How Long Did It Take You to Write?
Sep 27, 2016 09:27 AM
| Writing
Though my first novel has been out for only a year, I’ve already noticed there are a few questions that seem to arise over and over again from the prospective readers I meet while promoting the book. “Where’d you get the idea?” “Is it a series?” “Where is it set?” All are straightforward questions which are easy enough to answer. I believe, going forward as an author, I should expect to answer those same questions every time I step out into the world intending to push my stories onto the public. But then there’s another frequent question: “How long did it take you to write,” which isn’t quite so straightforward to answer. If you’re an author, is this one you hear often?
It’s not that I can’t remember when I first sat down and opened that new Word file which would become my manuscript, or that I can’t calculate the length of time between then and when the book came out. That’s simple. The difficulty in answering is in the implication the question gives of the asker. It is almost certain that they have an idea they’ve been harboring for their own novel, but have actually written little or nothing of it, and they’re trying to gain perspective on the work ahead of them if they move forward with it. Like a person standing at the bottom of a big hill, shouting to another who’s standing on top: “How far is it up?”
Knowing that a mountain of work lies ahead when one undertakes writing a novel, I feel obligated not to mislead a prospective writer, nor do I want to dissuade them. Writing a novel is likely to be measured in months and years, not days and weeks. On top of that, for a first time author, after they’ve finished they’ll likely spend more months, if not over a year hunting for a publisher, and should they find one, their publisher will likely spend months, if not a year, preparing the material and the book’s marketing before it is finally released.
That said, not all months are created equal. One author might spend 18 months writing their novel, but still be working a day-job at the same time, while another author might spend 6 months writing their novel, working on the book full-time. Sometimes the writing process involves waiting time. An author might finish a draft and have to put it down for a few weeks, or a few months, to return to it with fresh eyes. An author might also be using the services of an editor or a critiquing group between drafts, and be subject to weeks or a month, waiting for those notes, before digging in on the next draft.
I am personally working away on my next novel, with the intent of working on it full-time, but I find that having another book already out means organizing and traveling to personal appearances every few weeks, interviews, blogging and keeping up with social media to cultivate my audience, plus reading and reviewing fellow authors, which all take time. Thus, even full-time writing only allows for a part-time schedule of actually composing the words on the pages of my next manuscript. All of this makes telling that eager but inexperienced writer “a year,” “eighteen months,” “two years,” at best incomplete answers.
“How long did it take you to write?” Recently, I’ve stumbled on a relatively simple way to answer which fellow authors might find helpful to respond effectively, and which might truly impart accurate perspective to the asker. Measure the effort in hours.
I spent about 1,500 hours on my first novel, from page one of my first draft through the end of the polished manuscript that actually found me a publisher. (Though that is not the end of the process, mind you.)
Of course every author and every project are different, but now the prospective author can calculate a realistic approximation. If they can spend 40 hours a week on their manuscript, they might expect about 8 or 9 months for writing a novel similar in length to mine. If they can spend 50 or 60 hours a week, they might cut that down. If they work full-time elsewhere and raise a family, and can only spare 10 hours a week, they might realistically expect the project to take 3 years. In any case, hopefully the process will streamline with successive books.
To all you prospective authors, it’s a lot of work. I hope this helps. Good luck.
To all you established authors, how do you answer this question?
Originally Posted on "Marilyn's Musings" blog, March, 2015.
Comments
The Seed of a Story
Sep 15, 2016 09:21 AM
| Originality, Story Idea, Writing
It’s a none-to-uncommon
question for authors, “where did you get the idea for your book?” But it’s not
always an easy question to answer. I wonder if we can do a little better?
For me, I have many
ideas swimming around in my head. Sometimes it’s a character, but I’m not sure
where I’ll use them. Other times it’s a setting, a plot twist, or just a moment
of intensity all without corresponding context. Once in a while, with a little
luck, a bunch of these ideas come together and form something bigger, a
foundation. Who’s to say which of that cluster was first, or even where it came
from?
With my recently
released novel, “Until the Sun Rises – One Night in Drake Mansion,” I similarly
can’t put my figure on any single element as having spawned the rest of my
tangled web. However, I can recall the
very first scene from the story I began developing.
The majority of the
novel is set in the present, but a portion takes place in the past. The first
past section involves a mysterious, secret, and very thematically dark magic
show which adds to the mystery set in the present with a parallel mystery to
unfold in the past. Essentially, it’s a tangential story line, a secondary
mystery that draws the reader to learn about certain characters pertaining to
the primary mystery and plot. It adds character depth, intrigue, and plot
layers. Of course the two plotlines intersect explosively, but it’s interesting
in retrospect for the secondary plotline to have been the genesis of the main
story, converse to what one might expect.
This magic show
moment and its characters were first. From there, I created scenes to give
readers background on the characters, to get you acquainted. Next, I developed
plot that puts the characters into that moment. After that, I developed
additional scenes to give that moment direct consequence, and more to show
readers what those characters do after that moment, how it impacted them. With this thread woven, I stepped back and
asked, “how can I make this even deeper, even more consequential, intriguing,
captivating?” The answer came with adding what eventually became the primary
plotline, which underwent it’s own similar development.
Returning to the
question, “where did you get the idea?” It feels like I just had that first
moment in my head. Did I see a weird magic show that made it dawn on me? Not
that I recall? Did I base the characters on something I saw, read, or heard? I
don’t think so. In fact, I believe I invented the scene and the character
specifically because I’d never seen anything like that scene before. The rest
was created to give others a chance to find it as interesting as I did.
Perhaps in the future
I’ll read an article and it will directly inspire a new story. Certainly that
occurs with non-fiction, and I can imagine the same for fiction - where a real
life story inspires a similar, but even more intriguing scenario. That just
hasn’t been my experience. In the mean time, perhaps a better go-to question
for authors is, “what part of your story did you explore first?” This might cut
to the desired incite into the creative process even faster.
Authors, what part of
your story did you explore first?
Originally Posted at the "Omni Mystery Blog," June, 2015.My First Vonnegut Experience, Though Likely Not My Last.
I've always been familiar with Vonnegut's name but not particularly versed in his material. I'd seen the movie based on his novel Mother Night, but outside of knowing a few titles, seeing his cameo in Back to School, and of course his connection with the University of Iowa, that was the extent of my familiarity. However, recently I'd encountered an intriguing, simple and playful, yet deep quote from Cat's Cradle. I felt it was time I gave Vonnegut a read and I was not disappointed.
The voice with which the book is authored is often playful, lighthearted, and downright fun, but the story itself bare quite biting criticism of many of society's driving forces - government and religion to name a few. Vonnegut eases into his opinions backhandedly and with an essentially neutral protagonist who is merely a victim of happenstance, landing readers on yet another drawback of such institutions before you know it.
The story of the book, my personal litmus test, starts with a very average seeming Joe. He's a writer and I suspect not-so-dissimilar to Vonnegut himself, conducting research for a novel. Along the way he encounters other seemingly unimportant characters, though by the end the narrator and almost every character along the way end up playing a role in what is essentially the end of the world. A master class is "raising the stakes" if every there was one. Undoubtedly Vonnegut's criticisms would not have been so palatable without the playful and surprising vehicle of this intriguing plot.
My only woe with Cat Cradle is that I didn't read it sooner.
The voice with which the book is authored is often playful, lighthearted, and downright fun, but the story itself bare quite biting criticism of many of society's driving forces - government and religion to name a few. Vonnegut eases into his opinions backhandedly and with an essentially neutral protagonist who is merely a victim of happenstance, landing readers on yet another drawback of such institutions before you know it.
The story of the book, my personal litmus test, starts with a very average seeming Joe. He's a writer and I suspect not-so-dissimilar to Vonnegut himself, conducting research for a novel. Along the way he encounters other seemingly unimportant characters, though by the end the narrator and almost every character along the way end up playing a role in what is essentially the end of the world. A master class is "raising the stakes" if every there was one. Undoubtedly Vonnegut's criticisms would not have been so palatable without the playful and surprising vehicle of this intriguing plot.
My only woe with Cat Cradle is that I didn't read it sooner.
Repetition of Story (It's Christmas)
Dec 08, 2015 08:39 AM
| Christmas, Holiday, Originality
Christmas is nearly here and with all of it’s activities, I
find it also a unique time to analyze the repeating, or perhaps recycling of
stories. Of course story ideas are
recycled all the time not just at Christmas, however as a lover or originality I
find myself more forgiving this time of year, and I must wonder why.
Simply take a look at TV programing schedules around the
holiday and you’ll see what I mean. Be it reshowing of holiday classics, like A Christmas Story (1983) being shown for 24 hours straight; remaking holiday
classics, like A Christmas Carol every few years; or recycling a narrow
field of storylines into new, slightly parodied, stories, like your standard
made-for-TV Hallmark holiday movie, everywhere you look you stand to see the
repletion of a story.
One could argue that most stories released, be they movie,
book, or other, are derivative of earlier stories in some way, but to me, at
Christmas time it is far more prevalent, and far more transparent than the rest
of the year.
Christmas is a time when those of us who observe the holiday
tend towards that which is familiar. We like to see the same plays, the same
ballet, and yes the same movies as we have for years, decades even. Perhaps it
is our desire to relive our childhood, to relive and recreate memorable moments
from our lives that makes us, or at least me, particularly receptive to the
rehashing of a familiar story.
It’s also a time when we’re short on time. After the
presents are opened and when we have an hour to kill before heading off to
Grandma’s, we flip on the TV, and there we find that oh-so-familiar story. Maybe
we missed the first half hour, and maybe we’ll have to leave before it’s over,
but that won’t matter. We know the story so well; we’ll enjoy it just the same.
While they’re arguably not high cinema, I must admit to
taking in a holiday-esque, overindulgent sized portion of them. They’re perfect
for throwing on while engaging in other Christmas perpetrations – baking
cookies, decorating the tree, wrapping presents, addressing holiday cards, or
if you’re like me and my family, assembling our Lego holiday village for prominent
display.
When it comes to story, they’re typically very simple.
That’s what makes them perfect for uniting with other activities. They set the
mood, but if you have to walk out of the room a dozen times, you still never
fall behind in the story. I personally praise originality to a fault, and
strive for originality in every nook of my own work but this observation comes
without an ounce of criticism, that is honestly and truly why I like them.
It may be true that the storylines lack on variety. In my
estimation, holiday films generally fall into about five basic storylines. With
the most popular being the main character has lost the Christmas spirit due to
prioritizing their high-power career, sales at a store, or simply making money,
over family, friends, and Christmas, (e.g. A Christmas Carol) only to have a
twist of fate, and often a new romance restore their priorities and their
Christmas spirit. Also popular is the main character’s loss of a loved one
having soured their Christmas spirit, but through a twist of fate and yes, a new
romance, their Christmas spirit is revived. (Note, I’ll admit that the more
basically you describe a story, naturally, the easier it is to group a wider
range of stories together.)
Our familiarity as viewers with the core storyline is in
fact what allows us to so easily digest the stories, even when only casually
paying attention, which I mentioned before is paramount to the enjoyment.
Is it fine cinema? No. But tree shaped sugar cookies aren’t
fine cuisine and I’m still going to eat a few dozen before the New Year. So to
shall I indulge in recycled Christmas tales, and worry about my
mental-waistline in January.
"The Book Was Better” Part 2
May 26, 2015 02:16 PM
| Adaptation, Screen vs. Page, Writing
Regarding the prevailing attitude toward movie adaptations of books, I will contend that books are not gospel. (In the non-religious definition of the word.)
Many choose to, or unwittingly, take the stance that a story
in novel form is the absolute embodiment of an author’s ideas, and therefore
anything else imparting that story, which differs in the slightest, is
inherently wrong. I believe this is at the root of criticism for novel
adaptations. I also believe this is mistaken and I assert the book is not
gospel.
As a screenwriter, one quickly learns your writing is
anything but absolute. Directors will ignore and change details, actors will
change lines, intentionally and accidentally, and that’s just the start of the
compromises between your vision and the resulting movie. A screenwriter’s
material is not gospel; it’s one interpretation of many. However, if it has a compelling
story and a deep emotional draw, all those people’s changes will be made in the
interest of telling the story well, even if they aren’t telling it the way you did.
This is the best for which a screenwriter can hope – that all the compromises
and changes made to your original work are done so in order to tell the story
well. This is a notion everyone needs to bring to books.
Having also written a novel, I can see the book is not the
100% embodiment of my story either. In my mind, the settings are so vivid I
could spend pages and pages describing each one, but that wouldn’t make for a
good read, so I cut it down to only what you need to know to get the feel, or
what elements of the setting will interact with characters, then I move
on. In my mind, I have elaborate back-stories
for every character, even those with only brief appearances. Again, interesting
to me, I could write pages and pages on them, but again not interesting if it
doesn’t affect the core story, so alas they’re largely omitted from the novel.
In my mind, I have lengths of story before the point in time
at which my plot begins as well as after the novel’s plot concludes. Again, the
book must have limitation in order to be a tight, moving, and engaging story,
so those elements get trimmed, though many writers may save them for sequels
and prequels. I suspect we’ve all begun books, which insufficiently trimmed
such excess and tangents, though fewer of us have finished said books.
To me, all this is what makes it exciting to talk with, and
ask questions to writers we love. If everything they possibly imagined was in
their book, there would be no need or interest in asking them about their work,
it would all be in the book. But the author cuts their internal story down to
only the richest element. When you love a detail or character, you ask the
author about it and they have much more information from the story in their
mind to share, and it’s wonderful.
Thus, I maintain that the book, in itself is a derivative of
a story. The only 100% accurate version of the story exits is the author’s
mind, and will only ever exist there. The book is a derivative of that story, a
trimmed, edited, and compromised output meant to streamline the story, to make a
derived version which is the most enjoyable for reading.
Many movies adapted from books are accused of doing the same
- trimming, adjusting, streamlining, and leaving out plot and details in order to
tailor the story into one, compact, and well-flowing movie. I pose this is just
another version of what has already taken place between the author’s mind and
the book, and is no more or less valid.
The format of a book being enjoyable to read requires this shaping, and
the format of a movie being enjoyable to watch also requires it.
I’ll go a step further. If the author’s story only exits in
its entirety within the authors mind, and that which reaches the pages of a
book is a derivative of that story, what reaches the readers mind is not even
that derivative. For much of what an author omits, be it back story or
descriptive details, we the readers fill back in from our own imaginations and
experiences. If an author chooses not to
elaborately describe a mundane waiting room, because it doesn’t serve the
story, we readers impose a vision comprised of all the mundane waiting rooms
we’ve sat in.
Even the author cannot account for all the details we
readers create for the story. The author can only hope to generally guide them.
Thus, the story that reaches the readers mind is in turn a derivative of the
story in the book, or (for those also versed in mathematics as I am) a second
derivative of the author’s story. This is why it is also enjoyable to discuss books
with fellow readers, to compare how the story is perceived given each
individual’s unique profile of added details and inherently differing second
derivative versions of the story.
This however poses another impossibility for adapted movies,
for we cannot compare a movie to an author’s internal story, nor can we
actually compare the movie to the story in a book. We can only compare a movie
to the second derivative story in our minds, which is unique to only us, yet we
expect the movie to live up to our vision.
The movie is also a second derivative. Derived from the
book, derived from the story in the author’s mind. Besides being tailored to fit the medium of
movies the best, the story’s ambiguous details now get filled in by the actors,
director, wardrobe designer, set builders, computer artists, and any number of
people involved with a movie’s production. Wherever these details come from,
they are certain not to match the details in any given reader’s mind.
These might even come from the original author. The movie
could go back to the author, ask him/her questions about all the details the
author left out, or consult interviews or other writings the author composed referring
to their original ideas, and then build the movie’s version of the story with
those details. In such a case, one could argue the movie’s version of certain
aspects of the story might be more closely accurate to the author’s story than
is any given reader’s version.
Whatever the case, between the author’s internal version of
the story, the book’s version, each reader’s version, and the movie version, one
certainty is that no two versions will be the same. Rather than dwell on how different
those differences are we should embrace those differences and relish comparing
them, just like we might relish comparing thoughts with a fellow reader. Most
importantly, I ask you to consider that the book is in no way necessarily more
or less correct than any other version.
The book is not gospel; it’s one interpretation of many.
Once you’ve accepted it, the enjoyment comes from understanding what has created
the differences…
"The Book Was Better" Part 1
May 06, 2015 12:17 PM
| Adaptation, Screen vs. Page, Writing
So many movies released these days are derivative of other materials:
comic books, video games, and most often from books. Whenever movies adapted from books are
released there’s an immediate wave, both in public reviews and personal exchanges,
assenting that “the book was better.” In this, and the coming series of posts,
I’ll analyze the pitfalls of this comparison, take a deeper look at the nature
of both formats of storytelling, suggest a better way of thinking, and note
some methodology for future adaptations.
I can’t and won’t defend every movie based on a book which
disappoints. There are bad movies, both adapted and originals, just as sure as
there are bad books that somehow get made into movies. However, as a writer of
both novels and screenplays, familiar with the movie making process, I can
offer a unique perspective.
I often see how what might be viewed as “missing” or
“changed” by the book lover watching the movie, would have been very difficult
and even more detrimental to include in the movie simply because of what movies
can and cannot do well. As a result, I typically
enjoy both the movie and the book, relishing the differences, rather than
dwelling on them. With that in mind, I believe an adjustment to the way most
people think regarding this comparison of media could bring a lot more pleasure
and less aggravation to dual-media experience.
My first issue with comparing books and adapted movies is
what typically carries over between the two. What elements from your first
experience with the story, be it movie or book, carry over into your experience
with the second?
A case study:
One of my favorite books is “The Eiger Sanction” by
Trevanian. A favorite of my father’s which he introduced me to. It was
published well before I was born, and years later (though still before I was
born) a movie based on the book was made. It was directed by and starred Clint
Eastwood, one of his early directorial efforts. I remember seeing the movie
when I was very young and really enjoying it. I thought I understood why my
father liked the book so much. However, at the time of the movie’s release it
was shunned by many critics as “lacking the sophistication of the book’s
character,” among other dismal comparisons to its root material.
It would be years later before I was old enough to actually
read the novel myself. While I then found there was indeed much more to this
story, character depth, subplot, etc., it didn’t make me hate the movie or
change my opinion of it. I just enjoyed
the book too, for what it offered different from the movie. I did notice however,
that certain elements of the movie carried over into my enjoyment of the book.
In this particular example, a large part of the movie takes
place while climbing a specific mountain in the Alps. The movie was filled with
beautiful shots of this mountain range. Many parts of the book occur while
mountain climbing, including the action filled climax, and all these were
really filmed on that spectacular mountain. The setting was stunning, and the
notion of all these intense scenes and conversations happening while the
characters are doing complex and dangerous climbing activities was incredibly
consuming. In the book, good as it is,
Trevanian could not do justice to this mountain setting. That’s not a
criticism, he just couldn’t pause the story to spend pages and pages detailing
these impressive, towering monsters, and while he supplied enough technical
climbing details for readers to understand the complexity, the film has the
ability to stream the ever-present difficulty and danger, without pausing the
dialog or action for a single moment.
These were the elements I brought over in my mind from the
movie to the book. When Trevanian touched on the setting, I filled in the rest
with the visuals from the movie, something a reader who hadn’t seen the movie
could only do if they’d been to the Alps. Similarly, the duality of the plot
and the separate action of climbing was always in my mind through the book,
though Trevanian had to alternate between the two, again carried from the
movie.
In short, the unique details of the movie carried over into
my mind while experiencing the book, enhancing it, while so many who read the
book first, saw only what the movie could not, or did not do. In general, very
few readers it seems will bring those book details into the theater with them
the way that the movie details came with me to the book.
When you read a book and find wonderfully deep characters,
each with backstories, great little subplots, and you watch an adapted movie
only to find all these elements have been omitted, shortened, or changed almost
beyond recognition, you see only that something is missing. However, when you
watch a movie, and see beautiful full settings and hear voices and see faces,
if you then go read the book, often you don’t complain that the setting
description is short changed, or the description of characters looks and voices
are under explained. Often we just carry
the movie detail over and let it shape the book we read, as we’re reading it.
Another battle movies must face is competing with ideas that
are only in a reader’s mind. There are many cases when an author, in interest
of keeping a story moving, must keep description brief. You don’t want to spend pages describing a
room only to have a few lines of dialog and move to another location. So you
give two sentences describing the room and move on, but two sentences doesn’t
complete an entire room so we readers fill in the rest, filling in with details
of our own choosing, and details of similar rooms we’ve been in. This makes
books fun for our imaginations, but then pits movies against ideas that exist
only in our minds, ideas not even the author of the book can fully account for.
As a writer of books, of course I don’t want people to wait
to buy my book until after a movie is made of it, in order to watch the movie
first and read the book second. No one will make a movie of a book that no one
is reading, waiting for a movie instead. However, I do think we readers and
viewers can enjoy both versions of a particular work, even when they might
differ greatly, if we think of things a little differently and amend our expectations,
and I’ll tell you how…in my next few posts.
Can a Story Ever Truely Be Told?
Feb 03, 2015 10:35 AM
| Writing
I’m truly a believer in lifelong learning, that no matter
how much you know, or think you know, you’re learning everyday. With my first
novel on its way in a couple months, I am well aware that I have a great deal
of learning to do when it comes to writing.
That said, as I’ve gone from the story in my mind, to my
first draft, through revisions, and finally to that final draft set to print,
I’ve had to learn a few lessons and had to make some shifts in my thinking to
get me there. Thoughts that might be useful to writers out there now, with
their stories in their minds, with first chapters written or even first drafts,
who are struggling with where to go next.
One such lesson, or shift in thought that I had to make, was
to let go of the notion that the story in my mind will be the story in a
reader’s mind when I am done and the book is out. I’ve come to understand that
this will not be the case, and in fact could never be the case. Was I to describe every detail of setting,
every detail of a character’s appearance, every thought each character has, and
all the backstory each character carries, I suspect I wouldn’t live long enough
to finish even one story. Thus, we as writers streamline the details to what we
feel is most important for our readers to experience, and what best serves our
plot. Everything else, everything we omit from the vision in our mind, then
becomes open to interpretation by the reader.
The story that reaches the page is only an approximation of
the story in an author’s mind, and from those words, a brand new story is
created in the mind of each reader. Their story is unique from any other
reader’s and twice removed from the original thoughts. Can a story ever truly
be told? I would submit that the answer is no. Only an approximation of the
story can be told.
Some of this might seem obvious, but acknowledging it
becomes particularly important when rewriting and refining your work. After a
writer has their first draft, it can seem like cutting a part of yourself, to
undergo editing pieces of your story away.
But, in almost all cases, it is necessary to do so in order to make your
writing the best it can be – in order to create a work that is dense with captivating
content, even when that means cutting vivid details, thoughts, emotions and yes
even sometime plot.
The story in your mind will always be far greater than the
story that fits into your book. You’ll always have plot that leads up to the
beginning of your novel, plot that continues after your novel, backstories for
characters that don’t effect this specific plot line enough to warrant inclusion,
details of settings that were simply too elaborate to include while maintaining
the speed of your plot through your book.
What reaches the page will always be merely an approximation
of your story. Accepting this allows you to understand that cutting the book
doesn’t change your story; it only changes the approximation of your story that
the book holds. Thus, rather than aim to tell your story on the page, you must
aim to create the best reader experience of your story that you can. Creating a
better reader experience only stands to improve your readership and allow you
to continue to tell stories.
Besides that, there’s other good news. For if you could get
every detail of the story onto the page, you the writer would then be useless
to the story. The story would exist, and you would no longer matter. However,
as it is, when you hold so much more story in your mind, you always have more
to offer to those who care to dig further.
When fans seek you out to answer questions they have from your book, you
have a great deal of additional information to provide - more details, more experiences,
more side stories, more background, and maybe even more novels.
* Note, the examples and descriptions of this essay reflect the creation process for a novel, however many of the same ideas could be applied to a short story, a poem, a song, a painting, or any other narrative from of expression. Speaking to one scenario only serves to keep the thought concise.
Is it Too Late to Rewrite The Nutcracker?
I’m a fan of a good story in whatever medium it appears,
book, movie, song, video game, you name it, or in this instance ballet. Popular
this time of year, of course is The Nutcracker. I’ve seen a few productions over
the years and while I will concede that each performance inherently has its own
variances and nuances, in each version I’ve seen, I find the story of The
Nutcracker falls a little short.
Lets take a step back and ask the question, what makes a
story interesting? To me the simplest answer is conflict. Conflict between
characters or between a character and other forces is what almost every story
uses to get us listeners, viewers, or observer to invest our time to find out
what happens. What makes a story good?
If we observers feel our time was well spent investing in a story, then to us
personally, the story is good. Thus, to me, a good story must have compelling
conflict with the exploration of the conflict, be it leading to a resolution or
not, guiding us through the story’s entirety.
In general terms, every element of a work should serve the
story. Big budget special effects in
movies, soliloquies in plays, songs in musicals, or flashback chapters in a
novel, all of these can be exceptional devices so long as they serve the story,
if not, they and the story fail. In a ballet, dancing is of course the primary
element and dancing is used to tell the story. Therefore, by my standards, all
dancing in a ballet should serve the story.
Now returning to The Nutcracker, the ballet has a definite
story, the conflict of which lies between the mice, led by the Mouse-King and the
soldiers who fight them, led by the Nutcracker.
This conflict might be as good as any for a story, but my issue is that
this conflict resolves essentially half way through.
A story can have many conflicts but to me no further
conflict arises resulting in the entire second half of the piece being without
conflict and virtual without story. The dancing no longer serves the story but
instead becomes a simple collage of vignettes, each with no apparent story or
conflict of their own, and no matter how well performed, and how ornately
decorated, still fall short of continuing to be compelling.
That said, I believe altering the story to maintain
conflict, and thereby interest for the entirety could be relatively simple.
Just bring back the Mouse-King for one more battle right before the conclusion.
Imagine, the story as is, but when the Mouse-King was defeated he instead escapes
and threatens to return. Through each vignette of various food or drink themed dances,
the threat of the Mouse-King’s return is ever-present…conflict.
After the crowning of Clara (or whatever the girls name is
in a particular version) and the Prince (Nutcracker) as rulers of the Land of
Sweets, the Mouse-King does returns and threatens everyone. The Nutcracker must
once again take up arms and then and only then defeat the Mouse-King for good.
With this resolution to the conflict, now only a short amount of story is spent
celebrating the defeat and awaking from the dream (if that is the
interpretation of your given version.) So again I ask, is it too late to
rewrite The Nutcracker?
* It is difficult to account for all interpretation of this piece,
across so many years and around the world. Given the multitude of unique
versions, it is possible that a similar variation to what I propose has been
tried. If so, and if available to watch or at least read a review of, please
point me in its direction. I would surely enjoy it.
Revisit the Chilling - Angel Heart
Much like my culinary appetite, I
find my appetite for stories sizable, but more noteworthy, to be heavily
influenced by seasonal hallmarks. Just
as the 10th month of the year brings an insatiable taste for
anything with a particular orange gourd as an ingredient, so to does October fortify
my craving for creepy, sinister, and macabre tales. Naturally, it culminates on
the 31st, before turning to the heartwarming, playful, and jolly stories
that draw my fancy through the remaining holidays of the year.
With Halloween just days away, many
dark, enticing tales cross my mind, but one that emerges as not only scary, but
interesting to ponder is the film Angel Heart (1987). * Though I’ve seen
it multiple times, and years ago, it still stands as a complex story with
themes and details worth revisiting and contemplating from time to time.
It stars a barely recognizable
Mickey Rourke, to those familiar with the actor today, alongside Robert De Niro
and Lisa Bonet. Rourke portrays Harry Angel. On the surface he’s an easily
identifiable, hardboiled private detective – struggling to pay his bills,
chasing beautiful women, and bedding a few in order to pursue his latest
investigation. But that’s only where the
character begins. The missing person case that falls into Angel’s lap takes
him, and us, on a dangerous path of secrets, corruption, and murder. Besides
putting Angel’s own life in jeopardy, the story leads to darker territory
including voodoo, deathly fortune telling, and devil worship.
This alone is enough to distinguish
the story from a Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe case, and to push this film into
the October-appropriate realm of Horror, but this is only the surface appeal of
the film. Angel Heart goes further, and doubles the detective’s investigation,
with all its peril, as also a voyage of self-discovery. As Harry Angel must go to dark and sinister
places, so to must he uncover dark and sinister truths about himself.
This elevates the story from
entertaining to contemplative, and is the reason this film can not only give
you a welcome Halloween chill, but also leave those of you who love a good
story as much as I do, ruminating on its themes and psychological consequences
for years to come - revisiting this meaty morsel whenever your appetite for the
menacing and direful surfaces.
* Note this film was based on William Hjortsberg’s novel Falling Angel (1978). My familiarity lies
with the film and my discussion is limited to it, though I’m sure the novel
shares most of the film’s admirable qualities, as well as possesses many of its
own. Perhaps appropriate for a future post...
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