Tag Archives: slice of life

The (Auto)Biographical Act of Story Telling

There is an adage used to help novice and beginning writers to “write what you know.” It is a helpful piece of advice to assist new writers to tap into personal experience to develop an emotional, spiritual, physical authenticity to their writing. It helps to frame the emotional resonance of story that makes a reader want to continue, tapping into the shared emotional journey we all face.

At some point a new writer needs to move beyond this adage and into the broader realms of imagination. Once you understand the emotional focus of the story you are telling, the characters take on a life of their own.

The emotional repertoire at your disposal is based on your own life experiences, stories you’ve heard, read or seen.

But at what point does the author separate herself/himself from the character of the story? How much of a character is a reflection of the author? What is deliberately included or excluded.

The answer to that is up to the individual author to decide. Some authors may make a character a thinly veiled version of themselves or a direct parody. It may even be an autobiographical version in a fictional universe.

For me it is the engagement with the character as presented on the page, their trials, tribulations and triumphs; engaging with the emotional core of who the character is and how I see myself within, or influenced by, the character.

Poetry is perhaps more problematic when using the first person pronoun as it is, I suspect, interpreted by the reader as the persona of the author. This may be true in some cases but what if it is not?

I posted this poem to Twitter recently and use the first person pronouns yet it is not autobiographical, nor is it based on the experience of another.

our intimacy is found 
in the peeling of a mandarin 
damaging the skin to eat 
the flesh inside 
uncertain of a bitterness 
or sweetness

It is drawn from my emotional repertoire, an understanding of human relationships. Is there a part of me in this poem? Perhaps. But it was not written from my perspective. You, as the reader, will not know my intention or purpose; you read the poem as it is and respond to it from your own experiences and perspectives.

Within the act of reading poetry I think we internalise the focus of the poem if it is written in first person, taking on a new perspective and seeing the world as presented through the poem. It is an intimate connection with a text separate from the persona presented or the author’s intent behind the construction.

All of this is academic meanderings, like searching through your underwear drawer for the odd sock to make a pair.

Do you read a story differently to a poem? Why?

What’s In A Pronoun?

The other day I scribbled this hastily worded poem onto twitter

She ties the night sky
loosely at her throat
a cape of stars trails behind
curls it around the boy
with the cape of sunshine
a gentle kiss

So far, so good.

However, it started differently.

The original line was “He ties the night sky/loosely at his throat”. To me it was reminiscent of children playing superheroes, tying an old towel or something similar around their throats as an impromptu cape (even if Edna Mole says, “No capes!”).

I was halfway through writing the poem, had an ending in sight, and I stopped myself and asked why I had used the masculine pronoun. On Twitter space is a premium and the inclusion of an extra letter could mean tighter editing in other places.

If I am writing poetry I will use pronouns in place of names for the sake of brevity and to give the persona a general facade for the reader to ascribe her/his own interpretation.

However, the masculine pronoun is not my default position; the content of the poem generally dictates my choice of gendered pronoun. Many of my stories focus on the feminine.

In this case, the use of the masculine pronoun was predicated by the content. Boys and capes are familiar tropes. The masculine is the dominant voice in our culture, to the exclusion of the feminine.

Therefore to change the pronoun is to change the emphasis of the narrative. 

There is nothing deep or meaningful on this poem but to change the pronoun order from masculine to feminine is to give agency and power, something our society needs to do more of.

Even in looking over the word choices in the poem as it currently stands, changes would affect meaning. If I used “man” instead of “boy” I alter the emphasis, the perception of the reading. Similarly, replace “boy” with “girl.” How would you read it now?

The written language is the best way we have to communicate, as inadequate as it some times. 

Are you conscious of the gender you ascribe to your work? How do you apply it?

The Texts of a New Generation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With a gentle nod to the advertising of the 80s and 90s in the title of this post I want to explore the idea that during your formative years, especially teens to early 20s, what you consume in terms of culture (music, film, tv, magazines etc) shapes your decision making processes and actions.

It was sparked by a story I read where the music and lyrics of the 70s, in particular Pink Floyd, David Bowie and the Ramones, shaped the zeitgeist of the culture and in turn shaped the decision making and perspective of the main character to the point when he had reached his late 30s that it was almost too late.

This sparked a brief twitter mind dump, collated here for your perusal, about what I watched, listened to, and consumed in my youth, that of the late 80s and early 90s. This in turn made me wonder what my girls (aged 10 and 8) are watching and listening to, and will be watching and listening to (right now my wife and I have influence and decision making over what they watch and listen to but in the years to come they will develop autonomy for their consumption of culture). 

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I am a child of the 80s and 90s, the last of Generation X. I grew up listening to thrash and speed metal, hard rock, U2. I watched Friends, Mad About You, early Simpsons, The Cosby Show, Family Ties, Seinfeld, X-Files, ET, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Terminator 2 and much more.

These are the cultural products I consumed and in turn have shaped my thinking and decision making. The catch cry of that period was a balance between Gordon Gecko’s mantra, “Greed is good” and the turbulent introspective narcissism of grunge, the highlighting of the individual as greater than the whole and you don’t need nothing but a good time (hair metal of the 80s/90s was priceless).

Where does that leave us now, in the throes of middle age, with children and a mortgage, and perhaps a sense of disillusionment? Have the promises of our youth been fulfilled or is it still a romantic notion that will never be? 

Every cultural touchstone has a family tree, a connection to the past from where it developed its departure point. We wouldn’t have South Park, Family Guy or American Dad if it wasn’t for The Simpsons. 

I see my students consuming the pop of Katy Perry, Rihanna, Kanye; the sexual mores of Sex and The City, Girls, Modern Family. Where will they be in their middle age after feasting on the values of modern pop culture?

Again, I’m not positing a particular point of view or have any clear answers (although there are no doubt cultural commentators and sociologists who study this and have better knowledge; I’m merely brainstorming).

Here’s the takeaway: be a critical consumer; think about the attitudes and values a text is communicating. Do you agree with it or not?

And for creative people, what does that mean for us in terms of what we create?

  • Are we supporting or subverting current values, attitudes and mores?
  • Are we condemning, critiquing or questioning the focus of our culture?
  • Are we aiming to improve or develop our culture, because, yes, art/film/literature has a point.
  • Are we creating for the present or for the future? This is an important question as I think our answers encompass both. We create for the now, a reflection on the where we are at with our thinking, and for the future as a marker of what we wish to become as artists.

No answers. More questions. A starting point for a conversation. Have at it in the comments. 

On Fear and Its Perception

“I write in order that I may travel with my soul into the places I fear and I may have a friend to share the journey.”

I wrote and posted this on Twitter the other day and very soon after clicking the “Tweet” button I questioned and doubted the validity and veracity of my statement.

I have written before about how I believe fear holds me back from exploring the creative life I want. The above statement is in contradiction to my manifesto and vision for why I write.

Or is it?

I have no clear answer; more a series of random reflections which may or may not lead to a clear answer. It’s like cleaning your glasses only to have them dirtier than when you started.

What follows is simply scraps of thoughts about what I wrote and differing perceptions of it. I am not sure I am right; nor am I sure I am wrong. I will contradict myself, provoke myself, push and question myself. And you can have your addition in the comments.

  • Writing is about exploring your own fears; the fears you have of yourself and of the facets of life you find frightening.
  • Fear is lacking an understanding of the unknown, the different, the obtuse, the unfathomable. To understand is to give a name to the fear; to know its place and its where it resides.
  • My reader is the companion on the journey. They travel with me through the words on the page. At some time in their life they may, or may not, have experienced the same fear.
  • What I write may bring comfort to know someone else has experienced the same fear; it may trigger a response; it may have no effect because the experience related in the story is not connected to their own life experiences.
  • The opposite of fear is… what? Hope? Vision? Clarity? Discipline?
  • The same chemical that is the basis for fear, adrenaline, is the same chemical that is the basis for excitement. Is fear the way our bodies tell us something new and exciting is about to happen?
  • Defining fear as it relates specifically to yourself is the first step. What am I afraid of? Is it personal fear, an internal dialogue, or an external fear of something random outside your control? Is there a topic or issue you do not want to explore because of the fear it generates for yourself or fearful of the consequences of exposing it?

So, no answers. Definitely more questions but I know where my thinking is leading me.

If I rewrote my tweet, I would explore another aspect of why I write, another permutation of thinking about creativity and its purposes.

“I write in order that I may travel with my soul into the places I seek to understand and I may have a friend to share the journey.”

“I write in order that I may travel with my soul into the places I find comfort in and I may have a friend to share the journey.”

“I write in order that I may travel with my soul into the places I want to light a flame of light and life and I may have a friend to share the journey.”

 

What would you say?

Finding The Flaws In Your Writing Practice

I have found a flaw in my writing.

More specifically, I have found a flaw in my writing practice. It is found in the word ‘practice’ because that is the specific aspect that I am NOT doing.

I watch artists Kathleen Jennings (@tanaudel), Terry Whidborne (@Tezzabold) and Eric Orchard (@Inkybat), post their samples and sketches on twitter, or works in progress. I love seeing the behind the scenes look at their art.

But it made me realise what I DON’T do. I don’t practice my writing. I don’t experiment with ideas, words, sentences, phrases, paragraphs, characters. 

I am NOT practicing.

You’ll have to excuse this hack for a moment because he learned something that you all probably already know. I’m hearing the chorus of, “Well, d’uh!” resonate, accompanied by a slow clap. 

I expect to turn up to the page of a current work in progress and produce words of reasonable quality in the initial drafts before tidying them up in revisions.

I’m surprised I didn’t cotton on to this earlier; as a drummer, practice is essential to becoming proficient (but then I don’t practice nearly enough in this area either). I’m a slow learner.

Some might argue that the act of writing the story, the initial phases of writing and editing is practice, and I would agree. However working on a specific project means your focus is on the established parameters. Practice for practice sake means you can attempt new perspectives or styles without the constraint of an existing work.

So, what can I do to improve? Here are a couple of practice strategies.

1. Morning Pages

Morning pages, the downloading of the mental jumble, is a good way to seek clarity and I know of authors who use it to find their focus and clarity before returning to their current WIP. 

2. Copying

Write out a passage from your favourite author. See how and why it works on the page.

3. Sketching

Another is to create sketches, like an artist practicing a certain pose or facial feature. Tumblr is funny for that; seeing artists strike odd poses for reference.

I want to take an idea from my notebook, or a line or poetry and write, free-association, or timed, or thematic, or stylistic.

And then I will leave it. Words without context. Sentences without a plot. Characters without a complication. They will be the equivalent of an artist’s sketches, the woodcarvings of the carpenter, the drills of the athlete, the rudiments and scales of the musician.

All methods have validity. You need to work out what helps your own writing. 

I am going to try Number 3 for a while, in the spare minutes here and there in the day and see how it goes. I will let you know how it goes.

What do you do for practice?

Why Do You Write? A Revision

Almost four years ago I wrote this post, The Reasons Why. It lead to Light My Way – A Creative Manifesto. It was first and foremost an exploration of why I write. It also examined why others write. 

This is my manifesto:

I write because I want to tell a story, but not just any story.

I write because I want to tell the story of those who are not heard.

I write because I want to tell the story of those who cannot speak.

I write because I want to tell the story of those who are disempowered.

I write because I want to tell the story for those who cannot.

I write because I believe that telling a person’s story is integral in understanding who they are.

I create art to speak into the darkness, that I may be a light for others to ignite their own flame and walk clearly.

The other night I was talking with my collaborator, Jodi, via Skype and she was discussing her social media sabbatical. Part of the sabbatical involved a three-week camping trip to the middle of nowhere in Central Queensland, without phone reception. It allowed her time to revisit the fundamental question of “Why do I write?” 

For her, the stripped back existence allowed her to return to what it was about writing that inspired and motivated her.

Every so often we need to pause where we are and revisit why we write and see if it still aligns with the vision we had. It may need a revision, a realignment, a reappraisal, a reworking.

If you’ve moved away from the core reason for writing, you’ve lost vision.

I returned to my creative manifesto and asked if these were still the reasons I wrote. I am pleased to respond in the affirmative. It’s a good check, perhaps once every six months or once a year, to reevaluate why you write to ensure you are aiming to produce the best work you can.

Why do you write? Have you made a revision of your purpose?

Sowing the Seeds of Creativity

In the Gospel of Matthew is the Parable of the Sower. A farmer goes out and sows the seeds for his future crops.

“Some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.” Chapter 13 Verses 5-8

If I may be so bold to appropriate the parable for another purpose, please follow me.

A frequently asked question of creative people, writers in particular, is “Where do you get your ideas from?” Each writer has their own response.

In truth, I don’t find it difficult to find ideas. I find them anywhere and everywhere.

What I do have difficulty with is knowing which ideas will grow and flourish. I carry around a notebook and pen wherever I go. Into it I record ideas, sentences, lines of poetry, fragments of thoughts, pictures. These are potential stories I want to write. These are my seeds.

Some ideas fall on the path. Some on the rocky ground. Some between the thorns and some fall on the good soil.

New Poems

Two new poem ideas planted. Must add compost.

Will these two ideas grow? I don’t know. I often refer to ‘composting stories;’ leaving stories on the pile and see what sprouts. Sometimes an idea will need more fertiliser, or removal or pruning if it gets too unmanageable.

In terms of ideas that become good stories, the yield (thirty, sixty or a hundred fold) is in the reader and her/his connection to it. 

Have ideas. Have many ideas. Have a notebook so full of ideas so you can give them to other people who need ideas.

But more importantly, plant seeds. To paraphrase (and appropriate) the Gospel of John (12:24), “Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it remains only seed. If it dies, it produces much seed.”

Tend the new shoots that come up; don’t leave your ideas neglected. Work on them; experiment with the idea, come back to it every so often and admire it.

Keep sowing.

Asking Permission

IN the light of yesterday’s blog post about Jodi’s mentor program, she followed it up with a post about the fear of asking: Maybe I Was Only Then Becoming.

It is a remarkable insight into the creative mind and what fear can do to you when you’re a creative person. She references Amanda Palmer’s book, The Art of Asking. After reading the blog post, and hearing Amanda’s remarkable TED Talk from a few years ago, I need a copy. I’ll be putting it on my Christmas list and asking Santa nicely.

I can attest to how fear can be debilitating. I have been too afraid.

Too afraid to say ‘Yes.’

Too afraid to try.

Too afraid to fail.

Too afraid to believe.

Too afraid to ask.

Too afraid…

When we fear to ask we stand still, only to watch our shadows grow.

Creative Boundaries

A comment made on one of my recent posts made me consider how I consider the idea of boundaries.

The theme of boundaries has been pushing my creative buttons… I have been thinking about all kinds of boundaries and barriers from the physical to the psychological and emotional. Are they a challenge to be met and breached, or a restriction to prevent us from moving on?

How do people define boundaries? The common thinking is, I believe, that boundaries are restrictive and a construction to keep people held in certain behaviours or status. In the words of Talking Heads, “Don’t fence me in.” Hence the need to express freedom, to rebel, to become an individual. Which makes me think of Monty Python.

“You’re all individuals,” says Brian.

“Yes, we’re all individuals,” parrots the crowd.

“I’m not,” says one intelligent individual.

Or in the epitome of 1950s rebellious expression, “Rebel Without A Cause.”

“What are you rebelling against?”

“What have you got?” says James Dean.

In regards to boundaries I’ve never thought of them as an either/or proposition. For me they are both a restriction and as a challenge to be met.

Boundaries act as a restriction, a defining marker point. Think of the fence that delineates your property from the neighbour’s. Therefore boundaries in this sense serve as a means of knowing the limitations and confinements of who we are. They provide a definition, a discipline, providing a sense of safety and comfort.

Boundaries also act as a challenge to be met. Once we understand why the boundaries are put in place, and how we operate within them, can we transgress or expand them. We can push the limits, positively and negatively, to expand on our own sense of self.

The creative person needs both sets of boundaries.

Boundaries are the ways we learn, learning and knowing the rules, history and traditions of our chosen creative field. Only then can the boundaries be transgressed, challenged and extended. 

The boundaries imposed upon us (physical, psychological, emotional, mental, spiritual) and the boundaries we impose upon ourselves are the topic for another post.

Boundaries define who we are, what characteristics we want to keep as permanent territorial markers in our lives and ones we want to challenge and extend.

In the words or Inigo Montoya, “Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”

1. Boundaries give us defined parameters when we first learn a creative art.

2. Those boundaries are a means of helping us learn and define our craft, to begin to excel at it, to find our voice.

3. When we are comfortable we can begin to push and extend the boundaries, comfortable in our sense of self and our art.

What are your thoughts? Are boundaries a help or a hindrance to your developing creativity?

Failure Is Always An Option

Why is failure a negative response?

Well, yes, failing attempts at flying, playing with power points, or gaining your friends’ attention with the exclamation, “Hey, check this out!” can have negative consequences resulting in death, bloody maiming or a great story to tell.

Failure is couched in terms of shame, of disappointment, of not being successful, of letting people down, of not living up to a set of standards, morals or values. To fail, therefore, is to be less than, to be inferior, to be forgettable and forgotten. 

So when it comes to beginning a creative project, or learning a new creative art, skill or craft, we are programmed to think of our early efforts as failures. They do not meet up to our expectations of what it should be (and yes, there is a disconnect between what we create and produce, and the expectations we have set for ourselves in the production of our work but that’s another blog post). 

But as creative people, failure should not be considered a negative response to a project.

Failure does not define who we are as creative people.

Failure is not a measure of our worth.

Failure is a part of the creative learning process.

Every creative project we start is an experiment. It may or may not work. But that’s the beauty. When I am beginning a new story I am unsure if it will work. I write the first draft, let it sit, return to it and look for what needs to be improved (often, a lot of things). Whether it’s point of view, too florid in expression, characterisation or character development, dialogue or imagery.

A recent idea in its genesis. Pure unadulterated nonsense.

A recent idea taken from my notebook in its genesis of pure unadulterated nonsense. It’s all part of the failure.

Don’t be afraid to put in the hours of practice required. I think it’s where a lot of fledgling creatives stumble. They want the accolades but haven’t put in the necessary hours. The Mythbusters make it a part of their show: failure is always an option. It shows you one way it didn’t work. Repeat the experiment until you find the solution.

I love seeing Kathleen Jennings (@tanaudel) put up images of her sketch books, her practice pages, on twitter. She sits in public transport terminals, shopping centres, food courts and sketches people. Please check out her awesome work via her blog: Tanaudel.

I am very grateful for her permission to reproduce one of her images. I love how the colour frames a distinct individual. She had this to say about her process.

“They are part of my practice. I’m fairly timid drawing naturally. So I made myself use markers, limited colours, and draw people as they walked past. It made me commit, be bold, be confident and develop a visual shorthand.”

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(c) Kathleen Jennings @tanaudel Used with permission.

Practice. Practice. Practice. 

I know I have not spent enough time behind my drum kit practicing rudiments, beats, fills. I have not practiced enough. The same applies to my writing; I need to spend more time with pen and paper scratching out paragraphs, lines, half sentences.

I have many documents of half started stories, poems, scripts and the like sitting on my computer hard drive as well as in multiple notebooks. This is the practice time spent conditioning my mind and perspective like an athlete to achieve the goals I have set.

Practice is repetitive. 

Practice is boring.

Practice develops a discipline.

Practice is extending the boundaries of your skills, extending the place of your tent (to borrow a biblical phrase).

And, yes, there will be failures. Days when you feel like you’ve been given a fork to eat a bowl of clear soup. Days when you feel like there’s a hole in your shoe (and it’s raining), sit in gum, forget your lunch and suffer the ignominy of a nasty paper cut.

This is failure. And it sucks. 

Keep practicing.

Write a paragraph a day. Sketch on the back of a shopping receipt. Doodle in the margin of the newspaper. Practice rudiments or scales for 5 minutes a day.

Keep failing.

Failure is always an option because it is a learning opportunity. Failure is necessary to grow and develop in our chosen creative field.

The path behind you is not littered with the carcasses of failed projects but the evidence that you have trained and practiced.