I blame all this silliness on Rumiko Takahashi, whose created worlds have
been mangled and twisted by wannabe writers time and time again; on Kurt
Vonnegut, Jr., whose writings remind me of my own, only much, much better
written (but about as coherent); and Takezo. Damn you and your prose.
Comments and further discussions are very welcome.
=====
Gratuitous Self: Meta-Meta-What?
Prologue
A few years ago, during a brief encounter with tipsiness, I sat down
at a friend's PC and stared at Microsoft Word 95. I took another sip of the
gin-and-beer-spiked mixture of Sprite and iced tea and began to write about
writing.
The story was about a newbie named Takezo (for lack of a better name
at the time, I 'cleverly' stole the teenage name of Miyamoto Musashi) who
posted his Ranma self-insertion fic (which at the time was all the rage) on
the FFML. To me, it was the height of satire at the time, and I imagined the
looks of irritation on the faces of all the self-insertion writers on the
list.
It was my revenge, I suppose, for the rather tepid response I'd
received for the Urusei Yatsura/Ranma 1/2 fusion I'd written earlier, a tame
fic that placed Mendo Shutaro in Furinkan High School. I expected to get my
name into the spotlight, waiting for the public flames to come in (since
there was no moderator on the list at the time, thus one could expect one
hundred fifty or so messages a day).
No flames came in. Imagine my disappointment.
Instead, I received quite a number of supportive emails, to the tune
of 'Hey, great fic man' or 'I know the answer to question X'.
Fluke, I thought to myself. I fully intended to get the Nabiki/Ukyo SI
boys' goats, so I continued with part two, increasing the melodrama and
creating a sort of rivalry between Takezo and the aptly-named 'Kojiro
Sasaki', the Nabiki cult head priest. The flames should start rolling in any
minute now, I thought.
I got more fan mail.
The Greeks invented a word for that sort of thing.
By this time I'd started to enjoy getting fan mail; I had a little
folder set aside in my mail client just for C&C which was getting fatter and
fatter by the day. I had sort of a rivalry going with my friend and fellow
fanfic writer Scriviner (whom to this day receives comments about the
spelling of his nom de plume), comparing how much C&C we received for the
day.
In fact, I enjoyed the fan mail so much that the satire slowly got
leached out of the story.
Where is it now? Where is the original manuscript? Where is part
eleven? the longtime readers cry.
Nowhere, I reply. The fic has run itself into the ground, choking on
its own bile. It has subtly transformed into the thing it once used to
satire.
So I won't bother to write the rest anymore. At least, not in story
form.
But what happens to Takezo, and Nabiki, and Ukyo, and Kojiro? I hear
the readers ask. Not to worry. Foreseeing this possibility, I have decided
to cut out all the crap (ala Timequake One and Timequake Two) and simply
tell you about what was supposed to happen next.
In fact, for those curious about the original fic, but are too lazy to
get it from my site, or too smart to waste their time trying to wade through
that clunky piece of fiction, I'll serve up the good stuff here and leave
the crap out.
Here we go.
- 1 -
Someone once commented that Gratuitous Self was meta-fanfiction. After
all, it was about a story about a story. A writer writing about a writer
writing.
It was a device, I suppose, to distance myself from the SI character;
a washing of the hands.
So here I was, the Pontius Pilate of the fanfic world, ready to talk
down to the mailing list masses from my high horse, from my podium on the
altar.
I freely admit, and I think it's plain to see from my writing and my
web site, that I am a Nabiki fanboy. Others go Ukyo; not me. Yes, Ukyo is
cute. Yes, Ukyo had that boyish-androgynous-whatsitz appeal. Yes, feel sorry
for poor, poor faithful Ukyo. I knew where all of that was coming from, and
yet I was a Nabiki fanboy.
I don't really know why. Perhaps it was because of her 'cool'
demeanor. Perhaps it was due to her predilection toward money (a woman after
my own heart). Perhaps it was because her character had so much potential
(read: underdeveloped in the canon), just like Lina from Bubblegum Crisis.
Perhaps it was because she was the character who looked the best in denim
cutoffs. I don't know. It just happened. But I wasn't going to set myself up
with her in writing, no. I was already doing that on the online muck I
joined.
So what did I do? Set up a writer who set up himself with Nabiki in
his own writing. Ah, yes. TimeRunner's Sermon on the Mount.
Lookie. I'm a pot calling you black.
At any rate, here I am, writing about writing about a writer writing
about setting himself up with Tendo Nabiki.
That makes this meta-meta-fanfiction, doesn't it?
Whatever.
- 2 -
At any rate, this Takezo person decided to write himself in as the
character in the background that appears from out of apparent obscurity to
save Nabiki from imminent doom. Yes. He leaps out from the crowd, saves the
damsel in distress from falling to her death, and leaves, giving her only a
name; Takezo. Musashi Takezo.
Isn't that always the case?
Some powerful character comes out of nowhere, mops the floor with the
regular cast, including (especially) Ranma, and walks into the sunset
hand-in-hand with the girl (or guy, usually Ryoga) of his or her choice.
Do we all have such unoriginal imaginations? Must we all display
either unheard-of powers or the same powers as the original cast, only much
better? Must the romantic interest always wonder after us after we've made
our dramatic exit? Damn it all, we watch anime, for Pete's sake! There are
other ways!
"Oh, Takezo..." Puh-lease!
I intended to show how a SI was supposed to be written, damn it.
Although I wasn't writing one, mind you, Takezo was. Ha, ha, I made a funny.
Lately, there has been a rash (a very apt word) of 'avant-garde
cutting-edge' SI fics on the list. How so? Well, they involve the character
being your ordinary Joe getting mopped on the floor by the original cast
(especially Ranma), but STILL walking away (and getting married sometimes)
with the girl/guy of their choice, although after a lot of quarreling,
misunderstanding, and shy courtship.
Wow! So this is it, huh? This is as good as it gets?
I made Takezo walk the middle path; displaying mid-level powers,
bickering with Nabiki, developing a secondary relationship with another
girl, that sort of thing. Not that I was inserting myself, mind you. I was
simply showing people how it was done.
I also have the deed to City Hall with me, if you're interested.
- 3 -
Bob enters the picture.
At the time, I felt that Bob was my true self-insertion, the guru
helping the newbie, the sempai to Takezo's kohai. I was, after all,
moralizing to my heart's content. (As I am now, come to think of it.)
Someone was astute enough to point this out later on, although he mistook me
for an Ukyo fanboy. Ah, well. Not everyone can be Sherlock Holmes.
Bob had that clever little name instead of some other feudal Japanese
swordmaster's name because, as I mentioned earlier, I had a
wee-bit-'o-the-drinkie. Otherwise, he'd be named after that great Japanese
blacksmith, what's-his-face. No, I am not drunk right now.
At any rate, Bob taught Takezo one of the most important lessons I
believe a writer can learn.
For example: Almost everyone who remembers it recognizes 'The Bitter
End' as an important work in Ranma fanfiction. It was the epitome of
Ranma-angst, in my view.
At the time, the [Dark] tag became vogue. All over the place, you had
Ryoga raping Akane, Kuno raping Nabiki, Ranma raping Kodachi, Soun raping
Kasumi, rape, rape, rape. True, it was shocking at first (I couldn't get the
taste out of my mouth for days after reading 'Poison'), but it got really
boring after a while. People posting fics that show Genma raping P-chan just
to get their names posted is not a healthy sign for the list.
Then came [Sad]. People dying all over the place. Ukyo is dead.
Nuku-Nuku is dead. Ranma is dead (oh, wait, that's not a sad fic). You name
the character, bang! Dead.
Zen decided one day to have a nice little Ranma 1/2 murder, neatly
combining death and the [Dark] tag.
All over the place the responses flew. Akane is OOC. They shouldn't
have died so easily. Excellent piece of work. I just came from my failed
suicide, and then I read this.
Everyone happy? Nope. General consensus? Good piece of writing.
So anyhow, Takezo takes Bob's advice, ignores the pointless flames
(you suck, but I won't tell you why!), takes the constructive criticisms to
heart, and comes out with a much better fic than if he'd pandered to
everyone's whims.
Like Bob said, you can't please everybody.
- 4 -
What's the point of fantasy if you can't do what you want?
This is what usually runs through the minds of anyone (and I mean
anyone) who begins to write an SI. I believe that the two factors that
control the shaping of any SI are wish fulfillment, and shame. That's right.
Shame. While wish-fulfillment would normally make you want to endow your
fictitious self with incredible sexual prowess, for example, shame prevents
you from making Nabiki, for example, say 'Oh, wow, were we really going at
it in there for a year and a half, straight?"
That is, unless you have no intention of posting the fic. I believe
that for every SI posted on the list, there are five unposted ones, and for
each of those unposted ones there are ten unwritten ones stuck in the
would-be writer's head. Those guilty, raise your hands. Okay, put those
hands down, I can't see the people at the back anymore.
So, with such a two-dimensional impetus, it's no wonder why some
people say that if you've read one SI, you've read them all.
Enter 'Turning Road'.
Why did Bob and the list give this particular SI the chance it got?
Well, if you ask me, it's because Takezo took a rather unorthodox
theme to his SI: Disillusionment.
Anecdote: The prince met the princess and lived happily ever after.
Story: The prince met the princess and discovered he had to face
another prince in a duel for her hand before they could live happily ever
after.
It's been said before, and it'll be said long after I say it, but
stories have plots, and plot have conflict. In your average SI, the
protagonist (the author's character) either has to beat some evil nemesis to
save the romantic interest character or has to overcome their mutual
shyness. That's the conflict. Real life takes a back seat to swashbuckling
or elementary-school-level romance.
What is Takezo's initial conflict in Turning Road? His disillusionment
with Nabiki, who is turning out not to be the dream girl he imagined her to
be.
So his courtship of her turns into a subdued rivalry, a Cold War, if
you like. Takezo's self-inserted character (and Takezo himself, for that
matter) doesn't realize that by giving his SI this bent, he has set up a
story that practically writes itself.
Better than wish fulfillment, Takezo now has a story that even he
doesn't know the ending to. All he has to do is toss the characters together
in a situation and let them sort it out. Which is basically what happened.
All the while, the readers wonder what's going to happen next, unaware that
the writer doesn't have a clue, either. He's just waiting to see what
happens, himself.
I think if you're going to write an SI, you might as well enjoy
yourself.
- 5 -
This is really turning out to be TimeRunner's Soapbox, isn't it?
Ah, well. It's my bully pulpit. I can say whatever I want while I'm on
it.
As I write this little post-modern meta-tale, I can't help but wonder
if it's too soon to pronounce Gratuitous Self dead.
You see, the main problem with GS right now is that I've written it
into a situation that I can't write out of. The Here is Greenwood cast is
messing up my style, and Templar ain't cutting it as a main baddie - he's
too pathetic. The love polygon, though, is very interesting, and I'd love to
write about it more.
So I will. Maybe. Someday.
Right now, though, I have to work out just what I want to do with the
series, and I guess that's what this little multi-part tirade is for.
I guess another reason I haven't written about GS for so long is
because Ranma bores me now. I mean, I still like the series, and I can
recite the lines from the OAVs from memory, but, well... It's like Macross.
It blew my mind when it came out, but now even better stuff has come out.
Mind-altering stuff, like Evangelion, or Utena. Same with Ranma. I've read
all the manga, seen all the anime. Nothing left but fanfiction, and even
that is getting old.
Very few things about Ranma 1/2 inspire me anymore.
Except for the characters.
The secondary characters really pique my interest. Treated properly,
they can hold up a story on their own; notice the many Ryoga or Ukyo
stories. Ranma and Akane aren't all that bad, either; the reason they get
boring is because of everyone casting them in old roles: Ranma the
insensitive martial artist bumpkin, Akane the ill-tempered gorilla-strong
uppercutting bad cook. Boring!
Let's face it; Ms. Takahashi's characterization of her Ranma cast left
a lot to be desired. Why the Ranma cast wasn't as well-characterized as her
Maison Ikkoku cast, we can only blame on the target audience - young boys.
Yep, the same target audience for Dragonball Z.
But that's what fanfiction is for, right? So we can treat the
characters the way we want, right?
Apparently not. Just ask your local 'OOC' nit-picker.
- 6 -
There was this Stephen King story (the title of which eludes me at the
moment), in which the protagonist, a drug dealer, got stranded on an island
with no food. Finally, he shoots himself full of drugs and cuts off his leg,
or something like that, so he can eat it. Ditto with the other leg
afterward, then one arm, then...
What does this have to do with Gratuitous Self? I'll get to that in a
moment.
Life taught me that anyone could crash and burn. Anyone. Including me.
Anyone who's tripped and fallen face first into the rough asphalt of
courtship knows what I mean. It stings, doesn't it? It's stings like hell.
Your ego is not its healthiest after a beating like that, let me tell you.
How could someone you love not love you? Okay, granted, it may be an easier
question to answer for some people, but for a conceited asshole like myself
it was the dilemma to end all dilemmas. Not only did I fail at the game, I
lost face doing it! Unforgivable!
What does this have to do with Gratuitous Self? Well, here it is.
Takezo starts to write the 'Don't want to be tied down' scene in
Gratuitous Self 2, right? From where does he draw his motivation? Me. And
from where do I draw that? My own experience, of course.
So what do I do? I summon up that intense feeling of jilted
indignation and inject it into the story. Personal experience lends a
convincing sort of sincerity to any work, be it a story or a painting. Then,
voila! Instant empathy from the readers. Readers are a smart lot, you see.
They smell something false in the text, they get turned off. Refreshing
honesty, on the other hand, makes you root for the protagonist even more.
How else do you explain the Ryoga phenomenon?
So there. Personal anguish distilled into a junk medium. It works,
doesn't it?
So, where does Stephen King come in? Well, writers sometimes need to
throw parts of themselves into their work. Makes for a livelier stew, don't
you think?
Yum.
- 7 -
Now, why exactly do I like Nabiki so? Why not Ukyo, pretty and
intelligent martyr of the Ranma cast? Why not Kasumi, archangel of
domestics? Why not Shampoo, Chinese cheesecake in a sleeveless red dress?
It think it's because Nabiki reminds me of a female version of... me.
I have a screwy sense of honor. I will lie, cheat, and doublecross as
much as I can get away with, but I will look down upon anyone (including
myself) who does all of these things and cannot come off scot-free, or
cannot leave the victim with a sense of grudging respect. If you can't leave
your mark with him thinking, 'By golly, that was some good doublecross by
that nice fellow', then why do it?
On the other hand, the same intensity of condescension (if of a
different variety) is reserved for those who insist on being honorable and
noble and all that crap all the way to the poorhouse, the mental hospital,
or the grave.
I blame this on my great-grandfather.
My great-grandfather Kisaburo, my grandmother told us, was heir to the
wealthy Orata family in Nagasaki, which was kind of like the Mendo family of
Tomobiki, only pre-world-war (I and II) in scale. One day, Kisaburo was
presented with a rather interesting dilemma by his honorable family.
He was to marry the daughter of another wealthy post-Tokugawa-era
family in order to unite the two clans to form a formidable conglomerate.
Really? I'm not so sure, what does she look like, I imagine he said.
We'll arrange a meeting, his parents probably said. But you will marry
her, if you don't want to disgrace yourself and the family name.
We'll see, my great-grandfather thought to himself, I'll wager.
They met.
The girl was most probably refined, demure, and polite, as was
expected from a lady of her social class.
She was also damned ugly.
I'm supposed to marry her? my great-grandfather protested. I don't
even love her! She doesn't have any excuse to be ugly if I don't love her!
Yes she does, his parents replied. She's the daughter of probably the
only family in this city who can match our wealth and family honor.
I still won't marry her, he said.
You will, his parents said, because our family honor is at stake. What
do you say to that? What about your personal honor? What about your 'giri'?
My honor? My duty? Kisaburo smirked. I'll show what I think about
honor and duty!
He left Japan for the Philippines, leaving his flabbergasted parents
back in Nagasaki.
He met my great-grandmother, a Filipina much prettier than the woman
he left back in Meiji-period Nagasaki, in American-Era Manila. They both
fell in love, and they settled down in a little town in the country, and
lived together with their daughter, my grandmother, who was living proof
that good Japanese and Filipino genes combined would make a wonderful
combination. They lived their lives happy and well, probably because they
were less bound by things like honor and giri.
Meanwhile, World War II struck. We all know what happened to Nagasaki.
Thank you, great-grandpa!
- 8 -
In Gratuitous Self, Takezo's masterpiece drew the ire of the local
chapter of the Holy Crusaders of Nabiki Tendo. In particular, the thing that
got their collective crusader goats was not the fact that he set Nabiki up
to fall in love with him - he didn't, as long-time readers know. What really
annoyed them was the fact that he had set himself up in direct opposition
with her.
Allow me to explain. Takezo, a classmate of Nabiki's and a
practitioner of Kendo (this was to allude to his namesake, as well as set up
a possible rivalry with Kuno that has yet to materialize), had fallen in
love with her. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Takeshi, a friend and classmate of Takezo's, had heard of Nabiki's
maltreatment of would-be suitors and warned him about even attempting to
take Nabiki out on a date. He gets a punch in the face for his trouble. (As
an aside, the name Takeshi is an allusion to a lesser-known, at least in the
US, anime where Musashi, Kojiro, and even Yagyu Jubei are secondary
characters. Takeshi, by the way, is the name of the antagonist.)
Takezo, smitten as he was, went on the date anyway. As expected,
Nabiki bled him dry, as was her usual way of dealing with suitors. At the
end of the date, as per her usual plan, she 'broke the news' to him that she
was not ready for commitment. To bleed him of whatever money he had left,
she blackmailed him with photocopies of his love letter to her. "I liked
your letter so much that I made copies! I can't wait to show them off to
everyone! Unless... you'd care to buy them from me."
Unlike the others, though, who left broken, tails between their legs,
Takezo instantly realized that what Takeshi had told him was true. He
mustered whatever dignity he had left, lifted his head high, and replied,
"I'm glad you liked it. I'm sure your friends will like the letter as much
as you did."
The astonishment Nabiki briefly expressed after this response
scandalized the assembly of Crusaders. What utter gall! To depict himself as
a worthy challenge to their goddess' talents... It was unforgivable.
An initiate named Kojiro (another allusion to the Musashi legend)
proposed a retaliation fic, which actually was a variation of the revenge
wars flying around the list at the time, except less friendly. This appealed
to 'Templar', who secretly fancied himself the worthiest of Nabiki fan boys.
How could he display his godlike powers (in fic form, of course) while this
upstart fanfic writer was upstaging him? He immediately set Kojiro on
Takezo's heels.
- 9 -
The title of Takezo's fanfic, Turning Road, is a sideways jab at a
fanfic author whom I will not name, and his SI series, which is oddly based
on his name. This series depicts the author... oh, sorry, the
author-character, as a godlike figure, shaping cosmic forces, mopping the
floor with the original cast (including -- especially -- Ranma), and
fighting cataclysmic battles, in the process getting Nabiki to fall in love
with him.
I confess that I am not all that chummy with said author, but I based
the Templar character on my impressions on him. Blustering, self-glorifying,
limited writing skills... I tried to make the most ridiculous caricature of
my impression of him, and plant that caricature into the fanfic.
It worked. His pompous displays, his illusions of grandeur... it made
a nice contrast to Takezo, who was just trying to write a story.
Another contrast to Takezo was Kojiro - a man with adequate skill as a
writer, but one who was more willing to debase himself in front of his
goddess. In fact, it could be argued that Kojiro was a much better writer
than Takezo at the beginning.
Kojiro took the 'cold war' angle Takezo began and ran with it. He
wrote a sharp (if a bit heavy-handed, in my opinion) dialogue between Takezo
and Nabiki that left Takezo the author speechless, and not because of anger.
So here they were, the three protagonists outside the fic. A wonderful
study in contrasts, now that I think about it.
I think one of the reasons why the fic bogged down the way it did was
because I made Takezo and Kojiro friendlier toward each other as the series
went on. If I ever get back to writing Gratuitous Self (a possibility that
grows the more I write this) I will have to find a way to make their rivalry
even stronger, because combined (or even one on one) against Templar,
Templar does not stand a chance.
And when the conflict is too easy, where's the story?
- 10-
If I have learned anything at all while writing, it is that
inspiration cannot be forced. It has to be coaxed out, charmed out of its
wicker basket. Something has to happen outside its little shell. The Muse
has to be courted, to be seduced artfully.
I cannot write creatively for a deadline. Otherwise I end up typing
some banal nonsense that, frankly, does not deserve to be posted on the list
for public consumption. If it isn't good enough for me, it isn't good enough
for anyone else.
I found this out the hard way. The worst thing I had ever posted on
the list was a complete rip-off of an episode of Lum. I had not realized
that I had copied the Devil's Dance almost word for word and had simply
replaced the names. It was funny, and it was amusing, but it was not mine.
Several readers told me this in no unclear terms, and I realized my mistake
too late.
Ah, well. You learn. From that point on I promised myself never to
subject the list to that sort of nonsense again.
If this seems like an excuse for not posting the next long overdue
parts of my fics, well, it's only partly that. I'm trying to rationalize my
lack of inspiration. I'm trying to write it away, the way I used to do. I'm
trying to figure out what to do to win my Muse back.
If you find her, please tell her to come home. I miss her terribly.
- 11-
Gratuitous Self was in part a response to the climate of its time.
Childish flames and worthless character debate threads were raging unchecked
across the landscape borne from White Wolf's old 486. Crashes were so common
that I got used to waiting three days for my posts to appear.
I used to fear going home for the weekends, because it would mean
leaving my email unchecked for the entire three days I would be gone, and
sifting through six hundred messages upon my return was not a pleasant
prospect.
This volatile environment spawned the idea for the Holy Crusaders of
Nabiki Tendo, which, like the list at the time, was the source of much
flaming, childishness, and crashing. These blustering idiots would launch ad
hominem flame attacks on poor writers whose styles and ideas clashed with
their own. Like some cybernetic Spanish Inquisition they would root out
'heathens' and bury them in hate mail and poorly formed TCP/IP packets.
Those were the days when full-scale factional warfare could rage
across the list unchecked; when debates about OOC issues would comprise
four-fifths of one's daily email; when moderation was only a distant
possibility; when I would speak my mind without thinking and post a hastily
written angry response to some post I found either offensive or misinformed.
I found that last especially gratifying at the time; I could, and I usually
did. It wasn't quite the best way to make new friends, but that wasn't what
I was setting out to do with Gratuitous Self, anyway.
Recently I actually found myself wishing for those days again. The
list had gone sedate, I felt. No more English/Japanese name debates. No more
Ryoga/Ryouga quibbles. C&C had become either long lengthy expositions on
grammar and style (which, while infinitely helpful, is few and far between),
or simple 'hey nice fic dude'-type messages. It was so very civil, so very
sedate, and so very boring.
Then I read this wonderful, refreshingly offensive piece of 'C&C'
today. It was so crass and so vulgar that I just had to respond to it. An
opportunity like that doesn't come around very often, I thought, and I
gleefully spun what I felt was an adequately biting commentary on his
commentary -- or, if you prefer, a meta-commentary.
Even as I write this I am eagerly awaiting to see the response. Let
the good times roll!
- 12 -
I recently had my palm read by a friend of mine.
This friend had shown alarming accuracy with palm readings on other
people, much like the way I read the Tarot for other people, only more
detailed and in-depth. After amusedly watching him tell one friend to look
for her lost drive, another to wonder where her intelligence had gone, and
yet another that his palm held enough suffering for three lifetimes, I asked
him to read mine.
Apparently I was light reading compared to my other friends.
He pointed out that my private self had very little difference from my
public self, no matter what protestations I had to the contrary. He found my
inability to concentrate on anything if I do not find it interesting -- in
fact he predicted three career changes for me, none of which because I had
to, but all because I chose to.
That sort of explains my approach at writing.
The thing that most interested me about my reading, however, was the
fact that apparently I enjoyed the suffering of other people -- I find
conflict entertaining. This coincides with my usual roles in society:
confidant (to hear the trials and travails my friends go through -- I love a
good story), rabble-rouser (discontent is highly entertaining), and devil's
advocate (otherwise called a naysayer by my more idealistic associates).
I could have told my palmist that, though. Of course I love entropy --
I'm a writer!
My characters are probably cursing me from whatever dimension they
exist in.
- 13-
Sparse.
That's the one word common to most commentaries of my writing style.
Sparse. I have no problem with 'sparse'.
Asimov's writing was 'sparse'. I have no problem being tagged with the
same adjective used to describe the writing of the author of the Foundation
books, one of my all-time favorite SF series.
Hemingway's writing was 'sparse'. While I don't particularly care for
Hemingway, or his writing, or his 'cleaning the shotgun' death, I certainly
don't mind having my writing labeled as being in the same style as such a
famous writer (whose name, by the way, gets bandied around by people who
have never read his work, so that they can sound literate).
I did check out some synonyms for 'sparse', though, and here's a few
that I came up with: Meager, scanty, inadequate, and restricted.
Then I read a few books, most notably by Dickens and by Jeannette
Winterson, and I read my own works again.
And BOY, did it feel sparse.
No lengthy expositions on the families that lived in the area that the
protagonist grew up in. No rich, earthy, innovative metaphors. No deep
social commentary. No inclination to attempt a more cutting-edge method of
portraying lovemaking, or cancer, or autumn leaves. No propensity to
substitute long, Latinate words for short, brief, low-grade Anglo-Saxon
words.
All I have in front of me are scads of fast-paced dialogue
interspersed with medium-sized blocks of introspection and personal
observation.
So this is my style. Sparse. Minimalist.
I like it.
- 14 -
I blame my insecurities about my writing on my education.
My Creative Writing teachers have told me many things; they tell me
that my writing resembles a comic book script, that I moralize, that I rely
too much on my reader's ability to infer things on their own, and above all,
that I make very little effort to tell the readers where and when each and
every event takes place.
Let me address those things one by one.
Comic Book Scripts: Have you read any Sandman comics? How about
'Kingdom Come'? The Invisibles? I would be proud to have my writing lumped
in with those works.
Apparently, some professors agreed with me, because they're offering a
Comic Book Writing course at the university now.
Moralizing: I do not moralize. I express my opinions and beliefs, yes.
I don't feel the need to explain these beliefs to other people, nor do I
force those who read my works to accept them as gospel. No, because that
would be moralizing, wouldn't it? Only book-burners and bible-thumpers
moralize. People always say, "If you don't like it, don't read it." I say,
"If you don't like it, don't burn the book, just form your own opinion."
Reader's Ability to Infer: Let's face it: we hate it when we think
that the author is patronizing us. When the author takes a condescending
tone toward the readers for their inferior understanding or knowledge, his
or her work becomes almost repellant to us. Yes, I rely on the reader's
skills at induction quite a bit. When I say, "Takezo was crushed. How could
his masterpiece come under so much criticism from the mailing list?" I
expect the readers to infer a couple of things: Takezo sees Turning Road as
his masterpiece, and in his youthful idealism he was unprepared to accept
negative C&C.
I didn't say these things outright, and yet the average reader picks
it up right away (even if only unconsciously). When I say "This was the
fourth girl he and his friends propositioned this day that didn't respond as
predicted," I think it's safe to assume that there were three girls before
this particular one.
The reader is not stupid, and won't take kindly to being treated as if
he or she is. Stephen Hawking never sounded condescending, and yet he's more
knowledgeable about his chosen field and most probably more intelligent than
most of his readers. Joseph Campbell didn't patronize us even though he
probably knew more about mythology than anyone else on the planet.
So why should I talk down to my readers? Just because my 'teachers'
want me to pander to the lowest possible denominator? No, thank you.
Tell the Readers Where and When: This is related to reader inference.
When I say Keiichi and Skuld are riding their motorcycle home while the sky
turns from blue to orange and the cherry blossom petals fall, I assume that
the readers know that they're on the road, that it's sunset, and that it's
spring. Unfortunately, some of my teachers seem to want me to expound on it
in the following manner:
Keiichi and Skuld rode down the highway to the temple during a spring
sunset.
Excuse me? How boring is that?
As a further illustration, compare this excerpt from Yen Town:
The little girl with the pigtails and coveralls stood on top of the
building, on the edge. She stared at the city below, her new home ever since
her father decided to move here with his friend. The buildings around her
were bathed in the setting sun's light; some glinting, some not.
With this "better", "more descriptive" revised, and professor-friendly
version:
Nabiki was a little girl who wore coveralls. Her hair was tied in
pigtails. She stood on top of a tall building, which was located in a
Japanese city. She and her father had moved to the city with her father's
friend. It was dusk. The sun was setting. The buildings that were shiny
because they were made of glass and steel, reflected the sunlight. The
buildings that weren't shiny didn't reflect the sunlight.
I rest my case.
Incidentally, all this education taught me a few important lessons:
A degree in Literature does not make anyone's opinion better than
yours.
Nod politely while internally rejecting someone's advice.
The FFML writers probably have a larger audience for their works than
these academicians.
Don't expect to learn writing from writing classes. Take them only
when you already know how to write, and take them so you can learn how to
handle criticism, valid or not.
And finally:
Workshop writing classes are great for a laugh.
=====
w.o.m.
TimeRunner's Web Page:
http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Towers/7482
=====
Writers have to simultaneously believe the following two things:
1. The story I am now working on is the greatest work of genius ever written
in English.
2. The story I am now working on is worthless drivel.
Of course, believing two contradictory facts at the same time is somteimes
referred to as madness -- but that, too, can be an asset to a writer.
-- Orson Scott Card