What's interesting (to me) is that my favorite band is not my first choice for my writing music. I think that's because, when I put this band on, I'd actually like to listen to them as opposed to having them as background. Sometimes, though, I put them on anyway, since writing music is meant as background... to be absorbed by your subconscious... and then affect your writing in so many delicious ways. And this music... is just that. These guys. These guys! ...Now, I don't like the term "bucket list"; let's say, "List of Things to Do Before I Die." ...No. That's unwieldy. Let's say, "LOTTDBID." That's much better. ...Anyway, the band. The band is my LOTTDBID. No! I don't mean I want to do the band... I mean, going to see a concert. That's what I want to do before I die... Geez. Always making me clarify because of your dirty minds. You all are sick, sick people. For shame. *waves admonishing finger* The band is called Emperor Yes. They're a trio out of Old Blighty (England, that is- I just like saying Old Blighty. [Old Blighty]). Their music is trippy, intricate, catchy, well-crafted, singable, and smart. Yes, I italicize. That last is important.
How many damn songs are there out there about love? I mean, yes, love has many different aspects and is undeniably powerful; it affects us all at one time or another, so we can usually empathize with the lyrics and all that good stuff. But it gets old. A song about something- anything- different catches my attention. And boy howdy, are these songs different. Songs inspired by Carl Sagan. By defensive tactics in bees. By what I am unfortunately unfamiliar with but I believe to be mythology (also a way to see how many times you can fit the word "monkey" in a single song). It's not just the originality of the subject matter; that'll only take you so far. It should be borne out by the craftsmanship. Fortunately, as I said, that is excellent (bearing in mind I am a layperson when it comes to music). Ash Gardner on lead vocals (guitar, keyboards, probably other stuff) has a delivery unavoidably reminiscent of the Flaming Lips, which took me some getting used to; but now I don't think I could do without, it enhances the flavor of their sound so much. Adam Betts (of Three Trapped Tigers) on drums (possibly other stuff) whacks out a damn fine rhythm, often unexpected, always inspiring to my ever-twitchy toes. And Hugo Sheppard on keyboards (more than probably quite a lot of other stuff)- just wow. You know how sometimes, you watch someone doing something... and you have that feeling, like it's just a privilege, an honor, to be there, like you are in the presence of someone who is just... doing what they should be doing. I really can't think of any other way to say it. Someone who works the hell out of their craft. ...I guess I could think of another way to say it, after all. I have listened to this album many, many (many) times, and have yet to get sick of it. My kids love it. Cripes, my husband loves it- well, likes, but that's high praise from him. He's a hard sell when it comes to music. Seriously. My LOTTDBID. I'd have to afford a plane ticket to England, though. Anyone want to GoFundMe??? :D No? ...Hello?* Oh, well. I'll content myself for the time being with my MP3s, and videos; the videos are particular genius, check them out here. And buy their music on iTunes. Listen on Spotify. And SoundCloud. And here's a link to their record label page. (Damn, more people should have me as a fan. I'm not even requesting compensation). I'm actually reluctant to sound this about, in a way. This is my wonderful discovery- mineminemine! I feel almost like I want to keep it to myself. But then I remember that's stupid. The world needs to know about wonderful, different things like this. Who knows? Perhaps we'll end up bonding over our shared love of Emperor Yes, and peace will come to our time. Then we can end our struggles and move forward as a species. And then we'll all be destroyed by giant ants. *Seriously. Either I can sit right down front, unable to wipe the insanely pleased smile from my face until I have to be removed because I'm creeping the band out; or I'd be happy even to just stand somewhere in the corner, doing my patented "incredibly cool and not in the least reminiscent of a spazzy monkey" dance.
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There're so many writing tips and advice floating around out there. Seasoned pros who have been there, done that, passing down their sage advice. And why not? For anyone looking to embark on some bold new venture, it can be a bit daunting to know where to start.
Thing is, it's important to remember that what works for one person might not work for you. The process is different for everyone. Trial and error. Test it out. Find your own way. That said, there are many similarities. Par example below (based on my own experience, but really, tell me honestly if this doesn't ring a bell, and if it doesn't I swear I will eat a fish, and I really don't like fish, they taste like they smell and they just smell so fishy but ANYWAY): 9:00- Arrive at coffee shop. Set up laptop, order first coffee. 9:15- Laptop finishes booting up. 9:25- Programs finally finish loading. Start music. 9:30- Begin new manuscript. 9:31- Try and figure out what the hell the new manuscript is about. 9:45- Check Facebook. Just for a minute. 10:01- Aha! That's what the new manuscript is about! 10:03- Break for harmless flirtation when adorable baby twenty year old behind the counter takes old cup away. 10:25- OhmygodIreallyhavetogotothebathroom. 10:27- Order second cup of coffee. 10:28- Change music. 10:29- Back to it! 10:31- Check Twitter. Just for a minute. 10:45- Back to it! 11:38- Holy crap. Where did the time go?! 11:38- And where did my coffee go?! (Thanks to Samantha Eaton [@Samantha_Eaton3] for this point) 11:38- Back to it! 11:38- Er. 11:39- Uh. 11:40- Crap. 11:40- Change music. 11:41- Check Facebook. Just for a minute. 11:52- Check Twitter. Just for a minute. 12:01- Check e-mail. Just for... oh, heck. 12:03- Check website stats. And go to the bathroom. 12:05- Holy crap. Where did the time go?! 12:06- Writes furiously. 12:35- Dang it. Dangitdangitdangit. Time to leave. After a bathroom stop. I normally get about ten pages done.* Now I come to look at this, it's a wonder I get anything done at all. *Never enough. It is never, ever, ever enough. Whew, it's been too long since I've been here! I've been overwhelmed these past two weeks with getting everything done post-vacation. There's been scouting and soccer practices and everyday stuff and then there was impending Halloween. Well, me being me, I had to make my kids' Halloween costumes. I have three kids. This is what the experts call, in their experting wisdom, "Nuts". But that's never stopped me before! I dove in, busted some hinder... and still didn't have enough time to make the baby's costume, so I wound up getting one at the store (on sale, so I really didn't spend any more than I would have on supplies to make it). Again, me being me, I feel horrendously guilty that I didn't make it. What kind of lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing mother am I, anyway? My daughter is a Rainbow Fairy, my youngest is a lion, and my eldest is, obviously, Mario. Thanks be to the person who snagged a blanket from the local casino (the name was printed on it) and then gave it to the Goodwill, it was the perfect amount of cloth! My daughter's costume took, er, just a bit longer... inspired by a costume we saw at Jo-Ann Fabrics (I wasn't paying for the rack one, it was over $50!), I used scrap fabric for the tunic, and picked up the rest. The Jo-Ann I normally go to is relocating, so they're having a giant clearance sale; I got all the rest of the stuff for $15. There are 10 different colors of net (including the pink I didn't have a place for, so I covered the wings from her Renaissance Faire fairy costume with it). The bottom didn't look right so I sewed in some scraps of extra white netting; kind of a cloud-like effect. It, surprisingly, didn't take as long as I thought it would. But that's just the skirt. Also, it didn't want to close, so I had to sew ribbons along the back and tie each layer individually. Then she decided she wanted rainbow puffballs on the tunic, so I did those by hand. And she wanted a bracelet with puffballs, so I did that. And I thought a fascinator would be nice; so I did that.
...So I've been a little busy... It's now November and alleluia. November for writers, of course, means NaNoWriMo, that legendary month where writers across the land disappear into their work caves, never to reemerge until the first of December, bleary-eyed and unshaven, clad only in bathrobes and a persistent smell. It is the peculiar insanity of the writer that we desire this state of being above all else. Nearly. Well. Kind of nearly. I do desire it. But kids have this weird thing called "wanting to be fed". I know, right? And then they want to spend time with you, and have you read to them. And it's kind of funny, but you don't mind it. Much. There will come a year I will do NaNoWriMo. But it is not this year. Or last year. Or the year before that. Or, probably next... you know what, let's just keep this indefinite. But in the meantime, I will devote my energies to cheering on my fellow writers attempting this quest. One of those fellow writers is a great gal I met on Twitter. Having a fantastic time connecting on there, tons of lovely people (hi all!). The Ardent Pen has her own blog where she posts colorful fiction, so far all of it her own work. So I was supremely flattered when she asked if I would like to guest post a story. I mean, my goodness. Me, a guest post. Lawks. I didn't have a story ready to go, and especially a Halloween-ish story, as requested, appropriate for the posting time and all. But I had a month. So, I figured, no rush, I'd think of an idea eventually, no need to tax my brain- and there it was. I still didn't have time to really work on it, since we were leaving for vacation; so I waited and did it in the car. Thank goodness for handy-dandy notebooks (and 17 to 18 hour car drives!)! Wrote out nearly the whole thing, then finished it on the computer when I got back. Tweaked it a bit and sent it out. You can read it here. And please do; I'm rather proud of it. :) * For those who are attempting NaNoWriMo: you are brave. You are amazing. You have my utmost admiration. And you can do this. I'll be here for you. Right after I clean applesauce out of my kid's hair. *Even if I did use the word "wrote" when it should have been "written". Argh. One of those aggravations that jumps out at you AFTER you send out the damn thing. Hopefully nobody else noticed. :D Collaaaaaaaaboration!
Everything is, when it comes to creativity. A thing you've created is only completely yours when you show it to no-one else, particularly writing. In a story, so much is left up to imagination, and everyone's interpretation is different. And sometimes those interpretations are verrrrrry interesting. A table read generally gives a good range of interpretations, at least when a decent number of people show up. Last night we had nine people (!) including myself, so the range was definitely there. With 12 parts, only a few had to double up, and they did a good job of adjusting to the different characters. Had some marvelous marvelous feedback as well. I love critiques! Critiques are interesting as well. There's always something someone notices that you hadn't thought of, and you certainly know this story better than anyone. It's also gratifying when they notice what you did think of, and suggest a solution you also had thought of, but hadn't the cahoonies to go ahead and change beforehand. Then it's like you've been given approval to go ahead and make the change. Not all changes will be made, of course. I don't agree with some of the suggestions, and that's usually the way of things. At the end of the day, it's my work, and I have to change it the way I see fit, in the way I feel is best for the story. I don't feel that that's being selfish (MY story! MINE! Neenerneenerneener); just that the story's in charge here, not me. It's already made me cut out quite a lot of things I very much liked. Stories can be like babies: whiny little dictators that cry until they get their way. (Trust me on this). But when they do finally get what they need...then everything, all the fuss and bother, the aggravation... everything will have been worth it. Okay, it's me. I mean, you totally figured that, right?
As I've mentioned previously, I don't always write songs. ...But when I do... THEY ARE AWESOME. I write a song or two as a kid, but other than that, pretty much nothing. It's just not my thing; not the way writing works through me. But one day, I thought I should write a song for my son. So I did. It's actually not perfect, I mean, there are several parts I'd like to change, so disclaimer disclaimer disclaimer here it is already before I change my mind: Oooookay, I'm posting from my phone and the site is fighting my editing right now, so I can't put this part after the photo like I wanted. *sigh* Anyway, it's my eldest son's 10th birthday today, so I wanted to post this in his honor. I wrote this when he was four. My daughter also has one, just as awesome, which I'll post when it's her birthday. And my third child...yes, he certainly is my third child. In the grand tradition of pretty much anything relating to the third child: I'll get around to it eventually. (Note: I DEFINITELY considered dressing up in punk hair and tats and making a totally awesome video to go with this totally awesome song, which I would then play for him and his prom date someday. Yet I didn't. Wuss.) Hey, strangers!
Yeah, I haven't posted under this heading in a while. But, fact is... Nothing's happened. Like, nothing. I kept trying to get a rehearsal schedule, and got, well... Nothing. I do not blame the director in question. I finally got the chance to chat with her in person, and she hasn't had a schedule to give me! The cast has apparently had some major scheduling problems. It's been a lot more stressful for her than it has for me. Also, I... Kind of... Forgot. Yes, that's right! It's embarrassing, but I have three kids and it just happens sometimes. We've been finishing swim classes and starting soccer and both the olders are starting Scouts and I've got Halloween costumes to make and we've got a vacation coming up and it's almost Christmas and THOSE ARE JUST THE BIG THINGS. So I kind of forgot. But I got a rehearsal schedule!!! And there was much rejoicing!!! So now, all I need to do is pick a day, approve it with both the director and the board, fit it in around the current show and my vacation, and make sure it's before November because they're taking two months to fix the elevator and there's really no other way to the third floor theatre (emergency stairs are emergency only). Woo! The life of a playwright! So I've been thinking... Don't worry. It's okay, really. I do that at times. It's no big deal. So I've been thinking about death, and... Hey, where you going??? Eh, that's okay. Death's a tricky subject, and a touchy one, given the plethora of ideas humans have come up with and will frequently, fervently, defend to the (dare we say) death. It's not comfortable to contemplate the end of our existence. I certainly don't like doing it. And yet I do. Go fig. In any case, I found myself pondering the deep thoughts, which I tend to do way more than is probably good for me, and certainly way more than is necessary. But at least I'm not alone; guess it's just what we humans do. We're wacky like that. I'm going to chime in this blog with such deep thoughts from time to time, so have patience and bear with me... So. Without further ado: today's short essay on deep thoughts... Each of us is our own universe: home and host to a wide variety of organisms, each of which, in turn, makes up "we"; and each of which, more than likely, has no idea they are such a tiny part of something bigger: something that simultaneously regards them as both important and inconsequential to its everyday existence. Is this also the situation for humans? Might each of these interlocking galaxies (or, even, universes) be akin to cells? Regardless of whether or not the above is true (and we are unlikely ever to find out), our lives seem, from all available evidence (defined here as that which we can perceive with our senses), woefully inconsequential. What "matters" matters only to our species; even the other living creatures don't bother thinking about it much. Which perhaps might be the wisest course. So, it is only for ourselves, as a collective whole, this seething mass of humanity, that we must live at all. Because, basically, the rest of the universe doesn't seem to give a shit what we do. Death is terrifying. An ever-present spectre that hovers silently over us all. And yet, according to science, life itself was the inventor of death. At some point in time, cells discovered that it was a better idea to reproduce sexually instead of asexually; with new offspring constantly coming along, there was no point in keeping the old. Otherwise, we would have run out of room very quickly; and why keep the old if the new was, hopefully, an improvement? (Were the earliest cells Americans?)
Without death, we would have no escape. Not only would overpopulation be a serious problem (not that it isn't), but it is entirely possible we would see life as having no meaning whatsoever. Immortality as an option sounds very good; but after the first few hundred years, would we feel the same? We could learn all that we have to know, and exist in a Tolkien elf-like state, wise, superior, and bored. We might even decide to take our own lives out of sheer desperation. Living forever does not seem like an option most humans would be able to deal with. With a shortened lifespan, our focus is narrowed; confronting our own mortality forces us to regard what we have as precious, and to hopefully treat it as such. Keeping our species alive as a whole in the manner that we do, passing the baton through generations, with death as an inevitable byproduct; this might be the best of all possible options. We don't have to like it; we do have to, as it were, live with it. The thrill in your quill! The prose to impose! Impress your printing press! Literal literary alliteration!
...Um. Scratch that last. Afraid I got a bit carried away. Anyhoo, my point. Every writer has a weakness (and I'm not talking like a job interview type weakness, where you're "just too much of a perfectionist" or some crap like that). Maybe you can't make believable situations. Maybe you can't structure sentences. Maybe you can't bring yourself to edit your glorious genius. Maybe you over-edit because you're just too much of a perfectionist (ok, I guess that actually can be a shortcoming). In my case, I have problems with narrative and dialogue. Not dialogue on its own. And not necessarily narrative on its own, although that does give me issues. It's when the twain meet, as it were. The interspersal. The merging of the lanes, where there's always that one jerk who zooms up the side to try to get in front of everyone. THAT. I like writing dialogue. I like to think I'm rather good at it, and have been told that I "write how people talk", which is a very big compliment indeed. This is why I'm drawn to playwriting above any other form. For me, it comes naturally. Combining narrative and dialogue in a play is relatively easy. A character says something; if they then do something worthy of mention, you then make the necessary stage note. If it's important that they do a certain thing during the line, or say the line in a certain way that isn't obvious through the dialogue, you slip in an adverb or super brief description, as per the following example from the play I'm currently working on (it's a first draft, be kind): Paisley: You figured it out yet? Cole is obviously thrown off by her entrance, but is quick to plaster on his usual grin. Cole: Paiz! Wow, you took me by surprise. Paisley: (shrugs) That’s what I do. You figured out who the mole is yet? Cole: Not yet, not yet. Working on it. Paisley: What’s on the flash drive? Cole: (jumps slightly) Flash drive? (she looks at him; he holds it up) Oh, this flash drive. Paisley: …Yeeeah. That’s the one I meant. And yes, that does say Paisley. Straight narrative, although harder for me personally, is also not completely tricky. I'm doing it right now. The blog format is a bit easier than a fiction narrative, I think, because a blog, in the style I'm presenting, is basically a diary you don't mind other people reading. Not that I've ever been very good at keeping a diary; but I do tend to think about things a lot (probably too much), and I don't believe I do too badly at presenting my thoughts. In other words, I'm really good at talking about myself! Nope, the difficulty is definitely where the rubber of the dialogue meets the road of narrative. It's not so easy to add in those little asides in a straight novel-style fiction story. How many do you add? And when? Do you have to add them at all, or can you forgo them? (Probably not, but it's still a valid question). How long should they be? What details are important and what aren't? And if they are important, are they already shown through the dialogue, so that you don't have to worry about any extras? And so on, and so forth. Here's another excerpt. I do try fiction fiction from time to time, by which I mean the aforementioned novel-style fiction story, and not a play. A continuing personal project is a novelization of a massively epic steampunk radio show I've written (and haven't kept up on the recording of episodes because I'm a lazy bastard); I release a new part every week on my site Tales of the Seamstress (shown on the sidebar). The adaption isn't going too badly, in part because the thing is, after all, already written, so all I have to do is change it into a different style. That's all. But, as I also may have mentioned, this is not as easy as it sounds: Miss Vene paused. For the first time, a cautious interest sparkled on her face. “A message?” “That's right. A message.” Hugh spoke up importantly. He cleared his throat and delivered the phrase with all the accentuation and eyebrow-waggling suitable for such covert dealings. “The… rooster…” The Captain interjected hastily. “Pelican.” “Pelican.” Clearly, that was what Hugh had said. “The Pelican dies at dawn…” “Is ready for winter.” “Right.” Why were his words constantly being repeated? If anyone was going to do the repeating, it would be Hugh, and with the necessary drama to boot. “The Pelican is…ready for winter!” Whatever they were expecting as a reaction, it wasn’t what came next. Miss Vene looked white, shaken. She let out a long breath, her eyes darting around the perimeter. Then she drew herself up firmly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can keep your money.” She raised her voice. “Take your ship and get off my property!” And the door slammed shut behind her. I'll admit it, this is actually an excerpt I'm decently proud of; just can't seem to bring myself to post something less so. But I have noticed something in going through the whole story: there's an aside, a description or suchlike, in nearly every sentence. I don't usually just have "Something or other," said Someone. Or even, "something someone is currently saying", with no other additive. There is a good reason for the latter: the above story rarely if ever has less than three people in the same scene at once, so I have to at least keep mention of who is talking when. But even in this case, I nearly always just have to add that extra little embellishment. Where I get uncertain is in trying to figure out if that's okay and just my personal style; or if it's just too much and I should cut it down, as a crutch I should be aware of and be ready to throw away... Maybe it's just that I don't have enough experience as a writer yet; maybe the answer will become clear as I keep going. Maybe. I wanted to give over a little space here to talk about the music I listen to while writing. It may seem trivial, but I don't see it that way. The music you listen to affects how you do a thing; even what you are doing in the first place. Everything has certain music that seems to go with it, probably fed by our consumption of movies and TV. You're more likely to exercise while listening to Crystal Method than John Cage; you're more likely to feel good about your daily commute while listening to John Williams, or Dr. Steel. (Or perhaps this is just me). So, the music you listen to affects what you write. You probably don't choose music you don't like, to be sure; so you affect your music, which in turn affects your writing, which you affect as well and which affects you back in ways you had not thought possible and HAVE I BLOWN YOUR MIND YET??? My go-to writing music is the soundtrack to the Robert Downey, Jr. version of Sherlock Holmes, and its sequel A Game of Shadows. I usually listen to both consecutively, which easily covers nearly two hours of writing. The first track, entitled Discombobulate, is for me the perfect beginning, heralding the start of something, jumping in headlong to the thrill of the chase; in this case, chasing down a story. When this track plays, my neurons start firing along the various necessary pathways, and I plunge into the depths of my own mind.
You know, like you do. From that point on, I don't necessarily hear very much. And this is a good thing. It's meant to be background. Even so, the music matters; if it was the wrong kind of music, it would be distracting and I wouldn't get very much done. This is the background to the scene playing in your mind. In a TV show or movie, you don't always hear the music over everything else going on, even though it's usually there. But if you remove the music, the scene just doesn't feel right. The strange thing about this soundtrack (these, really, since there are two, but they are similar enough to be counted here as one) is that it works no matter what I am writing, or at least it has up until this point. I started with it when writing my epic steampunk tale The Threads of Time (see sidebar) as it seemed to fit. When I picked up other, non-steampunk stories, I kept with it, and it hasn't failed yet. This is where my preferences are coming in to play. Those cellos! Those violins! Those other instruments I cannot decipher in my ignorance! I love this kind of music. It has to strike something in me (a chord, perhaps?), something deep. Something that makes my brain wake up and go THIS IS AWESOME!! My brain does that a lot anyway. It's a bit enthusiastic. I really can't think of anything else to say about it (both an odd and a familiar situation for a writer). Music is a feeling, not a description. All I can really say is that this music works for me, and for what I write. And I find myself curious; to anyone out there reading (anyone??), what do you listen to when writing? Or, if you are not a writer, when you paint or code or weld or dream or clip coupons, however it is that YOU create? And, if you are in fact a musician, who do you listen to for inspiration? It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it.
Yesterday, that someone was me. (Well...naturally, I mean, who else would it be? Anyway). I attacked my Halloween play. And I do mean attacked. When I did the first workshop, I printed out four copies of scripts at home; for that reason only was I thankful barely anyone came. It was a lot of work, and printing that much could run into money real quickly. But, I thought, at least for the next read-through I'll have a base script to start from. Sure, I'll make changes here and there; but most of the pages will remain the same, so I won't have to reprint very much. Ha. That was before I cut out a few major scenes that weren't going anywhere. That was before I almost completely changed the opening scene. That was before I took two supporting characters-and melded them into one. So, yeah. I won't have to reprint much. Just the entire thing. Gotta say, I think it's for the best, though. Before the changes, the play clocked in at 76 pages. Now it's 67. I really hope that puts the timing where it needs to be because I have no idea what else to cut. The whole thing reads much better (or does in the loneliness of my living room with me doing all the voices). It's much tighter, more cohesive. A bit of the ol' hack'n'slash was just what it needed. These are the things you do if you're going to create any sort of good work as a writer- an artist, a craftsperson. You have to suck it up and do what needs to be done. It's not easy. It's not always fun. But goddamn, if your work isn't so, so much the better for it when it's done. And so are you. Wow. I'm such a poet. :D So in a couple of days here it'll be time to contact the next play's director and get her rehearsal schedule so I can try to set up the next read-through. Oh boy! Can't wait! Being just a little sarcastic here! Stay tuned... |
Rebecca FrohlingWriter, dancer, actress, mother, me. Archives
February 2019
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