Joyce Holland on The Joys of Writing
I was just going through some old files and came across a magazine article written by Lawrence Block. (Block is a writer's name? Oh, boy.) It was about "The Joys of Writing." My first thought was, yeah right, if everything is going well, writing can be a joy. When your brain is pumping and sparks are coming out your ears and you have more to say than you can get down and worry you will lose the thread – the inner glow you experience is euphoric. When things don't come quite so easily, however, euphoric is not the word I would choose to describe my mood.
Now that I'm writing again, I remember what being blocked meant to me. Well, it wasn't being blocked exactly, it was when what my characters were doing felt wrong, as though I didn't really know them after all. Hey, I wasn't blocked, they were. Not my fault. Ha! One particular recollection stands out. I was in the middle of a murder scene and I couldn't figure out which way to have my characters go. I became so frustrated I finally pushed away from my desk and abandoned them to the page. I turned on the TV for inspiration. (?) There was a movie on about people — people making a movie. The director had just yelled 'cut.' The camera man, from his perch on a small crane like affair, complained about the angle of the shot. The actress was in tears and the leading man swore like a writer. Ah, ha! I thought, they're blocked.
That's when I had my epiphany. I needed to be all things to my characters, their director, their camera man, the actors, you name it. Since the camera man saw them all, I started with him. I looked down on my scene from an omnipotent point of view. The old "writer as God" thingie. The Force was with me. I took notes. As the narrator I described what I saw in detail. As the audience, I anticipated what would happen next, and realized that whatever it was, as director I had to lay obstacles in the way. I had it going now. An Oscar loomed on my horizon.
Looking at your story from the outside is like taping your golf swing and watching to see where it went wrong. Everything must come into play in your story. Is the scene inside or outside? How's the weather? Is it raining? Cold? Read the dialogue aloud. Do your actors sound like real people? Does something they say, their clothing, or their expressions reveal what they want in the scene? What I like most about studying your material cinematically is that you have to get your meaning across with little or no explanatory asides. No interior monologue, no footnotes allowed. I could go on and on with this, but you get the "picture." Try it.
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Now that I'm writing again, I remember what being blocked meant to me. Well, it wasn't being blocked exactly, it was when what my characters were doing felt wrong, as though I didn't really know them after all. Hey, I wasn't blocked, they were. Not my fault. Ha! One particular recollection stands out. I was in the middle of a murder scene and I couldn't figure out which way to have my characters go. I became so frustrated I finally pushed away from my desk and abandoned them to the page. I turned on the TV for inspiration. (?) There was a movie on about people — people making a movie. The director had just yelled 'cut.' The camera man, from his perch on a small crane like affair, complained about the angle of the shot. The actress was in tears and the leading man swore like a writer. Ah, ha! I thought, they're blocked.
That's when I had my epiphany. I needed to be all things to my characters, their director, their camera man, the actors, you name it. Since the camera man saw them all, I started with him. I looked down on my scene from an omnipotent point of view. The old "writer as God" thingie. The Force was with me. I took notes. As the narrator I described what I saw in detail. As the audience, I anticipated what would happen next, and realized that whatever it was, as director I had to lay obstacles in the way. I had it going now. An Oscar loomed on my horizon.
Looking at your story from the outside is like taping your golf swing and watching to see where it went wrong. Everything must come into play in your story. Is the scene inside or outside? How's the weather? Is it raining? Cold? Read the dialogue aloud. Do your actors sound like real people? Does something they say, their clothing, or their expressions reveal what they want in the scene? What I like most about studying your material cinematically is that you have to get your meaning across with little or no explanatory asides. No interior monologue, no footnotes allowed. I could go on and on with this, but you get the "picture." Try it.
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