Posts by John J Kelley
Dinosaur, by Iván Argote – New York, NY
Maybe it’s something about autumn that leads me to flights of rhetorical fancy. It is, after all, my spiritual springtime. Even as a child in Florida, the first chilled breezes free of humidity awakened something, like a breath sweeping in from the horizon, ushering in the promise of change. I mention this because in preparing this post I at one point sought out one from the past. Sure enough I found it, planted in November 2021. Drawing from a similar vein, today’s post isn’t so much about craft as it is inspiration, possibly even hope. Because heaven knows we need that now. This is my gentle nudge to look beyond the uncertainty hanging over us, and to instead focus on our purpose.
My message is simple, a phrase we’ve heard our whole lives but discount far too often – Keep your eye on the prize.
So, let’s get to it, shall we?
Wild Cards and Wise Words
This summer I stumbled upon a wonderful new podcast. NPR describes Wild Card as “part-interview, part-existential game show.” I call it fascinating. Rachel Martin is a talented host with a gift for conversational exploration. And the team behind the show has done an amazing job finding individuals from a variety of creative backgrounds to delve into topics that strike resonating chords in a fresh, inviting way.
The concept is intriguing. Martin engages guests via a series of card options, each with open-ended questions intended to spur discussion on, well, whatever comes to mind. The questions themselves touch upon memory, belief, life lessons. Past questions have included the following:
Last week’s guest was Erykah Badu, a singer songwriter some call “the Queen of Neo-soul.” Badu’s music combines elements of jazz, soul and pop, delivered with a voice reminiscent of Billie Holiday (though she is quick to point out that many artists influence her). Embarrassingly, until the podcast I had never heard of Badu. But her response to one question made me take instant notice. Badu was asked, “Is there anything you long for?”
This was her response: “Yes. I want to get my best work out of me, because it’s still in me. And I feel it. And something in me can’t let it go yet. I long for that moment that I’m able to let that go and give it to the world.”
Wow! Talk about cutting to the chase. I had my own driveway moment evaluating my own life choices. And you know what? It felt wonderful. Because for the first time in weeks, I was swimming in my world instead of tussling against currents beyond my control. That realization was my spark for today.
How does one get back to what truly matters? How do we rediscover the things we love and the things that motivate us, both creatively and personally?
Make an Honest Assessment
One lesson from my life, which I have to relearn on occasion (and my answer to another Wild Card […]
Read More
Maybe, just maybe, the inspirations for my WU posts are at times a little too on the nose. I mean, who would have thought that four years after a global pandemic, three years after an assault on the US Capitol, and mere weeks following the felony conviction of a former President, a subsequent assassination attempt on his life and the unprecedented departure of the sitting President from his reelection bid would prompt me to consider the unraveling of social order and how it is depicted in fiction? Really, what are the chances? Yet here I am contemplating all of that, synthesizing it in my writerly brain, and offering it up for consideration by the WU community. As obvious as the topic may be, I chose to stick with it for one simple reason. I can’t imagine a better time, given that understanding human nature and its tribal rhythms is such a driving force behind fiction, to explore how best to convey the collapse of a story world, be it on a global or an intimate scale. So, let’s dive in, shall we?
My first thought on the topic is merely an observation – Make note of how you feel about recent events. As writers, we possess an innate ability to draw upon personal experience to breathe life into our tales. Emotions from real experiences inform fictional scenes all the time. This bewildering moment in time is no exception. Whatever you may be feeling – rage, frustration, melancholy, paralysis – are precisely the emotions with which your characters will grapple while navigating the rapid demise of their world. Own it, absorb it, and remember it – the feelings will be useful someday on a future project, if not your current work in progress.
Beyond that, I offer the following ideas on capturing the disintegration of social order in fiction:
Stand the Dominoes Carefully
If you’ve set out to craft an apocalyptic tale, this may seem obvious. But it’s worth noting for stories operating on a smaller scale as well. A reader needs touchstones in your story world to which they can relate – authorities, cultural entities, buildings, symbols. As your story opens, introduce them and underscore, subtly, their importance to the normal order. Perhaps a young protagonist is preparing for a coming-of-age ritual, religious or social. Perhaps a secondary character works for the government, holds financial power, or maintains civic infrastructure. A church, courthouse or town square may occupy a prominent place in the community. Introduce these elements early and weave them into your opening act, laying the foundation of what normality looks like for your cast of characters.
In the novel All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr introduces the reader to the Muséum national d’Historie naturelle in Paris in the opening pages. The father of the young blind protagonist, Marie, is a locksmith employed at the institution, which houses a rare gem that plays an essential role throughout the tale. The grandeur of the museum is evident in her reverent descriptions. Later, as German forces approach the city, Marie senses but fails to appreciate furtive preparations underway to remove and conceal its priceless natural objects. When the city is eventually overrun, she sits alone inside the locksmith office, awaiting her father. She feels […]
Read More
One of the kindest reviews I ever received on my writing was from a reader who said I had the gift of crafting stories within stories. The compliment gave me goosebumps, for it acknowledged a skill I hadn’t set out to master. Later, when an opportunity arose for me to ask what prompted the observation, the reviewer highlighted two examples. Both centered around a main character revealing an aspect of their lives to another character – the first sharing a family history, and the second opening up about a painful emotional wound.
At the time I pondered why those moments, introduced in dialogue, had left an impression. Both scenes had come naturally; the kind you picture clearly and transcribe to the page with minimal angst or later revision. And ever since, I have a heightened awareness when during written works or visual performances a character comes to the fore to share their own story. These are not soliloquies, which fell out of favor long ago, even on stage. But perhaps they serve a similar purpose, an opportunity to shine a light upon a single character as they speak their truth or define themselves in their own words, outside the established structure and rhythms of the narrative. Spoken aloud, in the character’s own voice, these stories within stories can create ripples in the primary storyline.
Clearly the idea captivates me, but it seems rarely studied as a technique like other aspects of writing craft. For that reason, I thought it might be a worthy exploration with my writing family, all of you at WU. To kick things off, here are a few of my thoughts on the power that can come from moments when you allow a character to steal the microphone for a few pages.
A Compelling Approach to Backstory
We have all seen the movie or read the tale – there are so many from which to choose – set in a dystopian future or a dilapidated boom town. Invariably, at some point the explanation comes, the why behind the collapse of what had once held such majesty. It’s the backstory dilemma writers strive to handle well, how to inform without dragging down the present action. Movies may get away with an introductory narration, a literal data dump of how to receive page one – “long ago, in a galaxy far, far away ….” You get the picture.
But contemporary novels are trickier. Some writers are skilled at employing internal monologues. I have used them myself, and sometimes they manage to escape the dreaded “gazing into the mirror” phenomenon. But even when handled with aplomb, they can become repetitive. If every new character spends a few minutes musing about their current predicament, or their past, tales will all too often land in a reader’s “maybe later” pile, if they get published at all.
That dynamic can change if, when the proper time arrives, the past comes alive through the eyes of a character. An elderly woman eking out an existence on a failing farm telling a beloved granddaughter about her own nuptials decades earlier, a longing evident in her voice, can provide a window to the past. The details she shares of that special day – the wine, the music, her mother’s blessing – all […]
Read More
I had an epiphany while attending the WU UnCon earlier this month. Actually, it was more of a breakthrough; I just don’t want to frighten my skittish muse.
My journey to Salem was one of excitement tinged with trepidation. Aside from a few short stories, my writing vein has run dry as of late. I considered but decided against bringing notes on the novel I abandoned a year ago. The pages felt more like an anchor than a springboard. Yet, to my surprise, during an exercise in Susan DeFrietas’s session on “Honing Your (Character’s) Voice,” the words flowed with ease. The scene was brief, under a page, later distilled into two paragraphs. But the thrust was instant, as if my characters had been sitting in the dark, waiting for me to return and switch on the light. They were eager to engage.
I’ve been pondering the occasion since my return home. How could a story I felt had withered on the vine spring back so quickly? After all, the reasons I set it aside remain – the political world in which it was set has changed; the circumstances of the characters no longer fit. As I once said to a friend, I had begun to feel my contemporary novel was instead a historical anecdote, or a fantasy. That wasn’t at all what I had envisioned when I had started, and so I lost the thread.
But here is the thing I realized in Salem. What I had not lost was the theme that first drew me to it. The ideas that underpin the story haven’t changed. I still feel them, and writerly me still wants to explore them. I still want to see what this group of characters has to say about life in these troubled times.
And that leads me to my post today, a query with which I hope you can help – How do story themes fit into modern fiction?
Let’s begin with the basics.
What is Theme?
The minds at MasterClass describe theme as follows:
“A literary theme is the main idea or underlying meaning a writer explores in a novel, short story, or other literary work. The theme of a story can be conveyed using characters, setting, dialogue, plot, or a combination of all these elements.”
I like this definition because it acknowledges the exploratory nature of storytelling. Even the most ardent plotter, in my view, doesn’t know the full nature of their work in progress until they are in the thick of it. They may have guideposts and a sense of direction, but ideas bubble to the surface on the way to the climax.
Perhaps their protagonist is a detective who always works alone but is forced to partner with a psychologist to track down the troubled teen son of a prominent businesswoman who has run off with his drug supplier. As the stakes climb, issues such as trust and abandonment are bound to arise. By the third draft, the writer may find their stoic detective of two prior books suddenly facing his own demons, coming to terms with the devastating betrayal that created the hardened man he is today. The idea […]
Read More
This past weekend I did something unusual, at least for me. Though given the blockbuster audience numbers, it was a rather typical decision. That is, I saw both Barbie and Oppenheimer on the big screen, diving headfirst into the summer cultural phenomenon known as Barbenheimer.
I don’t quite know what possessed me. It has been years, certainly pre-pandemic, since I attended an opening weekend premier, much less two. It may have been the surreal opposites the two projects represent. Perhaps the memes drew me in, or the appeal of a cool, dark cinema on a blistering summer day. Or maybe it was simply the call of story, the promise of two fresh visions to pique my interest and awaken my senses.
And wow, did they deliver! From the explosion of color in Barbie to the heart-shattering explosion at the center of Oppenheimer, both were the culmination of bold visions brilliantly executed. The films captivated, cajoled, and touched me, leaving my emotions a maelstrom in their wake. Shakespearean scholars would be pleased at the catharsis I experienced.
But here’s the thing. For all the massive sets, sweeping vistas, splashy dance numbers, and stellar casts, it was – as it always is – the root stories that transformed both from interesting premises to works of art.
In the days since, I’ve been pondering just why the writing touched me so. It wasn’t the plots. They were fine, of course, hitting all the marks. Oppenheimer had a few twists and a slow burn culminating in a searing finale. Barbie was satisfying too, though a bit predictable. Yet I was still moved from laughter to tears by the end. So, what was it? What sparked the magic?
The more I reflected, a key similarity between these two seemingly incompatible endeavors jumped out. In both cases, writers found the broader stories swirling around the main plot line – crucial cultural, social, and political currents – and employed them to shape not only events within the tale but also the emotional life of the characters. The alchemy was how they so deftly integrated these elements that they became indispensable to the tale.
How did they do it, and what lessons can we learn to elevate our own tales? Let’s take a peek at how both incorporated the larger story swirling around the main plot.
<spoiler warning – please do not proceed if you have a movie date on the near horizon>
Embedding the Big Issue within the Protagonist’s Journey
Oppenheimer anchors its epic story with a quote from Hindu scripture that the scientist once used himself when reflecting upon his dubious achievement – “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” The line is spoken twice, once in a scene of personal passion and again at the moment civilization changes forever. And while the story winds in many directions, brimming with plots, subplots and more than a little subterfuge, the heart of Oppenheimer the man is weighted with the burden reflected in the evocative meditation. For it was his vision, intellect and leadership that birthed the nuclear age that shapes our modern world and yet might still destroy it; and he carries that burden with him. It struck me afterward that the story structure is like a distorted mirror. The events […]
Read More
Perhaps love is in the air. Or maybe it’s a rush to reclaim control as a new normal gradually emerges from the global pandemic. Whatever the reason, my partner and I have, after a lengthy gap, been invited to not one, but three weddings. And these are not modest gatherings either, but true destination weddings in exotic locales, the kind you see in movies. They will not be rushed potluck affairs held in the backyard of a distant cousin (not that those can’t be lovely too).
With a bit of budgetary juggling, we plan to attend them all. It is, after all, a blessing to celebrate with loved ones. It’s also an opportunity to meet new people and explore distant lands. As the first approaches, I’ve found myself pondering the whole endeavor. I think of the planning that goes into such events and the stresses that accompany even joyful occasions. Lately I’ve also been dissecting the ways “big events” fit into some of my favorite stories, and my own writings. I now notice when they appear in shows, noting how such scenes alter the narrative, even when tangential to primary or even secondary plotlines. Events like weddings, holidays, reunions, retirements, and funerals are a part of life and so it is only natural they should appear in our tales. Some may appear in your work in progress right now.
If there isn’t one, I am not advocating you plop a random celebration into your story. In a publishing world that demands killing your darlings, I would never suggest adding filler. Then again, entire libraries could be devoted only to stories centered around life’s festivities. Jane Austen novels might well be reduced to a stream of letters and diary entries if not for village balls and the occasional nuptials. These days, Hallmark devotes an entire season to stories of offspring returning home or flung to the wilds for some sugary holiday confection and ultimate enlightenment. People gobble them up like cookies, as do I.
But that is not what I’m talking about today. Instead, my premise is simple – it may prove wise to give extra scrutiny to milestone events already present in your narrative, for such occasions provide fertile ground to strengthen your story.
Let’s explore a few avenues for kicking your writing up a notch when it comes to the “big event” in your tale.
Revealing Character
Nothing highlights character more than an unrelenting spotlight. An event in your story can serve that purpose. Perhaps your shy protagonist is corralled into giving a speech at a milestone birthday of an aging parent, the one with which he’s never seen eye to eye. Perhaps your hero is marrying, and all eyes will be on her regardless of how much she prefers the shadows. Scenes like these provide an opportunity to delve into your characters, exploring their motivations and deepest fears. Chance encounters at events can also provide a natural entry point for crucial backstory, evoking past heartbreaks, unrequited loves, or long-simmering rivalries. Use the unique situation to help readers understand idiosyncrasies in your character’s personality, uncovering the roots of their sagging confidence or the source of their unvanquished optimism.
Think of the event as a fresh stage set, filled with new and possibly one-off […]
Read More
Image by Hands off my tags! Michael Gaida from Pixabay
They say you never forget how to bicycle, and that may be true. But when it comes to writing, my experience is more like snow skiing. You see, I grew up in Florida. And though my family occasionally ventured north in a tiny camper, I never truly experienced snowfall until attending university in Virginia. I didn’t learn to ski until the age of 25, when I took lessons on a large Ohio hill that would never be mistaken for a mountain. Despite my late start, I took to it. Within a couple of years, I was gliding down black diamond trails at legitimate resorts, ones people know by name. Still, skiing never became second nature. I had to think about it, a lesson that came crashing down upon me, and along with me, when I returned to the slopes one fateful winter morning some years later. Putting it gently, skiing is not like bicycling, at least not for me.
What does this have to do with writing? Well, it is my roundabout confession that today’s post may not be for everyone. There are those in the WU community who have long mastered the essential elements of a compelling tale, who can spin gold out of a mere suggestion of an inkling of a story. There are those with copious talents, who can and do teach entire courses on intricate details of the writing craft.
But most of us, and perhaps some of them, occasionally need reminders. When tackling a complex tale or a theme charged with emotion, we may need a refresher. Sometimes we freeze up, wondering what to do with all those words in our heads and a blank screen before us. Conversely, we may find ourselves reveling in our masterful world building and intricate plotting until, quite abruptly, we find ourselves lost, having no clue as to where our story is going. What do we do then? Where do we begin, or begin again?
My inspiration this morning is simply to offer a boost over that first mogul or a dusting off from a tumble into the brambles, getting you upright and moving again. For those who need it, that is. Everyone else can have another cup of cocoa and glide back into your soaring narrative … but maybe pin it in case you should need it later.
For the rest of us, let’s together perch upon the proverbial bunny hill and chat briefly about a basic element of a story – the character arc.
The Opening Image
Given the looming deadline, I couldn’t count them all. But upon asking trusty Google, it appears approximately 10,000 charts exist online, give or take a few thousand, depicting the character arc. As one might expect, the images typically contain an arch, either a full rainbow or climbing one. Occasionally, when referencing tragedies, they’ll curve downward to emphasize the sad decline of a once-promising hero. The text for the image typically references three broad segments — the opening third, the middle section, and a final segment which gently flattens aloft, returns to earth, or plummets below grade. The three […]
Read More
Planet Word Museum, housed in the historic Franklin School of Washington, DC – Spring 2022
Some days we need a little inspiration. And, truth be told, sometimes we need a lot.
The current times fall into the latter, at least for me and likely for many of you as well. But when individuals and families a continent away are calling out for food, shelter and salvation during a brutal new war, it can feel selfish to seek amusement or simple joys. And even when we do, it can be hard to immerse yourself, to truly benefit from the experience.
Fortunately, I recently stumbled upon a magical place in downtown DC that somehow evaded my stifling instincts. That place is Planet Word, an innovative DC museum on a mission to nurture a love of words, language and reading. My visit there proved a worthy diversion, reawakening a sense of childhood wonder. The concept and execution so impressed me that I immediately wanted to share it with you all, my writing clan. So please sit back and allow me to take you on a virtual visit to the nation’s first and only museum devoted to the power of words.
An Innovative Museum in a Historic Setting
Planet Word feels special from the moment you enter the grounds. An eye-catching canopy sculpture reminiscent of a weeping willow greets you – literally – as you amble through the courtyard to the main entrance. Contemporary artist Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s aptly named Speaking Willow consists of dozens of dazzling concave speakers dangling from artificial branches, each lighting up while voicing a song, saying or poem in one of over 400 languages when activated by motion below. The small gathering on the morning of my visit provoked quite the cacophony as we passed beneath it, as if we had disturbed a flock of slumbering birds. The effect is hypnotic, nudging visitors to open their ears and their minds before stepping inside.
Read More
Our world is in turmoil, and not simply because a seemingly unending pandemic just pulled another arrow from its quiver. For as unrelenting as Covid has been, a more insidious contagion spreads among us, one that bruises the heart and drains the spirit. It is the scourge of falsehoods, an onslaught of lies and deceptions that hits like a tsunami, ripping away at foundations that once seemed impenetrable.
Some people have the strength to soldier on, brushing off the debris, never straying from their mission. I used to think I was one of them – and sometimes I am – but I have found it a steep climb as of late. A recent spike in book banning fervor, highlighted by egregious moves in both the Texas legislature and at a recent Virginia school board meeting, hit me particular hard. For this reason, I am diverting from discussing craft today to return to a simple truth, one I have been needing to hear. Perhaps some of you need to hear it too.
Our words matter.
Our stories hold truth.
Honest stories convey great power.
Times of profound mistrust are when people most need to hear the truth, your truth. What can you do, both as an individual and as part of a larger writing tribe, to silence the din of anger and deceit and plant seeds of growth instead?
Here are a few ideas:
Here is the thing you need to understand about this post – It is not a recipe for perfecting the meet-cute scene of a new romantic comedy, at least not exactly. Simply ask Google to find dozens of suggestions for tackling that particular knot, which makes for a good writing exercise even if not your usual cup of tea. But, no, today my inspiration derives from something much simpler – an admiration I have long held for writers of stage, screen and print, across a wide range of genres, who manage to craft indelible moments when characters engage each other for the first time. Such interactions, handled deftly, add intrigue, tension and occasionally, as with the aforementioned rom-com hook, even humor to a tale. They also offer opportunities to develop character and to underscore core themes of your story.
Wow! That is some heavy lifting for what typically starts out as a checklist item while laying out a plot – Protagonist meets new boss, future father-in-law, child’s teacher, man who later tries to kill her, etc. But if such encounters are necessary on the page, shouldn’t we make the most of them to advance the story in ways beyond the perfunctory? Why, of course we should! But how exactly? What techniques can we employ to craft first encounter scenes that stick the landing, so to speak, drawing the reader into the tale on a deeper level. I may not have all the answers, for this is a skill I have yet to master. But I do have some thoughts, and a few tips to get the wheels turning. So let’s dive right in.
Read More
A few weeks ago, coinciding with the anniversary of the World Health Organization’s declaration of a global pandemic, several newspapers published accounts on the early days of the crisis as drawn from the lives of everyday Americans. Essentially the reports were a contemporary take on a person-on-the-street story focused on a singular question – What was the moment you realized your world had changed as a result of Covid-19?
I approached the articles with a tinge of curiosity and, not surprisingly, with a writer’s eye. I knew my own experience, of course. In the months since, I have recounted to friends the surreal visit to see my Mom in Florida, which happened to coincide with the week everything began to shut down, including ultimately her assisted living facility. I recall feeling lucky to be in her company during those last days of seeming normalcy, even while waking to the fact that we had no idea when it might be safe to return. Only later did my partner and I acknowledge our shared yet unspoken fear at the time, that perhaps we had already been exposed and might have unknowingly brought illness with us (fortunately we had not). Saying our goodbyes was especially hard, one of those times you see the fragility of life, deeply and starkly.
Reading the recent articles reawakened those feelings. The anecdotes recounted were often simple – an exhausted nurse sitting in her car, knowing the long shift she had just completed was merely a precursor of what was to come; a worried parent in their new “remote office,” fretting over how they could possibly manage their children’s online schooling when they could barely master a Zoom meeting; a grocery clerk receiving a mask and safety briefing from their store manager for the first time. But the emotions they shared were complex and compelling, genuine expressions of the anxiety we all felt to one degree or another this past year.
All of which has left me pondering how moments of profound change for characters are captured in stories. When do those scenes work, elevating the narrative? And perhaps just as important, what causes them sometimes to fall short? Admittedly I have only begun to scratch the surface of what could be a lengthy course of study. But I have a few opening thoughts, which may stir your own instincts. So, let’s dive right in, shall we?
Read More
I have always been a visual writer. When formulating a scene, I have to envision each moment in exacting detail. As such, a good deal of my editing process involves scaling back, sharpening key images and finding short cuts to capture the feel of a moment with fewer words. Even so, I strive not to strip away all of my cinematic leanings. For me the set pieces of a scene are often as vital as crafting dialog, advancing plot points, or even developing character. For this reason, I am drawn to novelists who paint engaging worlds, those with a talent for evoking not only a sweeping backdrop for their stories but also details to bring their imagined settings to life. I revel in imagining the furnishings of an imposing home at the center of a family drama, or visualizing the mountain forest above a protagonist’s homestead, or learning of the businesses that line the main street of a fictional community. Unsurprisingly, given my interest in such matters, I am similarly drawn to stories on film which do the same.
My latest obsession in the latter realm is the surprise Netflix hit The Queen’s Gambit, which has taken the world by storm. In a production environment increasingly reliant on overly complex, multi-dimensional storylines, producer Allan Scott and writer / director Scott Frank have released a straight-forward narrative, trusting that a single compelling through-line of a tale is all that is needed to hold the attention of a modern audience.
They were right! Beth Harmon, the young chess prodigy protagonist, captivates from the start. Her meteoric rise to the top echelon of the chess world while struggling with the demons of a traumatic childhood provides more than enough dramatic tension to propel the seven-episode arc to a thoroughly satisfying conclusion. But while many ingredients contribute to the show’s success, including top-notch acting from a talented cast, what stands out for me is the clear devotion given to ensure that each scene was stage-crafted to perfection, with every component – from lighting to color tone to camera movement – designed to reinforce the mood of the moment and underscore the emotional forces at work.
You may ask: “What does any of this have to do with writing?” After all, most writers have no training in set design or cinematography; and a novel is literally a black-and-white medium. There is no musical score, nor a smidgen of live action to be found.
I would argue that writers should absolutely evaluate their stories from a cinematic perspective. For while motion pictures are clearly a different format, the best written works are undeniably visual in nature. Indeed, the magic of writing is the intricate dance by which an author provides just enough imagery to allow a reader to flesh out an entire world, and then to place themselves in the midst of the described action. It is this alchemy which triggers an emotional response, thereby expanding the consciousness of the reader.
Thus, the question in my opinion is not whether a writer should strive to inject more stagecraft into their scenes, but how to do so. How does one elevate visual […]
Read More
Image by Andreas Lischka from Pixabay
The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off” – Gloria Steinem
Novelist Barbara Kingsolver wrote her debut novel, The Bean Trees, while pregnant and suffering from insomnia. Not only that, she scribbled away at the draft inside a closet so as not to wake her sleeping husband. Jean-Dominique Bauby, author of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, suffered a massive stroke which left him paralyzed. Yet he managed to complete his novel by blinking to an assistant as she repeated the alphabet over and over again, only to pass away two days before its publication.
For the record, I haven’t sacrificed for my craft like Barbara and Jean-Dominque.
And though I may also never approach their authorial success, I could once relate to their devotion. There was a time when I possessed an admirable drive. I recall the furious energy, carrying a fire in my heart as I researched minute details of WWI France and forgotten Virginia mountain lore for my first novel. For nearly two years, I routinely rose in the dead of night to jot down scenes or descriptions that felt akin to me as my own memories. The desire to get the story right, for the emotions to ring true, filled me with an urgency that kept me going even when the destination was unclear.
I wish I could find that motivation again. But the promising vein, it seems, has turned to solid rock. My efforts these past few years have sputtered, again and again (and again).
Reasons exist, I suppose. Family matters have consumed my energies and brought details to the surface that eroded illusions of my youth. In addition, my empathetic nature, which in the past connected me to the world, instead now binds me into an emotional paralysis, punctuated by a formerly uncharacteristic rage. Some days, quite frankly, I am simply not sure I like people, at least not on the whole. As a consequence, the belief that I had something to add to the conversation – stories to share, feelings to explore – has faltered … horribly.
This understandably raises questions. Am I no longer a writer? Should I ask Therese to bequeath these periodic posts, one of my few strands of production, to someone else, allowing a “real writer” to share their insights, their gifts, and their generosity.
The latter will work itself out, I have no doubt. Writer Unboxed is my tribe and will remain so in whatever manner I serve (or observe). But the former, well, the very thought bruises my heart. Like some of you, my path into writing was a long time coming, following careers and pursuits galaxies away from the creative life. And it is for that reason, here and now I am taking a stand – I will not let this go without a fight. It is in that spirit, despite the uncertainties of our shared circumstances and my ongoing inner turmoil, that I pledge the following:
Read More
Image by FelixMittermeier from Pixabay
The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too” – Vincent van Gogh
There’s no escaping the fear and fury these days. It echoes in every news report and flashes in the eyes of neighbors, our faces masked as we scurry about our strange new lives. From our DC condo, we sometimes hear downtown protest chants and helicopters zipping across the night sky. Two weeks back, we felt the stun grenades as forces cleared Lafayette Park several blocks to our south. Given all this and more, I suppose it’s no surprise that I’ve found myself thinking a great deal about trauma. With my work in progress nearly stalled, I’ve taken to crafting brief scenes, short stories, and snippets of dialog for story ideas that may never take shape. But no matter the format, inevitably the emotions captured are tumultuous, erupting from tightly wound characters longing to be heard, needing to be loved. Indeed, they are like the cries of damaged souls, individuals gripped by trauma.
One benefit of the exercises is they have given me a means to consider how injuries and injustices shape individuals, both in fiction and in real life. Along the way, I’ve also reflected upon my first novel, pondering what drew me to the story of a shell-shocked youth returning home from WWI. From the start, I considered it a coming of age tale, and at its heart it is precisely that. To my credit, I hit those marks well – the urgency to find one’s path, the hesitancy of first love, the bristling to break free. And yet, I wonder now, with the benefit of hindsight, if perhaps my protagonist’s wartime trauma, while present in parts, could have been more integrated on the whole. Perhaps I treaded too gingerly, rather than leaning into his painful battle experiences.
All of which has led me to some realizations, as well as ideas for developing characters coping with trauma. The following are ways I plan to approach my future works, regardless of whether the traumas within my characters drive the entire narrative or serve instead as threads within the underlying fabric.
Read More
