Rambling Dissatisfaction
A month or two ago I picked up a short story by Stephen King. It didn't have any of the gimmicky phrasing or cliched adolescent dialogue that I can't get past, so that was good. But from the get-go the story read like something I've seen many times before. As I read it, I kept thinking, Didn't Richard Matheson already do this? Or Robert Bloch? Wasn't this a Twilight Zone or Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode?
In other words, been there, done that. You knew almost immediately what was going to happen and sure enough, it did. So why write the damned thing?
Writing is such a contradictory thing to pursue. On one hand, anyone can pick up a pencil and scribble words on some paper. I'm doing in now (only on a computer). But to make it something someone else wants to read, well, there's the rub, isn't it?
I think millions of people out there can right absolutely gorgeous sentences. Then some much smaller percentage of those can write stunning paragraphs. A much fewer number can carry that through to a page, and a disappearing few for an entire chapter. As for the number that can actually create a book, one with a valid beginning, middle and logical end, well, those are the ones that have kissed the holy grail (lower case, I don't want to get in too much trouble).
What's killing me is the notion that you can have all the innate talent in the world, your facility with language may be second to very few, but if you have noting to say, nothing to write about, big hairy deal.
It's been said, rather cynically, I think, that all novels are made up of the same few plots. So what? There are billions of people out there, all uniquely different, yet still make up one category: human beings. Or two: men and women. The more we ignore particular differences and roll individuals up to higher and higher levels, naturally more distinction we lose. So again, big hairy deal. There are only eighty-eight keys on the piano yet original music has been composed on the thing for centuries.
You can analyze good writing all you want: you can diagram the sentences, praise the dearth of adverbs (or not), marvel at the unique metaphors or allegorical vision. But what is the subject? What is the story that's being told?
Because what I've been thinking about is that a talent for the written word is part of being a writer, but so is a talent for coming up with a story. Sure, you can cheat and consciously borrow the structure of someone else's books (can you tell what I think of that practice, despite what they teach in some MFA programs?), and your writing talent can get you through. And, as a craft, you can practice it and study it and improve it.
But can you do the same with the story part of it? My jaw drops when I consider all the different ideas that make up a series of books like Richard Stark's Parker series. The writing is awfully fine, too, in his spare, noirish style, but it's a lot easier for me to accept the mystery of his craft and style than it is for me to comprehend the breadth of the collection of capers he writes about.
When I consider the writing of someone I admire, I usually wonder, Why did they do that? or Why did they do it that way? When I consider the uniqueness of the stories, the frame on which to hang the plot, I ask, How did they come up with that? Then I ask, how can I learn to do that, too?
And I know I probably can't. My ideas perversely flow while I'm writing and then seem to scamper away like lighted roaches when I'm not. It seems to take me a ridiculously long time to get started on something. Part of the reason is that I constantly discard notions as being too similar or to derivative of other works and I just can't bring myself to commit to something like that. And yet clearly it works for some highly successful folks out there.
So the King story was entertaining but in a way reminiscent of viewing a re-run of a favorite TV show as opposed to enjoying a new reading experience. And I guess that's enough sometimes. I tell myself I wish I could do that but I don't really believe it. If something's been done, it's been done, and I think I want more.
In other words, been there, done that. You knew almost immediately what was going to happen and sure enough, it did. So why write the damned thing?
Writing is such a contradictory thing to pursue. On one hand, anyone can pick up a pencil and scribble words on some paper. I'm doing in now (only on a computer). But to make it something someone else wants to read, well, there's the rub, isn't it?
I think millions of people out there can right absolutely gorgeous sentences. Then some much smaller percentage of those can write stunning paragraphs. A much fewer number can carry that through to a page, and a disappearing few for an entire chapter. As for the number that can actually create a book, one with a valid beginning, middle and logical end, well, those are the ones that have kissed the holy grail (lower case, I don't want to get in too much trouble).
What's killing me is the notion that you can have all the innate talent in the world, your facility with language may be second to very few, but if you have noting to say, nothing to write about, big hairy deal.
It's been said, rather cynically, I think, that all novels are made up of the same few plots. So what? There are billions of people out there, all uniquely different, yet still make up one category: human beings. Or two: men and women. The more we ignore particular differences and roll individuals up to higher and higher levels, naturally more distinction we lose. So again, big hairy deal. There are only eighty-eight keys on the piano yet original music has been composed on the thing for centuries.
You can analyze good writing all you want: you can diagram the sentences, praise the dearth of adverbs (or not), marvel at the unique metaphors or allegorical vision. But what is the subject? What is the story that's being told?
Because what I've been thinking about is that a talent for the written word is part of being a writer, but so is a talent for coming up with a story. Sure, you can cheat and consciously borrow the structure of someone else's books (can you tell what I think of that practice, despite what they teach in some MFA programs?), and your writing talent can get you through. And, as a craft, you can practice it and study it and improve it.
But can you do the same with the story part of it? My jaw drops when I consider all the different ideas that make up a series of books like Richard Stark's Parker series. The writing is awfully fine, too, in his spare, noirish style, but it's a lot easier for me to accept the mystery of his craft and style than it is for me to comprehend the breadth of the collection of capers he writes about.
When I consider the writing of someone I admire, I usually wonder, Why did they do that? or Why did they do it that way? When I consider the uniqueness of the stories, the frame on which to hang the plot, I ask, How did they come up with that? Then I ask, how can I learn to do that, too?
And I know I probably can't. My ideas perversely flow while I'm writing and then seem to scamper away like lighted roaches when I'm not. It seems to take me a ridiculously long time to get started on something. Part of the reason is that I constantly discard notions as being too similar or to derivative of other works and I just can't bring myself to commit to something like that. And yet clearly it works for some highly successful folks out there.
So the King story was entertaining but in a way reminiscent of viewing a re-run of a favorite TV show as opposed to enjoying a new reading experience. And I guess that's enough sometimes. I tell myself I wish I could do that but I don't really believe it. If something's been done, it's been done, and I think I want more.
posted by Rick Ollerman at 10:47 AM
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