Courage

In one of those delightful bits of serendipity, a chance phone call with a client, who ended up becoming a friend and occasional Skype partner (we do Happy Hour long distance), and I discovered we both believe most of life can be explained through the analogy of the Wizard of Oz movie. The Yellow Brick Road, clicking our heels. It's the Zen of the Wizard of Oz.

And I was thinking lately about courage.

And the kinds of people who have it. And the kinds who don't.

In the last few months, I had the misfortune of possessing a front row ticket to moral cowardice, back stabbing, and gossip. Thank GOD in heaven I don't anymore. I suppose in the grand scheme of things, these events always occur--to us, to friends, to our children. Bullies in schools, bully bosses, and Desperate Housewives with scheming agendas. But I've always been a bit of a Pollyanna. I've always believed in people. I always believed if you did the best you could, the right thing, tried to be kind, things always worked out for the best. And come on now . . . at my age, I don't know that's not always the case? In one instance, it's someone with a strong personality who regales others with tales of "telling people off." As if that's a good thing. And maybe from a societal standard, AGGRESSIVE communicators (versus ASSERTIVE) are thought of as strong. I have heard that certain CEOs, Steve Jobs among them, are so blistering, verbally abusive, withering, etc., in the face of perceived errors or the slightest bit of perceived weakness, that they are truly terrifying. There are whole COMPANIES with toxic fear pulsing through them because the culture is this sort of extreme nastiness. I know the profile of Enron, post-collapse, all pointed to this sort of communication style. Abusive in nature, with backstabbing tossed in for extra fun.

And I know the people AROUND people like that tend to buy into it. Drink the Kool-Aid. Well, you can't be head of a zillion-dollar company without being like that. Can you? I'd like to think so (see, I really HAVEN'T given up being a Pollyanna). I mean, can't we talk about issues on TV without saying hateful things? The culture wars have reached hideous proportions. KIDS think it's okay to be nasty because their parents are . . . and let's not forget the talking head on x or y channel? Or better yet? The tweets of this politician or that one.

Now, this guy writes about someone with the skill set to save the world from terrorists. Trust me, you want this hero in your corner. Courage. REAL courage.

But I think there's quieter courage too. Maybe more important now than ever. The sort of people who quietly do what needs doing. In my wip, in the face of a world gone mad, two people choose to remain loving to each other, to nurse a friend, to love their dog, to just go on living. Sometimes, going on LIVING and (way more importantly) LOVING in the face of horrifying surroundings or events, is a fierce act of great courage. Anne Frank comes to mind.

And I don't think courage is the person who can yell the loudest . . . the talking heads on TV who scream about morality. Courage is not unkindness. Courage is not "anonymous" posts on various boards with ugly sentiments. Courage is overhearing a racist sentiment or a piece of ugly gossip, even if one is in a group and QUIETLY saying, "That's not right." It's sure as heck not getting in someone's face to defend your position. Courage is sometimes admitting you are NOT RIGHT. Wow . . . what a concept.

The courageous are teachers sometimes. Soldiers at other times. Firefighters. Mothers. I don't think (much as I adore my Yankees and NY Giants--and HELLO! FOOTBALL SEASON IS ALMOST HERE!) courage is much found on the field. Not in my definition of it. I don't think if you are paid $100 MILLION dollars and you win some game in crazy overtime that you are particularly "courageous." That's what you're paid to do. But I think sometimes, yes, showing up after a death in your family or a terrible event, and still playing the game? I give you that.

Full confession. I used to be the sort who would, by virtue of being articulate, "get into it" with other people. But my opinion of what is cowardice and what is grace has been reshaped over the last ten years. Now, I'm more like Lion. I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do. Hell, they're all around. But you do the right thing anyway. Just like Lion.

And one more thing . . . I like courageous main characters. Sometimes, they're like Derek Stillwater. Sometimes not. Sometimes they are moms trying to do the right thing. Sometimes they are middle-grade monsters going to a new school. Sometimes they have flashy careers and sometimes they just are making their way through the world. But courage is something I like seeing in novels I read. It's just not always the kind of courage the rest of the world thinks of first.

What is courage to you? And how does your main character embody it? Read any books with courageous characters lately? Seen any flying monkeys lately?

Namaste.

Homage

In the second to last chapter of Magickeepers II, an entire scene is an homage to the classic film The Wizard of Oz. As I wrote it, I knew it would fly over the heads of most kids in the middle grades. But . . . if they return to the book years later, they would easily see it. I knew most adults reading it aloud would get it (or would they?). It's very obvious (in my opinion), and very purposeful. And it's one of those things that I just get a total kick about writing.

If I went back through all of my 20 or so books, I could pull out, page by page, the little things I embed in there for my own delight. Why does Julian in Freudian Slip love the Clash? Because I do. As does Demon Baby. Characters are named after people I love. Cassie Hayes's boss in Spanish Disco was named after my late godfather.

Now, I suppose the reversal is true. I don't particularly enjoy when readers try to psychoanalyze me based on things my characters do. It's fiction.

But the homages . . . that's fun.

What is the best thing you ever hid in a manuscript?

The Wizard

Okay, so the universe is messing with me. Late last night, what was on TBS? The Wizard of Oz. And what line did I happen to flick on TV at? The wizard . . . behind the curtain. And so now you all must suffer through more blog posts on the Wizard of Oz because I really am convinced all of life can be explained through the movie.




Remember when the Wizard gave out brains, then courage, then the heart? And Dorothy realized there probably wasn't something in that bag for her?

What's the next line?



Come on, movie buffs? What does the Wizard say.

The Wizard says, "You force me into a cataclysmic decision." He is going to take Dorothy himself in a hot air balloon.

I think writing--and life--are like that. We rarely change of our own volition. Human beings seem to learn the hard way. Our habits--alcohol, sex, smoking, overeating--we often don't change until we lose someone, we lose our health, we lose our way so hopelessly we've hit a bottom.

And in writing, it also sometimes takes a cataclysmic decision to move us forward. For example, Writer A has suffered through 100 rejections of her various novels. She clings to the delusion it's the odds stacked against her, it's "New York," it's whatever it is that helps her cope. But Writer A never gets any personalized rejections. No nibbles. No requests for partials. And she would rather keep her Oz-like fantasy than share her work with seasoned writer-friends, lest they tell her what she's afraid to hear--that the work isn't good enough . . . and this is what she needs to do to get her hot air balloon off the ground.

We are forced into cataclysmic decisions when we come to realize that thought we LOVE genre A, we aren't the type of writer who is going to truly master genre A without a LOT of pain because really? Our voice is genre B.

We are forced into cataclysmic decisions when we realize it's been ten years and we've NEVER finished a book.

We are forced into cataclysmic decisions when we realize we've been doing this ten years and never sent a query letter.

Whatever it is, sometimes something comes along to shake us to our core. Someone has to pull back the curtains and get real and dig in.

Even with my output, my agent pointed out that I haven't been working on any new proposals--in months. I know the market sucks. I know I'm frankly tired. I also know I've got easily a half-dozen proposals on my computer but don't know what to focus on. So I committed to spending December getting two ready. I made a cataclysmic decision. I still feel half-paralyzed because I don't know WHAT to work on. But that's OK. 'Cause I can't go to Kansas unless I snap out of it.

So . . . any cataclysmic decisions in your world lately? Just remember . . . . there's no place like home.