Hearing Past the Sounds

I used to subscribe to “Architectural Digest”. It was aspirational – look at the fancy homes, wouldn’t it be great to have one or at least be able to speak knowledgeably about interior design? I lived in a rathole of an apartment with hideous carpet, fake wood panelling from the Seventies, and a fridge that was quite likely older than I was. The freezer shrank from frost until I could barely squeeze in an ice cube tray.

But most of the featured homes would have been nightmares for me to live in. I imagine they were to some extent fluffed up for the photographers, but even so they hewed to an ideal I couldn’t understand. Every surface held some object – a Tiffany lamp, a hand-carved  Thai jade elephant, a gold-and-lacquer curio box. And when I walk into a room, every object wants my attention: every object has a kind of voice, an insistence on being examined and understood and appreciated. 

Rule No. 4

“Je-sus CHRIST,” Zack said, jerking his chin toward the front of the store. Matt looked up from the box of staplers he was stocking.

The girl coming up the aisle was gorgeous. Honey-blonde bangs just brushing her enormous movie-star sunglasses, which were perched on an adorable little button nose over full, wide lips in a slightly lopsided smile. She moved toward them with an easy athletic grace. She was wearing a t-shirt and shorts with a backpack slung over one shoulder, but it was easy to imagine her in a sleek Lycra swimsuit with her hair tucked under a skullcap, waiting for the race to start.

It was also easy to ignore the guy holding her right hand.

“Crap,” Matt said under his breath. “It’s her.”

Epic Scream, Wilhelm!

I think one of the reasons violence is so prevalent in our entertainment is that it’s easy. It’s a kind of shorthand for conflict, an easy way to get a strong reaction from the audience. You don’t have to have particularly compelling characters or strong writing. You can get your audience engaged by throwing up a fist-fight and some explosions. Works for books, movies, and television.

Too Early?

Whatcha doin’?

Staring at a blank screen here. I’m trying to think of something to write about, and I’m not having a lot of luck.

My desk isn’t giving me much inspiration. There’s a laptop, an iPod on its docking station, my breakfast, and some clutter. None of which inspire me to say anything.

This is starting to sound a little self-pitying. It’s early. I’ve been getting up early to get a few things done before going to work, and one of those things is writing. It’s just that I can’t think of anything to say.

Perhaps later.

Challenges

It’s interesting to me how much more challenging it is to work within limits.

Back when I was in high school, I never minded getting essay assignments that had to be at least a certain length. It was never any problem for me to fill out the minimum word count. It’s not that I deliberately padded my papers. My first writing teacher told me I sounded like a nineteenth-century essayist. That’s still true sometimes. I tend to the florid and verbose, and unless I am ruthlessly self-editing I am relentlessly parenthetical.

But when I got to college I started getting assignments with a maximum word count. And my professor was very strict about that – if she said 1,000 words, she meant not one syllable more than 1,000 words. You could lose a letter grade by going over. That nearly drove me crazy.

It forced me to do a lot of editing. I learned to make one word do the work I’d split over several before. I learned to be concise and exact. It was like pulling my own teeth with rusty pliers, but it was worth it. I’m a better writer for learning how to keep it short.

Writing commissioned stories is another challenge. Not only is there the same “keep it under a certain length” challenge and the same “keep it on a set topic” challenge, there’s also the “add these elements” challenge. One of the toughest recently involved writing a 1500-word science fiction story about someone saving the world without knowing it: something Heinlein-ish with robots and the client’s father in it, and it needs to say something about politics or society.

Also I had to juggle three oranges, a chainsaw, and Scarlett Johansson while writing it. And chew gum! Can you imagine? (Okay, I made that up. I didn’t have to chew gum. And there was no mention of juggling fruit, power tools, or actresses. Which is just as well, since I’d have dropped the oranges and the chainsaw for sure.)

I think I managed all but the Heinlein-ish part. And the client was very happy. But it was very tough to come up with a workable idea that could incorporate all that in such a small space. I wasn’t at all sure I could do it, but my Muse came through for me in her usual oblique way – it’s quite a distance from where this story started to where it wound up, both in style and in content. If I didn’t know where it started out, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to guess.

Anyway, it’s good to stretch myself. It’s good to see how I can fill a particular space with my own stuff, even a space I’d never have thought to occupy.