Chris Baty's Blog, page 262

Turn Your Script into Noise!

Many of you, the huddled, frenzied masses, may be familiar with the computer program Final Draft. Final Draft is usually considered the industry standard for screenwriting. It's a great program. Recently though, deep in the bowels of Final Draft, I discovered something truly amazing.

Final Draft has a function called "text to speech," which allows you to assign voices to the various characters in your script, and have the program read to you. This simulated table read promised the sort of techno-kitsch I simply cannot resist. I hurriedly assigned some "actors" to the parts in my script. Bruce. Karen. Pipe Organ. I clicked play.

Nothing could have prepared me for this: the total de-familiarization of language. You know the sublime nonsense achievable when you repeat the same familiar word 10 or 20 times out loud, and the word begins to lose contact with its meaning? What if every word in your script could be this way? You would no longer have a script, but an alien document. And that is exactly what I had.

I listened to the entire thing, virtual-cover to virtual-cover. I laughed. I cried. The absurdly confident robot voices filled the room.

Of course, you don't really need a program for a table read. You just need some friends, or very confused strangers, or a recent crush who will indulge you—for the duration of their infatuation—with absolutely anything. What Final Draft provides is much more valuable. The question becomes not "How will my script sound with performances?" but rather, "How will my script sound in a performance vacuum, spoken aloud somehow without any inflection or humanity?"

I'm not sure what this will tell you about your script, but it will give you a new feeling for your voice and language. You will discover what belongs, truly, to your language, and what belongs to interpretation, extrapolation, and context.

Tip for novelists: Simply copy and paste a block of prose into Final Draft as a monologue, and you too can wallow in the beautiful sing-song of Final Draft's robot players.

– Max

Photo by Flickr user Katy.Tresedder

Tea Bag Tag Writing Contest Winners

Holy cow! We received over 75 submissions for our first-ever Tea Bag Tag Writing Contest. Thanks to everyone who answered the call to contribute a mood-lifting message to the contest!

This afternoon, our fantastic intern Max put together all of the submissions and walked them next door to Sweet Adeline Bakeshop, where barista, cookie-slinger, and occasional tea vendor Amanda Blank reviewed them.

Amanda's favorite kind of tea, by the way, is Aztec Sweet Chili.

Amanda's job as the TBTWC judge was to pick the slogan that made her happiest. With so many uplifting and hilarious entries, the  task ended up being too difficult, so Amanda picked her favorite three.

So. The three First Place winners of our first-annual Tea Bag Tag Writing Competition are…

"A smile costs less than electricity and gives more light." – Elizabeth

"The greatest gift you can give yourself is confidence to ignore self-doubts." – Angelducky

and

"The sky is a painting that's never the same twice. Isn't it lovely?" – Lindsey

Congrats, you three! We'll manufacture your tea bags, photograph them, and then mail them out to you. Please send us your full name and mailing addresses via this fine contact form.

But we couldn't stop there. The OLL staff who weren't neck-deep in Camp NaNoWriMo site testing and debugging read through all the candidates, and we'd like to give honorable mentions to…

"You're exactly where you need to be right now."

"A year from now, you will wish you had started today."

"Let your inner light shine; others may need it to find their way."

"Thank you for trying so hard today. It was appreciated. – The Universe"

"As I run from the orchard, I can see his pitchfork behind me."

"Existence is the greatest exception."

"Cheer up, Emo Kid."

and

"Big adventures may bring glory, but small ones bring happiness."

Also, Jezra wrote his own and then voted for it to receive an honorable mention. It is: "I wish I was a cup of coffee."

Thank you, Jezra.

Max emailed Yogi Teas to see if they would contribute a box of tea to our winners, but they still haven't gotten back to us. Which made us sad. Then we re-read all the Tea Bag Tag submissions you sent in, and felt happy again.

Thanks, everyone! This was so much fun.

– Chris B.

The Great Un-American Novel?

In Tupe's blog post the other day, there was a great deal of discussion in the comments about the very idea of a "Great American Novel." Why, people wondered, was she only asking about American authors? Was this one of those insidious examples of inadvertent dismissal of the rest of the world by well-meaning but occasionally slightly short-sighted Americans?

I figured, as the resident non-American on the OLL staff, I was the perfect person to investigate this phenomenon a little further. After all, if there's anything Canadians are good at, it's having a chip on their shoulders about Americans. (Let me pause to clarify here: I love Americans. The three months I spent living in Berkeley last year are among the greatest of my entire life. I am not trying to minimize the excellence of your fine nation here; I am merely looking at it from the other side of the border.) Plus, our blog readers are a very cosmopolitan, international bunch (not to mention terribly good looking), so what better place to delve in to this discussion?

The Great American Novel is a concept that was established in 1868 by a fellow by the name of John William DeForest. It is supposed to be the novel that perfectly captures the American zeitgeist at the time of its writing—the quintessential American experience, conveniently packaged in book form. It's a fairly well established trope in literary circles (it even has a Wikipedia page! If that isn't a sign of total legitimacy, what is?), and people certainly don't use it with the implication that only American novels are ever great.

But why, then, do we rarely see similar discussions about the Great Canadian Novel, or the Great British Novel, or the Great Danish Novel? We have them, sometimes, but it's almost always within the context of a discussion about the Great American Novel. What's up with that? The Guardian had an excellent article asking that very same question. What is it about American novels that seek to capture that atmosphere, and why are they the only ones doing it?

Canadians have long struggled with finding a national identity, and even now, many of our self-deprecating descriptions of ourselves tend to be more about who we aren't than who we are. (A symptom of being a British colony and an American neighbour, I believe.) There is certainly no shortage of great Canadian writers, and Canadian literature is a staple of every university in the country, but we do not seem to seek out that label. Perhaps it's just another example of the Canadian unwillingness to proclaim ourselves great. Perhaps it's just an indication that there isn't really a singular Canadian identity or experience. Or perhaps it's just because we don't want people to think we're comparing ourselves to the US.

I think maybe the British have the opposite problem. Their history is so long, compared to the relatively youthful North America, and so completely jam-packed with literary giants, that I think maybe nobody is trying to be the Great British Novelist any more. Who wants to compete with Shakespeare (not a novelist, I know) or Dickens?

I could go on, although my familiarity with the literature in other countries is sadly lacking for someone with an English degree. (I grew up in England and have a British father, so my background in British literature is quite sound, not to mention the overwhelming bias of the Western canon towards British writers, which is an entire other blog post.) But I think my point remains even with a limited collection of examples.

We are so lucky to have an incredibly diverse population reading this blog and in OLL's programs across the board. What I'd love to hear from you is why, exactly, you think other countries haven't seized on that idea of the Great [Insert Nationality Here] Novel in the same way the US has. Or maybe you disagree with me, and you think this is a universal concept and it's just that the Americans make the most noise about it. Or perhaps you think that there's no such thing as a Great American Novel, either, and the whole thing is a lot of fuss about nothing.

Regardless, there's such an interesting conversation buried under the reactions about national identity, and I'd love to see if we can explore it. You're the smartest bunch of readers in the blogosphere, so let's put on our literary criticism hats and see what we can come up with.

Image from Flickr user Chuck "Caveman" Coker

Blobby Meets His Cousins

"GUMPO!" we heard Blobby say yesterday afternoon. This was an unusual occurrence, as his heavy lunch usually soothes him into a slumber that lasts well into the evening.

"GUMPO! GUMPO!" he said again, as he plopped himself down from his perch and began waddling to our front window. He pressed his face (sideways, because that's where his eyes are) against the glass and let out one more—this time in wonderment: "GUMPO?"

We had to see what had so intrigued our normally demure dinosaur friend, so we crowded around him to look out. And there they were: two bearded lizards who live in our neighborhood, and who had come by to say hello to their office relative. Now, we're not entirely sure how reptile family trees work, but we think these are cousin's of Blobby's (perhaps a few times removed). As you can see, it was a very happy reunion:

Their names are Dynasty and Cyndiquil, they are 11 years-old, and they are totally BFFs (Bearded Friends Forever). Lizardkeeper Antonio told us he's had them since they were as big as his pinky nail, and that members of the species keep the same partners their whole lives. Blobby thought this was very touching.

We said goodbye eventually, and we all watched as Dynasty and Cyndiquil sauntered into the sunset. We turned to Blobby… Our little dinosaur seemed more complete somehow, like he better understood his chubby green place in this world. And when we came in to work this morning, this is what we found at his desk…

A Poem a Day!

Last week I had a lovely lunch at The Nomad Cafe in Berkeley with Chris Baty and Max. Chris asked Max and me what we were up to this summer, in addition to our internships at the Office of Letters and Light. I happened to mention that I'm trying to write a poem a day. Their reaction was similar: "When and where can we read your poems?"

Have you ever realized that if you talk about something you're more likely to do it? I sure have. In fact, I intentionally talk about my thesis these days in hopes that it will expand my ideas, see what appeals to people, and provide another level of accountability for myself so that this collection actually reaches the finish line! People often ask me about my writing the next time I see them. Imagine the encouragement friends, family, co-workers, and acquaintances can provide to help motivate us to write!

So now I'm going to share my plan with all of you! I am going to write a poem a day for the next month (maybe two). If 50,000-word novels are written in the month of November and 100-page scripts are written in the month of April, why not try to write a poem a day starting today! Does anyone want to join me?

Here is my first poem to share!

Mending Wall

But on a gray day when her face burns and tickles from cobwebs, and the saw snarls and rattles, snarls and rattles making dust demanding sweet-scented stuff, she keeps the life from spilling-gravel leaps and leaps in air, leaps up like that like that and lands. She knows who keeps the wall between (before she builds a wall she'd ask to know what she is walling in or walling out) making her shed crystal shells-shatter-leaving heaps of broken glass to sweep away. The only voice is desire a fire whispering to the ground, igniting the slow smokeless burning of decay.

– Jenelle

To Oakland: A Love Letter

What did Mister Rogers used to say? "I've always wanted to have a neighbor just like you / I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you." And then he'd don a very spiffy cardigan.

This weekend, I enjoyed Oakland in a very Mister Rogers-esque way, and have had "Won't you be my neighbor?" stuck in my head ever since.

I live less than a mile from Lake Merritt, which boasts a dock where you can hang out in the sun and have a seafood treat, plus offers boats to rent, a bird sanctuary, and multiple playgrounds where exceedingly cute children feed the ducks and geese that congregate there.

On Saturdays, there is a farmer's market by the lake with local, organic, and artisan everything. This weekend I was able to pick up freshly made sausages, dairy from a nearby creamery, salad greens with edible flowers, heirloom tomatoes, and plenty of simple stuff, too—green beans, avocados, basil, and onions. And I happily ran into an old acquaintance and a former neighbor.

If the Saturday market isn't enough, there's a Sunday market in Jack London Square, on the other side of my house from the lake. There I often eat fish tacos in the grass with my dear friends (who also happen to be neighbors) while watching the boats come in to the Marina, and peruse even more market-fresh produce.

If I am not feeling market-y or lake-like, I can visit the immaculately maintained historic Grand Lake Theater, which gives away free popcorn on Tuesday and has an antique organ called the Grand Wurlitzer that plays every Saturday in the main theater. And they have a 3-D screen! It's killer.

All of this doesn't even begin to address the incredible weather; proximity to San Francisco, wine country, the Redwoods, Big Sur, and Yosemite; and the amazing variety of (truly, outstandingly) fantastic restaurants with friendly waitstaff who recognize me, within walking distance of my front stoop.

In short: I love my neighborhood. And all the people in it!

What is your favorite thing (or things) about where you live?

Photo by Flickr user Hitchster

The Accidental Writer

Okay, I'm straying from my formula today to tell you all a long-winded secret.

You see, this photo here is of a guitar I own. A guitar that I had totally forgotten I owned (me owning a guitar with a butterfly inlay is not, surprisingly, the secret) until talking with Tupelo yesterday about how, when I was a young lass, I applied to the Music Industry program at the University of Southern California. When I was 20, music was everything to me. I played (this) guitar and wrote songs and wanted to work in "The Industry" in a big studio in Hollywood. 

Well, I was rejected by the program, but a week after I received my rejection letter, USC called (on the telephone!) saying that they had made a mistake, that I was accepted into USC, just not into the program I had applied to. As I remember it, the woman over the phone asked if there was anything else I might be interested in majoring in, and I literally picked up the catalog and, while she was on the other line, chose "Creative Writing." I had no intention of staying in the Creative Writing program. I looked at it as a foot in the door. I was planning to transfer into the Music Industry program as soon as I proved myself worthy.

Well, I never transferred. After my first creative writing class, I was in love.

So my secret: I'm an accidental writer.

I wasn't one of those people who grew up knowing I was a writer. I didn't write one single story until I was forced to in a classroom setting!

Anyway, I still own this guitar (though it's in the depths of my garage), and I still love music (country most of all), and after making this odd confession to Tupelo yesterday, I realized (suddenly) why I'm so interested in the collaboration between music and writing. My side project is producing literary-based audio tours that are scored much like a film. It's such a fun process to work with both musicians and writers to create a cohesive work.

So in a way, I got to do it all.

So, are there any other accidental writers out there? What other lives did you live before becoming a writer? Do any of those other lives seep slyly into your writing life?

Keep Passing the Open Windows!

Nancy's post about The Great Gatsby, has got me thinking about American dreams and myths, like that of the Great American Novel, and how much of a book being considered a Great American Novel coincides with being something else: the Right Book at the Right Time. My personal Great American Novel/Right Book at the Right Time is John Irving's The Hotel New Hampshire. We found each other just when I most needed a friend and I've read it more often than any other book in my life, returning to it every year or so.

Each time it generously offers me all that is inherent in the idea of the American Dream: possibility, survival, freedom, vitality of imagination, even nostalgia, the list goes on… and is encapsulated best by Fitzgerald in Gatsby's green light. I have a long-standing thesis that The Hotel New Hampshire is modeled on The Great Gatsby because of the feeling both leave their readers with, of standing on the edge of our own horizon.

Some of us want to write the next Gatsby or the next Catcher in the Rye or the next Player Piano or Invisible Man or (insert Your Great American Novel or your Right Book at the Right Time here). For my part, I want to write the next The Hotel New Hampshire and hope that even one reader finds in it the same solace, community, joy, freedom, possibility, and dare I say it, forgiveness, that I have found again and again in its pages. Thank you, Mr. Irving, I'm pretty sure this book has saved my life more than once.

How about y'all? What is your Great American Novel? What book has met you right when you needed it most? And what book's legacy would you most like to leave as your own? What's your The Hotel New Hampshire?

Nice to Meet You!

Hello, Wrimos!

It's exciting to post on a blog I have followed for so long! My name is Max and I'm a new intern at the Office of Letters and Light. For those of you imagining at home, let me assure you that the Office is more magical than whatever you are picturing.

This summer promises to be action-packed for me, although here the definition of "action" comes into question. I'll be taking summer classes at San Francisco State University, interning and blogging up a storm here, and writing several new projects at home and on public transit. This means that most of the "action" will be chair-bound, but I'm comfortable with that. Sometimes I like to work out to get re-energized. For instance, sometimes I will jog to the fridge, or touch my toes while waiting in line for more biscotti.

Now that I'm starting to settle into my summer's distinct rhythm, the word counts are coming! I'm currently juggling a couple projects, and waiting for some to prove worthless so I'll know what to focus on. The contenders include, but are not limited to: a cyber-noir for the stage; a sparse/period samurai film; a lo-fi musical about drug-addled backpackers in East Asia; and a murder-mystery set in the Amazon, with anthropologists as detectives. Wrimos, if three of these sound like drivel to you, and one sounds like gold, this is the time to let me know in the comments!

Alternatively, you may simply choose to steal the idea and write your own. Just be sure to save me a seat at the premiere, or send me an autographed hardcover.

More soon!

– Max

An Afternoon of YWP Scripts

This past Sunday, June 5, the Script Frenzy Young Writers Program staged its second annual Wrap Party and Performance. It was a perfect equation for an afternoon of entertainment: 15 local students with excerpts from their April scripts, plus six talented actors from the Bay Area Children's Theatre, ready to do anything to bring those words and ideas to life onstage.

We had scripts about school bullies, space ships, teleportation, "Ghost Guards," a super-dog with laser eyes, and a master criminal disguised as a teacher, among others. For each, the actors threw themselves into their roles—becoming horses, mummies, aliens, and that aforementioned super-dog. They worked the Ashby Stage, treating the kids' scripts with enthusiasm and amusement.

I didn't think I could possibly enjoy a YWP event as much as January's NaNoWriMo reading, but then this one happened! What a great culmination of our students' month of hard work—being able to sit back, relax, and enjoy their feats of imagination. We can't wait to do it again next year.