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Obey the Kitty!

Obey the Kitty!

As of the first, my inbox and this blog have been inundated by new spam. Whereas before this blog used to get only 2-4 spam posts per day, now it gets 2-4 dozen spam posts per day.

And is it a requirement that a spam post must include misspellings and grammatical errors? I mean, if you’re going to go to the trouble of putting meaningful text in your spam, why not write it correctly. Have some pride, people!

However, as a result, if you’ve made a comment and it disappears, my sincere apologies; please send me a note and we’ll work to fix it. I want to see the comments from ALL of you–comments close the loop and let me know if what I’m posting is making sense.

Moving forward with my “The View from Here” posts, I’m not going to put these up daily. First, they take more thought to prepare than rants like this, and second, I want to give us time to discuss one topic thoroughly before moving on to the next.

So, for now, I’m going to be glad it’s Friday, I’m going to enjoy the absolutely dreary weather Seattle offers me today, I’m going to make some notes anent my recent trip to California, and I’m going to water my orchids.

And yes, I just used the word “anent” in a sentence. Try it. It’s fun!

k

Stack of BooksI hear you already. “Not that old chestnut!” Sorry. Sad, but true: “Show, Don’t Tell” is one of the most common of errors I’ve seen in the past couple of weeks prowling the new-writer-blogosphere, and sometimes the errors are simply egregious.

First off, let me say that I believe it is damned near impossible to “show” everything in a story. I mean, come on; you have to take a short-cut through a description now and again. I also think it’s unnecessary to “show” everything. And, to round out the argument against, there really aren’t any “rules” in fiction…or at least there aren’t any rules you can’t break now and again. As always, know when you break a rule, and do it for a reason.

As promised, I’m going to pick examples of these errors from my own stories, posted here on this site. Some of these stories are my very first efforts, so finding errors in them usually isn’t hard, but “Show, Don’t Tell” is a mantra that was drilled into me early on in workshops and from editors, so I had to root about a bit to find these offenders. Every story has spots where I need to move things along and not gum up the momentum with a fully descriptive flashback. A memory here, a wondering thought there, these might be difficult to “show” thoroughly. So, even if you find this sort of thing in your own work, the errors may not be big enough to warrant a rewrite; fixing them might alter the flow of the tale.

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Prête-moi Ta Main

In troubled emotional times, I tend to retreat to the uncomplicated, the easy, the predictable. Last weekend, I watched a romantic comedy, but not the latest cookie-cutter Hollywood rom-com. This film was from France.

Rom-coms are one of the most predictable story-types in an art form that excels in predictability. Boy meets Girl. Boy likes Girl. Boy does something dramatically stupid and can’t hope to get Girl. Boy does something dramatically different and outside his comfort zone and gets Girl. Big Red Bow. The only real mystery about rom-coms these days is, will it work?

To be fair, when you’re constricted by the tropes of such an established sub-genre, it is really hard to make it work. The actors can be good but the writing can suck; the writing can be brilliant but the film is hopelessly miscast. Everything works except for the pacing, which drags on (or speeds through) crucial turning points in this oh-so-formulaic form.

But a rom-com from the Nation of Romance? I’ve screened French comedies in the past and found them to be either mindless slapstick or subtler works that are only “comedies” in the way that some of Shakespeare’s plays are “Comedies”: a few laughs, and not everyone is dead at the final curtain.

Thus, I set down to watch this movie (English title, “I Do”) with genuine interest. How would Paris, the City of Love, the City of Light, the land of the New Wave, work within the straitjacket of this genre?

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01Jan13

Your voice is dim

Your words break up

As if your call

Is from years past

And not across

Mere miles

k

Up Your Aspirations

Kurt R.A. GiambastianiOne day my mother came home with a slogan from her workplace. “Lower Your Expectations,” it read. Not really the gung-ho mentality of today but hey, it was the ’70s. Anyway, my father saw it, found it somewhat ludicrous, and came back with the flip side: “Up Your Aspirations!” He even had it printed up on a t-shirt.

This probably tells you more about my father than it does my mother.

The point of this (and I have one) is that, as writers, we must manage both our expectations and our aspirations. This came home to because my wife has recently begun to ply her hand at writing, and tonight we had a discussion about what aspirations she might have, as a writer. Sensibly (I thought) she said that, at this point, she doesn’t have aspirations of writing for a living or even for profit. Right now she just wants to play with it and to learn how to be a better writer. I know I’ve harped on this before, but I believe it’s important; writing is a lonely business, and publishing is a cutthroat business. Writing for profit ain’t for the faint.

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The Storm Abates

Simple LivingTo those of you who left comments and sent me notes of condolence, my thanks. They were very much appreciated in a particularly difficult time.

Upon news of my mother’s passing, my wife and I immediately left for the Bay Area. My father did not think there was much we could do to help, but I felt a strong urge to be with him and the others of our family who could make it through the weather. To grieve alone, to mourn without the consolation (and, to be frank, the distraction) of others, is a risky thing. Contrary to the old adage, Misery actually hates Company; Misery abates with each retelling of the tale, but when we are alone, Misery multiplies.

There were hopeful moments–the day-long communal effort that went into the making of our family’s traditional Xmas Eve Cioppino is a story unto itself–and there were moments of anguished heartache about which I will never tell a soul. I watched my father vacillate between anger, despair, resignation, and gratitude. Each phone call became a chore as he heard the warm words of kindness and had his own sadness renewed, his grief relived.

My father lost his first wife, my mother, almost fifty years ago after thirteen years of marriage. Now, he has lost a second wife, after forty-seven years together. The one recalls the other, and all our mourning is compounded. Continue Reading »

The Storm Breaks

Unfortunately, our discussion on common writing errors will have to wait for a bit. My mother passed last evening, after a brief bout with spinal, lung, and brain cancer. Three months ago, she was fine. It came on like a juggernaut. But she was at peace at the end, surrounded by family and friends.

Born into an agnostic household, baptized Roman Catholic at age 8, converted to Judaism at age 19, now an avowed atheist, I still have to say that sitting Shiva is a good idea. I shall be doing so, and thus, will leave you all for a while.

Enjoy your families, your friends, and your holidays. Hug your loved ones. Smile at the sun.
k