shakespearemom

I don’t usually rant (okay, I don’t always rant), but my husband and I have found another show we really enjoy on television: “Kings.” And, just as with so many shows before, our chosen show isn’t going to make it. It’s already been moved to Saturdays, which is pretty much the kiss of death, after only four episodes, and in a few more it will be cut entirely.

I say it’s happened before. I happened to my sister and me when we were younger (remember “Wizards and Warriors,” sis?). It happened two seasons ago with an absolutely fabulous show called Journeyman, which lasted about eight weeks before dying. It happened to me last season with Crusoe, and I knew it would with that particular show. At least that meant I enjoyed every juicy minute of it before it went off. 

But this show has barely started. And my husband and I watch it riveted, forgetting to eat what’s on the tray in front of us, forgetting to work on anything (and I never watch television without something in my hand to do)… yet its ratings started out crappy and have slowly dwindled to nothing. 

I shouldn’t be bitter. Yet I scan the television listing every evening for something to watch, and except for Monday night, when my favorite show and my husband’s run up against each other, I get nothing. I don’t tend to gravitate towards shows about raising children (or raising them poorly), for my kids don’t scream and kick me and pee in the front yard. I am not deserted on a desert island, especially by choice. Yet shows like “Big Brother” can go on for seasons when they offer nothing, while shows I actually like don’t last a season.

Perhaps I’m out of touch. Perhaps great acting, riveting character study, and sweeping epic drama aren’t what sells. That certainly seems to be the case with “Kings.” My husband loves it for its political drama, I for its unique cross between a Shakespearean history play and epic biblical theatre. This, I’ve thought over the past few weeks, is what drama is supposed to be like.

Darn. I feel like that guy on the “Journeyman” website, who wrote in to plead: “Please, please bring back this show!” My husband wrote it, too, just to let off steam. But it won’t work. No one is listening to the hundreds of people who love a show. If millions don’t tune in, the show is gone.

If only I were Oprah, and with a little mention could get millions of people to tune in and save it. 

Maybe Sci-fi will pick it up. Then again, if they do, they’ll probably bring in aliens and make the whole thing cheesy. Too many of their shows end up looking like Power Rangers for my liking.

Darn.

Well, surprise, surprise! A reader of my last blog discovered that three chapters of my novel Mariah’s Ark can be downloaded at Amazon.com for free… it seems I’ve made it to the Quarterfinals of the contest, one of 500 entries out of most likely 10,000 turned in (they only accepted the first 10,000). That puts me in the top 5%, doesn’t it? (I’m not very good at math… that’s why I write instead).

I knew I’d been reviewed by experts (that discovery was in my last blog), but I had no idea anyone else could read the first chapters. I also had no idea that meant I’d made it to the next level. Three people have reviewed the book so far, too, so I must have made it to a second level, or I don’t think the chapters would even be available. (Sorry, but I’m still so surprised, I’m not sure if I’ll discover I’ve made a mistake tomorrow).

So, if you’d like to know what I’m tooting my horn about, check out the page right HERE. You can download the chapters for free, and even leave a review of them. If nothing else, I’d like your feedback. I haven’t had enough people read the book yet, so every bit helps. And I’d really like to know what all of you think, too, since you are my loyal readers…

You’d think I’d be quicker at all of this. I must be jaded by all my lack of response over the years (except for the lovely photocopied form letters rejecting my submissions). I think the next level happens on April 15, so you have time to read and respond, but the sooner the better! You can create a review on Amazon.com yourself, so I know what you think.

Thanks to all who read part of “Mariah’s Ark”! I’m so excited!

Actors are well-known for asking this question, mainly because, even though the final scene of Hamlet may be the culmination of conflict for four or five main actors, Hamlet most especially, the final scene is also filled with a bunch of other people: noblemen, soldiers, courtiers, bystanders, servants, etc. And while what the fifth soldier feels won’t be compelling to most of the audience, it will have an effect on the overall scene, on the overall movement of the play. 

Think about this in your personal life. How many times has motivation not kicked in? How many Sunday mornings have you wanted to lie under the covers, slumbering peacefully, while the rest of the world keeps turning? How often have you found it difficult to motivate others? I consider this question every day, especially on mornings when I manage to convince my son to undress, but it takes an open threat to get him to put clothes on. 

Now think about your characters, whether the persona of a poem or the tiniest character in a novel. What motivates these people? Why do they act as they do? Perhaps what they say is typically funny, or sarcastic, or angry, or kind, or stupid–but why? Why do they speak at all? Why do they reveal information about themselves or about others? 

Now, you may just say, “Look, my characters are mine, and I just put them in the scene, and then write down what they end up doing.” Larry McMurtry claims his characters act on their own, and he’s not the only writer who does this. But I’ve noticed so many characters who serve the action of the story, who further the movement of the main characters, but even after rereading (or rewatching) I can’t figure out why. 

And while the motivation for a minor character will likely not make the entire novel fail, it does lessen the impact of it. If we don’t see why someone does something, even if it only registers subconsciously, our suspension of disbelief may be what suffers. 

My favorite bone to pick? What motivates a love interest–guy or girl, doesn’t matter which–to change his or her mind and come back to a partner. From My Fair Lady to pretty much every single romantic comedy in American film, this is how the plot ends. We think the two people are separate forever, that what one of them did–lies, abuse, rage, cheating, misunderstanding, etc.–is too much for the other to forgive. So we follow that person who was left behind, while the soft, sad music is whining in the background, until the strings get a bit louder, the person looks up, and, LO! There she is, breathtaking in the sunlight, a smile on her face, forgiveness in her eyes. 

But why? Why on earth would she forgive him? Or he her? Why don’t they show a scene or two where the one who left is out in the world, figuring it all out? Are we just supposed to accept the idea that “love conquers all”? 

I need more than that, both as a reader and a watcher of films. After all, you want me to feel motivated to come back, don’t you? To see another film? Read another book?

Oh, you do? Then motivate me. 

Whenever a great book or film comes out, people start talking sequel. Why? A number of reasons:

1. Lots of people like the first one, so publishers/producers think a second would also generate a lot of profit.

I said “a number of reasons” because publishers/producers/authors/screenwriters have said a number of other reasons:

1.  The story isn’t complete yet.

2.  A good idea is worth repeating.

3.  This book/film is starting out a whole genre/saga/world/religion/movement, and to keep going, it needs to be furthered.

Honestly, though, I don’t think any of those later reasons are actually the reason… it’s the first one. And it’s the reason we have 482 tales from Babysitter’s Club, Goosebumps and The Magic Treehouse… because publishers have figured out that readers, especially young readers, will devour books along the same lines or by the same writers as books they already love, and it will often take them several hundred volumes of those writings to figure out that the 47th installment isn’t nearly as good as the first one was. Money makes the world go ’round, doesn’t it?

It may very well make the world go ’round–though in this economy, I’m surprised the world isn’t grinding to a halt–but money does NOT, in any way, make for a good sequel.

So what does make a good sequel? 

The best sequels, I have found, were intended all along. J. K. Rowling had her plan for book seven figured out before book one was even published, and Tolkien Lord of the Rings trilogy is really more of a three-part book than three separate novels. Other writers have centered each book around a particular character, making each book stand alone and complement the other books in the series. For a sequel to happen well, it must have a reason for being, beyond money. If the first story isn’t finished, the sequel can offer the next step in the drama. But there must be truly something more to tell, something that is left behind, undiscovered, if the sequel doesn’t come out.

And it’s amazing how bad so many sequels turn out. They rehash the same plot lines, or simply bore us to death offering more backstory on characters than we could ever want. But if the sequel doesn’t have a true plot line that makes it worth reading, if it doesn’t offer us readers something new, it isn’t worth printing. It will be forgotten over time, if it isn’t criticized at the beginning. 

If you’re writing (or have written) a novel, have you thought of a sequel? Do you already have one in mind? Does it have its own purpose, beyond making a little more money for you once the first one has been published?

I hope it does. If it’s only purpose is profit, it likely won’t be the sequel I’m looking for. 

Come to think of it, if the first novel is only written for profit, I probably won’t like it, either. 

AAAAAaaaaaaaahhhhh! I feel like walking out the door and screaming at the top of my lungs. I have a list a mile long, and none of it–none of it except this blog–is something I truly want to do. Errands to run (need eggs, art posters, and a zipper, all to be had in different places), things to do (exercise at the YMCA, write cover letter for job, take in hubby’s jacket), and I don’t have a chance to get everything done… which means no writing (except for this, which I sneak in just before the kids I watch come over in the morning).

So I’m not writing. I haven’t been writing in about two weeks. And I would, by this time, be committed to a madhouse, straightjacket-bound, if I weren’t thinking. 

I’ve been thinking about everything I’ve read over the last few weeks–four books, over a dozen manga, a sister’s novel, two plays–picking out things I like about each thing, stuff that works, narrative voices that I feel attuned to, places and adventures and characters that strike me in unique ways. Stuff that doesn’t work, people I don’t know well enough to care about, situations that feel contrived, or take too long to come to fruition (or do so too quickly).

I’ve also been thinking about the revision of several of my own plays… for I now know how to fix them, how to make them truly worth staging (and when I don’t think they are worth it, no one else will). Now it’s a question of which play do I work on first? I think I need to work on a one-act, since it will be used for a short play festival this coming summer (yes, actors, techies, costumes, everything).

And I’ve been thinking about several novels. Three new ones (the ideas are slowly forming in my mind), a research book on ghosts (in my area), and my first novel–only with this version, I’m going to plan out the whole series, pulling events and character developments out of the original and spreading them out through the whole series. Only working on this series means planning out the entire thing before I begin to write again. It also means a LOT of research on Native American tribes here in the NW and in western Canada. Native American rituals, songs, and mythological traditions are going to play a huge role in the development of the books, and I can’t write about what I only sort of know.

So, even if my fingers aren’t typing on the next great novel–and they wouldn’t be even if I were writing (I’m not such a complete braggart that I actually believe I’ll write the best novel ever), my faculties are slowly recharging. My brain is whirling with new ideas, new paths, and new ways to keep the straightjacket at bay.

Although my main profession is writing, at least according to this blog, I actually have over 15 years’ experience teaching English and writing at the college level (with a little junior and high school thrown in). I am about 2/3 of the way through a writing class right now, and a recent conversation reminded me of an important point with teaching: expectations.

As part of my education degree, I was required to conduct “field experience” three times, including two stints at the local high school and a 12-week session in junior high. At the high school, the teacher’s lounge was an illuminating place for me. Teachers–and even the principal–sat around at lunch ranting about the lame students they had, whining that retirement wasn’t closer, and commiserating about everything. In the class I was observing, the teacher–one of those whining in the lounge–was spending four weeks reading The Scarlet Letter aloud in her classes, in a droning voice that nearly put me to sleep. Now, I really like that novel, but I nearly forgot how much I liked it because of her reading. And I could tell that the students didn’t like it, either. The only time she actually interacted with them was when she told them to be quiet or insulted one of them, telling them they’d never amount to anything if they didn’t listen. The students were naturally crabby about the whole thing, and they weren’t the kindest in response. And those same students were going to walk out of that class believing that The Scarlet Letter was a terrible book, that English stunk, and that school was a waste of time.

When I moved to the junior high, the teacher’s lounge was a hotbed of enthusiasm. The same actions that depressed the high school teachers made the junior high students rave. And I found myself drawn in by their happiness, by their optimism about their students. Instead of being encouraged to quell student discussion, I was pushed to do the opposite. “Expect them to be involved,” the principal told me, “and they will be. Encourage those who aren’t sharing to do so, and  create activities that involve the whole class, but let each kid shine.” I was teaching speech and theatre, so the task wasn’t hard, and I had a few lone resistant students, but they were won over. I had one student especially who, seeing on his progress report that he had a C+ in class, told me he’d never thought he’d pass at all. He was suddenly filled with a desire to do even better, and his final grade was a B. Overall, my classes were teeming with students who couldn’t wait to do the next activity, who raised their hands desperately, who wanted more than anything in the world to be involved.

Were the two groups of students radically different? I don’t think so. It was the expectation that changed. I have found in my own personal experience that I resist low expectations. When someone dismisses me, assuming I have little to offer, little talent, or a low capacity for achievement, I get mad, and I want to prove them wrong. However, what I’ve realized as an adult is that these same people will see what they want to see. I cannot ever prove to them that I’m worth more than they expect. So I stop trying. At the same time, I find I want to be around people who expect a lot from me. Their high expectations mean a great deal, for I know that as I grow and gain in expertise, they will be there cheering me on, watching my progress, and raising their expectations as I raise my game.

Perhaps the saying is true: “You get what you expect.” My kids know I expect a lot, but they aren’t weighed down by my judgment (you don’t want them to think they can never measure up, for that won’t help them–that is actually a low expectation), and they act better as a result. They are better behaved kids because I expect them to be.

So, what are your expectations? What do you expect from others? What do they expect from you? Can you raise those sights a bit, push yourself farther?  

One of my loves in film stems from my love of other arts. I tend to gravitate naturally to films about art, music, and theatre. Yet I often find my interest flattened if the film is about a writer–mainly because so many films are about writers. I know the adage says to “write what you know,” but I don’t want to watch a film about someone as boring as I. The only exception I’ve found to this is Shakespeare in Love, for two reasons: 1. It was funny, and 2. It had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with Shakespeare’s life–at all. As such, I could suspend any sense that he was actually a writer and just enjoy the film as a film. Give me a film about an aspiring screenwriter, and I gag immediately–could a screenplay be anymore self-absorbed than that? Here, let me just write a play about a playwright–or a poem about a poet! GAG! BLECCCCHHH!

What I DO like watching, though, is films about music and art (and theatre). As a teenager, I remember going to see Amadeus, a film detailing Salieri’s view of Mozart, and remember being absolutely blown away, walking out of the theatre as if my legs were made of jelly. Magnificent film, I thought, the perfect blend of music and drama. I’ve seen the stage play since (and I prefer the film, with the changes Peter Shaffer made to it). My favorite parts remain places where the music reflected Mozart’s own personal struggles–with various loves, the struggles with his overbearing father, with his need for something magic when so much is going wrong–and his Requiem became the perfect backdrop for the ending of the film. 

But this is not the only such film. I also loved the treatment of Beethoven (one of my personal favorite composers, since I was very young) in Immortal Beloved. A unique treatment of the composer’s life, intended to explain many strange things about the man. And the music, again, creates the main interest, shows the passion, tells the story as much as the plot line does. 

Other films like The Agony and the Ecstasy and Lust for Life do the same for artists, in this case Michelangelo and Van Gogh, showing how much they fought with their talent and through their talent to make what they did come alive. Their stories, I find, make their art more apparent than it was to me before I watched the film. I find I appreciate the artwork for more as a result, even when I loved it already. A film on theatre that I loved–probably because when I saw it I was writing a full-length play about Othello’s wife Desdemona–is Stage Beauty. The Phantom of the Opera is also a personal favorite, for more reasons than I can count.

These are only a few. Do you have some favorites of your own?

It isn’t just Fruits Basket that inspires my blog today.  I’m starting to feel the pull of art on me. I’ve been writing pretty well for months, and I still have writing to do (once I finish a mound of reading–and this current class, I’m afraid). But the itch to take out my paints is building, and reading manga and children’s books tends to increase art’s calling effect on me.

The manga, by Natsuki Takaya, is brilliantly drawn. Some of the best graphic novel illustration I’ve seen, honestly. The story line… well, not sure about that yet… but the artwork keeps me going, in the same way it does with children’s books. My daughter is as drawn into a book by the art as she is by the story–no, perhaps more so–and looking at all the glorious illustrations in a children’s book slows down her reading, but obviously adds immeasurably to her enjoyment.

So, now, I’m wanting to paint stuff from my books. When I wrote my first novel, I painted a picture of the healer in it, still imprisoned in her stone grave marker. The painting was imperfect at best–after all, I don’t work on my art enough, and it has been 20 years since I participated in any semblance of an art class–but I loved my painting. Here’s the best photo of it I could manage: 

Even now, I want that painting–or a better version of it (one that I paint myself)–to be on the cover of it. And I want to paint the covers, at least, for all my books… and do the pen-and-ink drawings for the inside chapter headings, or at least four or five illustration pages. Nothing extensive, since they are YA novels, but a little, just to bring a little of my own impression of these characters and their situation.

And that brings me to books in general. Wouldn’t it be nice if more of them had illustrations? A really good illustration in a chapter that runs kind of long could keep me reading… especially if it showed something interesting that was going to happen near the end of the chapter. And illustrations placed sporadically through the book might motivate me, too, for I’d want to get to the scene that was depicted, to find out more about it than the caption itself revealed. 

I think graphic novels are getting it right. In an age when so many of us (like my hubby) are glued to the television set, it might take a bit of visual to bring us to reading. Think of how many reluctant readers would be more likely to read if they had something to help them move through a longer work. And why not mix two of the most amazing forms of expression: art and writing? Theatre does this, to some extent… movies less so (in my not-so-humble opinion)… but why wait for performance art to do it? And why restrict it to children’s books and graphic novels? Why not spend a little extra on the publishing side to make a novel easier to pick up, to make the reading experience richer? 

Just my take on things. Now I need to get out my watercolors and paint something for my Ark novel (as soon as I get all this reading and grading done!). 

I am reading a boatload of manga sent to me by my sister… although it sat in my spare room for over two months, I think, while I was working on my third novel. And it’s really enjoyable. In English, the series is called “Fruits Basket,” though the title fits the manga’s story about as much as if my book of ghost stories were called “Toilet Toppers.” Still, I’m loving the little bits of drama here and there. 

But now I have a problem. 

I just finished book 11 this morning–a little before 6 a.m. (I know, what the hell was I doing up before 6 reading?!?)… and I reached in the box for 12. And it wasn’t there. Now, my kids think the pictures on the manga are cute, and I know I’ve seen them playing in the box, and I know the book has to be here somewhere… But, WAAAAHHHH! I feel suddenly like one of the overly emotional manga characters! Where is volume 12? What am I supposed to do now? Tear the house apart? Look in every nook and cranny?

I’m sick with a cold, I have a huge list of things to do today… but I will still probably do just that. I have volumes 13-20 waiting for me, but I simply can’t make myself read them out of order. Everything has its order, its time for appearing, its place. I’m not anal retentive, but I’d just as soon read the first Harry Potter first, the second second, and so on, in order. Otherwise I’ll miss subtle changes in character relationships, details that would explain future events more, or add significance. 

I simply can’t go out of order. I’ve had to renew books at the library before, not because I didn’t have time to read them, but because the previous book–a book I’d placed on hold–hadn’t come in yet, and I didn’t want to read them out of order. 

I know the author intends for all of this to come out in a certain order. Skip the order, and, well, the book won’t be the same. It won’t be as the author intended it. And I’d rather see the books as the author wanted them to be seen.

Wish me luck! I’ll dig through the playroom if I have to! (And you haven’t seen the playroom!)

Now we come to my least favorite blog ever–taste. Not because I hate eating… but because I am touching upon the bad and the good. Now, taste has the luxury of naturally occurring in a story, mainly because everybody–except the stray robot or weird alien with unusual nutritional needs–everybody has to eat. One reason I will always have to focus on my eating (to keep from blowing up like a balloon animal) is because I can’t just give up eating entirely. So, your characters, as they go through their daily lives, have to eat. 

Why not use what they eat to make a statement? Make what they eat mean something. So today, instead of choosing foods or tastes I personally detest, and then saving the yummy stuff for tomorrow, I want to examine foods that can create meaning for your characters. 

1.  Foods they hate, but are forced to eat. Imagine having to dig into a large boiled onion (bleccchhh!) or a cup of boiled mushy turnips. Whatever food you choose, it should be something the eater detests: bugs, slimy meatloaf, cold eggs, some new, bloody-looking fruit on a strange planet, etc. Just make it hard to choke down, or make it clear turn the character’s stomach. If it makes them hurl–or want to–the drama only increases. And the person forcing them to eat it, for whatever reason (control, survival, etc.) becomes an automatic antagonist, even if that person is eventually intended as a love prospect. No one likes being forced to eat anything. As children, we were forced (most of us), and we still carry the scars.

2.  Traditionally non-food items. Does the strap tied in their mouth (while they are being kidnapped) taste like leather? Moldy fabric? Metal? What does the blood taste like from a victim bitten on the neck? Or when you taste your own blood after an accident? What about other non-food stuff, like boogers (hopefully only kids still do this), dirt, doggie biscuits, tree bark, grass. This one reminds me of Bear Grylls, the host of the show “Man Vs. Wild” on TLC or Discovery (can’t remember which). He’s dumped in some wasteland somewhere, and he has to find his way out, all the while eating bugs and drinking his own pee (yes, really). And it’s great because he describes each thing he eats. Some thing are pretty tasty–”just like chicken”–but others taste, according to Bear, like pus or equally disgusting stuff. Easy to imagine. wouldn’t want his job, though.

3.  Foods that are FABULOUS. I especially like this one when the characters have either had to go a long time without food, or had to eat crappy food for too long. My sister uses this in the novel she’s currently working on. The characters get to go from the ship’s provisions to fresh meat and produce on a planet’s surface–SOOO much better. But you can do something as simple as blueberry pancakes, a real home-cooked meal when all a person’s had is McDonald’s. You can also overuse the good foods. People can get sick of anything, believe it or not. Too much sweet stuff, especially, can be overdone enough that readers can gag, so be careful. 

Tap into your own memories. What foods held good memories for you as a kid? Which ones had bad memories? The boiled onions really happened to me, along with mac & cheese made with shards of onion, mince pie (can I get another BLECCCCHHH?), several vile medicines, and cauliflower. But I also had dreamy foods I still love, including some of the simplest things: cheese and crackers, fresh apples, homemade bread (hot from the oven, with butter and cinnamon and sugar), and hot apple cider.

What tastes affect you most? What memories from childhood still bring those tastes to mind?