The Inquisitive Inkpot
Exploring Tales and the Art of Telling
A Comedy of Subtitles
Unless you’re used to watching foreign films or you have a hearing impairment, you probably don’t find much use for subtitles.
Neither do I—unless, of course, I’m watching a historical drama set in 1800s lower-class England, where everyone has a thick Cockney accent. Then I need subtitles. (More on this specific drama to come in a later post!)
Oh, but I learned something from this experience! It’s remarkable what watching an entire 10-part series with subtitles can reveal about the sounds you otherwise took for granted (or always wondered about).
Below is a list of actual subtitles that accompanied the (mostly) nonverbal sounds in this anonymous historical drama:
“Heavy breathing.” Seriously? I thought it was the wind.
“Soft sobbing.” I mean, at least they’re not ugly-crying…yet.
“Indistinct profanity.” I’m pretty sure I recognized at least one of those swear words, but if you say so!
“Somber music.” Well, I knew the scene was serious, but this really takes it up a notch.
“Lips smacking.” Thank you for clarifying—I really wasn’t sure what that slurping sound was when that couple kissed. Must have been those lips.
“Plucky music.” Not sure I knew this was a thing, but I’ll assume it’s the opposite of “somber music”.
All right, the subtitles didn’t enlighten me as to what those fairly recognizable sounds are. But they did remind me about something we often forget: the power of subtlety.
Reading a blunt narration of literally every sound actually detracted from the emotional effect of some of those scenes. Instead of feeling my heart torn in two as a couple kissed goodbye, I found myself reading up on their lip-smacking—and then laughing about it! All whilst “heart-wrenching music” swelled in the background. While the presence of subtitles didn’t ruin the plot at all, it did rob the film of its sentimental impact. Why is that?
Plot can be communicated in much more concrete terms, while emotion is cultivated through covert tactics—one of these tactics being sound.
What we hear in a film plays a HUGE role in how we interpret each scene, and yet there is no one telling us what we are hearing and how it is supposed to make us feel.
Subtitles kill subtlety. As soon as we are told how to feel, we sense we are being manipulated (film is, after all, a master at manipulating). What subtitles on nonverbal sounds do is draw attention to the factors we aren’t supposed to consciously notice, making our emotional journey somewhat flat and prescribed—not organic and personal.
That all said, I have also realized that turning on subtitles for no reason is a great way to get a laugh out of even the most “somber” moments in a film. And so I issue you a challenge!
If you dare, try watching your favorite movie or show with subtitles on. Unless it’s already a comedy, I can almost guarantee it will not be the same experience!
If you have already discovered the comedy of subtitles, please share some of the best subtitles you have noticed!!
The Power of Short Stories
For all the bite-sized TV dramas, music videos, and social media posts out there, it seems people often overlook the common thread that these share: they are all short stories.
And while plenty of psychologists and social scientists argue that our attention span is shrinking due to the A.D.D nature of modern media, our human fascination with the “brief” long precedes Tik Tok, Snapchat, and Instagram.
Although the term “short story” is a fairly modern entity, the phenomenon of the brief account is as old as language itself.
In a sense, the roots of the short story can be traced all the way to the first-ever “a funny thing happened to me on the way to the___” conversation. But beyond that, its more identifiable roots lie in the origins of myths and the oral tradition. Now when we hear the term “oral tradition” today, many of us in Western culture probably think of Homer’s epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey—which, as anyone who has read them knows, are anything but short! But the fact is that oral tradition spans across every ancient civilization, and every society had its stories of creation and the struggle between good and evil—what we generally refer to as “myths.” These accounts are meant to express and illustrate cultural values and truths, in a form that can easily be passed by word-of-mouth from one generation to the next.
While some attribute the brevity of myths and fables to the lack of literacy in some civilizations (arguing that short tales are more easily remembered and retold), this does not explain why the concept of short stories has survived and even sharpened in recent centuries. In fact, it wasn’t until literacy began to blossom in the Western middle class during the 19th century that the short story asserted itself prominently in publication.
So what do we learn from all this?
Perhaps a minor history lesson, but more importantly, I think these facts suggest something:
The continued prevalence of short stories in a widely literate society points to the lasting power of brevity.
Just ask yourself what you think of when you hear the term “short story.” Most of us probably think of a tightly packaged little tale, whose every word counts—perhaps even more so than in a novel. Ask any TV screenwriter if it’s harder to write for a 30-minute show or a 60-minute—the answer is usually the 30-minute show. Of course novels and feature films are incredibly difficult to write. But the fact is that when you have a limited amount of words or minutes, the audience is going to scrutinize your work with a higher-caliber magnifying glass, because they will remember more of it. If you make a blunder, they will notice! This means that every word, every phrase, every scene had better pull its own weight, which eliminates the option of “filler” and what I call “verbal flab.”
This does not mean that brevity necessitates bluntness.
Think of the Gettysburg Address: 272 words of metaphor that earned the speech its acclaim as one of the most candid yet elegant addresses in history. Although Lincoln makes his point succinctly, he does so in a rhetorically brilliant and compelling narrative form, using the story of America’s past and present to inspire its future. Students still memorize it in classrooms today.
So, no– being brief does not mean being blunt. What it does mean is that condensing a message or story into short form can pack an additional punch that even the most distracted, media-saturated millennial might remember. 😉
What’s your take on the power of brevity?
Do you read short stories as often or more often than novels?
Confession: I read novels more, so I don’t feel I have enough scope of experience to make a judgement on this next question… But do you find that the short stories you have read are generally more powerful or less powerful than novels? Do you think this has to do with length?
The Spectacular Hack that Recently Revolutionized my Writing
You can’t buy talent, but you can buy migraine-free writing.
In case you missed my post bemoaning the woes of the contemporary writer, I can bring you up to speed in one sentence: screens hurt my eyes.
Not just my eyes, but plenty of people’s eyes. And not just our eyes, but our ability to do our work and creative writing without a pounding headache and compromised sleep.
The cure?
When I say it’s spectacular, I mean it quite literally: it’s in the form of a pair of spectacles.
Blue light glasses, they call them.
Now, either I live under a rock (which is not an impossibility, but then again we all do during a quarantine) or the concept of blue light glasses needs more trumpeting. This post has been written on the premise of the latter.
Many of us already have to stare at screens during the work day, and if you’re a writer, chances are you spend even more time at the computer afterwards. Perhaps late into the night.
How many of you writers out there find the Muse visits you after 9 pm? Sometimes she doesn’t come for me until 10 pm, and then overstays her welcome—not only keeping me from hitting the pillow until 1 am, but keeping my brain turned on long after my laptop has powered down.
Well, my fellow night owls, there is hope!
While most screen-related eye conditions are not caused by blue light, it has been confirmed that blue light can mess with your sleep. And if you are like me, in that your late-night creativity jolts are your goldmines, then the ability to seize those moments without suffering for it is priceless. (You’ll still be tired the next day, but if you’re a night owl, that’s nothing new. 🙂 )
Screen fixation is never a good thing, but if you rely on a computer for your writing, blue light glasses really might be a worthwhile investment.
I have personally noticed my headaches disappear since I ordered my pair—which, if you get severe headaches from the visual glare, you know what I’m talking about. It’s pretty miserable. But over the past several weeks, I have not cut my screen time for work or for writing, and still I have experienced no pain, no pounding, and no more trouble sleeping.
As you know, I do not generally promote products on The Inquisitive Inkpot, but this one has made such a difference for my own writing life that I felt I had to share it with all of you. You can easily order blue light glasses online for any range of prices, depending on how gourmet you want to go.
But to kiss headaches and restless nights goodbye? It was worth every penny of the $17.97 I spent.
What new writing hacks have you discovered lately?
Also, if you are a morning writer, do you find that concentrated screen time early in the day messes with your body’s “wake-up” process? I’m actually quite curious about this one, because while I’ve begun mornings with a pen and paper, I’ve never dived into creative writing on a keyboard until I’ve at least had my morning coffee. 🙂
Finding the Freedom to Laugh at Life
When my friend told me my life was material for a 4-star sitcom, I couldn’t decide whether that was flattering or insulting.
“I would watch that show,” he said emphatically. “It sure would be better than some of the stuff out there.”
On the upside, that meant my life’s recent events were interesting. On the downside, it meant they were also somewhat melodramatic—unfortunately something I had no control over at the time.
Can you relate?
Some people go through life actively creating drama wherever they turn. Others wish something dramatic would happen to them. Others try to avoid the drama. And still others sit back and laugh.
While I won’t get into the details of the scenario to which my friend referred, suffice to say it had caused quite the social upset among some people close to me. It made me realize that the reason some sitcoms thrive isn’t because they’re far-fetched, but because they could happen to any of us—even those of us who try to eschew life drama with every fiber of our being.
What I learned was that, while I love a good televised or written drama, those types of events are actually quite painful in reality. We might empathize with the characters in the story, but at the end of the day, it is still entertainment. We are still being entertained by their fictitious tragedies and triumphs. So what happens when we are suddenly the characters in a live soap opera? Does the scenario lose its charm?
Usually. That is, for most of us.
The intrigue of two real-life colleagues trying to one-up each other becomes too stressful.
The drama of a real-life family dividing against itself becomes too painful.
The tension of a real-life love triangle becomes too agonizing.
The repeated rejection of the real-life underdog becomes too disheartening.
All of these elements work their way into film, and yet they are no fun to live out in real life. It’s because they involve real people with real decisions and feelings, whose lives only get one draft—no rewrites if the script goes awry.
That being said, I think there are times when we would benefit from taking ourselves a little less seriously.
There are some moments I remember having during the aforementioned life saga which, although excruciating at the time, I can look back now with a laugh. Conversations that literally sounded like a script. Moments when I knew that the imaginary audience of my life was gasping in shock, pity, or chagrin. Moments when I knew the same imaginary audience was rolling in the aisles with laughter at the irony of my predicaments. While it didn’t make any of those moments easier, the days, weeks, months, and years that followed gave me a clearer perspective (as time usually does) on what had actually happened and how significant or insignificant those events really were.
In short, time gave me the “viewer’s perspective.”
Much of what happened would have been laughable if it didn’t happen to me.
Now, I’m not talking about truly traumatic events or life-and-death situations. Those are not laughable, no matter whom they happen to. I’m talking about the dramatic episodes we sometimes find ourselves in, which seem like the most monumental crises at the time, but which pass and leave us wiser in the end. I’m talking about the stuff of, well, sitcoms.
Every one of us has memories that we would prefer to forget because they were either too stressful, embarrassing, awkward, or bewildering.
It’s all just part of being human. But sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we won’t forget—and sometimes, if we do forget, we are missing out on prime comedic material. Part of healing can mean learning to take something less seriously—learning to recognize it as absurd or ironic and, instead of languishing over it, laugh at it. If we can separate ourselves from the emotions of the situation enough to look at it from the viewer’s perspective, we might just be able to appreciate some of the humor woven into our tumultuous little narratives.
Maybe it’s a part of maturing. Or maybe it’s just called making the most of a real-life melodrama.
What’s your take?
No need to share embarrassing stories (although they are definitely welcome)… but what are some ways you’ve coped with the drama of life?
Are you the type of person who creates the drama? (Which raises the question of whether drama queens ever know they are drama queens…)
Are you the type to flee drama and dramatic people? Are you an unwilling victim of drama?
Or are you perhaps the invisible audience laughing at everyone else’s drama???
Networking: Making Friends in all Places
You can’t grow up today without having the importance of “networking” drilled into you.
We’ve all heard the pro-networking adages:
“It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”
“You scratch their back, and they scratch yours.”
“It helps to have friends in high places.”
Now all of the above are true—I’m not here to question that. What I find a bit disturbing, though, is the degree to which this last adage has narrowed our concept of who is worth our time.
In an age and country where artists, writers, businesspeople, and politicians have unprecedented opportunities to climb the ladder, the sociological concept of “networking” can become incredibly self-serving.
We are trained in school, by our parents, by our superiors, and by the media to always be on the lookout for strategic contacts and make sure to latch on when we find them. Who knows? Maybe the person sitting across from you can pull the strings to get you that job. Or that promotion. Or that publishing contract. Or that audition. Or… or…
You get the idea.
But what I find sad about this mindset is that it often leads us to either make compromises that we shouldn’t make or miss out on something entirely:
1) If we are always focused on meeting and pleasing the powerful people, that leaves us little room to be ourselves.
This is beyond peer pressure—it’s superior pressure. It’s when we find ourselves pretending to be something we’re not in order to make a good impression. It’s when we bend our moral code a little to satisfy someone else’s expectations. We can catch ourselves doing this sooner than we may think, if we believe people “in power” hold all the cards.
In short, if we accept the idea that gatekeepers hold the key to all of our success, we may end up chasing our tails or selling out on who we are. Not to mention, we will miss out other connections that may actually prove more meaningful.
2) If we limit our network to people who we think can give us something, we are setting ourselves up for a lot of shallow, utilitarian relationships.
While it’s great when you can get in front of decision makers, most people we meet are not “the decision makers.” Does this mean we should simply ignore them or limit our circle to individuals who can put us in front of decision makers?
I don’t think so. In fact, I think there is a danger in trying to quantify the amount of “value” any given connection can give us, because that means we are reducing other humans to economic terms of profit and loss. If we find ourselves asking, “Is this person worth getting to know?” we are in dangerous waters. How can we possibly know that until we know the person? And what’s more, who are we to measure the value of a new acquaintance by what they can do for us? If that’s the question we are asking, we’re bound to wind up with a bunch of parasitic relationships—symbiotic at best. And if mutual dependence is the main motivator, then as soon as one person no longer needs the other, the bridge will probably dissolve.
This is not to say networking is inherently selfish—it’s not the activity that’s selfish, it’s the mindset behind it.
If we are only looking for friends in high places, we will probably not have very many friends, and even fewer loyal ones.
Which is why I would encourage all of us writers, artists, and career folks to make friends in all places, not just the high ones. Because at the end of the day, real friendships and meaningful connections have very little to do with power and rank disparity and everything to do with what two people share in common.
What has been your experience with networking?
What kinds of pressures have you faced in the process?
How do you go about building meaningful connections that are also strategic?
The Exile: The Story behind the Story
Recently a contact from my alma mater reached out to interview me about The Exile, my first published novel.
Fellow Hillsdale College alumna Gianna Marchese, the Editor in Chief of the Student Stories Blog and the college’s Social Media Coordinator, took the time to ask the following questions. You can find her full article here.
“Tell us about how this novel came to be. Where did you find your inspiration?”
“As with most stories, The Exile evolved quite a bit since its inception—which is really for the best, considering I started it when I was fourteen. I remember getting the initial idea for a “princess story” as I read C.S. Lewis’ Till We Have Faces, simply because I have always found books and films set in far-away, historical cultures fascinating—and again, I was fourteen, so of course, princesses.
“I had actually created a whole mythical world of my own, in whose setting I had been writing little 5-10 page detailed synopses of tales and folklore over the past several years. The Exile began as one such synopsis, told mainly from the perspective of the princess, Clare. But as the story developed and the synopsis ran into 12 pages and beyond, I found myself more intrigued with the character of Clare’s foil, the warrior and ex-slave, Delta. Long after finishing the synopsis, I remained haunted by Delta’s character and the pair’s dynamic. So I decided to start a novel, narrated by Delta, to see where it went.”
“Walk us through your creative process. How did the princess-story-inspired-by-C.S. Lewis evolve into The Exile as we know it now?”
“Over the next four years, what started as a princess story turned into something I still struggle to categorize: an adventure story in which two individuals’ simultaneous diametrical opposition toward each other and need for each other forges a blend of annoyance, respect, and loyalty. While my understanding of both characters deepened throughout the process, the most “sweat” I put into the book was the research. Transforming a mythical world into an actual historical backdrop is no picnic, but because of the obscurity of the time frame, most of my research focused on the details of medieval life and Scandinavian clans. The names of the clans and the cities are all fictitious; however, most of them are taken from Old Norse.
“In general, my stories and scripts begin with three elements of inspiration: a central personality, a relationship, and some tension. This creates what I call “the situation” (shocker, I know), and from there I ask three basic questions:
- Who are these people (to the reader and to each other)?
- How did they get here?
- Where are they going and why?
The rest of the story is basically a progressive answer to all of these questions.”
“Do you think your Hillsdale education set you up for success in this field?”
“My experiences in the Rhetoric and Theatre departments left an enormous impact on my storytelling… we were always examining the multi-faceted, organic nature of every interaction, as well as the fundamental roles of word choice and arrangement of content in giving a written work its meaning. On top of that, learning about induction and deduction gave me a fuller perspective on the different approaches to plot and character development, and why certain stories require one approach instead of the other. Writing, casting, and actually stage-reading scripts for… playwriting classes gave me a chance to incorporate my rhetorical training into dialogue. I now look at every exchange between characters as a game of verbal chess, in which each has their own motives, strategies, and tactics.”
If you are a fellow writer, what steps do you include in your creative process?
Where do your ideas usually begin and how do you go about shaping them into a story?
What specific obstacles do you frequently encounter and how do you move past them?
Order The Exile now!
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The Exile$9.99
Hatfields, McCoys, and Mental Issues
For all the attention that political and social issues receive in historical dramas, it seems mental issues are rarely addressed.
That being said, when I started the History Channel miniseries “Hatfields and McCoys,” I had no inkling that this topic would even surface—and was wholly unprepared for what followed.
The series itself features Kevin Costner and Bill Paxton opposite one another as the respective patriarchs of the two families (Anse Hatfield and Randall McCoy) whose notorious conflict came to define our understanding of the term “feud.” As I became increasingly captivated with the complexities and plot twists, I remember thinking to myself, “Oh, I’m sure the directors added that to make it more interesting.” Parts like the forbidden love story between Johnse Hatfield and Roseanna McCoy. Some of the familial ties to judges and lawyers. Even some of the characters, who I had assumed were fictional additions, were real people with real roles in the feud.
In short, my subsequent research showed me that the History Channel did a certain amount of justice to the actual events and players in the legendary feud.
But the part that I found most emotionally difficult to watch was the portrayal of Ellison “Cottontop” Mounts, a member of the Hatfield family with some apparent mental challenges.
Against the vicious backdrop of the feud, Cottontop appears as one of the few gentle, innocent souls in the narrative. Because of his slowness and childish naivete, he remains blissfully ignorant of the bloodshed between the families until his father (Anse’s brother) is murdered. In all honesty, he was the character I cared about most, largely because of my own inherent sensitivity toward individuals with mental disabilities, but also because of how much time the directors spend framing him as a lamb-like victim—who is eventually sacrificed to end the feud.
During the series, we see Cottontop as the brunt of insults and pranks from non-family members, who condescend on him for his lower intellectual capacity.
Today, we would call this bullying, discrimination, slurring, and a host of other unsavory titles that label such actions for what they are: cruelty.
But in the 19th century boondocks, such things were common, as there was little scientific understanding of mental retardation and disabilities.
All the same, I had to wonder: was this element of the story added for dramatic effect, or was it historically accurate? The answers I found were somewhat unsatisfactory.
While it appears Cottontop did have mental struggles, accounts vary as to whether he suffered from simply mental challenges or a more malicious form of mental illness.
The History Channel’s background publication on the feud reiterates that Cottontop was in fact mentally retarded, but they do not address in writing whether he was as innocent as his portrayal. Considering that he was hung for murdering a young McCoy girl (which the series portrays as basically an accident), a lot of ethical weight for his character hinges on whether he intended harm or was truly as oblivious as the series suggests.
What I found has some heavy ethical implications for how society treats those with mental disabilities.
According to William Keith Haltfield, a modern-day descendant of Anse Hatfield, Cottontop’s slowness led to a level of social ostracization, leaving him desperate to please his family at any cost. Some have posited that his life record indicates a darker, cruel streak that characterizes those whom we would call mentally deranged. But William Keith Hatfield attributes Cottontop’s overall disregard for his actions to an insecurity and desire for acceptance, commenting, “He never really considered the people he hurt or the pain he might cause others.”
Which is still a step above his family, who consciously worked to inflict harm and vengeance.
Even though Cottontop’s innocence and obliviousness was likely embellished for dramatic effect, I still find his involvement in the feud one of the saddest, most disturbing parts of the whole story. Regardless of the degree to which he experienced mental challenges or illness, the History Channel series does an effective job of capturing the contagiousness and tragedy of violent revenge. And I think it’s a reminder of the fact that, although everyone is responsible for the choices they make, we have to be mindful of how society influences those who are more mentally vulnerable.
Does withholding of social acceptance drive outcasts to desperate measures? Sometimes.
Does condescension on those with specific challenges lead them to de-value themselves? Sometimes.
But at the end of the day, there is still individual responsibility. Social pressure does not relieve people of their personal accountability. And yet the way we handle people who are vulnerable can play a huge role in their life trajectory—and it can either exculpate us from their poor choices, or incriminate us for exploiting them.
And that is something that holds true in every generation and culture.
The Secret Recipe to Great Blog Posts
WARNING: If you have no palate for satire, read no further.
What you are about to read is a collection of the four unspoken, yet ubiquitous, components that are essential for writing unrivaled, mind-blowing blog posts.
As someone who has been blogging for a little under a year, I wish the experts had told me this sooner.
Yet, as I scoured and studied the habits of the Greats (meaning those who have thousands of followers), I began to recognize several common factors underlying many of their blog posts.
These Greats trumpet the merits of well-known and oft-proclaimed strategies such as writing solid content, planning, revising, and citing other bloggers. But the dirty little secret ultimately responsible for their success far outweighs these pedestrian practices: it is the four objects subliminally present in every idyllic blogger photo.
For my readers’ benefit, I shall identify each of these four mystical objects, without which one can never hope to write a truly great blog post.
Glean what wisdom you may.
1) The coffee mug.
If you don’t have a mug sitting within reach when you begin writing, you may as well give up.
No great work was ever written without the presence of coffee, tea, or some other fluid poured into a cozy-looking mug (preferably cradled in a saucer). Research has yet to prove whether the actual fluid itself is of any importance—so far all that can be verified is the positive correlation between aesthetic drinks and content quality. Those seeking exceptional blog posts should consider swirling some white, creamy substance into the surface of their drink to enhance its beauty and subsequently their own brilliance.
2) The MacBook.
No one with a non-Mac laptop can advance beyond amateur status.
To purchase any other brand is folly; to use said device for blogging is creative suicide. Only the MacBook, with its slender, silver body and minimalistic keys can fully transmit your message to the screen. While the magic of the Mac is not an ability to conjure ideas (coffee mugs and Components 3 and 4 do that), its inherent powers of Chic infuse raw ideas with unequaled, hipster-level eloquence and efficiency.
3) The pen and notebook.
These appear frequently beside the obligatory coffee mug, furthest from the MacBook itself (although the precise location is not known to impact their effect).
Whether or not you use said pen and notebook is irrelevant—the key is simply to keep them within reach, as these objects are known to channel the elusive forces of creativity. Their necessity is actually rather controversial, considering that their wanton use of paper has been decried as wasteful; however, this social ill can easily be remedied by the perpetual reuse of a single, blank notebook for every blog post.
4) The succulent.
Of all the critical ingredients for great blog posts, this object holds the most mystique.
When the succulent emerged as a commonly photographed blogging asset is difficult to pinpoint—however, it likely took place in conjunction with the rise of the MacBook. The specific power of the succulent remains relatively unidentified, unlike its three counterparts, whose influences boast extensive scientific verification. What has been discovered, however, is that bloggers whose photos feature only the first three objects experience less predictable success than those who regularly incorporate a succulent into their photos. The location of the succulent, unlike that of the notebook, does seem to bear some significance.
As a symbol of sophistication, the succulent’s success-inducing powers seem to thrive most when positioned subtly in the photo, rather than prominently.
This could mean applying a selective focus to the camera lens and placing the succulent in the unfocused zone, or one could simply sneak the succulent into the background (e.g. partially hidden by the MacBook). Consistent with the theme of subtlety, it is also recommended to choose a small succulent, lest it unwittingly attract too much attention and sabotage the creative forces it helps to summon.
END SATIRE
I have compiled these four blogging gimmicks both for a laugh and for a point I think is worth making: When we take all of our cues from what other people do, we often become followers of a fad. I have actually learned a good deal from following certain other bloggers (who truly do put out great content), and what makes them great isn’t their conformity to a specific aesthetic, vibe, or trend.
Moushmi Radhanpara writes heartfelt poetry, among other things. Pooja shares a combination of her thoughts, poetry, and six-word stories. Ailish Sinclair posts gorgeous photos of Scotland with sneak-peeks at her historical fiction novels. Kamal offers poetic analogies and insights into otherwise mundane aspects of life. The list goes on.
I hope you enjoyed reading this little snarky entry as much as I enjoyed writing it. And more importantly, I hope you continue to create according to your own gifts, interests, and “aesthetics”—not someone else’s idea of what the idyllic blog looks like. 🙂
Drop a comment and let me know if you’ve noticed other blogging gimmicks! Or if you simply agree with this list.
Or… if you yourself have identified the mysterious power of The Succulent.
When We are History
Today I was caught in a hailstorm.
Well, not by the time you read this—the storm happened on April 7.
And obviously I survived it. In fact, within two minutes of making it in through the back door, I looked out the window and saw that the pebble-sized chunks falling had turned to rain, and those on the ground were quickly dissolving.
I’ll probably remember the incident for a while, until the next time the sky decides to throw ice at me, and then that will be “the hail storm” I remember.
It’s similar with history.
People say every generation is known for something. That may be true, but what was your grandparents’ generation known for? Or their parents? Or the generation before them?
Every generation in history may be known for something at the time, but not every generation is remembered.
Even the greatest generations have a way of dissolving with time, leaving only a few key political or cultural figures in the contemporary memory.
Some people find this disturbing—even frightening—and so they spend their entire lives striving to do something that will leave them a legacy.
The thing is, unless you manage to overthrow an entire political or social system, start a cultural movement (which everyone seems dying to do these days, so please let’s have no more), win (or start) a war, or create some physical or literary masterpiece, your chances of being remembered past your grandchildren’s generation are pretty slim. And yet we still try.
Why do we do this?
Some simply want to achieve fame, little realizing that a window of glory in their lifetime does not translate to lasting renown and notoriety. Others think they can become immortal by cementing their names in the history books. And in most cases, the underlying motivation for wanting to be remembered is quite selfish.
As someone who has long romanticized the idea of creating a work that will outlive me, I’ve given this subject some hard thought, and this is the realization I’ve come to:
The greatest legacy most of us will have is the impact we left on those around us.
Not on unreached generations, who will one day read with fascination the words we wrote or behold in awe a statue of us. But the people who see us every day, who call us every other month, who ask for our advice and give theirs in return, or even those who receive one kind gesture from us—those are the people who constitute our legacy. Oh yeah, and your children are also kind of significant too. They are the people singularly most shaped by your words, actions, and attitudes, who will inevitably bear some of your characteristics into the future.
This doesn’t mean the world will remember our name, but if we can think beyond ourselves in any capacity, we should realize that our name is not the important thing to remember. It’s what we stand for that counts.
That being said, there are brilliant novelists whose personal lives shot their story’s message in the foot– at least for those who knew them. They may have publicly championed great causes and beliefs in their books, but in some cases the only people who could appreciate the book were those who didn’t know the author. That, fellow readers and book nerds, is a tragedy.
So even if we do go on to achieve some master accomplishment that makes the history books, we should take care that our private legacy doesn’t undermine the one we’ve spent a lifetime trying to build.
But for most of us, our names will be forgotten with time. So let’s spend less of of our time building an empire, and more of it building into others.
The Reluctant Screen-Writer
Whether we like it or not, most of us today are screen-writers.
Not that we all compose scripts, no, not that kind of writing. What I’m talking about is the fact that, regardless of what medium we are writing for, we have been compelled to do it through a screen.
Personal diaries aside, I would bet that the vast majority of creative writing that happens nowadays begins on a screen.
There’s a number of reasons why this makes sense.
1) The necessity of revision makes the use of computers more practical.
Simply put, it’s much easier to edit a virtual document using “copy,” “paste,” and “backspace” functions than it is to scribble out, erase, and rewrite entire paragraphs on a physical sheet of paper. Not to mention, it will save you from all the paper-shaming you’ll get from the green culture for wasting trees!
2) Using a computer is actually a shortcut.
Starting your creation in virtual form also saves the step of typing it up later, which is inevitable for those who want to publish. (Side note: my first novel started off as handwritten. In pencil. Yup. Needless to say, transcribing 250 pages into a Word doc was no picnic.)
That said, though, there is a substantial amount of science that suggests the act of using a screen can actually decrease our brain’s creativity.
Does this mean that starting your story or article on a computer is shooting yourself in the foot? Well, the research (as usual) is not complete on this, but it shows some pretty consistently adverse effects on the brain development of children. The lack of research on adults could mean that, scientifically speaking, using a screen to write doesn’t inherently cripple the quality of your work.
All the same, I find myself increasingly frustrated with the amount of time I am forced to stare at a screen. Aside from the headaches and eye strain, I find it difficult to get “in the zone” for any given story when my stare is fixated on a glaring white screen. It seems to tangibly impair my imagination and ability to visualize scenes and settings—especially those in historical time periods.
While some things may not require the same level of sensory immersion or focus in order to get the creative juices flowing, I do wonder how much of writers’ block these days may be because the very tool we are using to write impedes our ability to imagine.
Is this the case for you? Do you find creative writing difficult while using a screen and keyboard?
Do you ever handwrite first drafts of something, and later transcribe it during the editing process?
If you yourself write historical fiction, how do you handle the distraction of a screen? How you mentally overcome the deluge of technology in order to stay in the zone? Please do share your thoughts on this, I am extremely eager for input!
