have yet. You’ll have very tumultuous friendships with neighborhood girls, which you’ll be bewildered by. Let’s begin with these, since you’ll spend a perplexing amount of time thinking about these. First, the neighbor girl who called you ugly: she’s a crazy Jesus-freak fundamentalist, and anyone who keeps wearing the same damn tube socks over and over again is kind of a freak. (Seeing those tube socks on girls in ads for a stupid company called American Apparel in the future will make you think of her and shudder.) Second, the other neighbor girl who you’ll get into a huge fight with and never speak to again: she’s actually a nice girl and you’ll miss her long after both of you have moved on, so don’t burn your bridges. One day you’ll realize how weird it is that every girl at this age fixated on one another’s looks, and maybe you’ll wonder if this appearance-obsession is something that women inflict upon themselves and give straight men permission to buy into.

Here’s the thing you should know: people are changing so fast, trying things out, and many pals are situational. You were strangely independent and self-sufficient up till now, so the best thing you can do now is to make a little island in yourself and put everything you love and value on it and let it ride out the hurricane of pubescence. Pack your psychological suitcase carefully, set it out on a boat and meet it in five years when you land on the Island of It’s Going to be Okay at age 15.

The great thing is that you’ll start writing stories because Mr. D. encouraged you. You’ll start writing about spaceships and the future and exotic countries and witches and outlandish, imaginative, fantastical things. You’ll start reading books by Robin McKinley about heroic, dragon-slaying girls. You’ll read Choose Your Own Adventure, which will change your life, and Sweet Valley High, which will not. Remember this, because you’ll go through a phase where you feel like all the deep people write about relationships and post-modernity and semi-traumatic sex. And that’s what works for them. But when you start really digging into massive writing projects that demand sustained effort, discipline and a level of commitment that exceeds most modern-day romantic liaisons — well, you need to remember what it is about writing and stories that made you love them in the first place. And how your writing will, in some way, honor that.

Also: don’t throw out your Madonna memorabilia. Or let your mom throw it away.

Ages 10-14 are going to suck hard. Sorry.

Oh, and when B. in fifth grade tells you that “horny” means someone who reads a lot of Playboy, he has it only halfway right.

xo k.

(more…)

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in Thoughts & Musings on Thursday, December 16th, 2010 | No Comments »

What I Think About When Someone Tells Me I Shouldn’t Waste My Time Writing About Teenage Skater Werewolves

Overheard between two undergrads at the Hungarian Pastry Shop a few months ago. You have to imagine it in that super-serious, playing-at-world-weary voice that only certain coeds in NYC can have:

“Why would I want to write a book about real life? The only really juicy thing about my real life are my exes, and I’m so over them, even though they’re semi-famous. And Gogol already stole my title.”

“What’s that?”

“Dead Souls.”

Needless to say, I was chuckling over my laptop when I overheard this. If anyone asks why I like to write fantasy and genre, I will just tell them that Gogol stole the title to my real novel based on my real life and it’s just impossible now. That Gogol, such a jerk!

I really wonder who her exes were, though…

Tags: , , , , , ,
Posted in Thoughts & Musings, Writing on Friday, December 10th, 2010 | No Comments »

So You Want to Write a Novel

Ah, this made me laugh so much. The thing is, the brown bear pretty much gives an accurate rundown of the publishing industry wisdom on the subject. Gurus are found in strange places, friends.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

Tags: , , ,
Posted in Thoughts & Musings on Thursday, December 2nd, 2010 | No Comments »

« Older Entries
Newer Entries »