The Attraction of Transformation

The film award season is upon us again. Rather typically, this year there are a disparate collection of films under consideration by the relevant academies, associations and members that will culminate in acceptance speeches that range from the touching and inspiring to those that make you shake your head and reach for the remote.

Despite the eclectic range of films, most if not all follow the tropes of Joseph Campbell’s archetypal storytelling structure. The protagonist (hero or anti-hero) is confronted with an obstacle (whether real or imagined, in human form or circumstance) that they struggle to at first accept before moving past the point of no return headlong into the story. Add a three-act structure, applicable tension and subsequent reprieves, culminating in a fitting climax and denouement and you have the skeleton of a universal story on your hands.

Movie-buffs, or really, anyone who possesses even a smidge of situational awareness, also picks up on another award season trend that at times proves even more obvious than Campbell’s aforementioned structure. When it comes to awarding artists in the categories of Best Actor/Actress in lead and supportive roles, (convincingly) portraying a character that requires a transformation – the more blatantly physical the metamorphosis the better, seems to be a lock in receiving a nomination if not an outright win (Hollywood politics and machinations notwithstanding). Cast your mind back over the last decade and try to recall all the weight loss/weight gain; prosthetics; uglifying/beautifying, and ‘against type’ roles. Chances are you’ll easily manage to find a whole bunch of them.

So why do we tend to salute these characterizations?

Is it because such roles overtly display what is usually more nuanced in other less ‘flashy’ roles – that is, it heavily showcases the individual artist’s skill? Do such roles come with a neon sign that says: Quiet! Serious thespian at work: for the consideration of the Academy. Or conversely, is the portrayal so quietly riveting, uncanny, haunting, etc., that the viewer plum forgets that they’re watching a film and a person who is at the end of the day just ‘playing pretend?’

Perhaps the answer is one, none, or a combination of the above. What is certain is that the ability to successfully take a viewer (or reader) on a journey – and to make them feel, think or simply escape whilst they’re in the middle of the applicable medium, is a potent one, which seems to hold us in its thrall.

Campbell’s storytelling arc can only truly resonate when the characters that play out the drama are as fully fleshed, idiosyncratic and complex as we ourselves are. It’s most definitely something to keep in mind for those who feel compelled to create.

One year later...

Any film watcher has seen the well-used storytelling trope of a particular scene ending, fading to black or white, with the words ‘one year later’ (or another arbitrary length of time) then appearing on screen.

Based on what came before – and the set-up of what comes immediately after, the viewer then makes their mind up and fills in the gaps of what they didn’t see and of what will never be divulged. It’s such a common narrative trick that the individual doesn’t feel like they’ve missed out on anything at all, so clever is the brain at pattern recognition and filling in the blanks.

Here I find myself using the same method, a year after my last blog entry – but I am calling attention to it, which is rare and a tad signpost-like. And the purpose of it is to fill in the gaps myself and to narrate my own journey. That is the wonderful prerogative of a writer: the ability to put my thoughts into reader’s minds. It’s such a beautiful thing, and it’s something that I am careful about and respect very much. After all, when you are invited by a stranger to tell them a story and they willingly imagine what you have painstakingly created, you have to treasure and honor that invitation. Any perceived injustice would result in a rejection of any future tales, no matter how great they might be.

I am also acutely aware that, as of this writing, that I am not yet a published author – I do not yet possess a public profile where there is sufficient interest to have to explain my hiatus. In fact, part of the draw of being a writer is the awesome anonymity, even if you’re a bestselling author. But no, I’m just a regular lad with a handful of followers and many more casual blog readers, well-wishing family, friends and acquaintances. I could just pick up where I left off and go forward.

So why don’t I?

If I’m ever going to become the type of writer I want to be, I have to nurture the human being that I already am. One should influence the other. So, in short, this last year has been rather momentous. A lot has happened, and one of the major changes was moving back to my parents’ place in part to take care of them – my father in particular. Becoming a parent to your own parents is quite heady stuff, especially when you throw the curve balls that are dementia and Parkinson’s. Add my career, and any number of regular and extraordinary stresses that we all experience as inhabitants of this planet, and there you have it.

But in the meantime, all this enabled me to turn inwards and craft my first YA manuscript into something that truly excites me, but to also write another manuscript: another standalone that is quirky and full of spirit, which belied the difficult and sometimes frustrating circumstances at home.

So here I am, one year later, smiling, happy and grateful to write, with all the love around me that I need and which I am utterly grateful for.

In the end, it was a year well spent.

The Underdog

Everyone loves an underdog...

I vividly remember reading an editorial article in GQ back in 1999, whilst holidaying in Greece, that has stayed with me. Although the article lampooned the infamous procrastination of novelists - in a very wry and very true way - it was the story of a man, who after a debilitating stroke, managed to write a novel by blinking out the letters, that resonated with me. Apart from being a constant pillar of perspective and reference any time the writer-in-me gets a tad precious or believes there's 'never enough time,' how can I not deeply admire a man who despite a terrible affliction succeeds in accomplishing a herculean task that most able-bodied people could never hope to achieve?

I was reminded of that editorial last night, when I watched the Ladies Singles Final at Wimbledon. The newly crowned champion, Marion Bartoli, is the epitome of an underdog. Her playing style is unorthodox - two handed off both sides (reminiscent of the legendary Monica Seles), with a hammer-like service motion (that doesn't include bouncing the ball at the service line), added kangaroo-hops and shadow swings at the back of the court after most points (to help reset, alleviate nerves and focus on the point ahead), culminating with her physique (which is not traditionally athletic). It brought to the fore that in sport there are genetically blessed athletes and there are natural-born competitors. Marion is most firmly in the second camp.

Whether a literary or a sporting example, what is it that ignites the fervor of a reader, watcher, or admirer into advocating for the proverbial underdog? Is it an inevitable push-back of all things cookie-cutter in appearance? If so, it is a full circle moment for most adults as it tends to run against the teen need of fitting in. For me, it reminds me that we're all unique, individual creatures trying to forge our own path in the world. Cookie-cutter or quirky-souled, deep down we are all one-off creations with no inherent rule books to help us navigate through life. It is the obvious examples of the above paragraphs that provide a touchstone of this very truth and ignites a sense of camaraderie.

As we cheer for the underdog, we cheer for ourselves.

A Writer is Born

When I was in the 1st Grade, my teacher, Miss Jackson, informed us all of a monthly book club that allowed kids to choose, order and have books delivered right to their very own classrooms. I thought I had died and gone to heaven! There was Lucky Book Club (for youngsters like me -  I was 6 years old at the time) and Star Book Club (that were for a slightly older clientele, filled with chapter books, and novels). I recall going home with the brochure and excitedly showing my mother. Even as I type this, THIRTY years later - eep - I can vividly remember how giddy I was. Mail-order books! OMG!

My parents had always encouraged my reading and where possible (and affordable), I could buy a book from the bookstore. But as I graduated from having tales read to me to reading them on my own, I wasn't able to get my hands on books fast enough to satisfy my craving for the written word. Excited and nervous, I remember asking mum if I was allowed to order a book that very afternoon. Without remembering the exact conversation, I was so happy when she agreed. I think I even mentioned that it was a monthly service and could I use my pocket money to buy a book or two every month? As many things those days were linked to being a good boy/diligent student, I was over the moon when she agreed. After all, I WAS a good boy (mostly), and a brainy kid.

Now...what to order? I must have poured through that thin four-paged, double-sided brochure for the entire afternoon. It was my equivalent of looking through the display case of assorted ice-cream and being able to choose only one. Would I pick the best one? Oh, the dilemma!

Finally I choose the book, Caps for Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina. That was the one I wanted! But what did a 6 year old know about the mechanics of mail-order? When my mother shrugged her shoulders, I retreated to my bedroom, trying to figure it out. Frustrated and anxious that I might miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I decided to take a wild stab at it. So, I took out my craft scissors and carefully cut the little picture of the book that I wanted from the brochure and slipped it into the envelope along with the few dollars. Proud of my ingenuity, I rushed back to school the next day to hand it to my teacher.

I remember Miss Jackson opening the envelope and smiling. She may have even stifled a laugh. She took a new brochure and flipped it over to the back page to show me the order form that was there all along. She then gave me a lesson in filling out a coupon - a skill that still serves me to this day, and popped my order through.

I waited the week or so - it felt like a month - for the book to arrive. Then, during class one day, Miss Jackson held up the basket of freshly delivered books and read out the new owners' names. I blushed and hurried to the front of the class when she called my name out. Looking at my very first independently chosen and purchased book (as much as a kid my age could choose and purchase anything), I remember thinking that it was the glossiest book I'd ever seen. I was convinced it shone brighter than any other book I had on my shelf.

As you can imagine, I read and re-read the book a trillion times. From there my retail book addiction was born. Every month I would examine the new brochure and carefully order the next adventure I wanted to go on.

Even now, when I peruse the shelves of a bookstore, or the webpages of Amazon for my Kindle, I am reminded of that day. Somewhere in that experience, my adoration of books was ignited and my dream of being a writer was launched. And that dream is still very much alive today...

For the Love of Horror!

It used to be frowned upon to admit that one liked watching horror films - it was usually accompanied by a snort of derision and a roll of the eyes, especially by serious film critics. And while there are plenty of awful, just awful, entries in the canon, there are also films that lock you into a metaphorical roller-coaster car and take you for a thrilling - and yes, horrifying, ride.

Any writer (or reader for that matter) of horror, thriller, action, science fiction and the like are either fans of scary movies or have at the very least plundered the storytelling archetypes inherent in the genre. When uber-successful directors such as JJ Abrams and Joss Whedon openly admit to having gorged on a diet of horror and sci-fi in their formative years, the genre suddenly achieves a modicum of gravitas.

When one thinks of a storyteller, one conjures the image of a campfire surrounded with eager listeners who are enraptured by the narrator's ability to lure, enthrall, surprise, frighten and ultimately delight them with a yarn. As a writer or filmmaker accomplishing the above emotions is most definitely a goal, if not 'the' goal of entertainment. (There's even a theory that being scared in a safe environment actually helps people deal with the real evils of the world).

I too find that studying (and unabashedly enjoying) the horror genre has definitely helped hone my idiosyncratic set of storytelling skills. I may not be a horror writer per se, but any narrator who wishes to take his or her readers on a Joseph Campbell (arche)type journey can surely learn a thing or two from those who have successfully scared the pants off the public! As a writer of fast-paced and Dickensian YA, it has assisted me in crafting an appropriately shadowy atmosphere.

So, count me in as another creative who both enjoys and has been influenced by all-things-scary.

Boo!

Going Dark

I'd love to start this blog entry with 'where did April and May go?' but I am acutely aware of where those months went! The fact that I've managed to capture June before it too slipped through my fingers gives me reason to celebrate.

So where was I? To put it succinctly, I was 'off the grid.'

For a blog that is equally about writing and living out your dreams, sometimes the commentary will abruptly stop dead in its tracks. As very few things in life follow a neat, linear passage, this is an inevitable turn of events - and one I have no doubt will be repeated many more times during my writing life.

Suffice it to say, during my blogging hiatus I was busy at work (day job); crafting a climax to my novel that is worthy of the build-up (and tearing out my hair just a little); and taking care of my father's increasing medical appointments. That last one has sent me into a minor tailspin. Those who read this and have been through their own sobering point-of-no-return reversal of becoming a parent to your parents knows how heady, and heavy, that can be. Add a dash of exercise, a smidgen of socializing and there you have it.

So, this little entry is my blogging equivalent of dipping a toe back into the water. As my fingers bang out these words I feel a wonderful sense of relief. I feel instantly and gloriously at home.

It's nice to be back.

The Padded Room

There is a famous quote by Einstein... "There is nothing that is a more certain sign of insanity than to do the same thing over and over and expect the results to be different."

Many people are familiar with this quote - it has been around for a while and been paraphrased, reinterpreted, misinterpreted, and even popped in the middle of an Usher song. So why does it endure?

As a writer, who is trying to hone a particular set of skills on my path to publication, there was a penchant for me to live in my own head a little too long and to establish a routine or a style that may not be conducive to my goal of continual improvement and the eventual cracking of the 'professional writers code.' It dawned on me a little while ago that I needed to find a balance between staying true to my own voice - and changing things up in an effort to break from the above definition of insanity.

This has been quite liberating, and surprisingly so. Now, I write at all different times of the day (when I can), I attack brainstorming and the editing process is ever-changing ways, I listen to music while writing, go for a run before sitting down to write for the day, and generally find new ways to get under the skin of my protagonists in an effort to breathe life into proceedings. This may not sound like much, but to a fellow writer who may read this, shaking one's routine can be enough to send your axis spinning out of control.

But that's the entire point. If nothing changes, then nothing changes. What is there to lose about trying to mix things up and trying to shape the clay in a different way? I'd rather break free and play rather than rock back and forth in the padded room of my writer's mind.

Happy writing!

The Music on the Page

Original Motion Picture Soundtrack – One of my favourite phrases in my writer’s toolbox. When I see those words, I automatically equate it with emotive music that deftly portrays specific scenes – key emotional moments, up on the silver screen. Turn the volume down, or if it was possible, watch the same scene without the orchestral accompaniment and see what would happen…

I’ve done exactly that. If you’re anything like me you’ll find that the previously powerful (read: gut-wrenching; ominous; light-hearted; soul-crushing; action orientated…) moments in the film becomes rather less satisfying (and formulaic) than its former whole. Scenes that had you blubbering into your tissues, or howling with laughter, or even gripping your armrest in fear, all becomes an obvious exercise in storytelling that is blatantly evident to the viewer and thus removes them from the epicentre of the action. Once you are aware that you are watching a film - or reading a book, you are no longer emotionally invested in it, and with that, any chance of empathy or a raw emotional response is destroyed.

As a writer, I find it extremely beneficial to pop my headphones on and cue specific soundtracks in order to establish a mood. This tends to be during the rewrite where I am trying to inject realism into the world I’m creating – not when I’m doing a technical rewrite. Initially I was dubious about being distracted by the music, but once I’m in the throes of the scene, I find the orchestral rhythm very helpful in establishing a sense of place and tone that influences the words that come bubbling forth from my brain.

At those crucial points in the story, where you want to reach out and grab your reader to make them feel – and make the experience as real or as visceral as possible, such a tool is a welcome addition to the writer’s arsenal.

Its been a while...

There’s nothing like bypassing January to escape all the requisite talk of resolutions (see post last year)…but in all seriousness, I’ve just returned from a relaxing and indulgent holiday in New Zealand. It sure helped to take the sting out of going back to work after the Christmas/New Year holidays. The copious amounts of gourmet food, wine, sweet treats – both at restaurants and over at the homes of friends and family was manna from heaven and a great way to farewell 2012 and welcome the new year.

Whilst I was relaxing up in the mountainous pine forests of New Zealand’s Coromandel Coast I got to thinking…what do I want to do/try/experience, and ultimately be this year?

My last blog entry was in October, and from that date till the Christmas shutdown period, I was consumed by work. For those of you who have followed by blog, you may recall that I was studying for my government license to assess pilots and cabin crew on emergency procedures. I’m pleased (and a little more than relieved) to report that at the beginning of December I achieved that milestone, and as a reward, I have been banished to the classroom and the simulators ever since in order to train, assess, examine, and sometimes yell - all in the name of air safety. My little sojourn allowed me to take stock, reflect and set the stage for the coming period.

Regarding my career and my writing aspirations, one thing I realized is that I am no longer ‘waiting tables looking for my big break.’ By that I mean the days of taking all sorts of odd jobs (usually poor paying ones) in order to feed my writing habit are over (in reality they have been for the last few years). Although I enjoyed my bohemian existence in my early twenties, now that I’m in my thirties, I’m pleased to report that I can juggle a respectable professional career while knocking on the publishing world’s door. I could do worse than follow in the footsteps of say…Michael Crichton or Tess Gerritsen, among many other luminaries.

Having said that, since I had to spend most of last year working assiduously on my nine-to-five persona, I am now wildly free to focus on my life’s other great love (that is, other than the wonderful people in my life) = writing. Busy as I was last year, I did work my little keister off on polishing my YA novel. I had hoped (and plainly stated in an early entry) that I would have finished the requisite changes/improvements and be on my submission journey way before the fireworks on New Year’s Eve. But I’m actually proud to admit that I didn’t get there. (In fact I have four more chapters ahead of me, so I didn’t miss the mark too badly). The reason I mention this is because I’m kind of proud of my shortcoming… For someone who would love nothing more than to receive ‘The Call’ from an agent, I finally came to the peaceful realization that I will not sacrifice quality in order to submit. I always understood that rushing would lead to sub par writing and thus reduce the chance of publication, but the angst and youthful impatience was always there, buzzing away. But not anymore. I like this new zen-like me. Let’s see if it holds me in good stead moving forward.

To finish (I apologize for the long entry), I am excited about blogging on a more consistent basis. If last year was my freshman attempt, this year’s sophomoric ramblings will be more assured and more consistent…I promise.

For Better or Worse

Last weekend I was fortunate enough to attend two weddings - one was on Friday afternoon, floating on a pontoon in Sydney Harbour, and the other was on Sunday, two hours drive north in a picturesque surf club on the ocean's edge. Both were beautiful events that celebrated love, foremost, along with other grand notions such as fate, fortune, happiness and commitment, alongside overcoming obstacles and adversity, which if we're honest represent some of the major hallmarks of the human condition.

Of course on such days guests are usually inspired to evaluate their own lives and highlight the similarities and differences all wrapped in a package of gratitude - and I was no different. So in between chatting to the happy couple x2, other guests, eating/drinking and celebrating on the dance floor, I was indeed awash with these thoughts and feelings.

Now, this post could easily be about the love in my life, but since I am a fierce protector of the privacy of my loved ones, I do not think it appropriate to over-share. But I will say that I am fortunate and I do cherish all those who willingly share their lives with me and who allow me to share mine with theirs. I'm a lucky boy!

Instead, as this is a blog about following one's heart in respect to one's purpose in life, I thought of the correlation between the exchanging of marital vows with that of the bond of writing. A bit of a leap, granted, (about the size of the Grand Canyon), but a quirky and fun leap at that!

For those artists/creators out there - it matters not which form of art is your poison, there is a time (whether the occasion is marked or not) that you commit or surrender to your form of art and you become bound to it. It becomes part of your DNA; a part of what makes you 'you.' It permeates your reasoning and becomes a form of ballast in the turbulent waters of life. And like a wedding of sorts it requires the recitation of vows...

I, Farmer Kidd, take thee, writing, to be my lawfully wedded endeavor, to have and to hold from this day forward (I can't give this up, even if I wanted to - it's in my blood), for better or worse (inspired creating or hackneyed rubbish), for richer or poorer (bestselling lists or print-outs on A4 paper handed to bemused relations), in sickness and in health (unsellable concepts to commercial gold), to love, honour, and cherish (to simultaneously give me purpose and torment me), til death us do part (yep, that's what it'll take for me to give up).

So, for those creative types out there - I now pronounce you 'artist and subject.' You may kiss the...I'll leave that part up to you.

Have a long, happy and successful marriage...as divorce is not an option ;-)

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wedding_rings.jpg

The Halfway Mark

We're halfway through 2012... Six months to go before the end of the year (and according to some Mayan theorists, the end of the world. Methinks the world will definitely keep turning past December 21 but I am looking forward to the forthcoming 'human interest' stories at the end of the 6 o'clock news that will no doubt depict people preparing for the end of days in their kitted-up bomb shelters. Zany fun!)

Be that as it may, I thought that since we had reached the halfway mark, I'd commemorate the occasion with a point-check of sorts. Not an exhaustive checklist of resolutions but more of a "so you made a list of goals for 2012...now that the novelty has seriously worn off and we're halfway to the year's end, how are you doing...really?"

So, holding up a mirror (which is never much fun), let's look at the battle scars this year has afflicted thus far.

Being a half-glass full kinda fella, lets begin with the positives...

In no particular order... I am at the midpoint of editing my novel - I've edited and rewritten this manuscript many times, each time chipping more rock away from the gem underneath. I read once that if you think you cannot edit your book anymore, then go over it one final time. This is where I am up to - and I am excited at the results so far; I have just returned from a little 4-day trip to Bali. I had a wonderfully relaxing and rejuvenating time that was much needed; Whilst away I received the mock-up of my author website from my awesome website designer and I got tears in my eyes and goosebumps running up my arms - it signifies another step taken in the direction of my writing career - more on that to come; I am in better shape than I was when the year began - a continuing work in progress; and my new blog is slowly building...to name the stuff that comes straight to mind.

And of course, the not-so positives...

Work is currently exhausting - Since February I've started at a new department and its been a steady menu of studying, lecturing, being critiqued, observed, examined, rinse and repeat. Strangely enough, I am halfway (there's that 50% status bar again) from getting my license and being let loose on the pilot and cabin crew population. Thank goodness for my wonderfully supportive colleagues; Illness has affected those in my immediate family. To respect their privacy, all I will say is that in the last six months diagnoses of cancer, Parkinson's, and spinal surgery/chronic pain has wobbled all our respective orbits; finances are nearly non-existent causing cumulative stress; and my time management skills have ranged from the sublime to the woefully inadequate.

All in all, I am taking stock, relishing the forthcoming opportunities, rededicating myself to my dreams, gratefully living a healthy and loving life, and stepping out to meet these next six months hopefully with a little grace and a little smile on my face.

Who's with me?

The Observer Effect

It is a law of physics that the mere act of observation changes/affects that which is being observed.

There has been many experiments in the field of quantum mechanics - the science of the very small, where it has been proven that the electrons that surround the nucleus of an atom, which are non-local in nature (not in one precise point but rather in a cloud of potentiality) only condense to become local if they are being observed. So in essence they move from potentially being anywhere and everywhere in the orbit of a nucleus to a precise point only if someone is there to watch it.

I hope I haven't made an absolute mess of trying to break down ridiculously complex physics into basic language but I really wanted to post something which is scientific law and relevant to our everyday experience.

There are many examples where this law could be used to illustrate its veracity. I'll use creative license and talk about two such examples.

1. A metaphoric example: Since this blog is partly about living one's dreams, I thought I would attempt to make a link between this immutable law and the act of achieving one's goals. As we continually make lists of things we like to see, do, have, accomplish, experience, etc, we create a field of potentiality; one that we continue to hone, refine, improve upon and so on as time goes by and our life experience builds. It just so happens that the actual achievement of said goal/s only comes when you have kept your attention on it (taking time, effort, opportunity, luck and the other nebulous bits) to bring the dream out of the ether into solid reality. What you think about you bring about we're constantly told...
2.  A literal example: Since this blog is also about the creative endeavor - specifically writing, here is an example where I have personal experience... With writing I have repeatedly come across the advice that you should be careful about showing anyone your writing - whilst it is in its draft stages (the question of 'when is a book truly finished?' will be tackled in a future post). The reason being is that your reader/observer through your invitation will affect your writing through sharing opinion, asking a question, making a comment, omitting a comment, making a facial expression (real or imagined), and on it goes. Sometimes this can be to the benefit of the story and other times to its detriment - but either way, it will change the beast and affect you, the writer. It cannot be any other way. 

Food for thought, no? So keep it in the back of your mind that merely observing something or someone does have a powerful effect. The ramifications are awesome.