Storytellersunplugged

THE SMOOTH LEVEL – AND BEYOND

David Niall Wilson

This isn’t my day (yet) but we don’t have a special guest for the 31st of this month, and rather than let the site remain untouched another complete day, I’m posting this now – a bit ahead of time. Before I begin, let me say our hearts and positive thoughts are on Mississippi and Louisiana, and all the victims of Katrina.

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I wrote this article a long time ago, just found it, and have reworked it extensively. The central theme is something that has itched at the back of my thoughts for a long time – the concept of creativity on various levels. You find these levels in everything you do, and writing is no exception. I studied the cello when I was younger, play the guitar now, and the levels are never more evident than when viewed through artistic accomplishment. There are songs I used to watch other guitarists play, my eyes wide in amazement that I can easily master now, and much more beyond. I feel the same about the words I write, and I’m always looking forward and a little up for that next step.

Earlier in my career I believed that the level to shoot for in writing was what I called the smooth level. This is the level where you have developed a consistent and professional writing “voice”, the point where the words flow easily and the technical becomes automatic. At this point I believed that only the plots separated different authors. If you subscribe to the theory that writers are conduits of creativity, reaching the “smooth” level is like fine-tuning a receiver. Once you have a clear signal, you can switch channels, but the fidelity is the same.

Now I believe that what I saw as an end in itself is, in fact, only another beginning. The smooth level is as far as many successful writers will ever get. Commercially speaking, it is not necessary to go beyond this level. Artistically speaking, if you want to be a great writer, you have to expand. Creativity is never stagnant. Complacency is the great killer of brilliance.

Here’s an example. When I first read The Throat, by Peter Straub I didn’t expect much. Something inside me had written him off, along with Stephen King, as commercial and uninspiring. Of course, at that time I had limited exposure to either author, both of whom I consider major influences in my writing these days, and whose work I treasure. When I read The Throat, I jumped over Mystery, the second book in the series he began with Koko, and I wish now that I’d read them in order. Still, they stand alone well enough, and I have since read Mystery and several other books involving some of the characters in both.

Anyway, as I read The Throat, I began to realize that when you write like Peter Straub, the plot is secondary. I don’t mean that his plot was bad, in the case of that particular novel it’s nothing short of brilliant, just that the quality of the writing, the insights he offers into himself and his characters, are enough to carry it— for me.

When I finished the book I had that familiar sensation of wishing there was more to read, and satisfaction that the story had resolved itself well. Not only did it end as I expected it to, but it managed to do so and still surprise me several times in the process. This brings me back to the subject of new levels.

The protagonist of this novel, Tim Underhill, is also a novelist. He writes himself into his characters, in this case that of a molested child. Of course, in his own real world, Underhill is facing that same character in a sort of parallel time-flux relationship that causes him to question his own sanity and that of almost everyone around him. All of Underhill’s novels have been about aspects of his childhood, taken on tangents or magnified, but built solidly on the minds, words, and deeds of characters that might have been himself.

This is the single most significant point, I believe; The Throat is a multi-level novel.. You can read it on the surface level, enjoying the hunt for an elusive Green Beret gone serial killer and be thoroughly entertained. On a completely different level, the story is not about a serial killer at all. It’s about Underhill himself, his search for meaning in life through his characters, his development of those characters through personal insight and the unlocking of sealed images from his past. It is about relationships between people and places, and the subtle differences between their reactions to shared events. There are stories within stories here.

The plot reminded me of a picture I saw once in a tattoo parlor. In the foreground was a large, detailed hand wielding a tattoo gun, inking the image of a smaller, identical hand holding a smaller tattoo gun, on and on ad infinitum. On different levels, the details of The Throat strike different chords.

The true beauty of this book, from a writer’s point of view, is that it is the miracle novel. It doesn’t so much cross the genres as it spans them. There is horror. There are several mysteries. It is satisfying on each level, more so as you delve deeper, and it will stick with you.

How much of all this comes from Straub’s own past is questionable, as such things always are. No one will ever know, probably. Someday I may be lucky enough to be able to ask. The few times Peter and I have talked I had other questions, mostly about his novel “Shadowland,” which I love. If his answer is not much, then I’ll have to believe that the brilliance of his character Underhill is only another step upon which Peter will launch his skills to an even higher level.

The point of all this is simple. No matter how smoothly the words flow for you, and no matter how wonderful the reviews are on your latest work, don’t grow complacent. There is always something more important just around the corner, and if there isn’t – what’s the sense in going?

DNW