Tag Archives: point of view

Four Types of Playful Writers

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Writers are, in general, playful people. As explained in a study by Dr. Rene Proyer “Playful people are able to reinterpret situations in their lives so that they experience them as entertaining or are able to reduce stress levels.” In my writing, I often rework real life situations with a better (or worse) ending and a more empowered character – a SuperMe – capable of witty remarks and amazing feats of skill, knowledge or cunning. Although it seems hard to find anything entertaining about pain or loss, the expression of an unpleasant experience in a creative way can be cathartic. For an example, recall Life of Pi by Yann Martel; young Pi survives on a boat with what seems to be a tiger, baboon and hyena.

The study categorizes playful people in four ways. I imagine writers can check one or all these categories. I will test each categories with myself and with the four Russian writers on my reading list for the year – Tolstoy, Chekov, Bulgakov and Nabokov.

1) “Other-directed playful” includes socializing with friends and other writers.   For me – a member of several writing groups, an “E” for extrovert on Myers-Briggs tests and working in a profession that involves people – this category is a hit. For the Russians writers, socializing with each other is well documented. Tolstoy reportedly took partying (1800’s style) at college to the extreme and never graduated. Lucky for him, it did not deter his writing career and success.

2) The “light-heartedly playful” consider life a game. And in games, it’s how the game is played. During the years I cared for my parents, we continued to play games. I had a performance baseline for each of them and measured each day against the previous. During play, the filters and pretensions dropped. Strategy choices revealed character, health and mental faculty. Humor was also part of the game. Chekhov began his writing career by publishing humorous anecdotes and stories to pay for his medical school studies. After that, his writing took a turn for the dark and serious.

3) The “intellectually playful” like to play with thoughts and ideas. Occasionally, the less tired and more clever me does re-orchestrate events to tell a playful story. I once threw away a microwave because my son said smoke came out of it. When I learned this might not have been true, I wrote a short story, “Trial of the Microwave.” On a more serious topic, Bulgakov wrote a satire about Stalinist Russia, Master and Margarita, which casts a wall-eyed loon and a talking cat as the devil’s attendants. I needed the talking cat in the microwave situation.

4) The “whimsically playful” enjoy “strange and unusual things and are amused by small day-to-day observations.” Details – accents, tone of voice, body language – convey information to the observant. The crystallized conflict photographed above caught my attention the other day. I took several photographs to determine if the ice was melting or the water was freezing. Before I could decide, my fingers numbed, and I almost dropped my phone in the water. Nabokov’s narrator in Lolita can dial up the description to create a complete image and feeling. Read through this jewel by Nabokov. He writes “. . . on the trim turf of the lawn-slope, an old gentleman with a white mustache, well-dressed – double-breasted gray suit, polka dotted bow-tie – lay supine, his long legs together, like a death-size wax figure.”

One last point about playfulness, Dr. Proyer notes that play enhances the ability to solve complex problems. A playful person can shift perspectives. In writer-speak, this shift is changing point of view. A writer imagines the thoughts and motivations of each character and determines the best narrator for a story. Solving (complex) plotting problems may mean jumping into another character’s thoughts and point of view. Or the story might need the intimacy of first person. Sometimes, I get it wrong. I’m quite proficient at switching from third person to first or vice versa. And being playful, I find it fun to edit and try it again in a different way.

The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Film – Part 2 of 2

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the-revenant-picA screenplay bridges the gap between novel and movie and converts the story into images and dramatized action. In the narrative-heavy novel, The Revenant by Michael Punke, readers know Hugh Glass’s thoughts and motivations as if inside his head, third person point of view close. Although this works well in the book “The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Novel,” on the big screen, viewers would see Hugh Glass and be clueless. What is he thinking?

Screenwriter, Michael L. Smith converts the novel into scenes that comprise a screenplay. The motives and conflicts are visible with dialogue, action or flashbacks. The director, Alejandro G. Inarritu, morphs the screenplay into award-winning creative expression. Smith minimizes the object story of the stolen Amstadt and maximizes the relationships, injustice, and personal loss. The screenplay shows theme, motivation and key conflicts in ten pages translating to ten minutes of screen time. In a quick comparison of the first ten pages, see how the movie builds on the screenplay scenes.

It’s a Good Movie When . . .

  1. The opening scene draws viewers into the character. Smith begins the screenplay with Glass whispering “not yet” to his sweat-soaked shivering son. The film takes this touching scene and places it in the aftermath of an attack where Glass finds his injured son and reveals his own motivation in the words, “Don’t give up. As long as you can grab a breath, you fight.” Contrast this to the novel which uses in medias res (beginning in the middle) to show Glass experiencing Fitzgerald and Bridger in the act of abandoning him and stealing his gun and knife. Each opening scene shows injustice – a sick child, a burned village, and an injured man left behind. Each version begs to know what happens next to this character.
  2. The antagonist is a worthy adversary. The screenplay, scene two, begins in the middle of a campsite of hungry and homesick trappers. Dialogue centers around Fitzgerald challenging and undercutting the leadership of Captain Henry who wears a buckskin jacket with long fringe. I visualize Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett; the Captain must be a good guy. We know Fitzgerald will be trouble. In the film, scene two luxuriates with precious minutes of water running in trees and nature sounds with camera angles the Sierra club would envy. The camera catches the quiet step of Glass and two others creeping toward an elk. Scene three opens to Fitzgerald ordering the trappers to bundle more furs together. He appears to have some authority. Then when the Arikara chief attacks, Fitzgerald proves to be a fighter. So far, the chief has my vote for the antagonist. In scene four on the boat and scene five at the next camp, Fitzgerald challenges the Captain and insults Glass. Now it is known. He will be a problem when left to care for Glass. In the novel, Glass pursues Fitzgerald regardless of dangerous weather or hostile tribes of Arikara warriors. These two immediate threats are far more interesting than the eventual meeting of Glass and Fitzgerald at the end of the story. In the film, the meeting of Glass and Fitzgerald is a Hollywood big ending.
  3. Art is not forgotten. Inarritu deserves his Academy Award for his choice of setting alone. The scenery behind the blood and mutilation is ruggedly beautiful. My in-house cinematography expert reports the crew filmed only with natural light in many Canadian locations and in Argentina. Cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, also wins an Academy Award for his efforts on this big screen epic. The film sports many talented actors, but only one can win, best actor at the Academy Awards. For the record, Hugh Glass did not sleep inside a horse; it is a Hollywood stunt. If you haven’t seen the film, do it for this scene — Leonardo Dicaprio, horse, cliff and snow.

Contrast Inarritu’s production with Jason Blum and his low-budget film production company (films with price tags in the thousands and receipts in the millions). NPR’s Ari Shapiro recently interviewed Blum. A 2013 Forbes article by Mark Hughes puts Blum’s movies in perspective. Blum is responsible for Paranormal Activity 1, 2, 3, 4 and however many he produces after the sixty plus films already on his resume (including Whiplash). He says production costs are contained by restricting the number of locations, eliminating big stunts, and using unknown actors.

The filming of the Revenant did none of these. The Revenant is big budget, multi-continent, 156 minutes, and a makeup artist’s dream for blood, wounds and semi-frozen big star talent.

Paula Picked a Plighted Path of Parallel Plots

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KarensSeveral chapters into Paula Hawkins’ best seller The Girl on the Train, I note the thriller’s structure of three character point of view with parallel plots. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, by David Shafer, which I also read in the fall, follows the same three character parallel plot. Although the point of view and plot structure are similar, these two books are vastly different.

Shafer begins his novel in Mandalay, Myanmar which I recently toured via tablet, the safest way to sightsee an exotic setting with movie backdrop potential. Location organizes the three equally-weighted plots and is shown at the beginning of each chapter. After round one of each of the points of view, the reader knows which location indicates which character. Portland is Leo. Mandalay begins Leila’s story. New York is Mark’s departure point.

Ansen Dibell, author of Plot, identifies this structure as a braided plot where the “pace, tone and color” of each plot blends and adds to a deeper and richer whole. Shafer’s novel is also a tandem narrative according to Linda Aronson because each of the stories presents a linear progression in time. Although the plots begin separately, a convergence occurs three times: Mark and Leila meeting at Heathrow Airport, Leila escorting Leo from Whispering Pines Rehab, and Leila and Leo rescuing Mark from a motivational speaking gig gone bad. Elizabeth Sims appropriately calls this a swallowtail plot because the convergence and interaction of the characters continues for a significant portion of the story.

The characters in Shafer’s novel are unique and humorous. A Goodreads review describes my favorite character Leo as the “unhinged trustafarian.” He’s a trust fund baby and Harvard graduate who works at a daycare. The problem with having a favorite is I don’t want to read the other plots in this dark comedy, such as Mark, the “phony self betterment guru.” And yawn, I skim the chapters on the too serious, Leila, “disillusioned non-profit worker.” The balance of each characters lows and highs keeps the overall novel’s pace clicking along with plot and subplot.

For something completely different, Hawkins’ The Girl on the Train shows Dibell’s mirrored pattern of plots. The three women are connected as opposites, and at other times, as complements in emotion, life stages, themes and imagery. Each chapter in the story begins with a character’s name, day of the week, date and time of day. In the first chapter, the main protagonist, Rachel, travels morning and evening for five days on the train. The story’s motion feels like commuting, stopping, starting and sharing an awkward space with the same faces going the same way at the same time each day. The reader learns of Rachel’s alcoholic behaviors, cheers her sobriety and dreads what will come of her next drinking binge and her calls to ex-husband, Tom.

As for Rachel, her plot and Megan’s are true parallels in a geometric sense and never intersect. These two plots and points of view alternate for the first third of the book before Anna’s point of view presents. Anna intersects with Rachel and with Megan but at different time periods–one in the present and one in the past. Hawkin’s story illustrates what Aronson calls a fractured tandem, current time for Rachel and Anna but a past time frame for Megan. Aronson identifies this parallel plot structure as good for “unexpected, often tragic connections between disparate people.” That sentence pretty much sums up the book for me.

The technique of parallel plots is a time tested convention. Contemporary writers borrow from 16th century Shakespeare who copied from first century Greek philosopher, Plutarch. In “King Lear,” Shakespeare mirrors plot and subplot to intensify the drama. Both The Girl on the Train and Whiskey Tango Foxtrot benefit from the intricate weaving of plots and mirroring of characters.

Tags: parallel plots, writers craft, The Girl on the Train, Paula Hawkins, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, David Shafer, Linda Aronson, Ansen Dibell, Elizabeth Sims, Shakespeare, “King Lear”

Read, Read, Read

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“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot.”

~Stephen King

I met a young man in a critique group who had an excellent premise for his novel. I asked him if he read anything in that genre. His unflinching reply, “Oh, I don’t read books.”

Unbelievable!

Good writers read and write a lot. Inspiration can come from various sources, not just their own genre. As a memoir and fiction writer, I’ve read a number of books that have helped me improve my creative skills. Some books I’ve kept in my do-not-lend collection.

The Cry and the Covenant, the historical fiction by Morton Thompson, chronicles a doctor’s efforts in preventing women from dying of childbed fever. As a teaching physician at a hospital, he insisted that his students and colleagues wash their hands after working on a cadaver and before helping a woman deliver her baby. This was before widespread acceptance of germ theory and his colleagues resisted his efforts. Women continued to die. Thompson’s description of the ignorance of the medical staff and the doctor’s frustration was powerful.

I reread Lynn S. Hightower’s Flashpoint to study her writing style and because I enjoyed the fact that a female serial killer was quite intriguing and believable. Hightower is excellent in this genre.

Charles Pellegrino’s Dust is a terrifying tale of a worldwide biological chain of events that threatens the survival of mankind. Since reading that book, I haven’t met a dust bunny I didn’t try to kill.

Phantom by Susan Kay is a powerful prequel to The Phantom of the Opera. Each chapter is told from the point of view of the person with whom the phantom comes in contact, beginning with his mother who recoiled at the sight of her disfigured newborn. This book demonstrates strong character development.

The World’s Love Poetry, edited by Michael Rheta Martin, contains more than 500 poems – lyrical, bawdy, tragic, beautiful, and moving – from centuries ago to modern times.

The Stovepipe by Bonnie E. Virag is an emotionally moving memoir of a young girl’s struggle and survival after she and her many siblings were taken from their home and put in foster care. The book ends with “After Thoughts,” a touching recap of her family members’ whereabouts.

I’ve enjoyed rereading the adventures and viewing the awesome pictures of the travels of Kwang and Kook-Wha Koh in their book, Hopping Seven Continents, Maybe one day I can go to some of the places they’ve been.

The young man I mentioned did self-publish his book, but the story wasn’t fully developed or well-written. No surprise there. He should have read more books.

What are you reading?