Fly Over Paranoia

It is no secret that the vast majority of the United States harbors an ugly resentment against "the Coasts". Namely New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles. When loose tongues are wagging you'll hear people say terrible things about the Jews in New York, the Gays in San Francisco and the money grubbing demons of immorality who run the entertainment industry in LA. To a certain extent, our fly over brethren are not necessarily wrong to be so bent out of shape- after all the majority of popular entertainment tends to narcissistically focus its energies on New York and LA for its characters and story lines and largely ignores what is going on in the rest of the country.

What fly over states may not know is that a lot of New Yorkers (in particular) are terrified of the rest of the country. New Yorkers are comfortable with their junkies, but the tweakers really scare them. New Yorkers can function (admittedly, it can be begrudgingly...) with Hasidim, Muslim, Catholic, Buddhist and Atheist populations living and working together- but the Evangelicals are enough to make the average New Yorker want to duck into a Satanist S & M parlor for safe harbor. We have religion here, but most New Yorkers would feel uncomfortable being confronted by a highway sign telling them to repent- regardless of their religious affiliation.

We fear.

That's the bottom line. Anything that is unfamiliar causes anxiety and anxiety can cause any human to jump to irrational and illogical conclusions.

Yesterday I was watching some interviews on YouTube with West Virginians about the recent primary. I'll admit that listening to these opinions made my heart race and I began to perspire. Just listening to these different perceptions caused my body to have a mild stress reaction. I wanted to scream and shake them. One woman insisted that Obama was Muslim and she didn't like that. When the interviewer corrected her and told her that he is NOT a Muslim she just closed her eyes, shook her head and said, "I don't agree with that" as if the facts were somehow able to rearrange themselves by the force of her opinion. I was angry and I wanted to reach into the screen and throttle her. Her resistance to the facts that have been available for years (the man has published two very personal books detailing his upbringing and influences for crying out loud!) made me angry and scared. I then commented to my husband that Obama probably made the right choice to concede West Virginia and not make a glut of personal appearances there because they might have shot him on the spot.

Of course- that was MY FEAR talking.

Not everyone who thinks a certain way is a gun toting radical with an itchy trigger finger. Upon closer inspection, I probably would have found this woman to be someone who was shaken by the horror of 9/11 (who wasn't?) and who has probably never met or even seen a Muslim in person before. I'm sure that the culture of racial division that is still common in some parts of the country- West Virginia reportedly being one of those places- made it difficult for this woman to see in Obama what some other people see in him. It is so much safer to take in only the information that conforms with your world view and act on that. I've done that with her. It conforms with my world view to think that she is an idiot redneck. Whereas, she may be a woman who has found herself faced with a myriad of economic and social challenges that are now foreign to her. In the last decade, the world has become a much scarier place. Can I blame her for trying to protect herself from perceived threats? Isn't that what we all do? Isn't that why I will not be considering West Virginia as a vacation spot anytime in the near future?

My point in discussing this is not to deal with the election, necessarily. Rather it is to bring up empathy. Empathy is a powerful thing - not just in personal relations or politics but in storytelling. Storytelling, as you may have noticed, is one of my chief concerns. Recently, I read a screenplay about domestic violence. (Sadly, I read a lot of scripts about domestic violence and more than a few of them fit this particular description...) I found it cliche and since it lacked any real insight into the characters' behavior I wondered why anyone would want to watch such a thing. The screenwriter had written the script based on memories of incidents that happened to his neighbors and his parents' friends as he was growing up. He had already formed an opinion of these people and he wrote the script to pass judgement on them. That was clear from the first scene. Since he lacked any empathy for the characters he was able to write this orgy of violence and insult that bordered on the pornographic. He had become so obsessed with the imagery of violence that he neglected to motivate it in any understandable way. It was kinky in its lack of compassion for the characters and their plight and worse yet- it tried to pass off its judgement of the characters as some sort of moral high ground. The voice of the writer was smug and superior. So I asked him- if you don't struggle to understand and feel for these people, then why should I? And if you don't want your audience to care for these people, what do you expect your audience to walk away with? What will they learn about the characters? What will they learn about themselves? If they walk away with a feeling of superiority over these characters haven't you just given your audience permission to ignore what you profess to shine a light on?

To his credit, this screenwriter heard me out and went back to re-writes. It takes a bold writer to do that. It takes a brave person to stretch themselves to try to understand the incomprehensible. That is what a writer needs to do. That is what an actor needs to do. Circumstance can conspire to make monsters of us all and if we want to fight that- if we really want to become better people we need stories that challenge us to empathize. I'm not pimping any kind of moral relativism here- as some have accused me in the past. There is a difference between understanding and condoning. But if you understand what you are up against you will understand how to put up a resistance. Especially if the monster that emerges surprises you by emerging from within.

Economy of Words- Dashiell Hammett

There is something so impressive to me about a writer who has the confidence to write economically. Currently I am combing through the pages of Dashiell Hammett's romantic mystery/ comedy The Thin Man. I am struck by his amazing ability to convey mood, character, subtext, plot and relationship in such short, fast chapters with so few words.

Hammett is direct without being clinical or dull. There are no words wasted for the sake of adornment or ego. It is easy to see why The Thin Man translated so well to film because Hammett's gift is for dialogue. Hammett lets the reader get to know the relationship of Nick and Nora Charles through quick exchanges that leave no question about their trust and love for one another:

We found a table. Nora said: "She's pretty."
"If you like them like that."
She grinned at me. "You got types?"
"Only you, darling- lanky brunettes with wicked jaws."
"And how about the red-head you wandered off with at the Quinns' last night?"
"That's silly," I said. "She just wanted to show me some French etchings."

Their dialogue is snappy, never sappy and always with a wink and a nod. It is a liberated relationship that exists in a masculine and drunken Utopia where feelings don't need to be discussed. Nick is a sardonic wit and Nora is his unquestioned equal. She fascinates me. For all her swagger, Nora is also distinctly feminine. I find it interesting that characters such as Nora are not more common in our post-feminist culture. In a modern writer's hands Nora would come off as loud, wild and perhaps somewhat flighty and naive. She'd be played by an underwear clad Cameron Diaz, flipping her hair and making angry squinty eyes at her drunken husband. However, in Hammett's hands Nora is sophisticated, intelligent, alluring, tough, and extraordinarily compassionate. It isn't that she is the patient, enabling wife of a drunkard who silently endures. She drinks as well as he does, but occasionally protests his constant need for liquor. She trusts him and, oddly enough, he is worthy of her trust. Nick and Nora Charles love each other- messily and admirably.

Nick tries to keep himself from becoming embroiled in the murder mystery that unfolds. He is a reluctant detective, although Nora pokes and prods him to get involved. However, her interest is not of the excitable Nancy Drew variety. Rather it is her kindness that feeds her curiosity. She genuinely cares about those involved even though she admits she may not even like the players in the drama.

The pace of each chapter is quick- but it never feels rushed. There is very little expository language and I marvel at the confidence Hammett has both in his writing style and in his audience's ability to catch the subtext. He does not feel the need to explain himself or his characters. Their actions speak for themselves. It is a novel written with immediacy in mind and does not indulge in nostalgia or in wistful pondering. It is stripped down, direct, sophisticated and, well, kind of sexy.

I'm learning a lot from Mr. Hammett. I don't think I could emulate his style, nor do I think that I necessarily should, but I am appreciative of the unapologetic directness and economy in his writing. There is something I would like to make my own.

The Seven Year Rule - Writer's Edition

Ah yes, more of the seven year rule. I can't seem to get enough of that rule these days.

All of my thinking about the seven year rule has become jumbled. I am very clear on the rule as an actor. As I've stated in previous posts, I have found the seven year rule to be useful when working on a role. Distance from a particular emotional trauma helps me to have control over my choices- it allows me physical freedom and emotional objectivity as I piece a character's life together. However, things get a little murky when I consider the seven year rule as it pertains to my writing.

Should the seven year rule apply to my writing as well? Granted, writing is a private activity and I can prune and edit for as long as I wish (usually not very long at all- I'm not the most patient writer.) and it is okay if I hit a sore spot and cry myself drier than the Mojave. I can always come back to it and no one would be any the wiser. Or would they?

One of my biggest concerns is self-indulgence. Self-indulgence can color an artist's ability to effectively communicate ideas. When a story becomes more about eliciting an emotional response than it is about challenging assumptions and asking hard questions then the story itself becomes a masturbatory exercise. Emotional responses do not make great stories. How many people have you ever seen choke up at the mention of Sophie's Choice only to admit that it was "just okay"? The manipulation of circumstances brings about an overwhelming amount of emotion, but if there are no insights, no questions, no challenges, we learn nothing from the experience beyond "wow, that made me sad". So, is it possible to challenge yourself as a writer to write something immediate to your experience without drowning in it? Or is that simply journaling for the public?

There is something quite valuable in journals. I just wonder if they should be for public consumption. Distance and time do allow for humor to develop, and within that humor comes palatable insight. By that, I mean that humor is one of the most effective ways to communicate difficult ideas. Humor disarms the reader/ viewer and difficult messages can often sneak in and burrow themselves into the audience member's subconscious- allowing them to take in something that may have been too offensive or too painful were it delivered in a more "serious" fashion. My favorite example of this is that Huckleberry Finn was written in Connecticut. Time and distance allow us to see what is universal and what is idiosyncratic about the characters, the time, and the place about which we are writing. This is the beginning of insight, meaning and purpose.

But what about immediacy? What about chronicling the experience in real time? Can there be insight in that? Or should the insight be allowed to deepen and mellow in complexity like a fine wine? How can we tell the difference? How do we know when is the right time to write what?

A friend of mine recently suggested that I write about pregnancy. He had complimented my "glow" and I brushed off the compliment with a cynical remark about how the "glow" was simply a by-product of my body's elevated blood levels and nothing to get too excited about as if it were a reflection of my good taste and fine upbringing. He laughed and told me that other people would find my thoughts on pregnancy entertaining. To be honest, I have been thinking about writing about pregnancy and motherhood for years. Although the perspective I would want to explore would be more about how my parents' influences, their generation, my mother's illness, and my life experiences have made me into the wife/mother/daughter that I am- or more specifically- think that I am. I have a lot of questions about the patterns I've avoided and the patterns I've continued in my life and I believe there is a fictional counterpart to me that could make a compelling character. But when will my writing about that be most effective? Now when I'm in the thick of the experience? Or later when I won't be so invested in taking myself so seriously? Or- would it just be a good exercise for me to write with the intent of keeping my eyes open to my own absurdity?

I have known writers who can do that, and do that quite effectively. Most notably, my good friend Joseph Scrimshaw has made a career of writing in the immediate. His work is riddled with questions about his current struggles in life and art. He just happens to be extraordinarily witty- so you might miss the deeper questions he asks of himself while your beer comes out your nose. (Oh, and there IS beer. There is ALWAYS beer...) That's okay. I think those questions then burrow into your brain like a horrible parasite and then resurface later. I'd be satisfied with that, but I don't quite trust myself to be able to pull that off.

While I am confident in my knowledge and understanding of the application of the seven year rule as an actor- I am not so sure about how to use it as a writer. The only way for me to really tell is to test it.

Over and over and over again.