Showing posts with label writing themes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing themes. Show all posts

Saturday, May 31, 2008

So Does It Start . . .

. . . with a theme?

In the comments of the last post, the point was raised. Do you start with a theme?

As background, a friend was speaking with one of those editors with a pretty huge (in the publishing world) reputation. The kind of uniformly respected editor whom, if you drop the name, people know who it is. And the editor is of the opinion . . . it all starts with a theme.

Now people will line up on both sides of this--vehemently saying it's all entertainment, it's all subconscious, it's all this or it's all that. And realistically speaking, yeah. You can have the Loftiest Theme in the History of Literature, but if your prose sucks, or you fail to entertain . . . then it doesn't matter one iota.

In actuality, NOTHING can be separated in writing. Great character but lousy plot . . . sorry. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 (or a book contract). Great plot but hollow characters . . . same. By whose definition? Obviously that's subjective.

But the always-brilliant friend of this blog, Mark Terry, posited in his On Writing (and go download it now!) that you advance as a writer. Writer 101 is lucky to stick his commas where they belong. By the time you get to Writing 401, you might be ready to try your luck in the Big Game.

I tend to agree. Because I think where you REALLY get into seeing writing on a whole other plane is when you start thinking of theme, and character arcs, on symbolism, on what you have to say and why you're saying it the precise way you are.

Which isn't to denigrate the writer who says, "I never give it a thought." But I think . . . read enough great works, and most of us (some of us?) realize we should. We should dig deeper, find our theme. Weave the theme, watch the character arc.

The editor in question . . . and MY editors . . . over and over again, they ask. When I did the rewrite for my next book, one thing my editor said, "This was eminently readable. Perhaps TOO readable." Layer in some theme. Layer in some more conflict. I added 100 pages.

So I know this is bound to get writers discussing, arguing, saying "I don't believe it works that way." But I honestly think when you get a certain caliber of editor . . . they think this way. When you reach Writing 401, you start to think this way. Maybe not. I also think as you advance, it all becomes part of a seamless writing whole.

Thoughts?

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Working Through

I recently became a fan of this musician. I have bought several songs for my iPod, and turns out I had a few of his songs on compilations--and didn't even know it until I loaded the compilations onto my iPod. So off I went to Google him, and discovered, in nearly every bio or review that critics said his lyrics were "harrowing" and "autobiographical" and "an attempt to work through tragedy."

I have an acquiantance I used to spend time with who is an artist. On weekends at his beach house, we played charades and drank way too much wine. And I found him very witty, but when I saw his installations, I found them dark and intense and funny and morbid all at once.

I know some people create simply to entertain. There are popcorn movies and popcorn books. But I also--strictly based on my pals--know a lot of creative people are working through some process through their art. And while I can take art for art's sake and music for music's sake . . . and a book for simply a book, I do find the ones that have some undercurrent fascinate me more.

What am I working through? After the death, funeral, and assorted stuff of the last few weeks, I think I am squarely going in some existential direction. The beauty of life . . . which ALWAYS ends. As the character Lou O'Connor (named after my late and much-loved godfather) told Cassie in Spanish Disco (paraphrased), "You're angry that people leave. Whether they abandon you or they die, in the end you either leave first . . . or they do." It's the human condition.

So . . . care to lie down on the couch? Is there some bigger current in your work you feel yourself groping toward, fumbling toward some deeper understanding? Any artists that draw you in because of that? Music?


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