Unlearn

January 29, 2012 · 0 comments

“If you’re interested in deepening your creative practice…then I suggest you sometimes forget about learning more.  Let go of the learning.  Unremember and unlearn. It’s not easy, but it’s worthwhile approaching your story with the eyes and ears of a child…”

To read more, click here.

This week, I’m sending you over to the website of Ramon Kubicek, a writer who’s been teaching Creative Writing for decades.  He’s saying, ‘Forget everything I’ve ever said!”

In the run-up to the launch of my eBook, “Story Structure to Die for”, I can’t think of better advice.  Whether you’re deep into a novel or journaling your way through winter…take a break!  Reclaim your “beginner’s mind”. 

Kubicek is paid to familiarize students with the fictional fact of life, but he realizes that a writer also needs freedom from the tyranny of knowledge.

To “finally say and write what you really want.”

Read Kubicek here.

 

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Heartspotting

January 21, 2012 · 4 comments

Do you play “Heartspotting”? 

Just this morning, I scored big—on page 203 of “South of the Border, West of the Sun” by Haruki Murakami:

For a moment or two, my sense of self really did break down, its very outlines melting away into a thick, syrupy goo. 

There it is—protagonist hits rock bottom.  Doesn’t even know who he is, anymore.  You can’t sink lower than that.  Nothing’s going to be the same from here forward.  This scene isn’t just the heart of a story, it’s…

WHY WE READ.

Heartspotters usually have to work harder than that to find this all-important plot point.  But Murakami makes it easy:

I was drained, completely, leaving an empty shell behind.  A hollow sound reverberated through my body… For several days afterward, I couldn’t speak.  I’d open my mouth to talk, but the words would disappear…

We’re looking for the protagonist to fail at the superficial level.  What’s a story without a hero forced to go deep?  Audiences expect this moment.  We’re playing Heartspotting without being aware of it, because hearts are where stories nourish us.

Have you ever felt, “Well, that’s all the stories I need for a while.”?  No one says that.  Stories are no less a part of our lives than eating.  We are nourished by the heroics that go on at the Story Heart.  

By heroics, I don’t mean saving damsels in distress.  I mean having the courage to suffer that existential void.  We don’t know it at the time, but this is the human organizm’s Rx for growing up. 

Color returned to the world, and I no longer had the helpless feeling that I was walking on the surface of the moon… I could detect a minute shift in gravity and a gradual sloughing off of something that had clung to me.  Something inside me was severed, and disappeared.  Silently.  Forever.

In real life we don’t generally volunteer ourselves for personal annihilation, so we do it vicariously through fiction.  Instinctively, we know when a story is providing our fix, or not.  As we read novels and watch movies, we’re anticipating the story heart, and when it’s missing, we want our money back.

We all play Heartspotting, whether we know it or not.

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Ouch! Melodrama. Damn.

January 8, 2012 · 1 comment

My eBook is late.  My apologies.  I’m simplifying the thesis.  Some days it seems ridiculously simple, and on other days blindingly obtuse, so bear with me.  Meanwhile, here’s the book’s “Introduction”.

A few years ago, nothing stood between me and my Hollywood career except Jack Lemmon and Eva Marie Saint.

My screenplay had worked its way through 4000+ scripts from around the world to emerge as one of eight finalists in the prestigious Nicholl Screenwriting Fellowships in Los Angeles.  I was ready for the Major Leagues.  Then, one of those illustrious Academy judges nixed it, saying that my Act III “devolved into melodrama.”

Ouch!  Melodrama.  Damn.  My Oscar®!  I watched it slip from my fingers and vanish into a chasm.

What is melodrama, anyway?  Yes, it’s a lousy ending.  It sucks.  But how and why?  I spent years in search of the answer to that question.  I’ve spent my entire writing life studying “story” so it won’t happen again.  And I did, I’m here to tell you that I discovered why fiction flops.  And more importantly I discovered…

How fiction works.

Back then, just starting out, what did I know?  Not much.  Only everything the writing manuals taught me.  Years went by and I began to recognize (obvious in every good movie and novel I studied) the basic building blocks of every good story.  It was so simple, yet awesome:

A story is actually 2-STORIES.

Splitting the story (at the risk of being melodramatic) was a DEATH.  Bodily death perhaps, but psychic death definitely.  In every satisfying movie I watched, characters were forced to confront the utter folly of their lives.

Protagonists, it seemed, had to “die” to the past.

I had presumed to write fiction without knowing this.  The hero’s belief systems have to suffer an 8.2 on the Richter scale.  I’m talking about total collapse.  I hadn’t understood that our personal civilizations are meant to crumble.  We are meant to fail on the way to resurrection.  It’s in the human design.

Without knowing that, without knowing how the organizm works, and loving my characters all the better for it, I had thought I could write an award-winning script.  I was destined to be found out.

The book is organized into THREE PARTS:

  • First, we get friendly with the concept of a story reduced to its simplest terms—as 2-STORIES.
  • Second, we go spelunking into the chasm between the two—into the HEART OF THE STORY.
  • Thirdly, in light of the above, I redefine WHAT MAKES A HERO.  I mean, what really makes a hero.

This short book is intended to provide a simple but radical overview of “story”.  It’s the bird’s eye view that allowed me, finally, to know, and then to love, my characters all the way to a true (non-melodramatic) ending.

I dedicate this manifesto to Jack Lemmon and Eva Marie Saint.

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