Here’s what I know

About writing what you know.

“Write what you know,” they say.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you think. “How boring.”

Many times, we write to escape what we conceive to be our hum-drum lives. What is fiction, after all, but a child’s game of make-believe in which the writer gets to play all the parts?

No more “You be the sheriff, and I’ll be the bank robber.”

As a writer it’s, “I’ll be the sheriff, and I’ll be the bank robber. And the Pinkerton detective and the Apache on the hill and the dance hall girl and the coyote, too.”

And that’s great.

Nobody said not to use your imagination.

But you can write with more confidence if you know something about the scenery of the West. Because if you are drawing you description of tumbleweeds from Zane Grey novels, you are bordering on plagiarism, and you’re always going to wonder if you got it right. If you’ve seen a tumbleweed tumbling, you will know.

Aside from the confidence issue, in addition to accuracy, you’re just going to write faster. You’re not going to be stuck for details, because they are just part of your knowledge base.

And if you are missing details, you better acquire them. Google is your friend. As is any book you’ve ever read, every book you haven’t read, anybody you talk to and anything you do.

There may be only One Plot, but the details to make it your own are legion. And you know what they say. God is in the details.

Work on your powers of observation and memory. Work on your research skills. Work on empathy and understanding.

There’s a great episode, ‘We Was Robbed‘ from Season Three of NYPD Blue in which a detective is showing his would-be cop son the ropes. He tells him a story about a near-disaster in which he almost shot a man coming out of a building with what appeared to be a gun until he remembered the building was a toy factory. He says a cop should always know “people, places, the things they do, and the times they do them.”

It’s pretty good advice for a writer, too.

Double-duty

The blind

One day, a couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone with a friend. I was standing over my desk, in front of the window in my office. The newly installed window, I might add.

I could see out it.

Of course, I could only see out it in narrow strips, because the Venetian blind was down.

One of the narrow strips, however, provided an excellent angle on the concrete border of the flowerbed under the window.

Right there, busily picking at something—I think it was a piece of that stuff that falls off the oak trees in the spring—the pollen—was a female cardinal.

In and of itself, this is not so miraculous. We have quite a few cardinals around here. They seem to like it by the water. (I know they like water. They love the sprinklers. Several will gather any time the sprinklers are on and swoop in and out of the water droplets with zest.)

The miracle here was how close she was. I could see every separate feather. The slight reddening on her crest, the red-orange beak. Her little roly-poly body (she was not an underfed cardinal).

The second miracle was how long she stayed. I usually get to observe a cardinal as it is in the process of disappearing—unless, of course, it’s barreling through water droplets, and even then, it’s a matter of fleeting glimpses.

But this lady sat on that concrete border, picking at her meal, for several minutes.

And why?

Because of the blind.

Never have I had a clearer demonstration of the value of the hunter’s blind.

Had the blind been open, had I been standing as I was in front of the window, that little birdie would have been gone almost before I noticed her. Movement behind the window? Bye, bye birdie.

As it was, she didn’t notice me.

And I got a miracle.

Al Smith

Was he a man, or a meal?

The Al Smith Dinner is an annual event, but it comes to public prominence in presidential election years. Most of us have heard of it, many of us see clips of the candidates’ appearances on CNN or our local evening news.

And some of us—me, at least—have been unclear as to who, exactly, Al Smith was and why should he have a dinner named after him.

Well!

Here I am on Smith Sunday to enlighten you.

Al Smith was a four-time governor of New York State and the first Roman Catholic nominee for President. He lost, first, to Herbert Hoover in 1928, and he subsequently lost the Democratic Primary in 1932 to Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

He was hampered in politics by his Catholicism, many people of the time fearing a Catholic President would be too influenced by the Pope.

Later, he was a vocal opponent of Roosevelt and the New Deal and has remained a thorn in the side of Democratic candidates ever since.

This is largely because of the the Dinner which is designed to benefit Catholic Charities. The Democratic Party’s continued support of the Right to Choose creates tensions around the event.

It’s too entrenched in the traditions of the campaign trail to dismissed out of hand, and, most years, all the parties involved work it out—helped somewhat by the tradition that the speeches will be humorous and self-deprecating.

So, my children, that, in a nutshell, is who Al Smith was.

For my friends

who have trouble sleeping.

We’ve all heard it said that counting sheep is a good way to fall asleep. (I don’t know why sheep rather than cats or something. Maybe because almost nobody is afraid of sheep?)

Anyway, here is a little website that may help you out.

This could be the silliest Silly Saturday yet.

But when you’re done laughing, maybe it will bore you to sleep.

Counting Sheep.

The answer

To one of the six horrible questions writers get asked.

One of the six horrible questions writers get asked is “Where do you get your ideas?”

My answer, lately, tends to be “I don’t have any ideas,” but I suspect the proper answer for most of us is “god only knows.”

But here’s a thing that could generate ideas. I haven’t used it. I don’t know if the ideas are good ones. But I figure anything that generates some ideas could lead to more ideas, so it’s probably worth a look.

In fact, it’s not just one idea generator, it’s a couple dozen. (Or several. I didn’t actually count.)

You should check it out.

Seventh Sanctum^TM

I suppose there may be some of you out there all worried that using an idea generator leads to a lack of originality.

Maybe.

But remember when we were discussing the One Plot?

You can’t have an original idea.

But you can execute an idea with originality.

What is Pygmalion and My Fair Lady but a recycling of an idea? That one’s easy, right? But here’s one you may not have considered. Isn’t The Karate Kid a Pygmalion story? Dirty Dancing? You probably didn’t think “Just you wait, ‘enry ‘iggins, just you wait” had anything in common with “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” but it does. Is drilling “the rain in Spain” really so far afield from “wax on, wax off?”

The movie Dave is The Prisoner of Zenda.

There are no new ideas. We all have to do the best we can with the old ones.

So, if you can find a tool that suggests some possibilities to you, I say use it. Idea generators are launching pads. Diving boards. The struck match just before it lights the fuse.

Dynamite not included.

Worthy of their hire

My favorite workmen.

I’m thankful today for a few guys I haven’t hired yet.

Ok. I have hired them. For other things. Small things. Previously.

But I have been lucky enough to find a couple of vendors who take a long view. They have been smart enough and generous enough to offer their advice and expertise without expecting payment.

Free. That’s a price point I can get behind.

Daymon Well Drilling. They came out and assured me that, no, my well was not going dry—as a previous plumber had suggested.

Black Pearl Plumbing. Barry spent an hour talking to me about what we needed to install a clawfoot tub in the bathroom that has been missing a tub since we moved into the house.

Russell at Perfect Painting spent an extra couple of hours fixing our pump and I had to insist that he charge more than just the cost of the parts.

Southern gentleman? Yes.

Good businessmen? Absolutely.

See, they missed the chance to make a couple of dollars. On the other hand, when I do need a well, when it’s time for the tub to be installed, when I want to paint another room—who do you think I’m going to call?

I’ve spent a lot of time with theatre folks who don’t want to give advice because they’re not getting something back.

If you’re looking for the books to be always in balance, you are doomed to disappointment.

It’s about bread upon the waters.

Do a good job. Do good to and for people. The money will follow.

It’s hard in the arts, because there often isn’t much money. And often, when opportunities for repayment arise, they aren’t real opportunities. A 6’5″ Latino actor who helps a director unselfishly may not get the first part that comes along. (It could be hard for him to play an 8 year old girl.) But he could get the first recommendation for a 6’5″ Latino actor that she’s asked to provide.

It’s clearer in the world of the handyman.

I’m going to hire the people I trust. I trust them when they do a good job and when they don’t hit me with an exorbitant bill for every question.

I think generosity is always the best route to take.

And I am profoundly thankful that I tend to run into folks who agree with me.

The latest in a series

And maybe the weirdest one yet.

I’m talking about the long tradition of my mind baffling me.

This morning, I woke up—at least, I thought I was awake—and in those first few minutes when I knew I had to get up and before I actually did get up, I thought about what I have to do today.

One of the things I have to do today—and practically every day—is work on this blog.

So, there I was, lazily reviewing a mental image of the spreadsheet I have with possible topics laid out day by day, and trying to decide which one I might like to select.

I settled upon “Pickle Pie.”

I composed a headline and a subhead.

I began to consider content.

And, I got up.

As I was walking down the stairs, I began to wonder if “Pickle Pie” was a real entry in my spreadsheet. By the time I got into my office, I was fairly convinced that it was not. By the time I got the computer booted up, I had decided—if it was not, this was the post I would write instead. By the time I dealt with tech support on my website and solved the problem of why I was receiving email but suddenly could not send it, I had completely forgotten the original headline and subhead ideas.

Turns out the original headline ideas don’t matter, because I was right the second time.

There was no entry for “Pickle Pie” in my topic spreadsheet.

I have never heard of a pickle pie. I don’t want to make a pickle pie. I certainly don’t want to eat a pickle pie. It sounds awful, frankly.

Before I started down this path, I had no idea if a person could actually make a pickle pie.

You can.

I mean, you can. I’m not going to try it.

I did wonder, on that trip down the stairs, if it was anything like fried green tomatoes, which are connected in my mind somehow with fried pickles. Which I have also never seen, eaten or made. I wondered if you would use sweet pickles and a regular pie crust or if there would be something more savory added to the crust to go with a dill pickle.

Now, I’m just wondering about my sanity.

And, if you make the pickle pie from this recipe, I am wondering what it tastes like.

Perhaps you will let me know?

Now, this!

Is a writing tip I think I can use.

Came across this piece a couple of months ago in the New York Times. I love the Times. There’s a reason people refer to it as the “paper of record.” It’s going to be sad when the ease and ubiquity of online news pushes it out of business. (I’m hoping it figures out a way to reinvent itself—but, if anybody on the publishing staff is listening, I really don’t think higher and higher price are the way to go.)

All that aside, however, this column by Aaron Hamburger was an Aha! moment for me.

The piece is about outlining.

If you’ve read anything about writing—or went to high school—I’m sure you’ve been taught about outlining. You may even have used it. Term papers and so on.

When you get into creative writing, people still recommend outlines. Sometimes, they suggest 3×5 cards rather than Roman numerals. If you’re in film or TV, you might have heard of storyboarding. It’s kind of the same idea.

The problem for me is that I never know what any piece of work is about until I get done with the first draft. I don’t know what’s going to happen. The events are a mystery to me. Often, the characters with which I start aren’t the characters with which I end.

Sometimes, I just have a line in my head. Or one scene between a couple of people.

The idea that there are writers out there who know the whole arc of the story before they begin—that boggles my mind. BOGGLES. With extra G’s.

Consequently, I threw outlines out the window fairly early.

But this idea of outlining after you’ve finished the first draft…this is a good idea.

Reading Mr. Hamburger’s explanation was a light bulb. Of course, it would be helpful. Of course!

If there’s a surer way to spot a hole in something, I can’t imagine what it could be. Depending on how you structure your outline and what information you put into it, I’m thinking it could shine a spotlight on all kinds of difficulties. Plot, pacing, logic…you name it.

So, I think you should read the article.

Meanwhile, I’ll just be over here outlining my play.

(Oh! And pick up a copy of the Times. They still have a great crossword puzzle!)

Free trip

Enjoy!

I can’t find the origin of this quote, so it appears here without attribution. If anybody knows the author, speak up! I suspect it’s that prolific writer, Anonymous.

Anyway, here goes:

Life on earth may be expensive, but it does include a free trip around the sun.

And you’d probably have to pay millions for that to do it in a space ship!

So, let us remember the ordinary, every day (or every year—because, you know, you get that trip a bunch of times in an average lifespan) miracles.

Let us remember in the midst of our scrabbling for money, attention and prestige, in the midst of our political posturings and maneuverings, in the midst of our squabbles and worries, in the midst of pain and illness—

Let us remember the rising and the setting of the sun, the heron on the dock, the moonlight on the waves, the rain-washed wildflowers, the babies’ laughter, the handclasps of friendship, the wisdom of the elders.

Let us remember the taste of the fresh-picked corn, the birthday cake, the sound of birdsong, the scent of blossoms, the strength of hands.

Let us try to enjoy that free trip around the sun.

‘ Cause everything else is extra.

Anna Nicole Smith

A cautionary tale.

The short life of Anna Nicole Smith is a sad one. Ill-educated and spectacularly beautiful seems to have been a bad combination for her. Add in drugs, Playboy, and the current oddities of our culture where a person can be famous simply for being famous, and this is what you get.

Anna Nicole was born Vickie Lynn Hogan. She acquired the Smith from her first husband whom she married at the age of 17. He was 16. Not surprisingly, the marriage didn’t last long. By the age of 24, she was a stripper and auditioning for Playboy.

Marriage to a wealthy oil tycoon 62 years her senior resulted in a lengthy dispute about his will with the battle being carried out in the courts and in the tabloids.

Smith made several attempts at an acting career with her performances being critically panned. Her subsequent reality TV show made her an object of ridicule and was ultimately canceled. She became a spokesperson for TrimSpa and PETA.

Daniel Smith, the son of her first marriage, died at the age of 20 of a lethal mixture of prescription drugs shortly after the birth of her second child, a daughter. She herself died five months later, also from a lethal combination of prescription drugs.

The saga continued with the continued court battle over her second husband’s estate being complicated by a battle over the paternity of her infant daughter, and it’s not entirely clear to me where it now stands.

In 2011, the Supreme Court ruled that the bankruptcy court of California did not have the authority to decide her claims against the estate. I’m not sure where this leaves those claims or the surviving daughter.

All in all, this isn’t a Smith story of which we can be proud.

Smith once said she wanted to be the next Marilyn Monroe.

Sadly, adjusted for inflation, I think she was.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Monthly Archives: April 2013