End of Acts

I'm one of those writers who thinks in the three act structure. I could never write some sprawling Russian novel with 500 characters - not going to happen. Maybe I'm limiting myself or it's an artistic wall I'm not talented enough to overcome, or I'm just too artistically lazy to want to overcome. I think it's a direct result of coming to writing through movies. I had a writing teacher once say that movies are a great short cut when discussing craft, which I agree with. I learned story structure through movies, most all of which follow the three act set up. The best example: Witness. I've seen thousands and thousands of movies, some more than 20 times, so I've been conditioned. I'm like one of Pavlov's dogs, the one who drools at the sight of a Blockbuster.

I have Syd Field to thank for this. The first book of craft I read was his Screenplay. I bought it when I was a freshman in high school. I highlighted it, took notes, etc. I learned the insides and outs of everything he wrote about. So, I'm a slave to his paradigm. If you are not familiar with this, Field has deconstructed just about every film within a certain structure: Act 1, Plot Point 1, Act 2, Plot Point 2, Act 3. That's a pretty simplified breakdown, but you get the idea. This is how I think when I think about plot. For close to 20 years (funny to think about, but it's true) this is how I've visualized story structure.

So, on to my point. The ends of acts suck. Do you know why? Because you have to begin again. You've gone through an entire act. Everything you've put down on paper (or on the blank screen) to this point is for the payoff at the end of the act. And BAM! You hit that plot point and the story is shooting off into another direction. It feels good for a moment. You can look behind you and see where you've come. You tend to celebrate the milestone. Great job, Steve! Then reality sets in. Not only are you not finished, but you have to start a new act. The momentum you felt push you towards that major plot point isn't behind you anymore. You have to find some new force to guide you through. That means another beginning. It's like page one all over again.

OK, you have your characters and you have the MacGuffin, but things cannot remain the way they are. You must manipulate the characters, throw up some twists and turns and pick up the pace. In some cases, the end of an act is a climax in itself - and that is where I am now. The characters I've started to develop need to react differently, but not out of character. New obstacles arrive and disrupt their normal existence. They will not go about their day as if nothing has occurred. How boring would that be? How much of a talentless hack would I be if I let that happen?

So, I'm at the end of an act and I'm not looking forward to pushing the story up another hill. I know that once I've reached this next peak, the momentum will carry me - but I'm a writer in the middle of writing, rational thought doesn't get through this thick skull.

OK, back at it. One foot in front of the other... I think I can...I think I can...I think I can...

Continuing On and the Lottery

So, I've slowly gotten back into the writing habit. So far it has been a few pages here and there, but it has been productive. I wrote an entire chapter, realized that the emotions of the characters should have been switched and need to rewrite it with opposing viewpoints. It's an interesting way to examine characters - how would they act differently if their attitudes and thoughts were opposite of what they would normally be? Well, the answer is that they wouldn't be the same characters. You'd might as well slap different names on them. Man, I wish I could just wake up and have this thing finished.

And speaking of the easy way out, now that I'm a homeowner, scratch that, a mortgage owner, I've come to believe in the healing powers of the Powerball. Over the past few weeks I have worshipped the Powerball at the local convenience store. I've even sprung for the powerplay for a buck more. With each easy pick, I plead with the lottery powers that be to help shed my massive debt. It seems like prayer is the best avenue for someone whose debt has gone from three figures to six in the past five weeks.

Where to Begin Again

So, the writing pace has slowed quite a bit over the past six months, By slow, I mean just about stopped. I did finish a short story over that period, but that's about it. There have a been a few notes written down in various places and a couple of sentences typed out now and again, but for the most part my energies have been focused elsewhere; mainly, in buying a house. But now that it's been over two weeks since the closing and most of our boxes have been unpacked, I'm ready to start writing again. The trouble is where do I begin?

Writers Wanted

Calling all writers, there is a new program that needs you. The Society for the Advancement of Young Writers is looking for volunteers to help young writers in the school systems throughout the United States.

It's mission statement:

The Society for the Advancement of Young Writers (SAYW) is devoted to the inspiration and education of young students in the craft of creative writing.

The website basically houses a database of writers available to teachers and school administrators in their communities. Please, check out the site and seriously consider joining.

From the website:

If you are an author that would like to participate in your local schools’ creative writing efforts, please send an e-mail to: saywmember@kidlitszine.com. In the body of the e-mail please provide an e-mail address where you can be reached by schools and the geographical region in which you’d be willing to help. Please also state if you require a fee (usually small covering enough for lunch and gas) or if you would do an engagement for free. Last, please indicate in which genre you work.

In addition to the writers database, the program also developed a webzine for young writers called Kidlits.

But What of the Guys?

So, I was in Target the other day getting stuff for the new house (the reason I have been away from the blog for a couple of months) and I happened to wander from the hardware aisle down to the movies and books section as I am known to do. I usually browse quickly through the titles, imagining a DVD collection to rival the local Blockbuster or a library with a need of its own librarian. As I looked through the books I began to notice that these aren't meant for male readers. Now I'm not above reading The Bell Jar or The Dogs of Babel (a book, that if you have not read it, you must do everything in your power to go get); but these books are not targeted toward guys. If given the option of reading The Time Traveler's Wife and watching Kelly's Heroes, the typical dude is going to cozy up with Clint Eastwood, Telly Savalas and Don Rickles. But what do you expect? I counted maybe ten books that the average guy would read, while there was more than 150 for female readers.

I know that women read more than men, but they are catered to more. Marketing is geared toward women, the types of books published lean toward the typical female taste in stories and the books pushed by bookstores and other sellers are stereotypically meant for women. There are Guy Books out there, but usually one has to hunt for them. Gischler's Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse is a great example of a Guy Book: violence, survival and hot chicks. But you're not going to find that book as you're strolling through Target shopping for a shower curtain, or at the local Wal-Mart making fun of nature's mistakes who roam the aisles there, or even shelved in the small magazine section of the grocery store. No, you have to specifically drive to a bookstore and search through the books to find it; and the typical guy doesn't like to shop just to shop.

Guys will read if they find something they like, but usually that book will fall into their hands through a series of events that rival a Rube Goldberg nightmare. When I worked in a paper mill during the summers while in college, I would find copies of The Executioner books in various places (also a lot of porn mags). These books seemed to go from one worker to another. Mack Bolan kept me company through some long hours of nothing to do. And I, like my fellow reader before me, would leave the book wherever I happened to finish it so the next worker would have the chance to read it.

I think publishers and book sellers need to take a chance on male readers, or more of a chance than the half-ass effort they do now. The buyers employed by Target should find some of these Guy Books and push them onto the floor where they will catch the eye of a dude walking pass the book section (a section they usually avoid like ladies lingerie... well, most men at least). Or maybe start a book section in Home Depot or Lowe's. I think there is a market out there that's being ignored, but I hope someone somewhere will tap into it.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Pieces of History

From the creative genius known as Patti Abbott comes another flash fiction challenge. This time, those who participated were given a sentence or two from another participant to begin the story. This is what I came up with. I feel sorry for the poor bastard who received my prompt. Anyway, here's mine:

Pieces of History
By Stephen Allan


Bruce kept the bullet in a small pillbox. He would show it proudly to visitors at the nursing home. This bullet ended the life of Henry Lee Patrick, he would tell people. It blasted out of my service revolver and lodged into the gangster’s ticker. Most of the residents of the home knew who Patrick was, at least the ones who still had all of their marbles, and got a kick out of Bruce’s story; but the boy scouts and girls scouts who came every Saturday to volunteer had never heard of the St. Louis criminal. No one’s ever told you about the great Mississippi crime spree of 1947? Good Lord, Patrick and his men were up and down both sides of the Mississippi River knocking over one bank after the other. Had the whole country in a tizzy for near close 3 months that summer. The kids, who normally looked bored and a bit bothered to visit the home, usually just answered with a blank stare as if they didn’t know what to do in a conversation. Well, I ended that crime spree, Bruce would say and indicate the damaged slug pinched between his fingers before putting it back into the pillbox. That’s my little piece of history.

Bruce told his tale until he received the letter from Charlotte, North Carolina. It was typed on flowery stationary and smelled faintly of perfume and cigarette smoke. The signature was familiar.

Bruce had spent over sixty years telling the story of how he killed Patrick and he came to believe it was true. Fact and fiction were bent at first, then mixed together over the years and finally, in Bruce's past two years at the home, blended into a smooth version that had more lies than truth. Yes, Henry Lee Patrick was dead and yes, the slug Bruce kept in the pillbox was dug out of Patrick's heart; but Bruce didn't pull the trigger.

Dear Bruce,

It seems that our stories no longer need to match and I am able to free you of your obligation. This life would not have happened if it were not for you, so you should not be sad in knowing that it has ended. I have instructed my daughter to mail this letter when I pass away. She is very beautiful and has no idea of the gift you have given her. Without you I would have gone to the gas chamber for sure and she would never have been born. I've included a photo of her and her family. Know this is what you have accomplished.

Sincerely,
Sylvia

Bruce looked at the photo, and then crumpled it up along with the letter and stuffed it into the pocket of his robe. He opened his drawer, grabbed the pillbox and his lighter and walked out of his room. He made it passed the nurses' station and through the ballroom and down the small staircase that led to the outside garden that overlooked the ocean. The autumn wind felt pleasant and cool against his face. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, especially any of the nurses, because he was afraid someone would stop him. When he was satisfied that he was alone without any spies, he walked to one of the outside ashtrays and set the letter and photo in it. He lit the paper and picture and watched it burn for a moment before walking towards the water. At the fence he looked down at the rocky shoreline. The tide swished in and out rhythmically and he just stood there until he couldn't stand the cold any longer. He pulled the pillbox out of his pocket and dropped it into the water.

Bruce never told the story of Henry Lee Patrick ever again.

This is the Most Disturbing Thing I've Seen in Quite Some Time

House Hunting

Been doing the real estate thing. Looking at house after house; what can we afford, what do we need in terms of space, how much effort do we want to put into anything requiring the letters DIY?

What do I want in a house? Space, location, yard, character, garage, a furnace I don't have to worry about? Is this permanent? The terms of the mortgage makes it seem so. Should it be something small with the intention of moving later on down the road in ten years or so? What does that mean in terms of staying around here? What does it mean in terms of where I am in life? Is it time to realize that I'm in my mid-thirties and that I'm an adult for better or worse? Is it time to realize where I'm at in terms of a career? On the upward swing of academic administration. Yippee!

What is a house? OK, I know the four walls and a roof thing, but what does it mean to an individual? How does it define? Am I split-level ranch? Am I colonial? Perhaps bungalow? Am I new or am I aged with character? Isn't a house one of the first things that tells you about a person? You meet someone and go to their house and you make all kinds of assumptions according to their taste in a house (why they bought it, what is it that appeals to them) and how they decorate it. Is it because I have such a hard time identifying myself that I have a hard time determining what type of house I want, or even choosing what I want most in a house.

The DIY route means less time doing anything else. I guess you can get a place to where you want it - or live in hope of getting it there - but is it worth the time and effort? I'm not afraid to do the work. I know I can do it; I'm a bit rusty with everything, but it's like riding a bicycle, right? Less time reading, less time writing, less time seeing films, less time playing with the kids.

It's going to be a long process...

Can't Blame Him

Is it just me or is Apollo staring at Starbuck's chest in this picture?



Oh, I cannot wait for the series to return in a couple of weeks. Any predictions on the final cylon? I'm still thinking Roslin. OK, geek moment passed, go about your business.

Non-Oprah Book Club: Asylum

Gothic settings, passion, sex, jealousy, tragedy, insanity; could you ask for anything more? Told from the point of view of Dr. Peter Cleave (a most unreliable narrator indeed), Asylum is the story of an unhappy wife who has an affair with one of her husband's psychiatric patients; a decision that leads to incredible ecstasy, as well as incredible sorrow. Patrick McGrath has a tendency to slip under the pleasantries of human nature and expose its most gruesome truths.

The catastrophic love affair characterized by sexual obsession has been a professional interest of mine for many years now.

- First line from Asylum by Patrick McGrath

The Best of the Year... According to Me

No, I haven't read every book that came out this year. No, I haven't seen every movie, TV show or listened to every album. However, that will not stop me in announcing the best of the year. So, let's get to it.

Best Book: Money Shot



Man, I absolutely fucking loved this book. I had read a couple of mediocre crime novels that left me rather depressed about the state of the genre before I received Christa Faust's book in the mail; but after I raced through the damn thing, not only did I think the book was incredible, but Faust had single-handedly infused my soul with faith for crime fiction and made me feel foolish for even questioning it.

When I think of the novel, it amazes me how she brilliantly maneuvered across the razor blade thin line between timidity and exploitation in dealing in a setting (the porn industry) that offers a seemingly infinite number of ways to turn the story into something that either sanitizes that business and the people in it or something completely salacious. OK, it may not be for everyone, but they should get over their puritanical inhibitions and just enjoy this masterpiece of modern noir.

The bonus for me this year was actually meeting Faust and telling her how much I loved the book.

Runner-up: Y:the Last Man

The tenth, and last, volume of Brian K. Vaughn's smart, semi-apocalyptic epic came out this summer and it did not disappoint.


Best Movie: The Dark Knight



Three letters sum up my reaction to The Dark Knight: Wow. Not only was this the best comic book movie ever, it was also one of the best crime films of the past twenty-five years. Put this right up there with The Departed. I seriously doubt the film will grab a Best Picture nomination, but it should.

Runner-up: WALL-E
In a year of seeing just about every kid movie released (most of which were pretty decent), WALL-E proved that the genre can produce great cinema that deserves recognition among the more "prestigious" films out there.

TV Show: Pushing Daisies



And thanks to the idiots of network television, that's what this delightful, ingenious show will be doing. If only there were someone in TV Land who had Ned's magic touch. Now there is barely any reason to watch NBC, CBS, ABC or Fox.

Runner-up: Mad Men

Bold, brilliant and moody. What more could you want in a show?


Music: Erykah Badu, New Amerykah Part One (4th World War)




Oh, the sweet voice of she with the impressive hair.

Runner-up: Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend

Go gives a fuck about an oxford comma? I do.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like X-Mas

This is what Christmas with my family looks like.