What becomes a legend most?

Sharing their stories!

Everybody loves behind-the-scenes info. Don’t they? I know I do. I love to hear how writers and actors and producers got started, what they remember most about their work experiences, what advice they have for others aspiring to similar achievements. It’s fascinating.

Of course, it’s best if it’s someone whose work you know, but an opportunity to hear from someone you’ve never happened to encounter is a gift, too. It can open your eyes to treasures you might not otherwise find.

Agnes de Mille came to speak at my college once. I’d heard of her. I knew she was, famously, the choreographer for the original Oklahoma. What I didn’t know and was delighted to discover was that she was a terrifically entertaining speaker and a wonderful writer. I went and found her books, learned a great deal and enjoyed them thoroughly.

Harold Clurman, John Houseman, Vincent Price—all became doors into new information once I had the opportunity to hear them talk.

So imagine my glee when I stumbled upon a website created by the Television Academy Foundation which hosts over 700 oral history interviews conducted in-depth with the legends of television.

EmmyTvLegends.org

There are over 3000 hours of interviews with actors, writers, directors, newscasters, tv executives, technical gurus and more. And they are not drive-by, promote-the-project-of-the-moment interviews. They are hours-long, thoughtful discussions. What I always thought talk shows should be and almost never are. (Dick Cavett’s show being a notable exception.)

It’s all fascinating. Sometimes funny, sometimes inspiring, sometimes eye-opening. The interviewers are good. They ask excellent questions, and they stay out of the way. Interesting facts come to light, and personalities are revealed.

You can spend a lot of time there. So, be warned. But spending your time in the company of some of our most creative people? Is there any better way?

Words matter.

They have meanings.

And you can make that work in your favor.

That’s the tip for today.

Stop worrying about a “deadline.” How about trying to reach the “finish line,” instead?

Does it have to be such a horrible, scary thing? Horror movie scary? Day of the Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Dead Ringers.

What’s the drop dead date? we used to say at work. Meaning the absolute, unequivocal, unbreakable deadline.

Who wants to drop dead?

Not me.

Finish line makes me think of success. Most of the time, when I think of crossing the finish line, I think of coming in first. (Well, really, only when I think of somebody else crossing the finish line. I never came in first in my life.) Coming in first is success in anybody’s book.

Even if you don’t come in first, crossing the finish line means you finished the race. That’s an achievement in itself. You stayed the course. You finished.

A finish line is something you race toward. It’s not something that looms over you, something the clock ticks toward with the inevitability and concomitant dread of an armed explosive device.

Plus, one definition of “finish” is “a highly developed state of perfection; having a flawless or impeccable quality.” I’d sure like to achieve that in my writing, wouldn’t you?

Shiny, polished, finished.

I’m not setting any deadlines any more. I’m going to be crossing finish lines.

Two Timing

Another way to improve your descriptions.

So, we’ve been talking–intermittently–about descriptive writing. I believe it started with me mentioning that I don’t think I’m very good at it. Then, last Tuesday’s Tip was the I look up and I see… exercise.

Today, I have another exercise for you. Once again, I don’t remember where I got it and will have to add that information if and when I can.

The idea is this:

Take a scene, a setting, and describe it twice in such a way that the passage will convey completely different moods. You might use words that impart a sense of danger and dread in one iteration and then sketch the same scene in joyful and exhilarating terms.

For example, here’s some practice writing I did for this exercise. Try not to consider this the best example of my work, okay? It’s just to give you an idea of how to explore this. In this case, it’s two descriptions of the same boat ride:

Hundreds of rolling wavelets marched toward her like an advancing army, broken only when the jet ski roared by. Looking at the dark slice it cut through the gun-gray water, her heart beat in sudden panic. That chainsaw buzzing of the motor. . . .the accompanying sound of the dozens of horror movies she and Eddie had watched in their teens. Maybe it was that subliminal memory of blood and gore that was making her feel queasy and not the unstable floor beneath her feet rocking and rising and falling with every shudder of wind and water, giving her the sensation of an earthquake’s aftershock.
Hundreds of rolling wavelets marched toward her like a crowd of eager children on parade, the procession broken only when the jetski bounced across the shimmering wake bubbling out aft. Looking at the gray-green line the other craft sketched through the green-gray sea, her heart lifted. The darker patch was there in the water, in her life, but it was behind her now, and she was free of it. Maybe it was that subliminal sense of liberty that made the simple act of balancing on the gentle rise and fall of the deck as exhilarating as surfing.

So, any purple prose aside, do you get the idea? Give it a shot. And if you’d like to share the results, feel free to post your work in the comments.

Happy Writing!

Make them less skippable

Digging into descriptions.

Last Friday, I wrote about finding Ruth Rendell–an excellent writer–and how much I admired her facility with description (description often being the “parts that people skip”). I also mentioned that I was not so good at descriptive writing. (“Suck” is the word I think I used.)

That got me thinking about description, and I remembered a couple of writing exercises that seem very useful to me. It seems appropriate to include one in this here Tuesday Tip.

Unfortunately, I can’t immediately remember where I found them, but I will be looking through some of my really-helpful books and including those titles in future Friday Finds and Tuesday Tips. So, when I locate the source of these ideas, I will come back and update this post. Meanwhile, the best I can do is to acknowledge that it did not originate with me.

Anyway. . .

The exercise can be called “I look up and I see. . . .”

What you do is this.

Sit down with a notebook and maybe a timer. I think a notebook–the actual old-fashioned kind with pages that requires you to hold a writing utensil in your hand is better–but you could use a new-fangled computer-type notebook if you must. It’ll mean you may be somewhat more restricted as to location, but it will save you that pesky transcription step if anything you write looks worth saving.

Now, this is an exercise, so it’s quite possible that what you write won’t seem worth saving–and that’s okay. We’re priming the pump, greasing the wheels, and implementing assorted other industrial clichés.

Set the timer for ten minutes. (If you’ve only got five minutes, fine. If you’ve only got two, use the two you’ve got!)

Your starting point is the following phrase: I look up and I see. . .

So, write that down, and finish the sentence based on what you can look up and see. Describe what you see literally and figuratively, and keep going until you run out of things to say. At that point, shift your focus, jot down another I look up and I see. . . , and keep writing.

Every time I’ve done this, I’ve been really astonished at how well I can describe things when I really look at them and focus on it. In fact, some of these practice writings are distinctly non-sucky.

Got your notebook?

Got your timer?

Ready, set, go!

Bad to the bone

Try to be, anyway.

This is a tip about getting past that streak of perfectionism that is keeping you from achieving your goals.

Somewhere along the line, most of us got the idea that doing something badly was–well–a bad thing. Maybe we missed a fly ball on the softball field in second grade, and the next time teams were chosen, we were one of the last players picked. Maybe it started earlier–like when we got yelled at for spilling our milk.

Mistake = bad. Dangerous, even.

In the interests of survival, we started to be careful. We started to try really hard to do things “right.” Over time, that can be paralyzing.

But, there is an easy way around it. Just decide to do it–whatever “it” is–wrong. Announce that intention, if necessary. After all, how can someone blame you for not getting it “right” if you’ve already told them you are intentionally doing it wrong?

If that sounds crazy, let me tell you a story about the first play I ever wrote.

The first draft was promising enough that Abingdon Theatre Company was willing to give it a public reading. Jan Buttram, the artistic director, being an experienced playwright and a wise woman, suggested we should have a private reading first. “If you hear it for the first time in front of an audience, you’re not going to be able to hear it,” she said.

So, we had the private reading, and I got some very valuable feedback. I went off, with great enthusiasm, to do a re-write. And promptly froze. Oh, no! What if I ruin it? I wasn’t sure how I’d come to write it in the first place. It seemed to me there was a good chance that, in re-writing it, I would lose whatever had made that first draft halfway good.

I was so stuck that I went back to Jan some weeks later and announced that we would have to cancel the reading. In a further demonstration of wisdom, she said, “No, we’re not going to cancel. We can always read the version you have now. Meanwhile, why don’t you go back and try again? If you don’t get anywhere, don’t worry.”

I sighed and groaned and gnashed my teeth–and I went home to try again. When I got there, I remembered “We an always read the version you have now,” and I promptly saved the file under a new name. Then, I said to myself, “Okay. You’ve got the original saved. Now, you’re going into this version, and you’re going to ruin it.”

The re-write began to flow. We read the new version, and that is the version that launched my great playwriting adventure. Once I gave myself permission to do it badly, I did just fine.

Try it.

Journeying

Structure for writers.

Today’s Friday Find is another book that is an invaluable resource for writers–and fairly interesting for readers and filmgoers who have an interest beyond passive absorption of entertainment. If you’re interested in structure, you will get a lot out of The Writers’ Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler.

I think so highly of The Writers’ Journey that I bought it twice. Lent it to someone. Never got it back. I hate that. Sometimes, when that happens, I growl and vow never to lend that person a book again while adopting a zen-like resignation to the loss of the book.

The Writers’ Journey, though–I have to have a copy of that on my shelves.

Here’s the story behind The Writers’ Journey:

Christopher Vogler was (may still be, for all I know) a Hollywood development executive. Inspired by the work of Joseph Campbell, he created a legendary 7-page company memo for screenwriters. Expanding on that work, he developed the book, The Writers’ Journey, and continues to teach classes based on these ideas and techniques.

The basic premise is that there are archetypes and stages in every hero’s journey–and that a successful story (movie, book, play) is a hero’s journey.

As a director, I have used these principles to help me help playwrights analyze and rewrite their plays. As a writer, I’ve tried to do the same with my own work. (Always a little harder to find the objectivity there, of course.) As a movie goer, I have been fascinated to watch these archetypes and journeys play out in almost every good movie I’ve ever seen.

You can get an overview of the stages of the hero’s journey on Mr. Vogler’s website: here. Just click the link to “Hero’s Journey.” The text of the original 7 page memo is there, as well as an adaptation called the Heroine’s Journey.

It’s fascinating stuff. And the whole outline is there. All the basics. The book, however, expands on this outline and offers a wealth of examples. It’s well worth a read.

Happy journeying.

Awesome customer service

Unbelievably awesome!

Unprecedentedly awesome.

Is “unprecedentedly” a word? It seems unlikely. Perhaps its use here is unprecedented! Real word or not, however, it conveys my meaning–which is that I have never before experienced the kind of customer service provided this week by the gentleman who is painting the exterior of my house.

First of all, he did all the normal things right: gave us a verbal estimate that was a good price, followed up with an email providing proof of insurance and a formal written estimate, and offered to begin sooner than he originally said was possible. The latter, of course, was due to a cancellation by another client, so I don’t really count it heavily on the awesome side of the scale, but he was low pressure about it (which I like), provided references immediately upon request, and was patient while I checked them and worked out a scheduling difficulty.

Then, he showed up on time and got right to work pressure washing.

So far, this is good business but not extraordinary, right?

And then something happened.

He was about halfway through the pressure washing when we discovered his machine wasn’t pulling enough water. And then we discovered it was because there was no water. The aerator was empty. The pipes in the house had nothing but air in them. Oh, no!

We had been having a problem with one of the pumps that pull water from our well, so we shut it off. Months ago.

And we’d forgotten about it. There are only two of us in the house, and we don’t use that much water. The drought has ended around here, for now, and we haven’t had to water the lawn. Consequently, the other pump–the one inside the house–has been enough. We had totally lost sight of the fact that we’d shut off the outside pump.

Once we all figured out what the problem was and verified that the pump wasn’t working correctly, I would have expected the painter to say, “Call me when you get it fixed,” and disappear for weeks.

What he actually said was, “You need a new pressure switch. I can fix that for you.”

And he did.

He took off for Home Depot, bought the parts, came back and spent time in the hot sun doing something that was not at all part of his job.

Of course, we told him to add the cost to his final bill, and even then the job came in under budget!

I call that unprecedentedly awesome customer service.

The pump is working now. It comes on when it is supposed to start and shuts off when it is supposed to stop. It’s much quieter than it was previously. We’ll be able to use the sprinklers if we need them.

Oh…and the paint job? It looks great!

If you are in the Middleburg, Fleming Island, Orange Park, Green Cove Springs, Jacksonville area and you need a painter:

Russell Rowell of Perfect Painting.

Shoot me an email, and I’ll give you his number.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking it makes sense to always ask ourselves how we can go the extra mile. How would things change if we all assumed we were responsible for everything around us going well?

One hundred percent responsible.

For everything.

Think about it. Because Russell has set the bar pretty high.

Morning Pages and Forward Motion

A Friday Re-Find

It’s been 20 years since The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron was first published. Almost 4 million copies have been sold. (I bought at least 5 of them myself. They make great gifts!) So, it seems like most of the readers of this blog will have, at least, heard of it.

It’s worth reminding you about it, however.

Of all the self-help books I’ve read in my life–and I have read a few!–The Artist’s Way is the most transformative. You are reading this blog because of Julia Cameron–(and because of my good friend Hope Nunnery ,who first gave me a copy of Ms. Cameron’s book).

Hope and I embarked on the odyssey of the 12 week workshop outlined in The Artist’s Way with the idea that it might improve our acting skills and help us with some of the things we felt were holding us back in our acting careers.

Hope is now a recording artist with a fabulous and critically-acclaimed CD to her credit, and I have a completed novel, a sheaf of short stories, and an award-winning full-length play.

I can’t speak for Hope, but that is not what I expected when I began doing my morning pages and going on my artist dates. But it has been a wild and fulfilling journey.

I get lazy sometimes. I forget to do the morning pages, or I lose confidence in them. What constantly astonishes me, however, is that every time I go back to that practice, I also regain forward motion in creativity and in the practical aspects of getting the work out into the world.

So, I suggest–if you haven’t already read/done The Artist’s Way–give it a try. It’s a book designed to be used as a 12 week workshop. You can do anything for 12 weeks. Go to JuliaCameronLive.com, and get an overview.

If you’ve done it and forgotten about it, dig out your copy. Refresh your memory. Do those morning pages, and see what happens.

You could be amazed!

Outsmarting Yourself

I cannot play the guitar.

I cannot play the guitar, and it’s my own fault. I outsmarted myself.

Now, it is possible I was never going to be able to play the guitar well. Maybe I didn’t have the dexterity in my fingers or the musical ability. I certainly don’t have much of an ear. (Digital guitar tuners. A most excellent invention! I really like this one.)

I do, however, have enough of an ear to love music. I bought myself a guitar when I was a teenager, along with a book entitled something highly original like “How to Play the Guitar.”

I learned some chords. About six, I think. Maybe seven. C, F, Dm, D, Am, Em, G7. I learned to strum. I learned to pick out a melody. (I can still play the first nine notes of “Dueling Banjos.” Not a lot of call for that, believe it or not. Go figure.)

I spent hours warbling away with a collection of music books, a guitar pick and extremely sore fingers. And I mean hours! It’s a wonder my parents didn’t kill me. Fortunately, it seems that my noise sensitivity is not inherited. Not from them, anyway. We survived this period.

I still have the guitar, the music books and the picks. And a great admiration for guitar players.

But I cannot play the guitar.

One of the reasons I never got beyond those six or seven chords is that I picked up a book or an article somewhere about transposing. And suddenly, I didn’t have to learn any additional chords in order to play all those songs I hadn’t yet mastered.

(Wow! That is looking back through rose-colored glasses for sure. As if I had ever mastered even one song.)

Let us pause for a moment, in the interest of honesty, and amend that ‘songs I hadn’t yet mastered’ to ‘songs written with chords I didn’t yet know.’

Suddenly, I didn’t have to learn any additional chords to play accompaniment for any song in the books. I spent hours working out the transposition and penciling the new chord symbols into my music. I mean hours. I thought I was so smart to have figured that out.

I wonder what would have happened if I had spent those hours learning and practicing the new chords.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Category Archives: Craft