Real Talk

I've been told that I have a good ear for dialogue. This is encouraging, given that I still harbor a secret wish that I might someday write a successful screenplay, and screenplays are largely based on dialogue. It is not, however, enough to carry me through the act of writing dialogue for fiction.

My problem is that I let characters talk too much, and usually about the wrong things. Instead of focusing on the issue at hand, I give them topics like work, play, whatever. I need to learn to rein myself in a bit, narrow my field of vision, home in on the necessary details. 

Fiction is never going to be hyper-realistic, even if it appears thus. Because it's a world created from scratch, and so I can't, uh, talk like this or, you know, like a bumbling moron because, um, that would be bad, right?

Right. 

Maybe I should borrow the famed expression "loose lips sink ships": talk too much, and the ship of your characters' conversation will succumb to the sea around it, sending it to the bottom of the ocean where it will be inaccessible. (I'm bad with metaphors, but you get the idea.) This seems like a reasonable piece of advice to me.

-Cate-

"There Must Be Things in Books, Things We Can't Imagine" (From the Archives)

I will take literally any opportunity I get to talk about my favorite book, Fahrenheit 451. Since I first read Fahrenheit when I was in high school and another school year has just begun across the country, I thought I'd share some of my thoughts about the book with you in another From the Archives post.

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One of the greatest touchstones of my life is, and has been for a number of years, Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451. I have read it multiple times, written numerous papers about it both in high school and college, and given copies of it to my father and my best guy friend, among a few others. It means that much to me.

I've never been able to properly explain my attachment to Fahrenheit. Part of it is the batshit craziness that is Clarisse. Part of it is the near-android detachment of Mildred. Part of it is the dedication that Faber shows to literature. Part of it is the megalomaniacal antics of Beatty. A larger part of it has to do with that greatest of Firemen, Guy Montag.

But mostly it's about the writing itself. There is one passage that I repeatedly point to above all others to showcase the simple beauty of Bradbury's language: "[...T]he heart is suddenly shattered, the body falls in separate motions, and the blood is astonished to be freed on the air; the brain squanders its few precious memories and, puzzled, dies" (158). For me, words like that represent the ultimate culmination of centuries of literature that came before; it is poetry, it is drama, it is truth, it is fantastic. It makes me want to be a better writer.

I could expound upon the merits of Fahrenheit at length. But, this being a blog, I feel that it is not the proper forum for doing so. However, I will leave you with the truest words I have ever encountered, from the coda: "There is more than one way to burn a book. And the world is full of people running about with lit matches. Every minority [...] feels it has the will, the right, the duty to douse the kerosene, light the fuse" (176-7). And it is because of Bradbury that so many authors have been willing to break free from such oppression--he proved that he could do it, and so should we.

The HUMANities

Alexandra Petri, a columnist at the Washington Post,  wrote an interesting article at the end of June in which she discusses the need for humanities studies as we move into the future as a society. By far the best part of her argument is this: 

My biggest problem with all the people speaking up to defend the Humanities is that they seem to be coming at it from the wrong end of the telescope. “The future will still need the human skills that the liberal arts promote, and perhaps will need them more than ever: skills in communication, interpretation, linking and synthesizing domains of knowledge, and imbuing facts with meaning and value.” Is that really all it is? I didn’t realize I was gaining skills in imbuing facts with meaning and value. I thought I was lucky to get to reach back 300 years or 3,000 years and see how the people alive at that time struggled with the most fundamental and fascinating questions of existence [...]. In a nutshell — What is human?

If you don’t realize that these disciplines are inherently exciting because they have a monopoly on these questions, [...] I quake for the Humanities.

I'm just now getting around to piping up with my two cents because, well, I was too busy doing the things that humanities-centric people do: reading, writing, no 'rithmatic. In other words, I was:

- blogging

- conducting research for a paper I'm writing about Madonna's Ray of Light

- rewatching the Harry Potter movies

- hating on Twilight

- promoting a book I recently edited

- pondering the cosmos

Okay, that last one is an exaggeration. But think about what I WAS doing:

- reaching out to people with my words

- helping to expand the understanding we have of popular culture

- reexperiencing something that changed the world

- contributing to the discussion of a very important topic

- bringing joy to readers by helping someone share his work

This probably makes me sound a little snobby, like I have a very high opinion of myself and my activities. But please don't misunderstand. This is how I feel about the humanities on a general level. I have the same amount of respect for the sciences, because they expand our knowledge of the physical universe, and that's important, too. 

What I do not respect, however, is the way the humanities are consistently shunted aside in favor of other things. The humanities are the best way we have to understand ourselves as humans. That's why they're called humanities.

-Cate-

Talk like an Egyptian

I was well into my first year of college before I realized that Midwesterners have A Sound. It was probably about the time a girl from Wisconsin, who sounded like she was from Wisconsin, accused me of sounding like I was from Michigan (which I am). 

Imagine Chicago, if you will: nasal, elliptical vowels. Reduce it by thirty percent, and you have my speech pattern. Or, if you'd prefer to hear a good example, witness my (deeply in denial) homegirl Madonna:

Try as she might, Ms. Ciccone can't mask the fact that she grew up in southeastern Michigan. You can hear it most blatantly in the way she says learn and burn, but also in hide and, to a lesser extent, bruise and lose. This is also how I form words.

I grew accustomed to the sound of my own voice during my youth. I was aware, after trips to Boston, Charlotte, and elsewhere, that not everyone in the United States has the same speech patterns. I just never thought of my patterns as being especially strong.

Nowadays, I laugh at myself when I hear werd and maahm come out of my mouth, because they are the two strongest indications of my background. And I'm glad to have a distinct verbal mode that ties me to my home state, which I miss often.

So here's to all the boys and girls out there whose mouths will always remind them of their roots.

-Cate-

A Writer's Responsibilities, or, Cate Versus Twilight

Back in June, my friend Mike asked me about Twilight. It went like this:

Mike: Have you ever seen the Twilight?

Cate: Believe me, sweetheart, you do NOT want to hear my opinions on Twilight.

Mike: Dude, they sparkle in the sun. Pretty much the best thing to ever happen to the vampire community.

Cate: Please stop talking unless you're going to tell me you hate Twilight with at least half of the fibers of your being.

Mike: Sorry, I've only seen the first two movies and I think they're cute, like The Little Mermaid or The Lion King.

Cate: Well, speaking as someone who's read all of the books and seen the first movie, I can tell you three things. 1) Stephenie Meyer is a terrible, sloppy writer. 2) Bella Swan is the weakest character I've ever read and an abysmal role model for girls. 3) The entire series reinforces rape culture in a way I haven't seen from anyone/anything. No joke, Bella and Edward's relationship fits ALL the recognized criteria of domestic abuse, and the series has done more damage (in my opinion) than Barbie dolls and Disney princesses combined.

Mike: Yeah, I don't analyze them, I just watch them.

Although I disagree with Mike about sparkling being the best thing to happen to vampires, I do appreciate daywalkers. But the point here, as you may have gathered, is not the vampires themselves. Rather, it's the way Meyer treats Bella Swan--and, by extension, each of the young women who find her story irresistible.

Of course, I'm not the first person to point out how ridiculous the Twilight series is, either in its written or cinematic form, nor am I the first to criticize the writing, characterizations, or lack of good life lessons. And Meyer is far from the only writer whose work or views on women deserves scrutiny (I am looking in your direction, V.S. Naipaul). But the fact is that Meyer, being a young adult (YA) author, has a certain responsibility to her audience.

Some people think that this is up for debate. I am not one of those people.

When I was in graduate school, I was lucky enough to study under Chris Lynch, whose work isn't known for its cheerfulness. For example, Inexcusable, his powerhouse of a novel, tells the story of a rape and its aftermath from the point of view of the rapist. Working with Lynch and reading his work taught me that not only is no topic out of bounds, as many YA advocates will tell you, but also that there is a great tradition of writers reaching out to teens through their works. Jack Gantos, Chris Crutcher, Lois Lowry, and Laurie Halse Anderson are a few examples of authors who tackle dark subjects that are pressing and important. 

After a semester spent with Lynch while reading all sorts of social issues-related YA novels, I decided that I wanted to be the kind of writer who pays attention to the message I'm sending to my entirely hypothetical readers. In fact, I was so fired up over finding his name in a Wall Street Journal article decrying "dark" YA lit that I sent him a congratulatory e-mail, writing, "I like working with dudes who write the kind of stuff that gets talked about. So thanks for being awesome."

Sarah Alderson, whose work I have never read, says, "Teenage readers are influenced by our words, by our stories. Make them count." This is my general feeling about the subject. Some authors take a narrower view, asserting that they only worry about being truthful. Libba Bray feels that "it would be dishonest of me to write a character without [...] flaws." But Bray's characters (in my limited experience) don't have the same flaws we see in Meyer's work. Bella is one-dimensional, a girl incapable of sticking up for herself, the kind of person who would rather act out in a reckless manner than face the fact that she is in a bad relationship. 

Other commentators think that telling a good story is paramount, such as Fiona Snyckers, who writes, "Teenagers, and indeed most children, have an uncanny ability to detect when they are being preached at, and their reaction to such preaching is almost always resentment. Nothing kills a book faster for a teen than the awareness that some adult agenda lies behind it." Of course, I agree that it's important to deliver a well-constructed story; every writer should strive to do so. But my gut reaction is that if you are preaching, you're doing something wrong in your writing. There is nothing bad about trying to convey a message; it's just that if your message isn't delivered thoughtfully and respectfully, with an understanding that teenagers have different sensibilities than adults, you need to try again.

Maybe I should be grateful that Meyer has given me--and others--an opportunity to figure out how we feel and strive harder to be good role models. In general, though, I'm just frustrated that I live in a world where abusive vampires are worshiped and good writing with a heart beating below it (pun only sort of intended) is banned--including, to my unending amusement/chagrin, my onetime professor's work.

Mike didn't mean to set off a debate when he asked me about Twilight. Meyer probably didn't mean to be so divisive when she wrote the series. Unfortunately, that's how Bella, et al, function in this world.

-Cate-

PS When I asked Mike if he'd mind me quoting him in this post, he was totally game. Thanks for the support, Mikey!

The Finish Line

During grad school, I was on the wrong end of a spectacularly brief but forceful lecture on the importance of finishing. The context: a short story was dragging on across the months without reaching a conclusion. The cause: I have a chronic inability to commit to short-term undertakings. I'm not a one-night stand kind of girl. I appreciate monogamy, novels, Quentin Tarantino films. Things that require a long-term investment (seriously, Jackie Brown clocks in at like two hours and forty minutes).

But my professor was right. It's important to finish what you start, be it a joke or just a jokey excuse of a story. So I've recently decided to make a commitment to my writing: if I start a piece (blog post, poem, story, essay), I have to see it through to the end. 

This doesn't mean that it ever has to see the light of day. It just means that I can't allow myself to stall out in the middle of something and give up on it. I may put it aside. I may revise what I've written and then proceed. But I may not throw it away. It has to end somewhere.

What kind of writing promises have you made to yourself? Are they more or less drastic than this?

-Cate-

Hurts so Good?

A couple of days ago, I cracked a nail while trying to bust open a stubborn pistachio. My nails break easily as it is, but the fact that I was trying to eat something healthy when this happened added insult to injury.

This is often how I feel about writing. When I try to sit down and produce something but nothing will come, or else whatever comes is sub-par, it's like breaking a nail: a little painful, a lot disheartening. My beautiful words, like my well-shaped nails, fall apart before me.

Because it's not difficult for me to get discouraged, I have to be very careful when I write. I cannot allow myself to give up over one bad page or even a few broken ones. There's no one fail-proof strategy except this: to keep going, even through the pain. That's how we get to the things we want, whether it's a little green nut or a finished story.

-Cate-