Too Many Writers, Too Few Storytellers

Have you seen HBO's "Temple Grandin" starring Claire Danes? Well, I am not, as you know, fond of critics and their reviews, so this post really isn't about the movie as much as it is about what the movie proved to me.

I believe, though I may not be skilled enough to practice it yet, that all art requires a certain amount of invisibility of the artist. When one listens to music, as they do, they shouldn't be constantly reminded that there is a musician behind the notes. When one reads a book, they should notice the story and not the writer behind it's words. And when one watches a film they should not be shelled with evident camera movements, over acting, one liners and strange production design that could risk taking the viewer out of the story and into the film. After all, a film, or a novel, is simply the telling of a story. A tradition that dates back beyond recorded history, where one person, or many, would stand before their listeners and, simply, tell a story.

I digress. "Temple Grandin", though no big stars grace it's credits and no famous art house director was calling it's shots and no Kaufman was behind it's words, was, I dare say, one of the best film I have ever seen. And I claim this for one reason and one reason only. Yes it had spectacular and poignant acting, yes it was a very technically competent film, but neither of these are the reason I speak of. The reason is the film's unparalleled achievement in, what I think is the most important aspect of a film, the suspension of disbelief. It wasn't about the directing, writing or acting. It was about the story. The visible edge of filmmaking was nowhere to be seen or felt.

If you are having trouble grasping my point, compare my thoughts to say, "Smoking Aces". A wonderful film that I enjoyed very much, but while watching, was constantly reminded of how cool the film actually was. It wasn't about the story, it was about the film.

I know a lot of screenwriters, but not as many storytellers and the spread is ever widening. As an artist there is a desire to show yourself in your work, I know for I am guilty of just this, but perhaps an artist will appear in their work whether they try to or not, and when one tries, they compromise that elusive and sweet suspension of disbelief, the story.

writing under the influence,

jeffc

My Obsession With Words and The Endless Search for a Muse

I feel homeless, lost in the haze of empty words. Why must a muse be a woman? I have found love, but with it, didn't come my muse. 

Let's start with my biting obsession with words, obviously of the English origin. It's a recent thing. Since I started actually reading to be specific. Until about four, maybe five months ago, I hadn't actually read a piece of fiction, front to back. Hard to believe? It is for me as well. Sure I fought through Bill Shakespear in high school in an out-loud class setting, and before that, even lied through many a book report in elementary school. I would read the first page, and the back cover. Then I would pick a few lucky pages from the middle, and with them, I would formulate the most asinine, but seemingly believable essay. After high school I would read a few self help books, which did little but manufacture a raging inferiority complex.  Long after, I would fall into the blind oblivion of creative commitment and the art of story telling. So, I went right to the source. The Novel. 

I picked up "Barbary Shore", Norman Mailer's second and relentlessly critically panned novel. I hadn't read "The Naked And The Dead", which separated me from the majority of those who had read Mailer. And thus, I had nothing to compare too. So, as a result of that naivety, I quite enjoyed "Barbary Shore". But, not for reasons one might imagine. In point of fact, I didn't even really comprehend the story, partly due to my limited knowledge of world politics, past and present. But, what I did enjoy were the words. I'll repeat; I enjoyed the words. The way he used words to explain things in such an eloquent, poetic and descriptive fashion. The way he manipulated the English language, as if it didn't own him, he owned it. 

Since, I have been through other Mailer books, even read Faulkner and Dostoevsky. And let me tell you, I will never, ever, turn back. At this point, it isn't simply the words of authors that bite at my mind. It's everything. A traffic sign signaling construction, a salon advertising services, a radio personality pitching a new single or even the man behind the counter at the gas bar. Why did they choose the words they did? What drove them to do so? How did those words find themselves in their vocabulary. Do I know these words? Should I know these words? Could I use them better?

Most of the time, when this obsession with vowels and syllables strikes, it's due to, if not Mailer, a film. And not just crazy elusive works of John-Luc Godard or Andy Kaufman. It can be while watching pop like "Definitely Maybe" or "Enchanted". The words they use. It makes me want to use them too. It makes me want to create. I want to have the same fun and the same liberty with the English language that they had.  I boil with desire.

And like many artists, I need a consistent vehicle to translate those very desires into works. Or do I? Do I really need a muse? Would Woody Allen survive with Scarlet Johanson? Would Lennon have written the things he did without the presence of Yoko? I have often yearned for a muse and never been given one. Often they are women but such is not the case for myself. I have found the love of my life, she is everything a man could want in this world, but perhaps not everything a writer could want. This has left me searching for a muse. And, in fact, I am infinitely relieved my love is not my muse, because as I migrate further and further down the rabbit hole, she would soon become more a muse than a love. 

But, I am left with a sort of disconnect. Every minute of every day I am compelled to write. Not a dream of mine. In fact, I was always a very poor reader and writer, and, in my opinion, still am. I had tutors, special education and even extra curricular 'English-as-a-second-language' courses. But, it's a force I can't ignore, and until it leaves me, I will accept it. The disconnect being, a constant influx of inspiration and content but with no muse to transport it to the fleeting masses. Obsession is the gasoline to which I have no vehicle. 

Forgive the grammar and spelling, I am into a few.

writing under the influence,

jeffc