June 8, 2017 / 2 Comments

If You Can’t Say Something Nice…

            I wanted to prattle on for a minute about a part of dialogue we ignore a lot. The unspoken part, so to speak.  Well, not so to speak.  Literally, the unspoken part.
            Wait… can something be literally unspoken in prose?
            Anyway, as I so often do… I’d like to tell you a little story.
            I was working on a movie once which had a pretty standard romantic subplot. Estranged husband and wife, pushed apart by work (he wants to stay small town, she wants to go national), and now brought back together again during a crisis.  Like so many of the lower-budget things I tended to be on, we ended up running short on time. The place they decided to tighten things up was in the reconciliation/we-still-love-each-other scene.  You know that scene, right? It’s in a bunch of stories and a lot of movies.
            The director and the two actors huddled together and started talking about how they could trim the page and a half scene without, y’know, ruining it. Were there phrases that could be combined? Maybe words that could be swapped out for… shorter words?
            At which point the lead actor suggested… “What if we didn’t say anything?”
            Which is what’s in the final movie.  You can watch it and see the one minute, one-shot scene. The two of the working together in the lab, falling right back into old habits, giving each other little appreciative glances…
            And never saying a word.
            Some folks are intent on picking “better” words and elaborate. meticulous phrasing. That gets spread as kind of a gospel.  We’ve all seen it—the people who’ll never use five words if it can be said in ten.  If there’s a longer, more roundabout way to talk about something, they’ll find it.
            But I don’t need to do this.  I’ve talked about the “less is more” idea a few times here.  A fair amount of the time I can do just as much (or more) with just a few words.  Subtext can get a point across so much stronger than the spoken (or shouted) word, and sometimes that subtext doesn’t even need dialogue.
            I know this sounds kinda weird and contradictory. I think I’ve said here two or three or forty-four times that dialogue is one of the key ways we show character, so it just feels unnatural to have characters not say anything.  Especially when there are so many cool lines and comebacks tingling on our fingertips.
            Let’s consider it, though.  How often can a grim silence have so much more impact than the longest, most detailed monologue?  Think about how flirty someone can be with just the right gesture or look.  There’s whole schools of comedy based around the idea of an awkward silence.
            And this is going to be harder to write.  I won’t lie to you.. Depending on unspoken subtext means I need to have my descriptions perfect—not one extra adverb or adjective cluttering them up and slowing them down.  It means I need to have a great sense of empathy—that I know exactly how this moment will be interpreted by everyone who reads it, and not just by a few of my friends.
            Y’see, Timmy, this kind of subtlety is what makes my writing soar.  It’s how I bring my story to life and raise it up to the next level.  I want to recognize the chance to say nothing–to use that delicate balance of silence and description and subtext–and take advantage of it.
            Or, as K.M.Weiland once put it—“Never miss a good opportunity to shut up.”
            Next time, I wanted to discuss some basic geometry.  We haven’t done that in a while.
            Until then… go write.
February 12, 2015 / 2 Comments

Masters of Sex

            It’s Valentine’s Day.  Well, almost. And any good Valentine’s Day will boil down to either love or sex.  Both, if you’re lucky.
            That being said, I thought I could use this time to talk about one of humanity’s favorite pastimes and how I can use it as a good writer.
            Apologize up front if this is a bit coarse and/ or graphic for your personal tastes.  Things may get a little NSFW this week.  I’ll try to use polite terminology where possible.  And where it isn’t, well… sorry.
            I’d like to ask you a question.  You don’t have to answer it here, but I’d like you to think about the answer in your mind.  It relates to my point this week.
            How many people have you had sex with?
            Lets take a moment while we all think about this.  For some folks, this is a very quick, easy to answer question.  For some others, there may be a small amount of finger-counting involved.  Maybe even a list. 
            And I’m betting a few of you may also be asking a common follow-up to this question, and that actually ties more into what I wanted to talk about.
            What are we counting as sex? 
            Are we strictly referring to intercourse, or are broader definitions at work here?  Does just being naked with someone count?  Only using your hands? Only using your mouth?
            Before you answer any of those, let me toss out a few of those coarse moments I warned you about. Some names/genders may have been changed or completely made up to protect the… well, innocent’s not the best word to use here, is it?  Let’s just say to protect the people involved.
            I knew a woman a few years back who’d been to bed a few times (and at least once on a couch) with other women, but staunchly insisted she wasn’t bisexual.  When I looked confused by this, she explained that she had no problem with other women doing things to pleasure her, she just didn’t like reciprocating.  Therefore, as she saw it, she wasn’t bi.
            I also had another friend who was married, but slept around a bit.  Thing is, he honestly believed he wasn’t cheating because he always, well, concluded things outside, to be polite.  He never said it in quite so many words, but after a while it became clear that was his definition of being faithful.  And since he was kind of blatant about it, I have to wonder if his wife agreed with that definition.
            And then there’s a whole school of thought in some more conservative areas of the U.S. that…  well, that sex involving a rear entry (again, to be polite) doesn’t “count” as actual sex. Both parties can do this a hundred times and, with no shame, call themselves virgins in the eyes of the Lord. 
            No, I’m dead serious.  This is an actual belief.  Google “God’s loophole.”  But you probably shouldn’t do it at work.
            For some of you, these views and beliefs might make perfect sense.  Or maybe some do and some don’t.  Or maybe you’re openly laughing at some of the mental gymnastics these folks are doing to rationalize things.
            So what’s the point of all this, besides getting the ranty blog banned from a few dozen work servers?
            Let me explain with an example.
            There’s a pretty mediocre movie called What’s Your Number?starring Anna Faris.  Anna plays Ally, a woman who sees nothing wrong with her sexual history until she reads a magazine article that points out she’s had almost double the average number of lovers for a woman her age before getting married.  At which point she becomes terrified that she may have already missed “the one,” and vows to revisit past exes to figure out who said man (or woman) is. 
            This is barely fifteen minutes of the movie, but it’s told us a bunch of stuff about Ally. It gives us a good sense of her views on sex–that she isn’t a prude, but also isn’t exactly sex-crazed.  We know she’s a bit concerned with how other people may view her, and that she’s a bit flexible about her orientation (or was, at one point).  We know she sometimes makes poor choices, like when she says she’s done sleeping with random people and then almost immediately ends up in bed with her ex-boss.  We also know she’s a bit impressionable—she feels fine about her sex life until a magazine article implies she should feel otherwise.
            So this also confirms these magazines only make you feel bad about yourself.
            Just like all of us, how my characters define, describe, and sometimes rationalize sex says something about them.  It invades their language, their behaviors, and the way they act and react to other characters.  There was a very funny moment on Orphan Black when suburban housewife Allison snidely tells her caseworker “I don’t believe I’ve ever done ‘the nasty.’”  And even if you’ve never seen the show that one response tells you a few things about Allison.
            Is it sex?  Making love?  A quickie?  A nooner?  Something a little more graphic or coarse?   There are still lots of people who wait for marriage before having sex.  Some folks only want to do it with people they’re in a serious relationship with, while others are fine with jumping someone on the first date.  And then there’s one night stands, friends with benefits, and a bunch of other situations that all boil down to sex.  Plus, views change over time and depending on the situation, too.  
            And any one of these things will tell a reader something about a character.
            Now, here’s one last  thing to keep in mind.  Just because I know Wakko never sleeps with anyone on the first date doesn’t mean I need to show a second date.  Or even a first one.  I’m not saying every short story, novel, or screenplay should have a sex scene so I can develop the characters more.   But, as I mentioned above, if I know how my character would react to such things, there’s a good chance it’s going to give me a better sense of how they’ll speak and act. 
            So go forth this weekend and have fun.  And take notes.  For writing purposes.
            And now, after all the fun sexy talk, here comes the big let down.  As usual.
            Probably going to miss next week because I have a deadline coming up and I really want to get this draft done so I have time to do one, possibly two, more before this book’s due.  So next week is all focus.
            In the meantime, if there’s a particular topic I could blab on about that interests you, please mention it in the comments below.  I like taking requests.  Makes me feel like I’m helping.
            If not, two weeks from now I’ll probably end up talking about spelling again.

            Until then, go write.

March 14, 2014 / 1 Comment

Plucking the Black Bird

            Very sorry for missing a week.  And a day.  I’m really trying to get this draft done before I have a bunch of late spring/ early summer cons.  Like next week, when I’ll be at ConDor in San Diego
            Anyway, for today’s rant… a little storytelling history lesson.
           I’m sure most of you reading this are familiar with the classic film Satan Met a Lady.  It’s adapted from a novel, something Hollywood really did a lot of at the time (thank God that phase is over).  The story focuses on a pair of detectives who take on a simple missing persons case and  find themselves in a complicated web of double and triple-crosses involving a bunch of murderous collectors and mercenaries searching for a priceless artifact lost since the Crusades.  One of the detectives is killed and the other one ends up playing a dangerous game, bluffing the assorted treasure hunters while he tries to figure out who he can trust and how far he can trust them.
            Not ringing any bells?
            No, of course not.  Nobody ever remembers the originals, just the remake.  The third remake, in this case.  But at least this time Warner Brothers decided to stick with the title of the book—The Maltese Falcon.
            Alas, there was a slight problem… 
            The Maltese Falcon is a story chock full of adultery, violent crime, seduction, backstabbing, womanizing, and more than a sprinkling of (gasp!) homosexuality.  Today these all seem like good, wholesome American values and activities, I know.  In the early 1940s, though…
            Y’see, when Warner Brothers decided to film their now-legendary remake, Hollywood was operating under an incredibly restrictive set of rules called the Hays Code.  One way to think of it would be that the Code was Prohibition for the film industry.  It put severe and very strict limits on what could be shown or spoken about in a movie.  Swearing was not allowed, especially taking the Lord’s name in vain.  Same with drugs in pretty much any form.  Blood and violence had to be minimal.  There was a list of crimes you could only show in very specific ways (including arson, prostitution, theft, smuggling, murder, sabotage, and more).  Nudity—even suggested nudity—was right out. 
            Also, films had to be morally upright.  People had to be good or bad—no gray areas or questionable ethics.  The good guys always won, the bad guys always got what was coming to them.  No one insulted the church or the flag or anyone else’s flag.  This was not a time of moral conundrums.  Y’know, like whether or not white and black people should date…
            The thing is, though, in the end, the Hays Code really did make The Maltese Falcon a better movie… just not in the way the censors expected. 
            Unable to use graphic images or even mention certain topics out loud—such as Spade’s affair with Archer’s wife, Joe Cairo’s homosexuality, or even the extent of Gutman’s ruthlessness—the writers and filmmakers were forced to rely much more on subtlety, subtext, and implied action.  Several major events happened off-camera.  Some of the relationships are revealed in a few carefully chosen words.
            (also, fun fact—Elisha Cook Jr., the actor who played Gutman’s hired gunslinger, Wilmer, was later cast as Captain Kirk’s lawyer on one of the original episodes of Star Trek.  No, seriously. Check it out…)
            You might remember a few months back I mentioned a movie from the same era that did something similar.  Chain Gang had two rival reporters discussing whether or not they were going to blow off a court case they were covering and go have a nooner.  The woman eventually shot the man down.  Except all they really did was talk about how certain the outcome of the case was and order lunch.
            What am I getting at?
            One of my favorite shows right now, Person of Interest, recently made an interesting distinction between two of the lead characters.  Mr. Reese, the former black-ops-turned CIA assassin-turned-avenging angel, is the team’s scalpel.  Miss Shaw, the sociopathic former NSA killer, is their hammer.  This was a big moment in a somewhat uneven third season, because it finally nailed down what role each of them filled. As their employer points out, there are times you need a hammer, but there are far more times you should use a scalpel.
            These days, there’s a lot of freedom for writers.  No one telling them what works or what doesn’t.  Very little is considered taboo.  Because of this, I think, I see a lot of folks who rely on the hammer.  They’ll show all the gore.  In fact, they’ll dial the gore up to eleven.  And the sex.  Same with violence.  If I may tread on sensitive ground, rape gets used as a hammer quite often in fiction—it’s a blunt, graphic act that gets an equally blunt reaction from the reader and other characters.
            There are many times the hammer works.  The hammer tends to get an immediate emotional response.  The downside to it is that after three or four hammer blows, my target’s just not going to be feeling that much.  The very extreme nature of it means I can’t keep hammering forever without reducing things to mush.
            That’s why we have the scalpel, and why it’s good to fall back on it now and then.  Anyone can swing a hammer, but there’s a reason surgeons have several years of training before they’re set loose in an operating room.  If someone knows what they’re doing with a scalpel, well, they can keep getting a reaction out of you… pretty much forever.
            See that?  That was a scalpel moment.  I just left the implications there for you to figure out.  And the thoughts and images that cut through your mind were so much worse than anything I could’ve described.
            Y’see, Timmy, if I can train myself to use a scalpel instead of always falling back on the sledgehammer, it’s going to give my writing much more variety and depth.  It’s also going to make my readers feel smart, because the scalpel depends on them doing a lot of the work.  And they’ll like that.  Honest.
            So here’s my challenge.  Next time you sit down to write (which will either be later today or first thing tomorrow, yes?), make a point of using the scalpel.  If your story calls for a sex scene, go out of your way not to describe body parts or sounds.  If there’s a moment of gruesome horror, see what happens when you don’t use blood and gore.  If it’s a romantic conversation, try not talking about anything romantic.  See where it gets you.
            Next time, I’d like to talk about New York’s hottest club—Stufft.
            Until then, go write.
            With a scalpel.
November 30, 2012 / 3 Comments

What I Really Meant Was…

            I touched on the idea of subtext a few months back, but I realize I didn’t give any real suggestions or examples of ways to improve things in this area.  So I wanted to revisit this and maybe make the post a bit more useful.  Well, as useful as anything I post here is…

            I don’t have cable, as I’ve mentioned here and a few other places.  When everything went digital it was a big thing for my lovely lady and I because we suddenly had about two dozen more channels and access to a lot more programming.  Granted, this is exactly why we didn’t want cable, but… well, I’ve become a big fan of Svengoolie.
            One of our channels shows lots of old movies from the ‘30s and ‘40s, and I happened to catch the opening of a little film called Chain Gang.  It’s from 1950, written by the very prolific Howard Green.  That date’s important because it’s the height of the Hays Code, a very restrictive set of guidelines that prohibited showing—or even discussing—a number of things on film.  Sex, violence, language, pretty much anything that could be considered immoral by somebody.  All the stuff  Family Guytakes for granted today.  Because of this, screenwriters of this era had to either write the blandest material possible or become masters of subtext.
            Early in Chain Gang, two reporters—a man and a woman—are having lunch at a burger shack across from the courthouse.  Since they’re from rival papers, they’re not actually talking to one another, they just keep asking rhetorical questions to the cook which are intended for each other.  And the clever subtext of the very quick and witty conversation—or set of conversations–goes something like this…
Him:  Well we can see where the trial’s going.  Let’s blow this off and go back to my place for a few hours.
Her:  I don’t think it’s so open and shut.  And besides, I’ve got a job to do.
Him:  I’ve got a job for you.
Her:  And I’d be more than willing to do it for you if I didn’t have this one already.
            Keep in mind, they weren’t saying any of this.  They were asking the cook about the time, relationships, work, and numerous other unrelated topics.  And after three or four minutes the cook asks “Look, are you two going to order or not?”
            The male reporter looks at his counterpart in a happy, slightly naughty way and says “I’ll have a burger—hold the onions.”
            The woman chuckles, shakes her head, and says, “Make that two burgers, Joe—and you can put onions on them.”
            Any question who won that unspoken discussion?
            Subtext is the art of the conversation beneath the one your characters are having out loud.  It’s the flipside of on-the-nose dialogue.  That hidden meaning doesn’t have to be miles beneath the spoken one.  It also doesn’t have to be rich and elaborate and layered with exquisite meaning.  But in good dialogue, it’s almost always there.
            Here’s a couple of suggestions for some methods that can bring your dialogue up to the level of an sixty year old movie…
The Reverse—One of the simplest ways to use subtext is for a character to declare the exact opposite of what they really mean.  I’ve mentioned the show Keen Eddie a few times, where the two main characters would constantly yell “I hate you!” back and forth at each other.  At one point or another, we’ve all probably been in the position of saying something along the lines of “It’s okay, I really didn’t want the promotion.  It was too much work, anyway.”
            A lot of times the reverse is just sarcasm, because sarcasm is all about subtext. Odds are all of us have made a suggestion where one of our friends has rolled their eyes and said “Oh, yeah, I’d love to do that.”  There’s a bit at the start of Roxanne (a movie loaded with subtext) where Daryl Hannah’s titular character is locked outside of her house wearing… well, nothing, and has to sneak her way to the nearby fire station for help.  When fire chief Charlie (Steve Martin) asks if she wants a coat or a blanket, she gives a nervous laugh and says “No, I really wanted to hang out nude in this bush in the freezing cold.”
The Friend— How many times have you read a story or seen a show where someone goes to the doctor and talks about the embarrassing problem “their friend” has.  Or maybe my character knows a guy who got really confused by how to install that Space Marine videogame patch, and was wondering if you could explain it in simple terms he could tell this guy next time they hang out.  This is another easy form of subtext, because I’m pushing all the emotions and thoughts onto another character altogether—even if it’s a nonexistent character.
The Blank—Kind of like the reverse method, the blank is a slightly trickier way of doing subtext.  It’s when a character demonstrates their opinion on something by offering no opinion.  Sometimes they do it by ignoring the topic, like when Yakko asks his brother Wakko’s opinion on Phoebe and Wakko instead wonders aloud how much the DJ gets paid at this club.  Other times Wakko might just dance around it, saying he doesn’t know Phoebe that well or giving a very vague non-answer (“Well, how well can you really know anyone, right?”)
The Next Step—If you’ve ever read about someone ordering a double or triple drink before they break some bad news to their tense friend, you know this method.  It’s when a character shows they’re one or two steps ahead.  I’m not thinking about now, I’m thinking about fifteen minutes from now.  Through their words or actions, the character’s saying “I know where this is going and I know how it’s going to end, even if no one else does.”  If you’re a Doctor Who fan, you might recall that in the Eleventh Doctor’s premiere episode writer Stephen Moffat packed an incredible amount of subtext into the single word, “run.”
The Metaphor—All of us have been in a conversation where what we’re talking about is not what we’re really talking about.  This method of using subtext is a huge part of flirting.  If you ever watched Seinfeld, you probably remember the time George misread a woman’s invitation to come up for coffee at the end of their date, said goodnight, and drove happily away (and then spent days on the phone leaving messages explaining that he thought she was talking about coffee, not coffee, because he would’ve loved to have coffee with her).  Eddie Izzard played with this one, too, and explained that “do you want to come up for coffee” is essentially the universal code for “sex is on!”  You’ve probably seen this method used in organized crime stories, too.  Characters in these tales will discuss “disposing of assets” and “making a definitive statement” or “preparing a welcome home party.”  I bet just by tying these statements to crime, the implied subtext has sparked a predictable set of images in all of your minds.
            And there’s five ways to create subtext.
            It’s worth mentioning that all of these methods need a bit of skill and practice, because sometimes people yell “I hate you” because… well, they hate you (sorry).  Every now and then we really do have a friend who needs help with something.  And if the Minister of Burundi asks if you want coffee, well… don’t start unbuttoning your shirt. 
            The trick with subtext is making sure it’s clear what I really mean.  So I can’t be so blunt that I’m not really hiding anything, but I also can’t be so subtle that people think my characters are just saying what they mean with no subtext at all.  It’s a fine balancing act, and it’ll take a few tries to get it right.
            Heck, I know this one guy who couldn’t pull off good subtext for years.
            Next time, I’m thinking about doing a big piece on structure again, because I got a nice bit of praise recently for the last time I did it.  But I might have something quick to say before that about crossing genre lines.
            Until then, go write.

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