(ON THE VIRTUES OF BEING YOURSELF, IN PRINT, NO MATTER WHAT)
By John Skipp
Dear class –
Today, I’m gonna open with a recent blog by one of my favorite writer friends, comedian Rachel Arieff. In it, she sets up the central premise of this month’s zesty exercise:
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Losers and Jerkoffs
I’m currently reading Shit Magnet by Jim Goad. I really enjoy reading that motherfucker, as pathetic and self-pitying as he is. I’m about half-way through it and what I’ve read so far just seems like an exercise in dodging responsibility.
But damn, I like the way he writes. Thanks to him, I totally sullied my last summer at the beach, reading Jim Goad’s Gigantic Book of Sex. He is so clear, concise, and entertaining. When someone’s a good writer, you read their stuff and you feel like you know them.
In the case of Jim Goad, I feel like I know someone that I wish I’d never met. Like when you meet someone at a party that makes your soul curl up like a potato bug and go, “Eeew!” And then you spend the rest of the night trying to avoid that person — mainly by leaving early.
Or if you’re young, dumb and have no self-esteem, by leaving with that person.
Whether or not you personally like an author is irrelevant. Do you see how hard it is to get total strangers to feel as if they know you, just by what you put down on paper? It is incredibly difficult. It involves stripping away layers of bullshit and masks to reveal the essence of who you are. Even if what you end up stripping down to happens to be your biggest, simplest mask, it’s still a damn good effort. After all, we’re all human, and humans are flawed and frightened and full of shit.
Putting on masks is easy. Just take a look around MySpace. Excluding the creative people who actually do something with their pages, the rest of the site is thousands of pages of appropriated names, derivative identities, nonexistent blogs — or, when they do exist, blog entries that consist of music lyrics, movie dialogue or other work created by someone else. Not an original thought anywhere.
Maybe they haven’t discovered what they have inside. Maybe they’re afraid to find out. Maybe they’re intellectually and spiritually uncurious and just don’t want to do the work. Those people are the majority.
It takes courage to show who you really are, what you really think, how boring, stupid, or ugly you can be. It takes cojones to put your flaws out there for all the world to see, judge, and ridicule. But a real artist doesn’t have any other choice.
That’s what’s fascinating about writing. You can be a total loser jerkoff of a human being, but if you write convincingly and entertainingly about what a loser jerkoff you are, you end up a winner. And you end up inspiring other writers to work harder on their writing.
Jesus, look at what I just wrote. How embarrassing. I hate those terms, “loser”, “winner.” So crude, so trite, so ’80s.
See? I need to work on my writing more, so I can be as good as that loser jerkoff Jim Goad.
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Okay! So just in case it isn’t clear already, your assignment for today is this:
WRITE A SHORT ESSAY ABOUT HONEST, FLAWED HUMANITY THAT LETS US FEEL AS THOUGH WE REALLY GOT A GLIMPSE OF YOUR SOUL.
You don’t have to make yourself the topic of the essay (although you’re more than welcome to). I’m not asking you to expose your most private, deep, personal pain or shame.
Just pick a subject that you feel passionately about. Express yourself in an unflinchingly candid manner. And don’t be afraid to show us your ass, as well as our own.
The point is to write, as Rachel said, so concisely, convincingly and entertainingly that whether we like you or not is completely irrelevant. The point is that WE GET YOU.
Why is this important, for a writer of fiction?
Well, for one thing, because your characters need your emotional honesty if they are to thrive and become full-blooded.
And I don’t know about you, but insofar as I’m concerned, honest writing kicks the shit out of dishonest writing, every time.
Courage and candor and raw personality are qualities that glow from within. So is the ability to laugh not only at others, but at ourselves.
Which is to say that – no matter WHAT you’re writing – having these skill sets in your arsenal is only going to help.
So let’s see a little bit of that action now, shall we?
And THANK YOU, RACHEL ARIEFF! Let’s give this gal a great big hand! ALL THE WAY FROM BARCELONA, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Make sure you Google her, and check out all the excellent fun!
(CLAPPITY CLAPPITY CLAP!!!)
Now just before we wrap up, one last caveat: please refrain from writing essays in response to your classmates (as in, “I can’t believe what a stupid dogshit essay that LAST guy wrote!”). Okay?
This exercise isn’t about poking holes in each other. It’s about entertaining each other by revealing ourselves, while we cultivate our skills.
Clearly, this is gonna come easier to some folks than others. If you blog, the odds are good that you’ve already got a running start.
But remember: this isn’t just about mouthing off (i.e. “expressing opinions”). Let’s cut a little closer to the soul.
Can’t wait to see what you guys and gals come up with! And again, thank you for being such a wonderful class.
Yer bare-assed instructor,
Skipp
11 Comments, Comment or Ping
eric wilson
Skipp said to bare our lard asses
Creativity, please, from the masses
A few did reply
With sparkling eyes
While most sat back down on their rashes
Hey, thanks for the challenge!
Feb 5th, 2008
Dave Wilson
I’ll think about this. If I come up with something I’ll post it over at Macabre Ink and then link it through here…
D
Feb 5th, 2008
Thomas Sullivan
“The point is to write, as Rachel said, so concisely, convincingly and entertainingly that whether we like you or not is completely irrelevant. The point is that WE GET YOU. Why is this important, for a writer of fiction? Well, for one thing, because your characters need your emotional honesty if they are to thrive and become full-blooded…”
Oooh, I so like this and the surrounding asparagus you add. And I don’t even like asparagus, but healthy is healthy, and your sentiments cut right to the need for scathing honesty. A writer who misses that is all hollandaise sauce and no green.
– Sully (Thomas Sullivan)
Feb 5th, 2008
Brian Hodge
Is it schizophrenic, Skipp, to say that I totally agree here … and totally disagree?
Sometimes, yeah, the work is an expression of pure ego. It’s like when Kramer, on Seinfeld, decided to start going without underwear: “Oh, I’m out there, Jerry … and I’m LOVIN’ EVERY MINUTE OF IT!”
But sometimes it follows that old saying, “It is the tale, not he who tells it.” When I feel my duty is to hide and be a cipher in service to the story and characters, the same as an actor who completely subsumes him- or herself into a role. You see the person in another role and you can’t believe it’s the same human being.
And yeah, characters are to one extent or another facets of ourselves, but sometimes there’s just one tiny corner of overlap. That’s the foundation, the writer’s entry point into that character. By the time the rest takes shape, there’s no recognition factor at all.
Just my reactions, the modus operandi under this roof.
Jim Goad, though. He wrote one of the most unintentionally comedic things I ever read. It was back in the ANSWER ME magazine days, a transcription of a dinner interview that he and his wife (every bit as charming as Jim) conducted with Anton LaVey.
Their rabid misanthrope is in high gear, and they’re going on about how much they hate the great mass of us deaf, dumb, and blind humanity. LaVey is expounding upon the way we lowborn wastes of sperm and eggs have a masochistic need to subject ourselves to things that stress us out and wear us down. The Goads are gobbling it up with spoons, maybe even ladles.
And where, according to their bio, do the Goads live and work at this time? Los Angeles, only one of the greatest concentrations of humanity on the continent.
Feb 5th, 2008
Fiona
During the short time that women in the USA have had the right to vote, we have never had a viable female candidate for President—until now. Women have protested, were jailed and devoted their lives for my right to vote for this woman, and I will go to the caucus tonight—-and vote instead for a man. I will cast my vote for a man who I feel will do a better job as President and have a better chance of winning the nomination. I feel like a traitor.
It is physically painful for me to think that I am spitting on the memories of those brave women. I want to help make history, and give girls and women in this country a larger voice and a symbol of what they can accomplish in their own lives. I WANT to vote for a woman for President, just not that woman.
I had lunch with a dear friend who was appalled that I was not going to support OUR CANDIDATE tonight. How could I NOT support a woman who would be the “tipping point” for politics in our country? What was wrong with me? It was TIME we had a female President. Just look at other countries, even Muslim countries, that have had women in leadership positions.
I guess that is why I won’t be voting for her. I want our first female president to be someone I can be proud to support because she is the person I want to be president, not just the gender I wish we had as our nation’s leader.
Feb 5th, 2008
Martel Sardina
My first grade teacher, Mrs. Carlson, used to give timed math tests called “Quickies.” She handed out a half-sheet of paper that had several addition and/or subtraction problems on it. She set the timer, giving the class one minute to finish the test. Whoever finished first and had the most correct answers would get a sticker. I was better than most at these tests and won my share of stickers. But the times I didn’t win, I would be disappointed and vow to do better the next time.
A few years ago, I ran into Mrs. Carlson. I mentioned that one of the things I remembered about her class was doing “Quickies.” I was shocked to learn that she is not allowed to give “Quickies” anymore because some parents complained that it was unfair to the children who weren’t as good at math because they might never win. They missed the point. “Quickies” weren’t about winning. “Quickies” were about demonstrating applied knowledge, about being challenged and most of all, about making math fun.
My daughter is in kindergarten and they are already teaching the kids how to use a calculator. I don’t have anything against calculators, but I think it’s more important understand the reason why 2+2=4 vs. knowing 2+2=4 because the calculator said so.
The problem is not limited to math; it pervades every area of learning. Kids (on average) spend four hours per day watching TV. I don’t have anything against TV either. (Lord knows I love THE OFFICE and LOST more than I probably should.) But I remember being told to find something else to do rather than being allowed to be a couch potato. I remember being mad one day about being sent outside only to return excited about discovering a weird-looking rock in the backyard. The rock had a picture of a leaf on it. It was one of the neatest things I’d ever seen. I showed it to my dad, who told me it was a fossil. I spent countless hours after that searching the neighborhood for additional evidence of pre-historic life and was convinced that someday I would find a real dinosaur.
Cultivating a love of learning is difficult in an age where parents are overworked, children are overscheduled and technology makes laziness irresistible. The days of knowing your neighbors, leaving your doors unlocked and playing outside until dinner are over. I took those times for granted when I had them. I’m struggling to figure out how to bring some of those things back. I also worry about what kind of kids we’ll wind up with if we don’t.
Feb 6th, 2008
John Skipp
Dear Eric — Your saucy limerick makes me proud to be alive!
Dear Dave — I don’t seeeeeeee nothin’!
Dear Sully — Now I’m hungry…FOR TRUTH!
Dear Brian — You are SOOOOOOOOO schizophrenic!
But — and speaking of showing my ass — I think part of the problem is that my essay’s, um, ” a tad undercooked”. As in…
a) I let Rachel’s excellent piece do all the heavy lifting, and then said, “Now YOU go do it! GOOD NIGHT!!!”
b) I didn’t draw an adequate distinction between the personal essay/blog, and fiction. (Hint for all readers: they are two VERY DIFFERENT ANIMALS. And skills cultivated for one can be used in the other…just not in the same way.)
c) My assignment this time was far more vague, and less satisfying, than “GO KILL SOMEONE!” or “CREATE AN IMAGINARY FRIEND!”
In other words: I blame myself.
But that doesn’t mean you’re not still schizophrenic!
As for “disappearing into the work vs. being knowable through your work,” I’ve always been fascinated by that invisible line. I’ve got a couple of theories.
And since you bring up actors, let me use Gary Oldman as an example.
The staggering range of characters that Gary Oldman’s played is paralleled directly by the HUNDREDS OF LITTLE CHOICES HE MAKES, EVERY TIME, to distinguish each character from the others.
So when he “disappears” into a role, he may change his hair, his wardrobe, his accent, his posture, his psychology, his features themselves. He may make himself completely unrecognizable, in a thousand different ways.
But no matter what he does, HE’S STILL GARY OLDMAN.
He doesn’t turn into some other actor. He just mines different parts of himself, and his observations of others, then pushes the limits of his extraordinary skills.
So when I’m watching him, I can totally forget that it’s him. But eventually, I’ll step back and go, “Man, fucking Gary Oldman is AMAZING!”
I think the same thing is true of distinctive authors.
You can disappear into your story as much as you want — and often need to, as the story demands — but in the end, the distinctive choices that you make in order to pull off your disappearing trick are UNIQUELY YOUR OWN.
And while we often say, “You can’t read my stories and think you know me. I am not my characters…” well, yeah, that’s obviously true. Writng about axe murderers doesn’t make me an axe murderer, any more than writing about angels would make me an angel.
But it’s also more than a bit disingenuous for us to suggest that there’s no connection between us and what we write. When I write fiction, I leave ALL KINDS OF CLUES as to who I am, sprinkled throughout the characters and situations.
I’m NOT the characters, any more than Gary Oldman is. But they sure as shit spring from my perceptions on how people are, and what life’s like, and what it all means.
And unless I’m really honest with myself about my own perceptions — my own real feelings and reality maps, in connection with the universe at large — then, hell, ANYBODY could write what I’m writing!
Just like ANYBODY could play Gary Oldman’s part…
…JUST NOT LIKE GARY FUCKING OLDMAN!
Or Brian Hodge. Or John Skipp. Or [insert artist here].
That’s pretty much what I’m getting at.
Thanks for pushing me to clarify, and do better work!
And don’t even get me STARTED on Jim Goad. He’s a writer of incredible skill, but reading him is like staring up in awe at an enormous, impeccably-executed sculpture of a puckering asshole…CARVED BY THE ACTUAL PUCKERING ASSHOLE ITSELF.
Dear Fiona and Martel — Thanks for writing thoughtful, cogent essays from the heart. Good job.
Next time…MORE FUN! I promise!
Yer professorial pal,
Skipp
Feb 6th, 2008
Dave Wilson
Well, John, it deserved more time — I think. Here …
My Answer…here’s to you Johnny
-DNW
Macabre Ink
Feb 6th, 2008
John Skipp
Dear Dave –
That was astonishing. WAY TO DIG, MY BRUTHAH!
And since you’re too crazy to actually post the piece here, I’m doing it for you.
Enjoy, my friends! This right here is what I mean.
Love,
Skipp
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JOHN SKIPP — WRITING DANGEROUSLY — PASSIONATE FICTION HURTS
By David Niall Wilson
Over at http://www.storytellers.unplugged yesterday, author John Skipp issued another of his writing challenges. The central message of his post is something I’ve been preaching for some time (see the sub-title of my blog) - writing what hurts. It occurs to me that this is a topic that can never be hit too many times, so in answer to the “call” - here you go, Johnny.
Writing honestly doesn’t come easy, or naturally to anyone. I very much doubt that it’s an exercise a sane person would choose to put themselves through purposefully, which speaks worlds on the subject of famous literary and creative geniuses throughout time. It’s not that it’s difficult to know what to write, but that it’s difficult to make yourself do it, and to stop yourself from watering it down, muddying it, or rationalizing your way around it when the moments come.
Not all writing is deep, introspective pain-stirring, or even particularly memorable. What’s important is that when such a moment does arrive, you face it bravely and push on through. I have written before about how hard I was struck by Kathe Koja’s novel KINK. The novel is brutal. I’ve not been the honest, straight-forward, Lancelot I always expected to be. I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve taken advantage of others. I like to think that self-knowledge might pull me through this. I know a lot of people who do those things and say, “So?” Not me.
I am a genuinely empathetic person. I absolutely feel what others feel, the good and the bad. If I cause someone pain, unless I’m absolutely convinced they deserve it, it snaps off another little piece inside of me and makes it more difficult to maintain the inner “me” that I’m so proud of. You put bits and pieces of yourself on the line every day, trusting those who love you - trusting those you work with - trusting your government (such as it is) and trusting yourself to do the right thing in the face of the world’s temptations.
The thing I believe sets me apart is that I learn. I don’t go back and do the same things over and over again and wonder why people are still mad at me. I try not to hurt others with my words, but if I do - I try to, if not justify those words, then to at least explain them and put them in the proper light. Honesty is not rewarded in non-fiction, and that is why I believe it’s so important in fiction.
You write yourself into all your characters. Anyone who does not do this writes crappy flat characters that choke on their own vomit. If you can’t think and breathe the motivation of your character, you can’t flesh him or her out in a way that will ever matter. Does this make Thomas Harris Hannibal? Of course not. It makes Hannibal a character that Thomas Harris can believe in. It makes a real person that Thomas Harris may know, even if that character is made of the attitude of a boss and the stabbing, back-biting bile of an ex-lover, or the noble image he had of his father warped by some experience later on that laid bare something he hadn’t seen before. Cracked images make the best art. Perfection can’t be achieved without flaws. Characters have flaws, and writers have flaws.
Write about them. Write THROUGH them. If the character’s situation would put him near suicide - or if the situation would put YOU near suicide, that had better come out in the writing or you’ll have it buried inside you. You’ll KNOW how that character SHOULD have reacted, and that you chickened-the-fuck out. Don’t do it. You want to be remembered as a writer? Drag readers through the sort of pain a real person suffers on a daily basis. Wreck lives. Wreck relationships. Patch them back together. Live in obsession through your words. Pass it on.
And there’s my brutal bit of honesty, John. My characters and I are inseparable. They don’t exist without the bits and parts of me I gifted / cursed them with. Brandt, the down-and-out noble guitarist with issues? Dexter, the guy who sees patterns in everything and can’t seem to QUITE make them all fit? Christian Greve, the photographer embittered by how his models have kept him from fame and fortune? Judas, condemned from birth to be accused of treason? Montrovant, the dark, brooding rebel who never quite fit the model his sires - or his publishing company - really wanted for him? Love Constantine, who finds prophecy in the music and billboards and TV ads and follows a false prophet to hell? All of these have their roots in me. All of them do either as I would do, or as I — dropping myself into their “defining moments” would do. If I couldn’t picture in my mind what a serial killer might think, why he might do what he does, and how it would feel to do it - as well as to be the victim, the detective, the reporter, and all the rest, I’d never be able to write it.
Does that make me strange? I doubt it. It makes me honest. It makes me willing to risk tossing bits of my psyche and my world into the fire to see if they’ll be forged into something useful…or burnt to cinders.
“To thine own naked Ass Be True,” — John Mason Skipp
Here’s to you, brother.
To the words, and the darkness,
to the loves and the lies…
This one’s for you.
–DNW
Feb 6th, 2008
Dave Wilson
I was just trying for a bit of cross-linked love, John…but thanks. This way the words reach more people…and in the end….
Feb 6th, 2008
Mari
“”My characters and I are inseparable. They don’t exist without the bits and parts of me I gifted / cursed them with.”"
I can honestly say that about Sami. She is me, only sometimes with a bit more clearer head than the one the gods blessed me with.
Feb 7th, 2008
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