Showing posts with label movie review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movie review. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 17, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: If You Believe



This Hallmark-style Christmas fantasy rom-com is my new, second-fave contemporary version of the Scrooge story (not that there isn't a huge gap between it and the number-one on the list, Scrooged, with Bill Murray and Carol Kane). Susan is a book editor for a big publisher who hasn't had a hit in a long time, and she has lost her zeal not only for the job but also for the people in her life. So, instead of three ghosts, she is visited by her inner child. Little Suze appears in her apartment one particularly awful day and won't go away, determined to remind Susan about the joy that she used to derive from both people and from her work finding and presenting new authors and new books to the world. 

After that, we get a lot of Hallmark city girl meets country boy tropes, but luckily, keeping the story centered in the publishing world makes it feel more original than merely formulaic.

But first, before the movie gets into any of that, we see a younger Susan at a Thanksgiving dinner, where she and her stick-in-the-mud husband Peter bicker as she brags about a wonderful new writer she has discovered. 

Susan: Last week, I found the most extraordinary first-time writer.
Susan's Father: Sounds great.
Susan: He's beyond great --
Peter: Susan, darling, you know I hate it when you gush. William Faulkner is great. Dylan Lewis is just okay.
Susan: I thought you liked him, Peter.
Peter: I do like him. I also like Donne. It doesn't mean I think it's great.

Regardless of Peter's party-pooper vibes, Dylan becomes a best-selling author and helps cement Susan's place at work. However, the honeymoon doesn't go on forever. By the time the movie begins in the present, Susan is trying to get new pages from a very late Dylan. Not only that, but she has one author already two advances in with nothing to show for it and another writer unavailable because she's in for treatment at Betty Ford. 

Susan: Dilly. Dylan, pick up, I know you're there. We need to talk. We have now entered the realm of the ridiculous. Walter is extremely upset and I have lost what little patience I have left. I need a real date when you are going to be finished, all right? No more excuses. Call me.

All these things lead Susan to question the choices that led her to her career. She isn't dating. She isn't doing anything she used to enjoy. She has become a sort of professional recluse and shut-in, at least outside of the office. 

Wednesday, December 3, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: The Norliss Tapes


I can't believe I only recently discovered this flick. 

Considering just how big a Kolchak the Night Stalker fan I am, you'd think I would have seen it way earlier. 

Oh well. 

Coming into this movie, all I knew was that it was very similar to both the Kolchak movies and the series, and that it was produced by the same guy (Dan Curtis, also of Dark Shadows fame).

David Norliss is a writer working on a book debunking supernatural events. It's a book he pitched to his publisher. It's a book he has been paid a large advance for. Only, after almost a year, not a word is written.

Sanford: Hello, David. Been a while. How's the book coming?
Norliss: Sanford, I've gotta talk to you.
Sanford: I know, you're gonna tell me it's only half-written, and we're gonna have to delay our-
Norliss: Half-written, hell. I don't have a word on paper.
Sanford: It's been almost a year.
Norliss: I know how long it's been, Sanford. But I, uh... I can't write it. I'm afraid to write it. You're not making sense.
Sanford: We gave you a sizeable advance to write a book debunking the supernatural, which was your idea not ours. And now you tell me, a year later, you haven't even started it.

Now, before you chalk David's problem up to what is typically called Writer's Block, it's not that. It's much deeper. He's not distracted. He's not "blocked." He's terrified. 

Wednesday, October 8, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: Amy Tan -- Unintended Memoir


I only met Amy Tan once. She was the guest speaker at my college's literary festival, and she had only recently written her smash novel, The Joy Luck Club. I was able to sit in on her reading, and trust me, I hung on every word. 

Then I went out and bought a copy. 

When I learned about this PBS American Masters documentary, I knew I needed to watch it. 

What Is a Writer?


We each have differing meanings of what we are and what we do as a thing called "writer" or "author." When asked the questions, Tan gave perhaps my favorite definition for the term. 

During the writing of this book, I delved into the contents. Memorabilia, letters, photos, and the like. And what I found had the force of glaciers calving.

I am not the subject matter of mothers and daughters or Chinese culture or immigrant experience that most people cite as my domain.

I am a writer compelled by a subconscious neediness to know, which is different from a need to know. The latter can be satisfied with information. The former is a perpetual state of uncertainty and a tether to the past.

The writer, then, is an ongoing nature of curiosity -- an ever-longing, an ever-searching person putting together life's puzzle. 

You know, when you're writing, I think you're naturally going through some kind of subconscious, philosophical construct, your own cosmology, how the world is put together and how events happened and what's related, what's coincidental.

I love that. 

Beneath the thing we think of as "writer" is a subconscious idea, what Tan calls a philosophical construct, constantly trying to make sense of the real world and put all those truths into a fictional one. That's certainly a better definition than "some yahoo sitting at a laptop for way too many hours at a time fighting against a blank page."

The "Before" Days


How often do we take into account the life stuff that happened to make a writer a, well, writer? It's often glossed over (at least until the memoir is written or a biopic is made) as if authors were born fully formed the day their book (at least the one that "matters") was released into the wild, wild world. 

There's a lot of past that formed the bricks of the structure that eventually became the author.

For Tan, that started with reading, in particular, a book she wasn't supposed to be reading:

Two weeks before my father died, a minister came to counsel me because I had been discovered reading a very bad book, "Catcher in the Rye. " Banned book.

He was a youth minister, and he came into the room, and we were sitting on the bed, and he was talking about how I had caused my father more pain than the brain tumor.

Just as sacred cows make the best hamburgers, banned books make the best inspiration when it comes to creating writers. But it's not just the reading. She also was already writing, just not in the world of fiction... yet.

She says: 

You know, I had another bestseller. It sold. You know what these numbers are. When you have a bestseller, you have to sell a certain amount in the first week. I'd sold 80,000 copies and went in for two reprints. It was called "Telecommunications and You." It was published for IBM, and I was a business writer before I started writing fiction.

She also got a little help from a friend's husband. 

Amy was a linguistics and English major. And I remember her wanting to write. John, my husband, started a business. He had one phone line that was Dial-a-Joke, another phone line that was Dial Michael Jackson, and another one that had astrology. So he hired Amy to write astrology. She was very creative, and she would make it up.

Maybe this wasn't the fictional masterpiece that The Joy Luck Club or The Kitchen God's Wife are recognized as, but it was writing. All writing counts toward mastery. All writing gets you closer to locking in technique and talent. All writing moves you closer, step by step, to the place where you can finally, eventually write the stuff you want to. 

Wednesday, September 17, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: House of Long Shadows

 

It's not the most common trope in movies about writers, but it is common enough to be a trope. What is it? It's the bet, the wager, that an author can whip out a novel in a limited amount of time when given the proper place and the proper incentive. 

One of the best examples is the star-riddled comedy murder story The House of Long Shadows. Featuring the classic horror talents of Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Vincent Price, and John Carradine -- as well as the teen heartthrob Desi Arnez Jr. -- it's hard to imagine it not being amazing (or at least a wink-and-a-nod, tongue-in-cheek pastiche of classic horror tropes).

Arnez plays novelist Kenneth Magee, an author of contemporary novels who feels they greatly outweigh the quality and humanity of classic Gothic literature. While discussing the idea with his publisher, they indulge in the following conversation.


Sam Allyson: When I think of Tolstoy, Victor Hugo, Charles Dickens, where are they all now I ask myself?

Kenneth Magee: I think they're dead, Sam.

Sam Allyson: You know what I mean. They dealt with people, human passions on the grand scale.

Kenneth Magee: People have different behavior patterns now. They just don't go around acting like they're out of Wuthering Heights.

Sam Allyson: Are you trying to tell me that Wuthering Heights with all its brooding intensity, isn't as involving and real as a contemporary novel?

Kenneth Magee: It's over the top. I mean anyone can write one of those things. It's just a question of letting your imagination go bananas. Jesus! You want that kind of novel? I can knock it off for you in 24 hours.

Sam Allyson: That I don't believe.

Kenneth Magee: $10,000.

Sam Allyson: Oh come now.

Kenneth Magee: $10,000, I'll bet you.

Sam Allyson: Kenneth I rea...

Kenneth Magee: $20,000.

Wednesday, September 10, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: The House in Marsh Road


In this fun little ghost flick based on the book The House in Marsh Road by Laurence Meynell, David Linton is a "novelist" who is working on the novel that's going to end all his and his wife Jean's problems -- once he gets something down on paper, that is. In the meantime, Jean inherits a large house (yes, on Marsh Road), and the two move in so they can stop scamming rent-free boarding from landlords and landladies. Only, the place is haunted by a ghost named Patrick. Oh, yeah, that and David begins an affair with his typist and plans (in classic Film Noir style) to kill his wife so he can inherit and sell off the house. 

Making Excuses


For a "by the numbers" thriller, this one gets quite a few things right about the writing life, starting with the negative -- but accurate -- depiction of the always aspiring "author." David isn't writing as much as he is planning to write, getting distracted, dreaming of having written, basically, everything but actually writing. And like those of us who fall into this category (we all do from time to time, sadly), he has an excuse for every issue. 

While arguing with Jean, he says:

David: If only I could get six months peace and quiet to write my book.  
Jean: Ah, the book. 
David: You don't believe in it, do you? You don't think I'm capable of writing a book.

But we haven't exhausted David's greatest hits yet. When he is down at the bar, he gets into a conversation with a local. "Well," he says. "I'm trying to get down to a novel at the moment, but, I have to keep stopping to review other people's books. Anyway, I'm a lousy typist."

For those keeping score, that's not one, but two excuses delivered like a one-two punch. 

Wednesday, May 21, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: The Green Woman


Full disclosure. This is not a great movie. This is probably not even a good movie. But it is an interesting movie. 

There, I said it. 

There's some fun acting and an intriguing premise, but this one does suffer from the defects of a lot of indie film projects of the low-budget variety. So, if you can't enjoy micro-budget movies, just avoid this one. If you still find weird, little "writer meets alien while breaking up with his girlfriend" oddness potential to be fun, then The Green Woman just might make you happy for an hour and a half. 

Now that that's out of the way, let's talk plot. 

Rommy (short for Romulus -- Pretentious much?!) is a writer who is earning his keep but just barely. He's living with his girlfriend Mary, who is a severe Type A who constantly tries to push him into some kind of corporate, stable working environment. To add more stress to his life, Rommy begins to have visitations by a green-skinned alien woman who claims to have been sent by him (from the future) to help him in the present. Did I mention she's cute? That'll be important later. She also has a few favors she needs from him, mostly gathering random electronic parts he can steal from around his neighborhood. 

The questions abound? Who is the green-skinned alien? Will Rommy and Mary reconcile? Why does he have to collect random electronics? Is the green woman even real or just a figment of his stressed, addled, alcohol-riddled, breaking-down brain?

I'm not going to answer those questions. You'll just have to watch the movie. Suffice it to say that it'll surprise you even after you think you have it all figured out. 

If there's a lesson for writers to be learned, it is this: Being a writer can be a tough gig when you are with someone who (a) doesn't get it, (b) doesn't support it, or (c) wants you to relegate it to a hobby. 

Wednesday, April 23, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: Eddie and the Cruisers

I know what you're thinking. Eddie and the Cruisers isn't about writers at all. It's about a band, a group of musicians. True. But we covered Bob Dylan earlier, so we clearly have a precedent for musical creatives here. (Of course, I do realize that Dylan was also a poet, and a Nobel-winning writer.) Stick with me here, anyway. I promise this music movie has a lot to say to us writers of prose too. 

Let's get the cast together first. 

  • Eddie Wilson, guitar, lead vox
  • Frank Ridgeway, keys
  • Sal Amato, bass
  • Wendell Newton, sax
  • Joann Carlino, backing vox
  • Kenny Hopkins, drums

Now, a brief recap of the plot for anyone unfortunate enough not to have seen this awesome flick. Eddie Wilson is a garage band idol with lots of raw energy and talent and charisma, but he wants to be more -- he wants to be a legend. He wants to leave a mark. Only, when he couldn't, he took his own life. Maybe. Now it's years later and a music mag wants to do a story on the band's unfinished and unreleased final album. Only that ends up turning into a search for the missing tapes through the Cruisers' history and remaining band members who are still alive. 

Eddie brought the show and sizzle, but the magic? Well, the magic came from the lyrics. Even the record company realizes that. While discussing the idea of doing an article on the band years after Eddie disappeared, one of the publishing guys says early in the film: "Guy on piano was Frank Ridgeway. He wrote all their lyrics. Called him the Wordman."

I've always liked that. The Wordman. After all, as a writer, as a storyteller, it's what we do. We are all "The Wordman." (Ignoring the masculine reference this time for the sake of the movie script.) It's a moniker Frank earns right off the bat when the band asks him what he thinks about a song as they rehearse in the bar.

Wednesday, March 19, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: Sinister


Sinister is the story of Ellison Oswalt, a true crime writer, and his family as they move to a famous "murder house" for him to write his new book -- one that he hopes will put his name back at the top of the charts after a few years off it. While living in the home, his daughter Ashley begins to act strangely. Ellison also discovers a cache of Super 8 footage that shows the truth behind the murders in the house -- and other murders. 

On the surface, this is probably one of the best ghost/supernatural monster stories to come out in years, and it (at least for me) was "scare the crap out of you" creepy. Nightmare-inducingly so. 

Beneath that surface, as we see Oswalt's struggle with his writing history and his new book, the movie has a lot to say about how we writers exist from book to book and how we are constantly needing to be and do more. 

Ten years ago, Ellison had a huge hit true crime book, one that helped shift the direction of a case and get the killer caught and brought to justice. But since? Crickets. Not only that, but he wrote a book that actually helped a killer go free. 

So, to say he is living with issues is one hell of an understatement. 

We Write Because We Have To


As writers we all have different catalysts for beginning to write, but ultimately we all keep writing for the same reason. We write because we are writers. We write because that's the action word that defines us. We write because we are driven to keep doing it. 

There are always thousands of other action words we could do -- cook, clean, manage, wait tables, code, etc. -- you name it, but because writing is the infection of choice, it's the thing we chase, the thing we do. 

Wednesday, January 29, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: Dead End


Let's just deal with two things first before we even look as what this movie has to say about writers and the writing life. 

(1) This dude is an atrocious writer, as evidenced by the slow pan across his laptop screen: "He pricks her slightly so that a thin trickle of blood starts rolling down her neck and says, "I'm gonna rape and kill you right here..." Not exactly killer prose (so sorry for the pun, but I'm leaving it).

And (2) This flick takesa few minor trips into skinemax territory without getting two 'porny' (to coin a phrase). 

However, all that said, the flick is a pretty watchable little mystery thriller, even if the premise isn't all that original. William Snow plays Todd Russell, a police detective who retired after being unable to solve the most important murder investigation of his career. He took his knowledge and became a true crime writer and quite a popular and successful one. Then one day, it seems like the killer from years ago has returned and is re-enacting the crimes from his unsolved case. Obviously, as the cliche demands, Russell becomes the prime suspect. 

Now, this tight little mystery twists and turns more than Caribbean dancing, and even if you figure out the final twist, you won't be certain of it until the movie confirms it. 

But, you're here to see what it has to say about writing and the writing life. 

Early in the film, while meeting with his research assistant Ben Sykes, played by Matthew Dyktynski, Russell is asked about the coffee in his fridge (yeah, I guess he was iced coffee before it became cool):

Ben: Doesn't that stuff keep you up all night?
Todd: Yeah, writing. 
Ben: I wish I had that sort of discipline. 
Todd: You want to be a writer?
Ben: Yeah? I've got this idea I've been kicking around. 
Todd: Well, if you wanna talk about it or need any help.
Ben: Thanks. I really appreciate it. Maybe I'll just wait until I get it a little more defined. 
Todd: Just let me know.

That scene takes maybe 40 seconds of screen time between the conversation and sorting through the papers and other bits of action between the dialog, but there's a good deal we can unpack from it. 

Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: Kate Chopin: A Reawakening


Full disclosure. I teach Kate Chopin's The Awakening every year to my students when we reach our unit about literature as protest. And I fully believe her work is as seminal to the feminist experience as the works of Langston Hughes, W.E.B. DuBois, and Zora Neale Hurston are to desegratation. Not only that, it's a master class in writing outward clues to the subtle inner life of a character who is only slowly growing to actually DO anything as an act of her will. 

Okay, that said, I found this awesome documentary for my students to watch to introduce her work. So, now you have to suffer... I mean jump for joy through it too.

There's a bit from The Awakening that I think applies here to Kate herself, both as a woman and as a writer: "She was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her."

That's where we all start as creators though, isn't it? If we don't realize our positions as an individual with something worth saying and how crucial that message might be to the world within and around us, then what's the point of writing anything at all? It would be as empty as shoveling air into a truck for load after load all day as empty trucks drive off and return for another load of nothing. 

Write What You Know


From that kernel of knowing she was a unique individual with something to say, Kate found a voice that began with the stuff she had experienced and knew something about. 

Say's the narrator: 

"On the eve of the 20th century, Kate Chopin confronted the fundamental dilemma of what it meant to be a woman. In a stream of stories and in her novel, The Awakening, she explored the unsparing truth of women's submerged lives."

What Kate knew was what it meant to be a woman in the late 1800s, valued merely as a mom or wife, judged by housekeeping and childrearing with little thought given to dreams that may have reached beyond that cage. This idea wove into her work, from short stories such as "The Story of an Hour" and "A Pair of Silk Stockings" to her magnum opus novel The Awakening

I would guess that she wasn't trying to start a movement, just tell the kind of story she could relate to and she figured maybe other people could as well, society be damned. 

As the documentary voiceover tells us, "Chopin's stories were set in Louisiana in the aftermath of war. It would be a landscape she would draw from memory in the final years of her life." Perhaps that is why her settings seem so effortless and precise. And not only the settings but the people who, well, peopled them. As Barbara Ewell says:

"There was great demand for short fiction at that period, and one of the genres that was most popular was the one known as 'local color,' which offered descriptions of the varied parts of the country, exotic parts of the country. It was pretty clear to her early on that it was her southern stories, her Louisiana stories that sold... While the land inspired her imagination, her time there was limited."

No matter how limited, her experiences in New Orleans offered characters and settings to explore.

And explore them she did.

After her husband, Oscar, and her mother, Eliza, died, Kate was alone with six children to support on a modest income. In the 1880s, writing was one of the few ways women could make a living, averaging from "$l5 to $30 a story, and a few hundred for a novel" according to our narrator. So, at 45 years old, Chopin started on the path toward becoming a published writer.

Her first work was a poem that appeared in January 1889. However, she soon learned that her short stories were what was in demand -- and were her most successful published works. 

Write Passionately


Chopin's writing was not just filled with well-described settings and people though. It had a passion that was part of who she herself was. She chose short stories as a form because that's where her passion lay. 

Says Barbara Ewell: 

What drove Kate Chopin was her passion for writing, and her willingness to let writing take her into places that she had never been herself, necessarily. And certainly, the literary traditions out of which she came had never really gone.

Adding to this, Elizabeth Fox-Genovese says: 

She's one of those writers whose sense of craft puts her right on the edge of poetry... The writer she especially admired was the short story and novella writer, Guy de Maupassant, who perfected a kind of writing that she took very seriously.

'Here was life, not fiction," she wrote in a private diary aout the novella writer Guy de Maupassant. "Here was a man who escaped from tradition and authority, who had entered into himself and looked out upon life through his own being and with his own eyes; and who, in a direct and simple way, told us what he saw."

Write To Change the World,
(Even If It's Not Intentional)


In 1897, Chopin began work on her most ambitious novel, The Awakening. Understand, Chopin did not set out with the goal of becoming a feminist writer. Truth be told, she probably couldn't have told you what a feminist writer was, if such a thing existed in the zeitgeist of her times. What she did set out to do, however, was to tell stories about the human beings she knew inside and out -- people who just happened to be female and who just happened to be denied the very right to the life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness their husbands, fathers, and even sons could grasp on a daily basis. 

Elizabeth Fox-Genovese says: 

"With Chopin the dark crannies of the human soul were part of what is to be human. It was part of her war against platitudes. If you look only at the surfaces you're not going to begin to understand what people are about. It's a measure of both her talent and her character, her strength as a woman, that she didn't find the depths of the human soul, even human depravity, threatening."

Through Edna, Chopin wrote of what a life awakened to the idea of embracing the daily joys might mean... for a woman. Sure, a man could also identify with her needs (if you don't believe me, read Edith Wharton's Ethan Frome -- I once did a paper on how similar these two awakenings are), but to a woman reader, the story takes on an additional meaning, one that a man will not typically be able to identity as missing from his own life. 

Barbara Ewell says of this: 

Its spontaneity, and its physical demands opens up Edna to places in her heart and in her soul she'd lost contact with, maybe had never known were there...

I don't think any other writer of the period, certainly no male writer, and I don't think any other woman writer tried to understand what happens when a woman experiences her own sexual being and her own self. And of course, that's exactly the tragedy and the dilemma that Chopin is exploring in her fiction which is, what happens, how do you get past this, this bind for women that if you possess your own self, if you possess your own body, you know that the options the society offers you are marriage and death.

By novel's end, Edna has awakened to herself, but finds no place for that self in the world she knows. She swims out to sea till her strength is gone.

For Edna, awakening can bring only defeat. The world will simply not allow her to not be a "mother-woman." For Kate Chopin, the novel was something of a defeat as well. While there were a few positive letters and reviews, by and large, the reviews were critical and somewhat scathing. Americans, it seemed, simply were not ready for such emancipated fiction. 

The question was whether Americans were prepared to read such emancipated fiction. There were a few positive letters, but then the critical reviews came in.

David Chopin says of this: "They destroyed her spirit when they came out with all this adverse reaction and one of the newspapers called it pure poison and not fit for babes, and there was an awful lot of criticism."

The world isn't often ready to see change happen. 

Says Barbara Ewell: 

"Once you begin to push against those margins, against those limits, you begin to offend people. You begin to offend convention and expectations, and that's exactly what Kate Chopin ran into with The Awakening."

After such an unforgiving reception of the novel, Kate disappeared into her private life and became more or less obscure in literary circles. 

However, in the late 20th century, her work was rediscovered. Stories and books came back into print, and they found new audiences and new acceptance, even praise, among the critics. Not only that, her stories were being taught in schools, and let's be honest, that's what really brings a writer back from the etherous void.

So, even if she never saw it in her time or even approached writing as a form of protest or world-changing action, she accomplished it just the same. 

According to Emily Toth: 

I'd first read her when I was given a copy of The Awakening by a woman who said to me, "You should read this book," and the big question that we asked ourselves was how did Kate Chopin know all that in 1899?

Can you imagine someone asking something similar about you in the year 2099? Why not?

Wednesday, January 8, 2025

Movie Reviews for Writers: A Complete Unknown


There is Bob Dylan, and there is the legend or the mythology of Bob Dylan. Timothee Chalamet perfectly captures the mythology of Dylan in this awesome flick. Yes, A Complete Unknown is a biopic, but it's not really even trying to be historically accurate. Instead, and this is intentional since Dylan himself was involved in the making of the movie, this is a biography of the fictional version of Bob Dylan, the artiste, the troubadour who refused to be boxed in by the very industry he longed to become a part of. 

And to be fair, is that not the very essence of what it means to be a writer, an artist, a creator?

That said, since Dylan is far more a writer (poet, if you insist on precision) than a musician (even garnering the Nobel Prize in Literature for his poetry), it's fitting we cover what this drama has to say about our own writing. 

So, what can we learn about being a writer from this mythologizing of Saint Bob?

One caveat first -- because of the nature of Bob Dylan and the way he and his fans like to present his story, it is highly possible that some of this could be seen as a bit pretentious. But please suffer through it. Because it's not about the pretentiousness itself. It's about the truth behind the pretentiousness. 

"Kind of an Asshole"


Early in the film, Dylan and Joan Baez are hanging out after a night together, and they begin to discuss music (of course). That conversation quickly moves from when they learned to play guitar to the notion of songwriting, as Baez rummages through some of Dylan's notes scattered about his apartment. 

JOAN: I write too. But I’m not sure there’s a way to learn that.
BOB: Too hard.
JOAN: Excuse me.
BOB: You try too hard. To write.
JOAN: ...Really.
BOB: If you’re askin’.
JOAN: I wasn’t.
BOB: Sunsets and seagulls. Your songs are like an oil painting at the dentist’s office.
JOAN: You’re kind of an asshole, Bob.

I am regularly asked by fellow writers if I'd be willing to take a look at their stories for one of two reasons -- (1) to give them my overall opinion of their writing or (2) an edit of the work. I always, always, always follow that up with two questions of my own.

  1. Do you really want my honest opinion or edit, because I'm striving to see you be your best as a writer?
  2. What's your budget?

Disregarding the second question for the sake of this review, the first is worth looking at. Many folks only want you to validate that their view of themselves and their abilities is echoed by your view too. Even Joan Baez felt that twinge of stung pride by the honest critique by a master of the art form. (Granted, it's an unsolicited opinion, so there's that.) But supposing she had asked, his response and opinion would have been the same. And sometimes that means that friends who also write might be offended if you don't embrace their brilliance. 

"Fulfilling a Myth"


Remember that first sentence I wrote way up there? Well, it's not only true for Dylan. It's true for you too. I mean, have you read your own bio for convention copy and back cover author info? Dylan expresses this via a series of letters exchanged with another mythological performer, the man in black, Johnny Cash. 

Dear Johnny, thanks for that letter. Let me start by not beginning. Let me start not by startin'. By continuing. This whole thing has gotten hard. I am now famous. Like you. Famous by the rules of public famiousity. It snuck up on me. And pulverized me. It is hard for me to walk down the streets I did before, cause now I don’t know who is watching. Who is waiting. Wanting. I don’t mind giving an autograph, but my mind tells me it is not honest. I am fulfilling a myth. A lie. 

Remember this: You can talk all you want about the myth, but the true you will be the one that readers can learn about only by reading your work. Just like fully understanding Bob Dylan, you must take in the sum total of his decades of writing and not just pigeonhole him into any single era, you too will be seen truly over your full body of work. 

But don't forget that your readers also have the ability and sometimes intention to mythologize you. They can, based on your words, turn you from saint to devil and back again many times. For example, speaking of Dylan and how he is a major draw for the folk festivals, Harold Leventhal states, "He’s our Elvis" -- not that Dylan ever wanted to be anyone's Elvis, just his own Bob Dylan. 

Likewise, the comparisons will come for you, and while embracing them for marketing purposes can be helpful, they can also become a box in which to trap you as a creator. Become the "indie George R.R. Martin" and see how much love you get when you want to stretch your crime-writing muscles. Become known for your cozy mysteries and count on one hand the fans that follow you to your new vampire romance series.

"Where the Songs Come From"


If you've ever watched or listened to interviews with Dylan, you'll learn quickly that he and I are very different in regard to talking (or writing) about where the ideas and the words come from. I have a whole blog about that process. Dylan shrugged off such questions with vague or nonsensical responses. 

He enjoyed the act of creating but not the discussion about that act. The truth was the act itself to him. 

Not only that, he saved some of his harshest comments for those who liked to ask him about that process under the guise of jealousy or copying, as he tells Sylvie (so named in the movie although in reality her name was Suze):

..Everyone asks where the songs come from, Sylvie. But if you watch their faces, they’re not asking where the songs come from. They’re asking why the songs didn’t come to them.

Ironically, he had little place for aping another's style, even though he himself had begun as a sort of homage to Woody Guthrie. 

"Good for Somebody"


Art outs itself. Even though companies spend fortunes on marketing, art often manages to find the audience it needs. And that's a good lesson for us. It may not be a huge audience. It may not be a profitable audience that lets you live only to write, but it is an audience nonetheless. 

You may have heard the idea of writing the story only you can tell. Or writing the stories you want to see out in the world. This is the flip side of that same idea. 

Dylan agrees, as he tells the crowd before beginning a new song (an audience that sadly wants to hear another of the old songs): "Here’s a new one. Hope you think it’s good. It’s gotta be good for somebody."

And he's right. Write that story. It's gotta be good for somebody. 

"They Change Keys"


Perhaps the biggest irony between the written work of Bob Dylan and the written or spoken words of Bob Dylan is this -- he changed the world, not just the world of music, but the world of well, the world, and yet he consistently either denied or downplayed any role he might have had in those changes. Nowhere is this seen better in the film than when he attends a party and overhears folks talking about him and his music. 

PARTY GUEST 1: Read Herbert Marcuse. No song can change the world. It’s too fucked up.
PARTY GUEST 2: (looks at Bob) That’d be news to him.
PARTY GUEST 3: Hey! Bob, can songs really change things?!
BOB: They change keys.

Now, he knew his songs changed a lot more than mere keys. He knew they were changing the world. But in spite of his own acceptance of his pretension when it came to songwriting and musical poetry, he refused to accept any pretension when it came to be a driving, dominant, cultural force. 

Yet it's impossible to look back on his work and not see how much impact his poetry has had on the world. Whether it's his protest songs of the '60s, his religious upheaval in the '70s, his seeming abandonment of both in his more rock and pop '80s, or his focus on more traditional sounds in the '90s and beyond, his music has been a driving force in all of it. 

So, yeah, sure, songs changed keys, at least on the music side, but the words he wrote, they changed the world. 

"Track Some Mud on the Carpet"


My biggest takeaway from A Complete Unknown, even with all the stuff I wrote above this, is that writers will always be wanted for what they have written, not what they want to write. 

What do I mean? 

Write a successful series, and the next book your publisher wants is More of the Same Vol. 2. Write a great romance novel and the audience who loves you wants another one that gives them all the same warm fuzzies. It matters not that you feel the urge to write a hard military Science Fiction thriller or a Literary Fantasy. 

All artists learn the lesson. It's easy to get put in a box and labeled. 

While performing at the Newport Folk Festival with Joan Baez, the audience requests "Blowing in the Wind" and other popular songs they've heard a million times before. Bob wants to play something new. 

BOB (CONT’D): No, no, no. Don’t do that. They all have that on records at home.
JOAN: (to crowd) You want to hear “Blowin’ in the Wind”, right? That’s why they came here, Bob.

In a similar vein, while being talked down to by Pete Seeger (who wants him to continue in the folk hero box they've put him in), he argues that as an artist, he can't be limited to what other people want from him. 

...More in this world to sing about than justice, Pete. And there’s more than one way to play a song. (then to Albert) they just want me singing the same songs, Albert. For the rest of my fucking life.

It's a constant thorn in his side throughout his career. His folk comrades wanted to box him into protest songs with "pure" instruments. His religious comrades wanted to box him in with Bible messages only. And so on. 

Sometimes his "biggest fans" opposed him with vehemence, as when Alan Lomax derides Dylan (to Pete Seegerz) for wanting to bring electric music to the Folk Festival.

ALAN LOMAX: No, Pete. We can’t. Fuck the Butterfingers. And fuck Dylan if he thinks he’s gonna play electric on our stage. And don’t bring up ticket sales, Harold. I don’t give a shit. Rock and roll is a cash-powered alien invasion crushing all authentic human possibility.

Meanwhile, what he wanted to do was write what was inside him. It was Johnny Cash who was able to put this into words for him. 

JOHNNY CASH (V.O. via letter): I’ll see you in Newport come Spring. Till then, track mud on somebody’s carpet.
JOHNNY CASH (after the electric show) Make some noise, B-D. Track some mud on the carpet.

I think that's maybe the most important lesson we writers can learn from this film -- track some mud on the carpet of the expectations that markets, publishers, and fans have of you. 

But we're not done yet. There's still one last message this amazing film has for us as writers.

"You Brought a Shovel"


While trying to talk Dylan out of performing with an electric rock band, Pete Seeger tells him a story about folk music, about how Pete and his cronies were trying to achieve a balance between pop music and folk music and how they kept trying to fill up the folk side of the scale with teaspoons of sand. Then he says the following:

PETE: Then you came along, Bobby.. and you brought a shovel. We just had teaspoons. But you brought a shovel. And now, thanks to you, we’re almost there. You’re the closing act, Bobby, and if you could just use that shovel the right way--
BOB: The right way... 

But Dylan isn't deterred. He goes out and rocks an electric set that changes music forever. 

Afterward, he gives this message to his old friend Pete: "The only reason I have a shovel, Pete, is because I picked it up. It was just lying there and I picked it up."

You're a writer. If there's something you want to write, do it. The shovel is just lying there. Pick it up.

Wednesday, March 20, 2024

Movie Reviews for Writers: Mike Hammer's Mickey Spillane

 

If you are a fan of pulp fiction or hard-boiled detectives in particular, Mickey Spillane isn't a name you're unfamiliar with. This documentary, written by Mickey's oft-time writing partner Max Allen Collins, can tell you all the reasons why that's true. 

"Mike Hammer was not the first fictional private eye," says Otto Penzler. "While Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler were successful and well-known, they never approached the kind of success in terms of readership numbers or magnitude of recognition that Mickey had. If it weren't for Mickey Spillane creating the basic mold, the other writers would have had a hard time inventing it. 

"You were influenced by Mickey Spillane whether you've read him or not," says author Parnall Hall, "because every other private eye writer is influenced by Mickey Spillane."

As true as that is, I prefer the way author Miriam Ann Moore phrases the same idea: "Nobody ever hit a noun against a verb like Mickey Spillane." 

So, what can such a renowned writer teach us?

Write your own kind of moral code


Remember that you don't answer to anyone but yourself. You are not beholden to your church or parents' religion, or even the community standards in which you live. You do you, as the cliche goes. 

But, be warned, that kind of freedom can get you in trouble with that church, those parents, or that community.

Says Penzler, 

"In the mid-1950s an author named Frederick Wortham wrote a book called Seduction of the Innocent which primarily attacked comic books as supposedly a cause of juvenile delinquency. The only author he attacked aside from comic book writers was Mickey." 

And it wasn't just Wortham. Spillane was catching hell from lots of different critics, as the narrator expounds over clips from his movies. 

There was a storm of controversy over Spillane's strong sexual content and violent action scenes. Along with comic books and rock and roll, Spillane was blamed by commentators as a prime cause of juvenile delinquency. Spillane was blasted as a prime mover in America's moral decline.

 Loren Estleman, author of The Amos Walker Mysteries, explains futher.

We were a very Puritan Nation right up through the 1950s, and it was only at that point that the old standards and barriers began to fall, and I think it was through people like Mickey Spillane getting out there and effectively butting his head against the wall that made those walls collapse. It wasn't violence or sex for the sake of violence and sex. It was there to propel the characters and to propel the story along.

Mickey himself makes it clear that he was never one to shy away from sex or violence. "Sex and violence are punctuation marks in the story," he says. And not just those two topics either. He also didn't shy away from addressing politics in his work, according to Penzler: "He was not afraid to write about politics, and he was not afraid to write about politics from a point of view that was not necessarily the most popular in the say, Eastern establishment of New York publishing."

All of that way of thinking (and of writing) made its way into Spillane's work because it came from his background. He wasn't an ivory tower author, but a regular Joe who wrote. As he says:

It's kind of like a blue-collar existentialist where you're talking about people trying to think about what's right and wrong, but on the everyday level of the "Who's on my ass today?" or "Who's going to, you know, kill me?" or "What what kind of decision can I make uh to keep my myself alive and still try to do the right thing?" 


Look for opportunities


As a blue-collar writer, Mickey was always on the lookout for paying work. Never one to rest on his laurels of Mike Hammer's success, he also turned to short, two-page detective yarns in the backs of comic books. 

There was some postal regulation that in order for them to get mailing permits for the subscriptions on the comic books they had to have a certain amount amount of text material. Now you got 25 bucks a shot for two pages of these things. Now this usually would take about 10 minutes to write, 20 minutes to write, but at that time 25 bucks was a lot of money, and you could write four a day you're getting $100 a day when a hardworking man out there is making 35 a week.

(Personally, I'd love to track some of these.)
 

Something will define your work


Spillane knew his work well enough to know and accept the fact that there would be certain trademarks or habits would mark it as his own. He didn't try to fight those kinds of identifiers or re-invent himself to keep fans and critics surprised. He accepted both his style and any limitations and wrote the way he knew Mickey Spillane could write. 

One of those marks, as the narrator recounts over a scene from I, the Jury, was his endings, which began as early as I, the Jury. 

"The swift violence of Mike Hammer's retribution was matched only by Mickey Spillane's abrupt punch to the solar plexus endings." 

It's something Mickey was proud of. 

Baby, when you're writing a story, think of it like a joke with a great punchline. Get the great ending, then write up to it. 

The ending was a make-or-break moment for him, says Collins. "One thing Mickey was very clear on in his work and even enunciated was that the first chapter sells the book the last chapter sells the next book."

Spillane cared so much about the importance of his story endings that he once put $1000 on the line in a bet with his editor. 

I said a perfect book is written with the climax on the last word of the last page, so if you took the last word away you wouldn't know what the book was about. When I turned in Vengeance, I turned it in without the last word on the last page he just asked, 'What was that word? What was the word?' 'Give me a thousand bucks. He gave me a thousand bucks. I gave him the word."

Screw the critics


According to Penzler, Mickey was able to speak directly to readers so critics despised him. They not only thought of him as low-brow and common, but also vulgar in his writing. It was a sentiment Mickey didn't allow to get him down. In fact, he often turned in back in his critics faces. Says he:

I went to a tea party, if you can imagine me at a tea party, you know, but anyway there they had this funny little guy who was a very self-important fellow. He came to me, and he said what terrible commentary in the reading habit of the American public that you have seven, the seven top best sellers in America today. Whatt I could think of to say but was, well, you're lucky I didn't write three more."

He knew that critics didn't call the shots, not really. It's the readers. "Critics don't decide anything," he says. "Publishers don't decide anything. No, no, the public is the one who decides everything."

He was equally hard on the writers in that equation. "Writers don't have talent. Writers have mechanical aptitude."

Everything must be done with the reader in mind. 

Don't get full of yourself


But that idea of being tough on the writer kept him humble, kept him true to his blue-collar way of approaching his life and his work. Sure, he was a best-seller. He was a movie star even. But he never embraced the kind of highfaluting way of letting that think himself any kind of star. In fact, he didn't even like to refer to himself as an author.

I am not an author. I am a writer. A writer is on a day-today job all the time. He's writing. This is a job for him. He's making money to keep the smoke coming out the chimney. I don't want to go out and dig ditches every day of the week.

I think we could use a lot more Mickey Spillane's in this business. 

Wednesday, March 6, 2024

Movie Reviews for Writers: Fantastic Britain


What is it about Britain and the U.K. that fosters such a rich history of fantasy literature? Not only modern best-sellers like Harry Potter, but also classics like C.S. Lewis' Narnia books, Tolkien's Middle Earth books, George McDonald's children and adult fantasies, and Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. Or does it begin long before that with the country's legends of King Arthur and his knights?

Or, is it as host Robin Bennett claims, that because of the rigid outer life of manners and mannerisms, the inner life of British writers is so filled with fantastic eccentricities?

Or perhaps it has more to do with Britain being geologically separated and having such a long history?

Or finally, does it have more to do with colonialism? Just like Britain took opium and other resources from countries, they also plundered the mythology and legends of the countries they suppressed. 

You can watch the documentary to find out for yourself. What I'm concerned about is more what this whimsical documentary has to say to us as writers. 

On that front, there's quite a bit to cover. 

Perhaps my favorite bit from this documentary hits at about the halfway point. It says quite adamantly that a write "can only get away with one big lie." Everything else must be true. For example, the narrator goes on to say, in Narnia the one big lie is a wardrobe that takes children to another world. After that, the characters must act and interact as if real. I love that. I think that works not just for fantasy but other genres as well. The suspension of disbelief can only stretch so far, after all. 

The next point is that of why Fantasy books, and books in general, matter. Sometimes a book is a child's (or an adult's I would add) only friend, a secret friend. I can vouch for this in my life. As a child I hid myself in my room during my years of having few friends and escaped into books, particularly my Childcraft Encyclopedias and my Illustrated Classics by Verne, Dickens, and Wells. You never know. That book you're writing at this very moment might be the safe haven some reader is looking for. 

The importance of Fantasy can't be overstated, regardless of how some wish to relegate it to childish flights of fancy. Without the safe otherworld provided by Fantasy literature, it might be too risky or painful to address certain topics. Fantasy can be a way of investigating things that are real, and perhaps things that are too sore to address directly. Dune (a sci-fi fantasy of the first order) deals with corporate greed in a way that makes readers think, maybe more than something more realistically based (like Upton Sinclair's The Jungle). Lord of the Rings can tell us more about the nature of humanity to embrace power for power's sake than a thousand biographies about famous politicians. 

There's also a great nod to the steadfastness of the writers themselves. After all, any author who can continue through the editing process without stopping and calling it quits is already a champion storyteller. And what process is that? Writing the first draft. Editing it. Finished the final draft to send to the publisher. Changing it yet again for a structural edit. After that, more changes for a story edit. Then a line edit. All through that the author is continuing to go back and redo work. That takes tremendous dedication.

The best way to close this review is with a quote from Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, that sums up the power of the Fantasy story--dreaming has no boundaries. Therefore, neither should dreamers who put these dreams onto paper and into digital devices. 

Wednesday, January 24, 2024

Movie Reviews for Writers: The Black Press -- Soldiers Without Swords

 
Writing and reading have always been important, and not just for entertainment. Words have long been a powerful tool for achieving social and cultural goals, and the history of the black press is just one story that highlights that legacy.

But, as crucial as that history is, this wonderful documentary isn't just a dry presentation of information but also offers something to say to contemporary writers.  

The Importance of Public Words

The early black press took away the invisibility of African-American citizens, both slaves in the South and freemen in the North. Says Vernon Jarrett: 

"We didn't exist in the other papers. We were neither born, we didn't get married, we didn't die, we didn't fight in any wars, we never participated in anything of a scientific achievement. We were truly invisible unless we committed a crime. And in the BLACK PRESS, the negro press, we did get married. They showed us our babies when born. They showed us graduating. They showed our PhDs."

In the same way, your words, no matter how small or large your readership, destroy your invisibility. It shows that you have opinions, thoughts, and ideas that matter. 

And those ideas are targeted, not just the typical who, what, where, when associated with the notion of an unbiased press we often hear about today. According to Phyl Garland: 

"The black press was never intended to be objective because it didn't see the -- the white press being objective. It often took a position. It had an attitude. This was a press of advocacy. There was news, but the news had an admitted and a deliberate slant."

Jane Rhodes echoes that idea: 

"Their whole idea behind Freedom's Journal was to have a voice, an independent voice, an autonomous voice for African Americans. The opening editorial on the front page of Freedom's Journal says, "We mean to plead our own cause ..."

Or, put in other words, "No longer shall others speak for us" (Vernon Jarrett). 

Not only was it important to hear their own voices and see their own faces in the news, it was equally important to train a new generation of writers of color to continue that representation into the next generation. Frederick Douglas probably said it best in his speech on December 3, 1847:

"In the grand struggle for liberty and equality now waging, it is (Unintell.), right, and essential that there should arrive in our ranks authors and editors as well as orators, for it is in these capacities that the most permanent good can be rendered to our cause."

All those new writers, editors, and orators created an interconnected sense of national community that had been limited to disconnected local communities prior. 

Christopher Reed: I would rank the 19th-century African American press as one of the major forces in producing one of the major miracles of that century, pulling African Americans together after slavery into cohesive communities. Whether you're talking about Kansas or Mississippi, ah, New York, it doesn't make any difference -- Washington, these newspapers informed people, elevated morale, built a sense of racial consciousness. You can't, ah, overstate the importance of newspapers.

The Importance of Reading

The rise of the black press highlighted not only the importance of representation in writing but also the crucialness of reading. With the arrival of the black press, reading became a new sort of national pastime for black citizens.

Narrator: As slaves, African Americans were forbidden to read, but after the Civil War, reading became one of the sweetest fruits of freedom. For many, black newspapers were an introduction the power and the magic of the written word.

It surprises me how often people take the gift and miracle of reading so lightly, more as a chore than a privilege. That goes for writers too. I can't tell you how many writers I've talked with who tell them they're too busy writing and don't have time to read. To mean, that's like saying you're too busy driving to fill up the tank with gas. 

I know that as a reader I'm biased -- I get that -- but we have such a wealth of knowledge, wisdom, and yes, entertainment available to us that so many simply disregard. 

So, clearly, even today, the importance of the act of reading hasn't changed. 

The Guts to Keep Writing

Perhaps the biggest takeaway we can get from this excellent documentary is that community gives us the courage to keep writing. A living, vibrant group of other creators as the balm the author's soul needs to keep going. 

Just like the Douglases influenced and encouraged the Ida B. Wellses and the Robert Abbotts. 

Christopher Reed: America had to change and the vehicle to express this would be the newspaper.

And, today, while the issues may be different, America still needs to hear new voices and change and grow with each new generation of writers. Maybe, just maybe, something you write, may have a bearing on that and influence someone in the next generation. 

Wednesday, November 15, 2023

Movie Reviews for Writers: Flannery

 

Flannery O'Connor is not only one of my favorite writers, but she's also the subject of a PBS documentary named after her. Known as perhaps the Grand Dame of Southern Fiction, O'Connor is THE voice to be reckoned with in the world of fiction seen through the eyes of the South.
 
But she wasn't what she seemed, neither a Southern lady nor a rebellious feminist. In fact, according to Conan O'Brien, discussing her and her work in an interview: "You think it's this bitter, old alcoholic who's writing these really funny dark stories, and then you find out she's a woman and that she's devoutly religious." Her work and her life didn't always line up with straight edges. There was overlap, and there were gaps where they didn't quite join up like they should. 

But to limit her to merely a Southern writer, as Harvey Breit says, isn't fair to her legacy:

I for myself think that although Ms. O'Connor can be called a Southern writer, I agree that she's not a Southern writer, just as Faulkner isn't, and that they are, for want of a better term, universal writers. 
They're writing about all mankind and about relationships and the mystery of relationships.

To Flannery, that universal mystery she was writing about had a lot to do with craziness, according to Alice Walker:

She was able to go straight to the craziness without always trying to make the craziness black or the craziness white.
She just saw the mystery of the craziness.

Like any good and gifted writer, she embraced that craziness and darkness and humor within her. She embraced all of herself, the dark and the light, and that's what made her fiction stand out. Says Richard Rodriquez: "What's happening here is something so remarkable that the profane meets with the sacred, and it's within that comic meeting that the stories operate."

It's a place many writers don't reach for a long time, having to first discover who they are through their writing first. Hell, some writers never get there. They may hide one part while focusing on what they think readers want to read. They may hide all of themselves and chase markets. But all truly talented writers eventually learn that your best work doesn't happen, can't happen until a person's fiction integrates all the parts of the one doing the writing.

It's the clips from during her life that make this documentary so much fun. One stand-out moment comes from a television show in which she is asked to talk about the art of short stories.

Breit: What does a writer try to do in a short story? Or what does a writer try to do in a novel? What is the secret of writing? 
O'Connor: Well, I think that a serious fiction writer describes an action only in order to reveal a mystery. Of course, he may be revealing the mystery to himself at the same time that he's revealing it to everyone else. And he may not even succeed in revealing it to himself, but I think he must sense its presence.

As a writer who prefers short stories to any other literary form, both for reading and writing, i think she's dead-on in her assessment. But I don't think it only applies to "serious" fiction writers. I think all writers have a subconscious writer living inside their heads that works that kind of thing into even so-called popular fiction or genre fiction. I tend to believe it's the kind of thing a writer can't avoid ultimately. 

Throughout the last years of her life, having been diagnosed with Lupis, the same uncurable disease that killed her father, the "all of her" that made up her life got progressively darker. However, that only reinforced her will to write, to create, to tell stories. According to Hilton Als, "I think she loved writing so much because it freed her from the corporeal." Writing was her escape from pain being tapped by her body. Creating was her winged bird (thank you, Langston Hughes) that was free to fly her imagination beyond her diagnosis. Telling stories was her way of travelling the world since her weakened body wouldn't allow that dream to come to fruition. 

The documentary spends quite a lot of its run time on her time writing Wise Blood (my favorite of her two novels). Her first novel, it was important to her to get it right, to capture her darkly comic intersection of realism, grotesque, and religious. In fact, according to Michael Fitzgerald, she ended up going back to rewrite from the beginning after reading and being so taken by Oedipus Rex. Says Michael: "She was so shocked by the Oedipus Rex that she reworked the entire novel to accommodate Hazel Motes' blinding himself, as Oedipus does."

In a discussion between Robert Giroux and Sally Fitzgerald, the two share this exchange about how her own thoughts on Wise Blood and those of her publishers and the reviewers didn't mesh. 

Fitzgerald: I think you can see in her letters about working on Wise Blood and the process that she went through, her first publisher who didn't get it. 
Giroux: Flannery said that, 'The editor at Holt treats me like a dim-witted campfire girl.'

FitzgeraldHe called her prematurely arrogant.

Gooch: And O'Connor, very young, I mean, completely stands up for herself and the possibility that this book will never be published and just says that, 'I'm not writing this kind of novel.'

FitzgeraldPublishers never intimidated her.

Mary Steenburgen (reading from O'Connor's journal): I am not writing a conventional novel, and I think that the quality of the novel I write will derive precisely from the peculiarity or the aloneness, if you will, of the experience I write from.


This isn't uncommon. Our intentions as writers and what readers and (worse) reviewers read can be polar opposites. The ladies of her Southern small-town life saw the book as vulgar and actively irreligious, failing to notice the ragged shadow that followed Hazel Motes around with every step and wouldn't let him get away from faith no matter how he tried. Others simply saw some of her dialog as "proof" of her own racist beliefs and wondered how a sweet Southern lady would write such things into the mouths of her characters. 

Some of the fault in that misunderstanding, according to Richard Rodriquez, comes from O'Connor's immense talent as a dialog writer and her ability to capture voice even in internal monologue.

Part of my worry as her reader is that she's too good, by which I mean that her mimicry of her voices around her is too acute.

In that accuracy, she doomed herself, because a lot of these stories are judged by modern readers as unacceptable.


Still, even with ticks against her, Flannery O'Connor's legacy is secure. I don't see "A Good Man Is Hard To Find" or "Everything That Rises Must Converge" disappearing from textbooks or bookshelves of voracious readers any time soon. Perhaps this quote from William Sessions best sums up her writing life:

The life of Flannery O'Connor and what she had to offer, in terms of her relationship to the greater mysteries of existence, are going to be things that people will tap into, because they aren't going away.


God, how'd I love for someone to honestly say that about my work one day. 

Wednesday, November 8, 2023

Movie Reviews for Writers: Shirley


I do believe I have a new movie to add to my absolute favorite movies about writers. While Shirley may be a highly fictionalized telling of Shirley Jackson's life during the time she was writing her second novel, Hangsaman. This movie is a nigh-perfect blending of life and the sort of creep factor that Jackson wove into her stories, and the voiceover as she reads from her novel in progress while she and her "friend" Rosie go about their lives is nothing if not haunting. 

Don't be fooled when you see this one listed among thrillers or even horror in the categories on streaming services. It is thrilling and horrific, yes, but not in any kind of way that category implies. Instead, it's the active and passive shots the characters take at each other, the way they live with both known and suspected evils, the intertwining of the central mystery of Hangsaman and the lives of Shirley and Rosie that brings the thrill and horror. It's horrific and thrilling in the same way Monsters Ball was. It's the kind of movie that makes a viewer think, "God, as people, we pretty much suck." 

That said, this one isn't just sprinkled with writer stuff. It's the backbone, the meat, and the nerves of this flick. This movie only works because Shirley Jackson is a horror (among other genres) writer. 

My favorite bit comes very early in the film. Shirley and her husband, Stanley, are throwing a party, and one of the partiers asks Shirley what her next book is about. She responds: "A little novella I’m calling None of Your God Damn Business. How ‘bout yourself?" Shirley is exhausted with tourists wanting a peek into the writer's life that is somehow believed to be on public display simply because she exists and has been published extensively. 

Sometimes as a small indy writer, I think I would welcome that kind of attention as a validation of my chosen endeavor, but I also realize that too much of even that good thing could get annoying as hell really quickly. 

A few moments before that exchange, though, she had been in the middle of describing her inspiration for perhaps her most well-known and well-studied short story, "The Lottery."

Jackson: So I picked up a few things. And I’m trudging back up the god-damn hill. It was fucking hot out. I’m cursing my back, I’m cursing my feet, I’m cursing all of god-damn humanity -- when it hit me. The whole thing. I sat down at my desk. Two hours later there it is. The most reviled story the New Yorker ever printed! And all I could think was, god-damn I forgot to put the ice-cream up. I’m gonna have to face that Satanic hill again. 
Partier: I read it as an anti-Semitic parable... in the tradition of Isaac Babel.

Two things here I loved and that rang true for me. One, as writers we have little control over where inspiration can hit us. Sadly, it's seldom when we're sitting at the computer with time to write. I can't speak for you, but for me, it's usually in the car driving to or from work or in the middle of picking up groceries or something mundane like that. It may be a snippet of song lyrics, or it could be the way that the woman picking out oranges shifts from one foot to the other. It's rarely some king of thunderbolt like the fabled myths non-writers think accompany story ideas. Second, once the story is out and published, we lose control over what it means or doesn't mean, or maybe was supposed to mean. It's totally up to the reader to put their own thoughts and experiences on it. Call me a deconstructionist, but I firmly believe that. Once that proverbial toothpaste is out of the tube, the goop doesn't get put back inside. Its meaning and understanding belong to the people who read it and think about it, no matter how much they may (in our minds) miss the point. 

While Rosie takes an immediate dislike to the caustic Jackson, the two gradually become a sort of confidante to each other, never quite friends, but equals, the heads to the other's tails. When one strengthens, the other wanes, at least until... Well, that would be a huge spoiler. Nevertheless, Rosie becomes the author's spy, infiltrating the campus where Stanley and Rosie's husband works to get information about the missing girl Jackson is writing about. 

The two do their due diligence and research. It's almost as if they're trying to solve a cold-case murder. The only thing they're missing is a murder board and miles of string. 

So it is that Stanley, Jackson's regular reader and editor, tells her that she doesn't yet know her subject well enough, she snaps and lets him have it. 

Stanley: It’s the genre, darling that’s stymieing you. It’s not your arena. And frankly, it’s beneath you.
Jackson: You can keep your theories to yourself.
Stanley: You didn’t know her.
Jackson: Don’t tell me I don’t know this girl.
Stanley: I might have walked by her a dozen times on campus, in the commissary, the commons. Various halls. That’s the sheer probability of it. But that’s not a face I ever remember seeing. Who is she to you?
Jackson: There are dozens and dozens of girls just like her littering every college across the country. Lonely girls who can’t make the world notice them. Don’t tell me I don’t know her. Don’t you dare.
Stanley: Oh, so you think it might be that good.

Stanley, who is a professor and a critic more than a creator, sees the story from the outside. Shirley, not only as the writer but also as perhaps formerly one of those girls herself sees the story from a different, truer angle. Inside. Through. It absorbed into her quite possibly. There is no comfortable distance that allows her the safety of objective criticism at that moment. She knows the missing girl, not just the facts of the case. 

In a sports-themed movie, there is often the big training montage. It's a cliche, of course, but it's mandatory viewing to keep the fans happy. There's something similar here, but instead of running up the steps or weight training, viewers are treated to quick cuts of the author typing while reading the voiceover for what she has written, only to rip the page from the typewriter, crumble it and toss it in the floor to start over. She's determined to get the voice, the words, the tone, the girl's character right, no matter how many times she needs to trash the work to go back to square one. 

Ultimately the work pays off. When she finishes, she finally relinquishes her hold on the manuscript and allows Stanley to read it. 

Stanley: Your book is brilliant, darling. Fucking gorgeous. I don’t know how you did it. I have some notes of course.
Jackson: Of course.
Stanley: This is going to be the one. Don’t lose sight of that.
Jackson: It hurts. This one. It hurts more than the others.
Have you ever written something like that? Something that felt like you were struggling to get it out, not because of time constraints, but because of something intrinsic within you, something almost personal between the writing process and you? If you haven't, I hope you do one day. If you have, you know that feeling she is referencing. It's a sort of spiritual childbirth after a long, contracted labor that ended in an emergency C-section as the only option to get the baby out. The sheer act of putting that much intensity on paper takes something out of the writer. It's the kind of thing that can only be explained in metaphors and symbols. But it's real. 

The last bit is something this movie plays up to a hyperbolic level -- it's the myth of the eccentric writer. It's almost as if the screenwriter took every cliche about writers that non-writers believe. You never know what they'll say. You can't take 'em out in public. They are all drunken and unsociable loners. And so on. Ad naseum. Spew. Spew. Spew. 

I cry BS. Just getting to know a few writers will correct you of this mindset quickly. Sure, we can still be eccentric, but more in a collecting first editions or reading RPG manuals kind of way. And the folks I know are some of the best souls on the planet. We laugh together, talk together, have one another's backs. 

But yeah, we do drink together too. Maybe that part of the myth is true.