"Lots of Drops of Brandy" by The Chieftains and Their Talent for Coaxing

Today's literary concept: Coaxing.

There are two ways of educating people: hammer tactics, and magic tricks. Hammer tactics are things like dramatic demonstrations and perfectly outlined theses and stuff where argument and thought are impossible. Magic tricks are far more insidious.

To educate with a magic trick, the student must believe they came up with the answer themselves. They must be caught and led to an answer and feel like they figured it out half a moment before the teacher gives them the last detail.

Of course, sometimes the tactics are the same.

"Lots of Drops of Brandy" wasn't supposed to be the song of the day. The song of the day doesn't exist on youtube, though, so the literary concept is not very well supported.

Lesson 0: The Five Act Plot

Shakespeare was, among other things, a failure as a fashionista. I mean to say, that lacey collar thing really sucked. Not going to lie. However, we remember him for his writing, and so shall be left aside his fashion sense.

He called himself "The Poet", as did his contemporaries, and everyone else. It's a fitting title for him, because his originality came from his turn of phrase more than anything. Through his turn of phrase, his characters and their stories were made compelling, to put it mildly. Through the prettiness of his language, normal people were laid bare in such a way as to be seen beautifully. That was his genius: to set forth a reality so real that we believe it as we believe our lives. And his forum of choice was the five act play. As I understand it, the term "five act play" wasn't one used by him or anyone else. However, the formula of the five act play is the formula that he followed for every single play he wrote. And it's a winning formula. So effective is it that almost every movie we watch now sticks to the same formula. And here is the formula, presented with a famous story as an example:

Act 1: In the first act, the main characters are introduced, as are their conflicts and back grounds. The purpose of Act 1 is to describe the main plot. In Star Wars: A New Hope, the first act begins just after the text scrawl ends--that's technically a prologue. The first act of Star Wars explains that Leia needs Obi-Wan Kenobi's help.

Act 2: In the second act, secondary plots, characters, and conflicts are introduced. Act 2 of Star Wars is where Luke Skywalker comes in, all set to start his hero's journey, where he begins to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi. (For an analysis of the hero's journey/adventure, wait till I've written it.)

Act 3: In the third act, everything is thrown topsy-turvy and made difficult. This is where messes happen. In Star Wars, this is where Obi-Wan and Luke team up with Han Solo to get off Tatooine, and where Luke starts his Jedi training with the little training remote on the Falcon, and where they head toward Alderaan. The division between acts 3 and 4, here, is a little fuzzy, because of the reasons I'll explain in the next paragraph.

Act 4: In the fourth act, some way of concluding the plots and conflicts is suggested. However, the messes in the last act are made messier, so that the conclusion of plots and conflicts, while seeming inevitable, also seems impossible. In Star Wars, this is where the Death Star is explained as a doomsday device. They start doing this as soon as the Falcon is caught in the Death Star's tractor beam, as a demonstration of the Death Star's power. Then they have that scene where their battle plan is outlined from the Death Star plans they got from R2. This is also the scene in which the battle around the Death Star starts, but does not finish. This act ends about when Red Leader gets killed, and Luke has to start his attack run.

Act 5: Then it's climax time. In the fifth act, everything is fixed. In Star Wars, this act begins when Luke stars his attack run, and everything thereafter is the remainder of the fifth act. You have your climax, and your conclusion, and your feel-good moment of emotional relief in this act.

So that's Shakespeare's winning formula. The thing works, it's undeniable. Dial in a story, make your characters and situations work well, and this is a sure-fire entertainment.

My question, then, is: can the formula work with a short story? I plan to find out. I have a short story that I wrote for a class, and my teacher wrote on it that it was a "genuine pleasure to read." And I agree. I have written few things that I enjoy reading--I almost never reread these blogs, even. That story was a genuine pleasure, though. However, I showed it to another writer friend of mine. She's a super smart lady, who got her masters in creative writing and all, and she wrote on it, "ever heard of plot? Look into it." And that was a legitimate comment, too, because at that point I hadn't ever heard of plot. Now that I'm analyzing Shakespearean plot structure, I'm going to revisit that story and see if I can plug it into this winning formula and make something pretty of it. I understand the story I wanted to tell, and I did it pretty close to well, so it should work. I'll document my progress here, so keep an eye out for a repeat of the five act diagram above, but with the characters Trick and Moxy and their adventures, instead of Luke and Star Wars stuff.

Sound like a plan? Good.

It Feels Weird to Know What's Going on...

I just watched Inception, Christopher Nolan's new flick. And I tell you, especially judging how off-the-wall nutso the whole premise really was, it was weird to actually feel as if I knew what was going on in a movie. It feels strange to realize that I haven't actually fully grasped any of the movies I've seen recently, short of the ones with perfectly linear plots. Even movies as feel-good and enjoyable as The Karate Kid I specifically remember moments where I'd think, "Wait one ear-lobe itching second, that ain't so! It can't be." And I'd smile and sigh, and a piece of my soul would firgive them and die, and I'd wait for the next fight sequence. There were moments like these for actions of the hero, or for glowerings of the villain. There were moments like this that demanded the suspicion of product endorsement, and others that made me suppose that no special-effects person actually has a soul. This sensation of my unbelief collapsing arose after over-simplicities in plotting, or under-simpliciies in dialogue, over vague uses of drama, and over headachey violin warbling.

"That ain't so!" I thought so much. "It can't be. There is no demand for it in the presentation of this story. It is getting in the way." Every movie, even the best of them, had me thinking these things at least a few times.

Inception left me with one un-answered question. And I can put it right here, so I will, because I'm pretty sure it doesn't ruin the movie at all: Wherefore military tech shareage, then, eh? And aside from that one unanswered question, I was, over and again, while watching this movie just smiling, and smiling, and smiling, because my, "hmm, why that particular action, cos?" thoughts which I had directed at the characters continued over and over again to be answered. I was genuinely curious, and always my curiosity was genuinely fulfilled.

At the beginning of the movie, I did have to make a conscious decision to go along with some...let us say, wild plot devices. And that makes it sound as if I went out of my way to be gullible. It wasn't that. The conscious decision that I made at the beginning was to trust these movie makers to guide me sufficiently through their wild world so that I had a good ride, and didn't get lost. Being a cynic, but a generous one, I planned to stop trusting them on the second or third abuse of my trust.

They never abused my trust. Everything there, on that screen, from those speakers, supported that story.

Inception told itself well. Highest praise I can give it.

And the fight scenes rocked. Which I really wasn't expecting.

Shyamalan the Mighty

When I heard they were making an Avatar: The Last Airbender movie my first thought was, "That's insane. It's impossible... I wonder how they'll do it." And when I heard that M. Night Shyamalan was writing and directing it I thought that seemed odd, and not in his genre, and the look of the TV show was not anyway similar to the look of his movies, and I was intrigued and I wanted to see what he'd do. I didn't know what sparks might come of bringing that franchise and that mind into friction. I heard, though, the following anecdote, and it got me twice as intrigued:

M. Night Shyamallamamama sat in a room with the Nickleodeon people, having just finished his draft of the adapted Last Airbender screenplay. It was roughly the size of a Latin dictionary, and it broke the table. So they asked him, "How the hell long a movie are you making?" Six hours, apparently. "You've got to trim the thing, M. Night Shyallamomanny." And he said, "Aw...but...aw..." and apparently looked really upset.

It was in good hands. Or caring ones, anyway. I was content with that. I'd know it was being adapted by someone who wanted to do good by the Avatar lore. What with coming off of various Marvel adaptations and feeling like the people handling many of those were probably Superman fans, and had never picked up an issue of Daredevil in their lives...after cooling off from that betrayal, it really did give me comfort knowing that M. Night Shilohmamainyofacellama was going to be at least as upset as me that adapting Avatar was impossible.

Because, of course, it was.

So far this has all been sort of history, and now I'm going to judge the movie. I find that, as usually happens, my opinion will probably annoy people. I'm going to defend this movie, and defend it with all my heart. Not because it was an especially pretty movie, not because it in any way maintained the soul of the Avatar franchise, and certainly not because it was the next big Shamanlawyermanna movie. It failed at all that.

I am going to defend this movie with all my heart because M. Night Shyamalan took on and did something impossible, and that makes him mighty. And what he did was give every single necessary fact in the Book 1: Water plotline to lay down exactly what the story of that season in the Avatar series is. Me mum, having never watched the TV series, was conversant on all things bendery after seeing the movie. Suddenly she had a topic of conversation with her sons. It was cool. That is what M. Night Shymanlamenoodle did.

People will complain. Oh, it's too short. Oh, it wasn't funny enough. Oh, they ruined bending. Oh, they ruined Sokka, and Zucko, and Kitara, and Suki, and Appa, and they mispronounced everything, and Iro was skinny, and they just didn't fucking put together a worthy representation of the Avatar legend. Yes, yes, yes. So the hell what? Guess what, kids. It was a movie! It was an adaptation of an already excellent TV series. The only reason the movie does or even ought to exist is to have badder-ass fight scenes, and to give just enough knowledge of the storyline of the legend to a layman so that he'll want to go watch the TV series. Sorry to say it, folks, but The Last Airbender movie was an hour forty-eight minute trailer for the TV series. Which would you prefer anyway: spending six hours of your life watching the TV series again except this time with funny looking actors? Or spending an hour and forty minutes of your life dragging your loser friends to see the movie, then them becoming curious enough that they start watching the TV series with you and then they become slightly less losery, and you spend six hours watching the first season of the TV series with them and have a grand old time?

Whatever, dude. I'll take my impossible adaptation and my Avatar conversant mother.

I tip my hat off to you, M. Night Shyllama.

Knot

I was just skateboarding while listening to "Tu Pauperum Refugium", a motet for four part chorus, by Josquin Des Prez--Franco-Flemmish composer of the Renaissance, apparently, thank you wikiworld--when I was wondering why the ground was getting closer to me. Then it hit me, that I am a mass of weird contradictions.

"I Just Wanna Have Something to Do", by The Ramones, came on my mp3 player as I stood up and knocked the grit out of my scratches. I got back on my skateboard and, as much as I enjoy the works of Des Prez, I decided that the tempo of The Ramones really does fit skateboarding better.

First Submission of "Totem"

Stardate 16609.7/the Year of Our Lord 2009, June the 15th

Monday

Dear Aspiring Writers, Web Lurkers, and Fellow Nerds of the future,

Today is a notable day because this is the day on which I submitted the short story "Totem" to a magazine for the first time. From here we will track its progress. I'll write you all again on the day that it is rejected/accepted, or when I submit it again, or if I ever edit it again, or if it gets picked up by a movie studio, or something. So we'll have scientific evidence to actually see how long this stuff takes. If I forget to do so then feel free to remind me. I am talking to you. Yes, you. Not him. You. Okay, now we've cleared that up, on to the next thing.

This story has taken me a long time to get into the tube. The first draft was something like...what, last November? Been a while. Longer than is justifiable, I believe, with a short story. It's the second story that I've submitted to a magazine, and that one took a long time as well. I decided, however, to take my time with this one, just to allow myself to feel prepared and comfortable. The next one I'll take as drastically less time as I can, maybe try and shock myself, speed the process. That'd be cool.

Good luck, writers of the future.

Sincerely

Me

Fantasy Rock and Roll?

Of late, many of the science fiction ideas, characters, worlds, groups, whole stories, etc, that I've been making up have been characterized and defined, at least in part, by rock and roll. T. Volker and the Rough and Ready Corps, of Eve and Shenectady notoriety, for instance, are children of AC/DC, specifically "TNT" for Volker and "Dirty Deeds" for the Corps.

Right now I'm foraying into fantasy though. And I don't know what kind of music to listen to. Rock and roll speaks to my soul, somehow, and I believe there's rock and roll in my fantasies. I can't think at the moment, however, of any groups, songs, or eras that seem fitting to characters like Twig and situations like Finger searching for luck.

As I write this an ironic thought occurs to me. For a long time recently all of the rock and roll I've been listening to has been old, classic. Some of it has been dated, and all of it has been era defining or defined by its era, and all the eras have been markedly ancient, in a sense.

Right now I'm listening to "Girl's Not Grey" by AFI. It came out in 2003. And although it isn't really perfectly vibrating with ideas I have of fantastical ilk, it's closer to the right mood, better idea.

We think of science fiction, and at first blush we imagine the new, the shiny, the chrome, the cutting edge. First blush fantasy tends to evoke feelings of age and agelessness and the ancient. I'm finding it interesting, fascinating, and pretty peculiar that I'm identifying newness with fantasy and oldness with science fiction.

Another thought has just occurred to me, and that's the revolutionary qualities of a lot of the music that I listen to. The Beatles were almost the first people to do what they did; The Ramones invented an attitude; Hendrix revolutionized guitar; Thin Lizzy inspired practically everything; the Stones just went kablooie all over the place. The old rock and rollers were the inventors, the cutting edge musicians. They were the explorers, reaching for newness, not sure where they were headed and forced to create shiny exploration at every turn. But what have we got now? New kids inventing NOTHING. You read articles about the brand new shooting stars on the rock and roll scene and the article is just a list of names that these new kids remind us of--oh, yeah, Endeverafter is like Led Zeppelin with Thin Lizzy sprinkled all over the top. The revolution is over, and we are living in a time when rock and roll is old. Still magical, but not being discovered anymore: it's come, and it's old, and it has stuck and will not leave. This is where we live, in rock and roll world. The magicians of old have brought us to this point when young heroes are discovering dragons to battle and corporate mogul warlords to overthrow...

We the characters

When I lose something, then inevitably start complaining about it, the first thing I hear from the people around me is usually, "Where did you have it last?" And I, being all about economy of word usage--hold your derisive snorts please--spent some energy eliminating a few steps from the process, and jump over the "COMPLAIN!" instinct straight to going where last I had lost object. Naturally, due to chaos theory, just going where I last had the thing doesn't always solve the problem.

My mom, being the ever-motherly mother that she is, always advised at this point "clean your room." Or clean wherever I thought I'd lost whatever it was. The idea was sound in principle: get the space cleared, sort through the stuff, and you'll turn up lost object. In practice, it often takes too long. In practice, cleaning will make me forget what I was looking for, or it'll change my priorities and make me not care what I was looking for, or it'll end up covering up what I was looking for under the mess removed from the floor into its supposed containment. In any of these cases, the lost object remained lost.

As a matter of survival, I started not making messes. Mom looks at the six inches of detritus and jetsam strewn upon my floor and across my desk and dresser and sometimes on my bed and proclaims that it must be cleaned! But what is cleaning but an organization of belongings for future convenient access? I do not make messes. I pile in a most organized way. At a moment's notice, I can reach into the pile and pull out anything I need, even if it's buried under layers of whatever.

Well, due to lightning fast wardrobe changes, youthful exuberance, navigation in the dark, and more chaos theory, that doesn't always work either. Things still get lost.

I've started taking into account that I know the habits of all parties concerned. I've started losing things and bearing in mind the character traits that bear upon chaos theory and make things happen inadvertantly. I know, for instance, that sometimes I take my wallet out of my pocket, throw it on my bed, forget about it, then go sleep that night without turning the light on. So it stands to reason, upon analyzing my character, that if I can't find my wallet, that might have happened. Therefore, instead of looking where my wallet goes--or in one of the half-dozen places I set it down--I might look at the foot of my bed, on the floor, in the pile of clean tee-shirts, imagining that I might have kicked it in my sleep.

And there it was.

I was thinking about this because it seems like a good way to think about writing characters, or thinking about them, in fiction. You know how they'll act, what their habits are, what they might forget then how they might mess stuff up. I think it's interesting.

Favorite Kind of Squash?

I have three favorite books. The Hobbit is one. Has been for nigh on a decade and I ain't hardly ever wavered in m'loyalty. Starship Troopers a second, and of my favorite books this is the only one I've only read once. In itself peculiar, because the last time I picked it up I didn't get very far into it, yet I still consider it one of my favorites. Then Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel is the third.

All these books have one thing in common, and that's the feeling I got as I read them. Not after, but in the process of actually beginning and middling and ending them. The feeling of "this is really something special. I'll never forget this."

The first time I read The Hobbit.... I must have been nine. Maybe ten or eleven. I almost have not a single memory of it. I was given a nice--and terribly durable--copy of it for some special occasion, and it's lasted me all that time without a single change. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking about at the time, but I remember what I was in to. Power Rangers. Martial arts, kicking people, punching people. So I'm compelled to wonder: what mystical energy made this story about a scared, short, furry footed, unwilling burglar so wonderful? I can't say. I just know it's on the faves list.

I read Starship Troopers maybe five, four or five, years after that. Once again, I was given a copy for a gift, I think. At the time, I'd been reading a lot of YAs. Animorphs was a great series, folks. And I read YAs about Jedi. Books on a monthly release schedule. Not a lot of depth, just a lot of fast, blatant, excitement.

Starship Troopers, the book anyway, isn't a lot of fast, isn't a lot of blatant, isn't a lot of shallow. It's a lot of gradual, it's a lot of subtle, it's a lot of deep. It's almost only deep-subtle. How did THIS book possibly engage me? The answer's some where, I'm sure. Go find Freud dude.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel wormed a funny course. I thought it was, anyway. I was bored. I wanted something to read. I took to going to the library, starting at the top left, opening the books and reading the first paragraph, and slamming the book shut. If I liked that first paragraph, I slammed it shut after the second paragraph, which I generally didn't like.

JS&MN took up a lot of space on that shelf. Nice shade of brown. I didn't really like that first paragraph. It seemed to me not to have all the things a first paragraph needs to be engaging. I kept thinking that for a few days, then went back to check if I was right. I thought I was, but I figured, to make a thorough study, I should take it home with me and check again later.

I read almost half of it. But it proved bulky, and I got it on CD and started again at the beginning, then got to the end. Then got it again a couple months later and started over.

This was a few months ago. These days, I like quick. I like direct. I like TV.... While I think JS&MN would make a good BBC Masterpiece Theater, I don't think it's very TV, or quick, or direct.

So I guess I'm concluding that the word "favorite" means that which changes your mind.... Or maybe that what we think we like is our way of lying to ourselves about reality. Or maybe I'm just concluding that nothing makes sense.

There you go: life is perfect, because nothing makes sense.

Plotting, Fringe King pt. 2

So I'm having a terribly novel experience: success at pre-plotting and outlining. Yes.

I wrote a first page, it was all well and good, and from it I had a character a premise and a locale. I wrote the second page and added characterization, and subplot. Then I got off the computer and spent some several days with a notebook, all over the world practically, free-associatively (that's a word...now) putting down ideas of events leading to a conclusive conclusion including climax!

How you like that? Conclusive inclusive climax. Hee. Moving on.

Furthermore, I know what this story is about. Ahead of time. How's that for organized?

Hoo nelly, I'm all totally psyched about this whole taking seriously of writing thing, with these, like, disciplines and processes and whatever.

Special thanks goes out to the good writers of my acquaint who helped me remember doing stuff the way it seems like everyone else is doing stuff is a dumb way to try and always do stuff. To do so is stuffy.

Tah-dah!