As I’ve said before, writers (particularly novelists) can learn much from film.
One of the latest to drive home that message for me is Michael Winterbottom’s 2001 release, “The Claim,” with screenplay by Frank Cottrell Boyce inspired by Thomas Hardy’s novel, “The Mayor of Casterbridge.” I say inspired by, because Boyce has been influenced primarily in theme rather than plot by Hardy’s classic.
The setting is the 1860s in a snow-covered wilderness in the California Sierras (it was actually filmed in Alberta, Canada, and Colorado). A wagonload of women arrive in the town of Kingdom Come, all but two of them prostitutes bound for a local bar/brothel owned by Lucia, a beautiful Portuguese woman. Drunks brawl over the younger of the other two women, Elena Burn and her daughter, Hope. They are rescued and escorted to the local hotel by Donald Dalglish, head of a railroad survey team which also has just arrived in town. Hope tells Dalglish they have come to see a wealthy relative.
The ‘relative’ is Daniel Dillon, lord of the town, who 20 years earlier had sold his wife and daughter for a rich gold claim. This is revealed to us in a flashback, the movie equivalent of back-story which can be equally effective or damning to a story. Boyce handles it deftly in this presentation. Elena Burn is dying and wants recompense for their daughter who doesn’t know Dillon is her father. Despite having achieved wealth, Dillon has been haunted by his secret. He doesn’t want to admit his sin to Hope but offers to “marry” Elena and try to make up for the past.
In order to make this change Dillon must disassociate from Lucia who has been his mistress. Since he doesn’t explain his actions and attempts to pay her for services rendered Lucia at first believes he has his eye on the younger Hope. She then tries to seduce Dalglish who has been building a relationship with Hope.
Notice how skillfully Boyce manages the conflict between characters and how each of them changes by the end of the film. There’s ample lesson just in this. The character who experiences the most change, of course, is Dillon who after Elena’s death does confess to Hope. Though she earlier voices forgiveness for an action by Dalglish she rejects her father’s plea for salvation. Distraught, Dillon destroys everything for which he had previously sacrificed his family.
It’s a remarkable film, one like we used to see from studios before they became obsessed with comic book super-heroes. Though he took a broad step away from his inspiration, I think even Hardy would have approved of what Boyce did with the theme of sacrifice for material gain. While they can’t be duplicated in print, there are some stunning cinematic moments in this film along with good acting, lovely (if cold) scenery and some beautiful music (especially the songs by Mila (Lucia) Jovovich).
Monday, January 11, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Fountain of Youth
An article in today’s New York Times comments on the growth of adventure tourism among the elderly http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/08/us/08aging.html?th&emc=th
The poet Longfellow saw aging as a new phase of opportunity. Modern society too often views it as a time for neglect, disease and decline. The difference is solely one of attitude toward the process.
No one can deny age poses certain limitations. But the greatest of those are self-imposed.
It was Adler who first proposed civilization arose out of human physical limitations. In other words, man, despite his physical inferiority, gained superiority over the wild beasts by developing his intelligence—a capacity some in this century appear determined to relinquish.
George Bernard Shaw, a supreme example for any experiencing age defeatism, said men die of “…laziness, and want of conviction, and failure to make their lives worth living.” And, “…it was by meditating on Life (rather than death) that I gained the power to do miracles.”
That miracles of achievement are possible in spite of age has been demonstrated repeatedly throughout history and, most particularly, by practitioners of the arts. Scientists probing the mystery of longevity among conductors, composers and other musicians have found some common denominators including a joyful and optimistic outlook, resolute purpose, regular exercise and consistent intellectual stimulation.
And that recipe isn’t restricted to musicians.
Jean Frederic Waldeck was in his late sixties when he began his exploration of Mayan sites in the wilds of Yucatan and doubted he had the physical stamina to resist the dangers, disease and privation to complete his work. Yet this extraordinary man lived to the ripe old age of 109 and was described by contemporaries in Paris as a vigorous and intellectual man, a charming conversationalist and an avid girl-watcher up to the day of his death.
Marjory Stoneman Douglas, author of some of the most elegant prose ever penned in this country, began her crusade to save Florida’s Everglades when she was 80 and continued that fight and her literary efforts till she succumbed at the age of 101.
Actor-director Clint Eastwood, who will turn 80 in May, said in a recent interview he won’t retire because he learns something new everyday. “You want to do something? Just do it the best you can, whatever that is,” he said.
That’s good advice for any age, but especially for those of us on the far side of 45.
As the great Cervantes put it, “While there’s life there’s hope.”
The poet Longfellow saw aging as a new phase of opportunity. Modern society too often views it as a time for neglect, disease and decline. The difference is solely one of attitude toward the process.
No one can deny age poses certain limitations. But the greatest of those are self-imposed.
It was Adler who first proposed civilization arose out of human physical limitations. In other words, man, despite his physical inferiority, gained superiority over the wild beasts by developing his intelligence—a capacity some in this century appear determined to relinquish.
George Bernard Shaw, a supreme example for any experiencing age defeatism, said men die of “…laziness, and want of conviction, and failure to make their lives worth living.” And, “…it was by meditating on Life (rather than death) that I gained the power to do miracles.”
That miracles of achievement are possible in spite of age has been demonstrated repeatedly throughout history and, most particularly, by practitioners of the arts. Scientists probing the mystery of longevity among conductors, composers and other musicians have found some common denominators including a joyful and optimistic outlook, resolute purpose, regular exercise and consistent intellectual stimulation.
And that recipe isn’t restricted to musicians.
Jean Frederic Waldeck was in his late sixties when he began his exploration of Mayan sites in the wilds of Yucatan and doubted he had the physical stamina to resist the dangers, disease and privation to complete his work. Yet this extraordinary man lived to the ripe old age of 109 and was described by contemporaries in Paris as a vigorous and intellectual man, a charming conversationalist and an avid girl-watcher up to the day of his death.
Marjory Stoneman Douglas, author of some of the most elegant prose ever penned in this country, began her crusade to save Florida’s Everglades when she was 80 and continued that fight and her literary efforts till she succumbed at the age of 101.
Actor-director Clint Eastwood, who will turn 80 in May, said in a recent interview he won’t retire because he learns something new everyday. “You want to do something? Just do it the best you can, whatever that is,” he said.
That’s good advice for any age, but especially for those of us on the far side of 45.
As the great Cervantes put it, “While there’s life there’s hope.”
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Power of Imagination
My second oldest grandson can’t understand how I survived a childhood without television. Ethan thinks I was really deprived because we didn’t have TV until I was in high school.
There were many outdoor pursuits, of course. A major indoor solace at the time was reading and listening to radio, pursuits enjoyed then and now by many of my generation. Those who didn’t experience it can’t imagine how exciting it was to hurry home from school and tune in a favorite show or, at night, gather around the radio with family to listen to a popular program.
One of my favorites at the time was “I Love a Mystery,” which followed three adventurers, Jack, Doc and Reggie, as they went around the world fighting monsters and solving mysteries. I think it was one of the factors leading to my choice of writing genre. I was thrilled when my son found 57 episodes of the show available free on line: http://www.otr.net/?p=ilam They may not be as great as I remembered, but I’m still listening.
We also went to a lot of movies, particularly the Saturday matinees where you got a feature and a serial.
That wasn’t the last time I went without TV, either. While living in Korea I made do again with reading, radio and film when not involved in other activities. And, when my own children were young, there was a long period when we had no TV. I couldn’t afford it at the time. They occasionally remind me and their children of those days. During that same period I also made a practice of reading stories and poetry to them after dinner—both to compensate for the lack of television and in hope it might inspire in them a love for reading. Since they do read when they have time I may have succeeded in the latter goal.
While Ethan might not agree I believe people who’ve grown up with television have been deprived of something we had. Reading and listening to radio requires more use of the imagination. A lack of imagination is a prime reason why there’s so much drivel on present-day TV. Reality shows? Don’t get me started.
As Conrad so aptly put it, “Only in men’s imagination does every truth find an effective and undeniable existence. Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.”
Shakespeare knew it even earlier:
“And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.”
There were many outdoor pursuits, of course. A major indoor solace at the time was reading and listening to radio, pursuits enjoyed then and now by many of my generation. Those who didn’t experience it can’t imagine how exciting it was to hurry home from school and tune in a favorite show or, at night, gather around the radio with family to listen to a popular program.
One of my favorites at the time was “I Love a Mystery,” which followed three adventurers, Jack, Doc and Reggie, as they went around the world fighting monsters and solving mysteries. I think it was one of the factors leading to my choice of writing genre. I was thrilled when my son found 57 episodes of the show available free on line: http://www.otr.net/?p=ilam They may not be as great as I remembered, but I’m still listening.
We also went to a lot of movies, particularly the Saturday matinees where you got a feature and a serial.
That wasn’t the last time I went without TV, either. While living in Korea I made do again with reading, radio and film when not involved in other activities. And, when my own children were young, there was a long period when we had no TV. I couldn’t afford it at the time. They occasionally remind me and their children of those days. During that same period I also made a practice of reading stories and poetry to them after dinner—both to compensate for the lack of television and in hope it might inspire in them a love for reading. Since they do read when they have time I may have succeeded in the latter goal.
While Ethan might not agree I believe people who’ve grown up with television have been deprived of something we had. Reading and listening to radio requires more use of the imagination. A lack of imagination is a prime reason why there’s so much drivel on present-day TV. Reality shows? Don’t get me started.
As Conrad so aptly put it, “Only in men’s imagination does every truth find an effective and undeniable existence. Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.”
Shakespeare knew it even earlier:
“And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.”
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Snobbery With Violence
I’ve just read Colin Watson’s “Snobbery With Violence,” a classic study of crime fiction and its sociological relationship. Though originally published in 1971 and focusing primarily on British writers it remains an entertaining and interesting examination of the genre and how it reflects taste and attitudes of society.
Watson, of course, was himself a purveyor of the craft and noted for a series laced with satire. His primary purpose in “Snobbery” was to illustrate how popular crime fiction echoed the temper of the times in which it was written and he does an admiral job with examples from the beginning of the 20th century down to novels of Leslie Charteris and Ian Fleming.
This is not meant to be a review of his book. I simply intend to point out some factors which still hold true and may be of interest to my fellow writers.
For instance, Watson points out crime fiction is divided into two main categories—the mystery (detective story) and the thriller.
“The detective story stimulates, or is supposed to stimulate, the intellect because it contains a puzzle. People who cannot be bothered with puzzles do not read it. It diverts because it presents a situation outside the normal experience of the reader.” He adds, most importantly to its success, is the solution of the puzzle by the end of the book. But: “We do not like the outcome of a detective novel to be easily predictable.”
The thriller, on the other hand, need not include a puzzle. But it must have action, the more the better. Confusion and suspense add to the mix. “Just as there is no reason to doubt the assertion by some women that they like to go to the cinema to have ‘a good cry,’ one recognizes the fact that very many people feel better for a good chase or a few good murders.”
Another point which may be of interest to modern writers, who even more than those of the past find themselves in the position of having to promote themselves rather than having it done for them by their publishers, is found in the example of Edgar Wallace.
In the 1920s Wallace was the acknowledged king of thrillers. He churned out 173 books between 1906 and his death in 1932 and was responsible for 25 percent of British book sales at the height of his career. He was not a great writer, but he was a master of self-promotion.
As noted by Watson, “He took care always to be accessible, easy to interview, and unfailingly opinionated. He readily contributed articles on whatever matters happened at the moment to be uppermost in the bird-brains of Fleet Street.”
Watson, of course, was himself a purveyor of the craft and noted for a series laced with satire. His primary purpose in “Snobbery” was to illustrate how popular crime fiction echoed the temper of the times in which it was written and he does an admiral job with examples from the beginning of the 20th century down to novels of Leslie Charteris and Ian Fleming.
This is not meant to be a review of his book. I simply intend to point out some factors which still hold true and may be of interest to my fellow writers.
For instance, Watson points out crime fiction is divided into two main categories—the mystery (detective story) and the thriller.
“The detective story stimulates, or is supposed to stimulate, the intellect because it contains a puzzle. People who cannot be bothered with puzzles do not read it. It diverts because it presents a situation outside the normal experience of the reader.” He adds, most importantly to its success, is the solution of the puzzle by the end of the book. But: “We do not like the outcome of a detective novel to be easily predictable.”
The thriller, on the other hand, need not include a puzzle. But it must have action, the more the better. Confusion and suspense add to the mix. “Just as there is no reason to doubt the assertion by some women that they like to go to the cinema to have ‘a good cry,’ one recognizes the fact that very many people feel better for a good chase or a few good murders.”
Another point which may be of interest to modern writers, who even more than those of the past find themselves in the position of having to promote themselves rather than having it done for them by their publishers, is found in the example of Edgar Wallace.
In the 1920s Wallace was the acknowledged king of thrillers. He churned out 173 books between 1906 and his death in 1932 and was responsible for 25 percent of British book sales at the height of his career. He was not a great writer, but he was a master of self-promotion.
As noted by Watson, “He took care always to be accessible, easy to interview, and unfailingly opinionated. He readily contributed articles on whatever matters happened at the moment to be uppermost in the bird-brains of Fleet Street.”
Friday, December 18, 2009
Is It Just About Money?
Recently on a writers’ site people were discussing what might happen if the electronic novel supplanted the printed version. I was surprised when several suggested writing would become merely a hobby because it would virtually eliminate the incentive of making money.
Really? I won’t go into my reasons now for believing e-novels have potential for enhancing opportunities for both readers and writers. But money? Is that the only reason people write? Don’t get me wrong, I like money as much as the next guy. But if you want to make money writing fiction isn’t the best way to do it.
Like other creative people, it’s in the nature of writers to crave recognition. And money certainly compliments other forms of recognition. A few people in our own generation have become very wealthy as a result of their fiction. But many more supplement meager earnings from fiction with a day job.
And that’s been the case historically. Recognition for many, many more didn’t come until long after their deaths. Now surely all of us would prefer to have some of that acclaim and gelt while we’re around to enjoy it. But, realistically, we have to abide with the facts.
Even Poe had little recognition and lived in poverty most of his life. Joyce? He died in financial straits. F. Scott Fitzgerald, now considered one of America’s leading writers, didn’t make much money from The Great Gatsby or Tender is the Night, which are now considered his best novels. In fact, it wasn’t until after his death his books won him wide recognition.
The same is true of many others. Katherine Anne Porter, a major voice in 20th century American literature, supported herself with journalism and hack writing. Her first book, Flowering Judas, met with only modest sales and it was nearly 10 years later that she published a second book. Isaac Barshevis Singer, born in 1904, dropped out of rabbinical school after only two years and supported himself for most of his life as a journalist, translator and proof reader. Championed by Saul Bellow and other writers, he published his first novel in English in 1950, won fame and, eventually, a Nobel Prize.
I could go on and on with this analogy. But you see my point.
Few of us write fiction because we expect to get rich. We don’t write because of lack of ability to do something else. We write it because we want to—and that doesn’t demean it to the limit of a hobby. Not that there’s anything wrong with hobbies. But a hobby is something we do primarily for entertainment; a diversion from the trials and cares of every day life. Anyone who tries it will soon learn writing fiction is not always entertaining. It’s hard work and anything but a diversion.
If your goal is to make money from writing, then you’d best consider options other than fiction.
Really? I won’t go into my reasons now for believing e-novels have potential for enhancing opportunities for both readers and writers. But money? Is that the only reason people write? Don’t get me wrong, I like money as much as the next guy. But if you want to make money writing fiction isn’t the best way to do it.
Like other creative people, it’s in the nature of writers to crave recognition. And money certainly compliments other forms of recognition. A few people in our own generation have become very wealthy as a result of their fiction. But many more supplement meager earnings from fiction with a day job.
And that’s been the case historically. Recognition for many, many more didn’t come until long after their deaths. Now surely all of us would prefer to have some of that acclaim and gelt while we’re around to enjoy it. But, realistically, we have to abide with the facts.
Even Poe had little recognition and lived in poverty most of his life. Joyce? He died in financial straits. F. Scott Fitzgerald, now considered one of America’s leading writers, didn’t make much money from The Great Gatsby or Tender is the Night, which are now considered his best novels. In fact, it wasn’t until after his death his books won him wide recognition.
The same is true of many others. Katherine Anne Porter, a major voice in 20th century American literature, supported herself with journalism and hack writing. Her first book, Flowering Judas, met with only modest sales and it was nearly 10 years later that she published a second book. Isaac Barshevis Singer, born in 1904, dropped out of rabbinical school after only two years and supported himself for most of his life as a journalist, translator and proof reader. Championed by Saul Bellow and other writers, he published his first novel in English in 1950, won fame and, eventually, a Nobel Prize.
I could go on and on with this analogy. But you see my point.
Few of us write fiction because we expect to get rich. We don’t write because of lack of ability to do something else. We write it because we want to—and that doesn’t demean it to the limit of a hobby. Not that there’s anything wrong with hobbies. But a hobby is something we do primarily for entertainment; a diversion from the trials and cares of every day life. Anyone who tries it will soon learn writing fiction is not always entertaining. It’s hard work and anything but a diversion.
If your goal is to make money from writing, then you’d best consider options other than fiction.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
New Release Coming
I just signed with my publisher, Whiskey Creek Press, for the fourth novel in my Sticks Hetrick mystery series. I don't have a publication date yet, so I can't say more about that at this point.
There are few things a writer likes more than a new contract. Need I say I'm thrilled to have a new book in the offing.
BEING SOMEONE ELSE begins with the discovery of an out-of-state reporter found murdered in the restroom of a sleazy bar. Most of the patrons scatter before police arrive on scene. Of the few who remain, none is willing to admit having seen or talked to the victim. When contacted, even the man's wife can't answer why he was in Swatara Creek.
Later the team learns of the murder of another out-of-stater in an adjoining county and the disappearance of a popular Catholic priest. Is there--as Stick's friend State Police investigator Reuben Riehm suspects--a connection between the cases?
More later.
For those who haven't read the series, now would be a good time to read SOMETHING IN COMMON, CRUEL CUTS and CORRUPTION'S CHILD.
There are few things a writer likes more than a new contract. Need I say I'm thrilled to have a new book in the offing.
BEING SOMEONE ELSE begins with the discovery of an out-of-state reporter found murdered in the restroom of a sleazy bar. Most of the patrons scatter before police arrive on scene. Of the few who remain, none is willing to admit having seen or talked to the victim. When contacted, even the man's wife can't answer why he was in Swatara Creek.
Later the team learns of the murder of another out-of-stater in an adjoining county and the disappearance of a popular Catholic priest. Is there--as Stick's friend State Police investigator Reuben Riehm suspects--a connection between the cases?
More later.
For those who haven't read the series, now would be a good time to read SOMETHING IN COMMON, CRUEL CUTS and CORRUPTION'S CHILD.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Anybody Want to Buy an Old Typewriter?
I have a cherished Remington Quiet-writer my parents bought for me way back in the 1950s. They probably intended it strictly for schoolwork. It got much more use over the years as I pounded out several novels, countless articles and short stories, a play, letters and tons of other documents.
None of those novels ever sold and the play was such a terrible mess I wouldn’t even discuss it today. Many of those articles and short stories did sell and helped me learn a bit about the writing process. Though it had its faults, I loved that quirky old machine and kept it even after replacing it in the 1970s with an electric model which cost much more and wasn’t half as good. Like most everyone else I’ve turned to a computer now (I think I’m on the fourth one as a matter of fact) and it has its virtues. But I’ll never be as fond of any computer as I am of that old Remington.
I don’t really want to sell my typewriter. I mention it only as the result of reading in the New York Times yesterday morning how Cormac McCarthy plans to sell the Olivetti he’s used since 1963. McCarthy has been much more successful at the writing trade than I ever expect to be and he’s won a slew of awards attesting to his skill. He’s replaced his typewriter with another just like the old one (no computers for him) and he’s selling the Olivetti for a good purpose.
In case you want to place a bid, McCarthy’s typewriter is being auctioned off at Christie’s on Friday and it’s estimated it may fetch as much as $20,000. Proceeds will benefit the Santa Fe Institute, a nonprofit interdisciplinary scientific research institute with which he’s affiliated.
Don’t bother making any offers for my typewriter. It doesn’t work very good anymore and its hard to find ribbons. But I still have a lot of fond memories of the service it did provide for many, many years. Come to think of it, I may still have that electric in the attic if you want to make a bid on that. Anything up to and including $20,000 will be considered.
None of those novels ever sold and the play was such a terrible mess I wouldn’t even discuss it today. Many of those articles and short stories did sell and helped me learn a bit about the writing process. Though it had its faults, I loved that quirky old machine and kept it even after replacing it in the 1970s with an electric model which cost much more and wasn’t half as good. Like most everyone else I’ve turned to a computer now (I think I’m on the fourth one as a matter of fact) and it has its virtues. But I’ll never be as fond of any computer as I am of that old Remington.
I don’t really want to sell my typewriter. I mention it only as the result of reading in the New York Times yesterday morning how Cormac McCarthy plans to sell the Olivetti he’s used since 1963. McCarthy has been much more successful at the writing trade than I ever expect to be and he’s won a slew of awards attesting to his skill. He’s replaced his typewriter with another just like the old one (no computers for him) and he’s selling the Olivetti for a good purpose.
In case you want to place a bid, McCarthy’s typewriter is being auctioned off at Christie’s on Friday and it’s estimated it may fetch as much as $20,000. Proceeds will benefit the Santa Fe Institute, a nonprofit interdisciplinary scientific research institute with which he’s affiliated.
Don’t bother making any offers for my typewriter. It doesn’t work very good anymore and its hard to find ribbons. But I still have a lot of fond memories of the service it did provide for many, many years. Come to think of it, I may still have that electric in the attic if you want to make a bid on that. Anything up to and including $20,000 will be considered.
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