Ulff Lehmann's Blog: Blogging Lot, page 3

insert witty title

Seriously, how the hells should one come up with a title in the spur of the moment? It's not like my recent posts have been focused.

Writing this stuff is like a river, meandering, sometimes twisting back, only to move on. Can't really say forward, or backward, or any kind of ward, well awkward maybe, but other than that, there is no blog ocean, not even a blog lake, so whatever one writes might be set adrift in cyberspace, but will every blog post ever written land in the mythical Blogantic Ocean? I think not. And even if it did, think about it, yes there might be a kernel, a morsel of wisdom here or there, but there are way too many blogs out there, and judging from the statistics accompanying even this blog, I can see how many, or rather how few people read it. I admit, I'd rather have people reading my novel than my blog, I'm selfish that way, but I also do not feel the need to go on political rants here... this ain't goodpolitics, but goodreads (not that there is such a thing as good politics, bunch of lying, self centered sociopaths anyway, politicians, if that wasn't clear)

Maybe I should just start listing the books I like, oh, no, wait, my shelf here already does that.

So, what else? I could write about my day... fat lot of boring that, although I managed to watch a few episodes of Grimm on Netflix. Decent show, sure it ain't Penny Dreadful, but then again, very few shows come close. What I do wonder, however, is why nobody in fucking Germany came up with the idea?! I mean, it is brilliant in its simplicity.

German TV is like American TV, only with fewer commercial breaks, and the occasional option to switch to the original language. We get the talk show concepts from the US, most of the programming on the private channels is American, the public broadcasting stuff is so bogged down in bureaucracy that the only thing they can come up with is bogged down by almost universal blandness. Edges need to be filed down, unless someone upsets someone, it's ridiculous. Not that the private channels are that much better in their original programming... remember that lovely sitcom "Who's the boss"? Well, one of them private outfits, many many years ago, launched a clone, only in German, I believe they even used the original scripts.

Originality is lacking, then again, it's lacking in Hollywood as well. *cough* RoboCop reboot. Paul Verhoeven created a masterpiece, but now they need to neuter it down so that barely pubescent kids can watch it too. Verhoeven's mastery was in showing the effect of guns, he didn't hide the brutality, he shoved it straight in your face. I still cringe when they dismember Murphy. Now everything needs to be consumer friendly, everything except, well, you know, the world. The world is bleak, and won't get any nicer as long as delusional sociopaths run the show. OK, I have literally no idea how I made that circle, but here we are.

Consequences, we all need to deal with them, our actions bear results, some we might not notice, others we are prohibited from learning about. This is about books, bear with me. I believe art is at its strongest, most potent, when we see consequences. Yes, art, I hate saying this, especially about my own work, I just write, but in the grand scheme of things I guess even my typing can be considered artful. Not that I give a fuck, I just wanna tell stories. Back to the point I was trying to make, yes, reading is about escapism, same as paintings or movies are about escapism, for the watchers, or readers. But the reason we remember such images as the dead in Auschwitz being dumped by a conveyor belt in "Schindler's List" or the haunted feeling we get from reading about Middle-earth's Dead Marshes (I read part of the book, not all but I got there at some point) it shows us the horrors of what mankind is capable of, and we do learn a lesson from it, unless you are a form of idiot that also burns crosses, we learn that stuff like that is bad, and that's putting it nicely. Good prose allows us a look into the abyss without having to experience it ourselves, it can teach us the folly of one thing and the intelligence of another. But to be able to show the abyss, one has to go the full on R-rated way, not the PG-13, and while I realize that books do not have these strict guidelines, having a child learn that good guys die way more often than bad guys is something that should be a goal, not the sad exception. Yes, our world is bleak, but we will not improve it by shoving reality, facts aside.

Don't want Captain America to stand for a homicidal group of corrupt assholes? Considering that the USA did its share of genocide with the natives, who is to say he always did stand for a group of homicidal corrupt assholes? And considering how many people someone like Trump attracts, racists, bigots, misogynists (that he has female supporters at all does not speak in favor of those women's IQs) the reality is that there've always been a whole lot of racist motherfuckers in the US. Is it so wrong to shove that question into people's faces every once in a while? Criticizing society, maybe painting an overly grotesque picture of the world we live in, showing how monsters are created out of fear and ignorance (there's a lot of them at Trump rallies), that is what prose can only do if the muzzle is gone.

I write for myself, first and foremost, and most of the time I end up some place other than expected, but it's still worth the read.

I like what I like

Be it music, movies, TV shows, books, it all comes down to personal enjoyment, doesn't it? We're all our best or worst critics, so to speak, what I like is my own, though I might share some tastes with others, nobody is beholden to my preferences.
Sadly, the corporate nature of businesses relies on demographics, so you sadly get more and more of what's been successful. Twilight, Game of Thrones, shit I named the two in the same sentence, the sacrilege! But seriously, if something sells, clones will pop up like mushrooms. Ironically, success can't be copied, measured or quantified, despite claims to the opposite. The Dark Knight movies became a hit because of the realistic approach. Man of Steel despite the same outlook, not so much.
I'm pretty sure there are some number crunchers out there, whose algorithms still tell them a clone of Twilight or Game of Thrones should be a success, when the fact is it isn't. It isn't soap, or soda, or chips, if a book strikes home, it does so because people can relate. Not every wizard student will be a Harry Potter, that train has left the station. And if you look at Game of Thrones, how long have the first few books been around before they became a global phenomenon? Of course people wanted to cash in on the success, after all it is a bloody affair with twists and turns, that binds millions to the TV screen. So they (MTV) latch onto a successful novel line, Shannara, and try to replicate the success... try is the operative word here. I read a bunch of Shannara novels decades ago, and while my younger self enjoyed them, they do not shock or bind as much as Westerosi intrigues.
So you want to create a story that rivals Game of Thrones? Yes, but I want to reach out to children and young adults as well, since that is a huge market... So you want to create X-Men: Origins - Wolverine and not Deadpool? To come back to movies. The former tried to serve all sorts of target groups, and became a despised laughing stock amongst fans. The latter stuck to its roots and kicked all kinds of ass.
When writing an original story, I think, people should stop listening to what the charts tell them, but write what they want to read. If all they come up with is cheap knockoffs of other people's creations, maybe they should read more than just this one book series or genre.
I am not talking about writing for a specific IP, that comes attached with so much stuff it ain't funny!
Tastes change over time, as one sees more, reads more, experiences more, what we once thought magical and extraordinary becomes quaint, at best. I, for one, do not want to go back and read what I read two decades ago. I got at least one shelf filled with novels I hoped to but never did read. And now, the thought of picking one of them up makes me want to switch on the TV and watch House M.D. instead.
Tastes change, which does not demean what we liked in the past, it just implies that you now like something different. Hey, when I was discovering music, I listened to Duran Duran, like thousands of other people, now, when I hear a song of that particular band, I get a wee bit nostalgic then shrug and search for crunchy guitars and such... so if you realize you don't like what you wrote or how you wrote something that you haven't touched in years, do not be afraid to update it, the core is still what you love, only now, instead of white chocolate it's dark... you like what you like. Simple as that

Titles suck, or so part 2

Yesterday I elaborated the task ahead of me. Re-arrange all the parts I had written so they'd fit the day by day narrative I wanted. I bought one of those bigass artsy sketch pads. Then I hit the first bump. I needed a calendar... you know months and weekdays, the stuff you don't consider until you have to.

What followed was inspired, I thought. Until I found out, my method of time keeping wasn't so original. Truth be told, I had done some research but nothing in regards to time keeping and calendars and such. Why not? Because any sort of calendar the ancients devised was based on reality, you know moon movement, and stars and planets and whatnot. I wanted some but not all of that.

Let me elaborate. Yes, I wanted a mythical world, but the thing is most fantasy worlds are basically carbon copies of Earth and our solar system. If you look at the ancient myths, however, the world they described looked more like Terry Pratchett's marvelous Discworld than anything else. To them, the ancients, the world ended on one side, where the sun went down into the underworld, and came back up on the other side of the rectangle or whatnot after it had finished its trip through said underworld.

Our timekeeping is based on our relative distance to the sun. Funny thing is, in the Middle Ages the year did not begin in January but in March, because of, you know, spring. That's what I did with my calendar, the year begins in spring and ends with winter. I named the months after the predominant weather, Chill, Frost, Heat etc, and the days got their names from the various gods I created...

Then, finally, I sat down and arranged every bit of text to fit the narrative form I wanted. Writing down page and sometimes even paragraph numbers. The bloody sketch page was covered in tiny hieroglyphs. Numbers, viewpoints, it was fun. (No, it wasn't)

With this guide at hand I attached a second monitor to my write computer (I had installed a two monitor graphics card years before, anticipating such a moment) opened the original text on one side, and a blank doc on the other. I cut and pasted a lot; sure, I could have copied and pasted but I needed to see the progress I made. A motivational thing, pretty much like the writing ritual. It all boiled down to behavior therapy, again.

Now, with the text basically in its final form, I printed the bugger out once again, and spent another week in my café, wrapped in cigarette smoke, two piles of paper plus a note pad and pen, my tobacco, my lighter, and the accompanying stares of everyone pissed that I occupied an entire table by myself. Like I gave a fuck :P

Once more I whittled away, clarifying where needed, deleting when necessary. Then, when that was done, I edited the ms. and as luck would have it, well my luck anyway, a well read friend of mine had just broken her left arm (I did say my luck) and needed something to read. Thus she became the beta-reader, cue the harmonious choir music.

Two weeks passed, then she called, telling me she was done and I could come over the next day. My note pad, tobacco and loads of time were my companions when I walked the few miles to her place, well maybe one and a half miles, poetic license and all that. Anyway, we got to business almost immediately, after I had prepped a can of coffee... she began, hesitantly, fearing I would take offense at whatever she found at fault. Brash as I am, I told her that I wanted, needed her input because I was at an end and I wanted the novel better. That took some of her reluctance, and 5 or 6 hours later, we had managed to get through about one third of the novel, I walked back home, with my tobacco, several pages filled with notes, and less time that day, but I felt good. It weren't huge things, but smaller stuff that bugged her, but she explained her reasoning and I had to agree, with most. (She also complained about my characters swearing too much, but despite that complaint, they continue to do so.) Two more such days came and went, and then on the third day, I went home, my tobacco, my notes, and a well worn print out and itching to get back to implement the changes.

Then, once the changes were done, a third print out, and more cappuccino. Bloody expensive that, but well worth it.

Then two things happened. One, I bought a book on titles, how to pick them, which was more geared towards non-fiction but that hardly mattered, and two, I reread The First Five Pages.

Not only did I still lack a title, but the chapter I thought was a good first chapter was actually pretty shitty.

tbc

I suck at titles

Seriously, I do. Took me months to figure out the names to the first book, "Drangar Book One" just didn't cut it. "Drangar and the Magic Mutt" didn't do so much for me either.

Some will rightfully say that the title should be the last of my concerns, and to all of you I say, you are damn right! And it was my bloody last concern. I had written the novel once pre 2000 under the not-so-great title "Drangar - Awakening." It was a story pretty much like the stuff I read at the time, hence the pretentious title. It promised... well pretty much nothing really. Then again, at that time, I didn't know what the hells I was doing anyway. Read D&D novels and you write D&D novels. But it wasn't really that either.

Needless to say, that version never made it past the "I wrote something, some people read it, liked it, but I don't know" stage. Turns out I was neither happy with it or myself.

Fast forward seven years or so. Still not happy with my life, and yes, I had that book, that idea, but like everything else in my life, it felt worth- and useless. I had no idea who I was, what I was, and why the hell I kept on going. Cue in the melodramatic music. At that point of my life, a kick by an idiot was all it took to have me utterly unravel.

It took the persistence of a dear friend, who pushed me from fetal into a somewhat sitting position to get my ass in gear and look for a therapist. She nudged and nudged and didn't give up on me. Until I found one. Behavior therapy it was, it had to be because in essence I knew what was wrong with me, problem was I couldn't find a way out. Those suffering from depression know what I mean.

One of the first things we determined was that I had to be serious about writing, that I needed a ritual, and keep that ritual. The next step was to set myself benchmarks, points in the narrative I had to reach by a certain date. It worked, in less than four months, the first draft of what is now Shattered Dreams was finished. A 160.000 words monstrosity. Only it was still called Drangar - Awakening. I printed it out and waited a week or so.

I played some computer games, watched a bunch of movies, tried to focus on anything but the book. Distance is the key to editing, to rewriting a draft. So, with some distance between me and my creation (by that time I could already hear my voice in my mind, whispering "It's alive, it's alive.") I printed the bugger out, and over the time of five cappuccino and cigarette fueled days I read the book, made notes, vigorously crossed out words, the usual stuff writers do. (I didn't consider myself a writer then, mind you.) Back to the computer it was. In between my writing sessions, I dutifully continued my therapy.

Now came the tougher part. My story had gushed upon the page, so to speak, and now whilst correcting and deleting stuff, I began to structure it. Don't get me wrong, I already had chapters and such, and while I also had some coherence in the various narration strands, it wasn't what I wanted it to be.

See, I was inspired by what GRRM does in A Song of Ice and Fire, from the narrative standpoint. What I didn't want, however, was to eventually wind the narrative clock back a few days just because a previous chapter had told one character's story over the course of a few weeks. I wanted a faster pace. Not necessarily more action, but less inaction.

I re-read "The DaVinci Code," a novel whose breakneck speed, to this day, still impresses me. I noted how short the chapters were, too short to my liking, but still exemplary of the pacing I wanted. There was no Council of Elrond, no, in my opinion, useless blabla. That was also the time when I read Robert E. Howard's Conan stories, noting the economy of the language. I have to re-read these stories, just to once more bask in its glory.

So, I wanted multiple in-depth third person narrators in a fast paced tale that took place in something like two weeks. Multiple viewpoint characters, with the reader stitching the tapestry themselves, never having more information than whatever character. The various sections, I refuse to say volumes because they are not, should be tied together by dates... sometimes there would only be one chapter on a given date, other times there could be up to 10 chapters or more on a day.

Easy, for a novice writer, right?
(told you I suck at titles)

tbc