Post by Jonathan on Feb 6, 2010 2:58:02 GMT -5
...is an epiphany about your story, or a momentary, metaphysical connection to one of your characters where you're just sure you know what it's like to "be them"...
Then, my god, you're not a real writer.
If your characters are vehicles for experiencing emotions you can't or don't or never have in real life, then, my god, you're not a real writer.
You're wishcasting. You're hoping to someday feel a thing you're incapable of feeling. Or incapable of finding the words to express a thing you can't yet express. Or, really, just incapable of recognizing the inexpressable.
And if you can afford to waste the time and energy expressing your connection to those characters, then, my god, you're not a real writer.
Characters are so much more than characters, and if you let yourself think that knowing a character actually means knowing something, then you're just lost.
You might sell a vacant script, but in the end you're still lost. Because characters, even the best, are hollow, shallow, insufficient expressions of our rawest emotions. Talking about them as if you understand them doesn't help you understand them, or anyone, at all.
We all have emotions. But we don't all possess the ability to express them meaningfully. And, more than that, a real writer isn't some gifted soul who can find words for the seemingly inexpressable; he's merely one who can't bear the thought of not trying, even though he's resigned from the very beginning to the fact that he will fail -- every single fucking time -- and never really understand anything at all.
The idea of some kind of holy communion with a character is a myth, and if you think it's something more, then you're delusional. Such a feeling pales in comparison to even the simplest sadness experienced by the simplest human being you can dream up in your storytelling head. We are unknowable and inexplicable. To someone, a dead ladybug is the end of the world. And that's a thing you can never, ever put on paper, and something no one can ever put on film. Meaningfully.
We try, but we fail. There's value in failing, but don't mistake effort for understanding.
And, E.C., I'm sorry, but you're a terrible speller. Seriously. Awful. You would probably hyphenate your own mother. If you're going to write and post so much with the attitude and authoritative verve you do, please, check your spelling.
Sorry, got on a roll.
www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2558138195115442295&postID=1099668634461942932
Then, my god, you're not a real writer.
If your characters are vehicles for experiencing emotions you can't or don't or never have in real life, then, my god, you're not a real writer.
You're wishcasting. You're hoping to someday feel a thing you're incapable of feeling. Or incapable of finding the words to express a thing you can't yet express. Or, really, just incapable of recognizing the inexpressable.
And if you can afford to waste the time and energy expressing your connection to those characters, then, my god, you're not a real writer.
Characters are so much more than characters, and if you let yourself think that knowing a character actually means knowing something, then you're just lost.
You might sell a vacant script, but in the end you're still lost. Because characters, even the best, are hollow, shallow, insufficient expressions of our rawest emotions. Talking about them as if you understand them doesn't help you understand them, or anyone, at all.
We all have emotions. But we don't all possess the ability to express them meaningfully. And, more than that, a real writer isn't some gifted soul who can find words for the seemingly inexpressable; he's merely one who can't bear the thought of not trying, even though he's resigned from the very beginning to the fact that he will fail -- every single fucking time -- and never really understand anything at all.
The idea of some kind of holy communion with a character is a myth, and if you think it's something more, then you're delusional. Such a feeling pales in comparison to even the simplest sadness experienced by the simplest human being you can dream up in your storytelling head. We are unknowable and inexplicable. To someone, a dead ladybug is the end of the world. And that's a thing you can never, ever put on paper, and something no one can ever put on film. Meaningfully.
We try, but we fail. There's value in failing, but don't mistake effort for understanding.
And, E.C., I'm sorry, but you're a terrible speller. Seriously. Awful. You would probably hyphenate your own mother. If you're going to write and post so much with the attitude and authoritative verve you do, please, check your spelling.
Sorry, got on a roll.
www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2558138195115442295&postID=1099668634461942932