16797--Sowing the Seeds of Chaos

Every now and again, you may feel that your personal life, the world around you or one of your writing projects has fallen into a rut of stagnation.  How can you fix it?  Change your normal routine.  Yes, big scary change.  Embrace the change.  It can be good.  It can stimulate new ideas and ways of doing things.

Static systems tend to produce static results.  That's often just fine.  Predictable results are frequently what we seek.  Sometimes, though, you're going to be searching for something new, even if you don't know what it is.  I would also suggest that when you go shaking things up, have some fun doing it.  Give your imagination a little challenge, though, and you might come up with some more creative ways of shuffling your deck. 

In the spirit of my recent writing about tricksters, I'll share a couple of my own past shake ups.

Once upon a time, I worked as a radio DJ.  It's a job that can be fun, but it has its own particular thorns, too.  Hey, that's why it's work and you get paid to do it.  Anyway, one particular afternoon, I decided to play Queen's "We Will Rock You".  Most of you familiar with it know that it is normally followed by "We Are the Champions".  This makes sense because it's the very next track on the album and the gap between them is so small that the first flows into the second very well.  People have become accustomed, almost programmed, to hear them together.  Well, that particular afternoon, I made note that the two separate tracks are just that: two separate tracks.  When "We Will Rock You" finished, I spun something else.  It was a nice smooth transition into another bit of rock and roll that I don't even recall at this writing.  What I do recall, though, is that we got a pretty fair idea of just how many people were listening to my show that day because the phone lines rang like I was giving away money.  Not playing "We Are the Champions" was apparently enough to incite an emotional riot because that was suddenly the most important thing in their world.  I even got to talk to some some station executives who usually didn't care about talking with me.  Who knew they had such an interest in what I played?

Another fun upon a time came way back in 1993.  That's right, the twentieth century.  Some friends of mine had gotten terribly excited about the opening night of "Jurassic Park" and called a couple of dozen of us together to go watch it.  It was a real event.  The box office lines were long, spotlights were sweeping the sky and news crews had come out to do their little feature pieces.  One of my friends who had called us all together had arrived about the same time as I had.  As we were getting our group organized in the very long lines, we chatted to pass the time.  To make the wait more interesting, he said we should "Sow the seeds of Chaos."  What could I do but accept such a lofty challenge?  I put on my 3D glasses. 

 

Now, let me explain at this point that earlier that very day I had come upon a stash of 3D glasses.  These weren't the slick Men-in-Black-looking 3D glasses we enjoy in the twenty-first century.  No, these were their primitive forebears, made of colorful cardboard and sporting one red and one blue lens.  I had found a box of them at work that no one else wanted.  I was told I could have them and shoved them into my backpack.  Between the time of that find and the movie showtime, I found that those 3D glasses didn't just enhance 3D films.  They also made the world a brighter place as well as the covers of comic books.  So I was already having a fun Friday afternoon.  Since we were going to see this great new film with groundbreaking computer effects, I had to give it a try with my new glasses.  And I had enough for everybody.  As more of our friends arrived, I gave everyone their own 3D glasses.

With the challenge aired and accepted, I encouraged the rest of the group to begin putting on their 3D glasses.  Then, I waited.  At first, there were a few curious finger pointings and giggles, but I held my ground and acted "normally".  Soon, the questions started.  "Why do you have 3D glasses?  Is this a 3D movie?  Do you have any more?"  "Well," I said, reluctantly reaching into my bag of tricks, "I have a few extras..." and began handing out 3D glasses to grateful strangers.  As that spread, more inquiries came, people asking "Where'd you get those?  Is this a 3D movie?  Where can I get a pair?"  "I really need to hang on to some for my friends," I told them, "but you could ask at the box office."  Grateful for the guidance, they'd trot off to bother theater management.  As I recall, we even made it onto the news as the curious reporters began to wonder why no one had told them "Jurassic Park" was being shown in 3D.  The movie theater personnel were too busy to respond to the inquiry, but I was happy to give out some of my extra pairs of glasses to the local media.

As we drew near to getting our tickets, my friend conceded his challenge when he asked, "What the Hell are you doing?"  I reminded him, "You said, 'sow the seeds of Chaos'."  "Well, yeah," he said nervously, "but I didn't think you'd be so good at it." 

It was all in good fun.  No lies were told and there were no casualties that I heard about.  Plus, we all enjoyed the show.  It seemed like those dinosaurs were ready to leap off the screen.

How do you shake things up and turn the mundane into something fresh?

16556--Unintended Writing Advice

People will tell you that some of the things that we would like to have come our way will often take unexpected form--opportunity, random blessing, answers to prayers, new loves--so we should stay alert and open-minded to be ready to receive them.  For me, one of the most insightful bits of guidance to be tossed my way came in a manner that was not only unexpected, but unintended.

As I've stated before, I've been working on my writing for many years.  Along with that, when I was a kid, I learned the important truth that at their best magic and science were wicked cool.  I started learning more about both, but as I wasn't raised in a magical realm, there were no wizards available with whom I could apprentice.  A heavy diet of science, science fiction and comics gave me strong indications that being a science guy would be a great path.  Physics and engineering would be the keys to unlock the wonders of the universe and yield a life of adventure and paranormal activity.  Mortal flesh would be transcended.  Superhuman abilities would be embraced.  Weird science breakthroughs would herald an ascension that would allow me to rival the ancient gods we had cast aside and the monsters that had been relegated to the deepest shadows. 

Give me a break, I was eight.  The tall people I lived with had hidden my cape when I was four because it seemed like the best way to get me to stop diving off of things.  I think it had more to do with my being rough on the floors than sparing me disappointment.  Obviously, though, I had an established pattern of believing in the possibility of all things under the proper conditions.

Years of study took me on to college, having been scouted by a notable engineering school that I'll not shame by name here.  My first English teacher at said unsaid school lauded my writing ability as being clearly filled with imagination and creative energy.  In his next breath, he said quite matter-of-factly that they would crush that right out of me.  He said it with a smile and seemed decidedly unapologetic about it.  There it was: the unintended advice.  It was a school dedicated to science and technology, after all.  Writing was just another tool to them.  My second English teacher, Dr. Dyer, had a name that would've better fit a supervillain and an attitude to match.  Reading was to be dissected and analyzed and our writing was to reflect that.  He was a dedicated editor, cutting so many passages from papers that they looked as though they were slashed and bleeding.

Something wasn't right.  I pondered my lack of joy and came to realize that it had been months since I had written.  That is, I hadn't written my stuff since school had started.  The real writing that I cared about wasn't getting done.  It needed to be done.  There was a universe of possibilities going unexplored and that was making me miserable.  It certainly wasn't going to happen where I was.  The only other student I'd found who was doing any writing in scienceland had asked me to read a novel he'd been working on and...well, it told me about a character, an epic event and broke into an infodump of technical specifications for a giant spaceship that droned on very dryly for more pages than I was able to stay awake through.

I took the hints.  I changed schools and majors.  The clouds broke, the sun shone through and birds sang their songs.  More importantly, I had found a better path for me to walk where I would find all that adventure and unlimited potential waiting to be encountered. 

I never found that cape, but when I look to the skies (especially on big, fluffy cloud days), I remember flying.  If there's a look in my eyes that says I'm...somewhere else, well...I'm working on it.  Find your own proper path and maybe I'll see you up there, too.

16507--How Weird is Too Weird?

What in the world are you writing?  If you're a writer, you should probably have an answer for that.  You should at least be able to address it contextually if not defend against the attitude inferred by the phrasing.

When you write, you're most likely doing so with the expectation that others will be reading your words.  I know I’m not writing this for my own viewing.   As a writer then, one goal is to make the output interesting and, even further, unique.   Now for unique, I’m not just talking about avoiding plagiarism.   Rather, I’m talking about using your creativity and talent to bring something new to the reader.   If you’re writing non-fiction, present ideas in an innovative fashion.   If you’re writing fiction, get weird.

How do you know if you’re writing weird?  Well, I don’t think you can know on your own. This is why we have test readers.  Having people to help with proofing and editing is great, but I’ve long felt that evoking a reaction of “How the Hell did he think of that?” was the target to shoot for.  Cause that and you know you’ve brought something to your reader that was completely unexpected.  That's a surprise worth more gold than in the most avaricious dreams of Midas.

I’ve achieved this before and I loved it.  It says that not everyone would’ve thought of whatever it was that was written.  I’ve seen others produce ideas and stories that were so far out of any conventional box that they made me strive in my own writing.   It was experiencing that feeling that made me want to share it with others.   I believe that’s one of the great things a writer can give to others.  I feel it's a sad cheapening of the craft that some people choose to achieve this through drug use rather than the pure exploitation of odd neural connections.  I know, we've had a great deal of music and art and blah blah blah that can be directly attributed to drug use.  Of course, while there has been some staggering creativity fueled by chemical experimentation, there's also been a lot of blah blah blah.  If you're creating with your brain on drugs, will it make sense to an audience that's straight?  Will it even make sense to you?

Simply put, you don’t want to lose your audience.   Hook them with interesting, but run off on your own with weirdness and “Lost” *cough* may be the kindest comparison you draw.   If that happens, it should go without saying that you’ll be spending time rewriting.   Call it “selling out” or “going commercial”, but if your thousands and thousands of words aren’t resulting in communication with others, then you’re only writing them for yourself.   If that’s the case, you can save yourself a lot of extra work by skipping the whole publishing and marketing phases of the project.   If you’re writing for others, which I earlier offered that you probably are, then you need to write right.

Just as there are rules to telling a joke, there are rules for writing.   Your pacing has to be correct and it has to resolve in a certain way.   Most importantly, if the delivery and resolution don’t work out, embarking on a session of explanation won’t help breathe life into the corpse.   You don’t get a second chance, neither in an afterword nor by chasing down your audience door-to-door.

Put a leash on that weird.   It does you little good to let it run free.   Harness it and use its power to take you far.