advice


16
Aug 10

What You Need To Know About Cliche

One of my creative writing professors in college — Joyce Carol Oates — used to draw lines through words, sentences and entire paragraphs of our stories and write above the rejected pieces: “cliche”.

This was very painful.

We wanted nothing more than to please her — we admired her.

I admired her. I wanted her to like me and approve of me and say I was a good writer.

So when she wrote “cliche” on my stories, I found it upsetting.

She told us “a cliche is anything  you’ve ever heard before.

This definition seemed too harsh, too limiting to us. We protested. Wouldn’t there come a point where you were just writing stuff you hadn’t heard before, to avoid cliche?

Indeed, she told us a reviewer once wrote of her that she writes as if to avoid cliche. Still, we had no excuse to lapse into lazy habits.

Joyce was brisk, fresh, controlled, and she expected the same of us.

I often walked home from her class stirred up. I was either elated because she had praised my work, told me I was a good writer, or despondent because she had marked it all through, dismissed it.

But the power of seeing her strike through those words with her pen — that awful little word cliche that made me feel like I was lazy, average, common — that feeling stayed with me.

Now I’m on high alert for it. I wince when I find it in my own work. Other people have told me I’m too harsh in pointing it out everywhere. But that’s how we get better –

Because it’s an easy test. If I or you or anyone has ever heard or read or seen it before, it’s a cliche. And it doesn’t have to be painful — getting better is liberating. It might tweak your ego a little in the moment, but that’s good. Notching your ego and making your art better makes you bigger, not smaller.


14
Jul 10

World-Building From The Inside Out

Your story’s world is a reflection — a result — of what’s happening inside your characters.

The world doesn’t create the character. The character creates the world around her. You create the world around you.

Like a prism refracting colors or a digital projector — the image starts with the emotional footprint inside your main characters. You project this inner image outside them. That becomes their world.

Here’s how it works: I believe I can be successful, that I deserve success — so I act in ways that confirm that belief. I filter what I see for stories that confirm that belief and fail to see those that don’t. I set up my world in ways that support this belief. I gradually adhere to a system of rules that affirm this belief. Rules like if you don’t hold on to what you’ve got, it may be taken away from you and you don’t deserve success, you earn it. These rules build out and become my world. I don’t even recognize parts of the world that don’t agree. I know I’m in Julie-world because Julie-world is defined by these rules — rules that started inside me and served me at one time, and then, because I gave them power-of-attorney over my life, grew strong like a sentient computer program and jumped outside my head and started governing the world around me. Now, not only do I walk around following these rules in my head — but I insist on seeing the world as if this is how the world operates too. Because Julie-world starts inside me and is projected, reflected out. Julie-world is something I inflict on the world.

Many storytellers will start world-building by asking themselves tons of questions — how does this place work? what are the physical laws, political laws, cultural rules of this period — what does this place look like? –

Start by asking how these characters work — what are their internal physical laws, political laws, cultural rules — these answers will tell you what this place looks like. If your characters are haunted by past lives they can’t shake, their environs will be haunted. They may even have established an elaborate system of rules, laws, customs, moral strictures disallowing the past from sticking around — this started inside them. If your characters are liars, they will inhabit a world of false fronts. If your characters love, they inhabit a world that loves.

Worlds aren’t built top-down (what galaxy is this?), bottom-up (what does a wedding ring look like?) — worlds are built inside out. What don’t you know about yourself, that we can see all around you? What rules are you following unconsciously? These rules limn your world.

You build their world by establishing the rules that govern them.

The world IS the rules. And the rules are a by-product of the emotional life of your main characters — a structure organizing their hopes and fears. Because deep down they think that by following these rules they’ll get what they want.

Worlds are anchored, buoyed inside our main characters’ guts. The more the characters’ guts direct their outer world, the more we feel the piece. The bigger emotional impact. Bigger experience. The more we feel like we live in this world. These are people in our world.

A given character could walk into my house and her world would still be different from my world. Because her world isn’t bound by geography, it’s bound by the rules she feels she’s bound by. They feel they’re bound by.

The world is symptoms helping us diagnose what’s going on inside the character. Eczema doesn’t just exist and then a person finds himself inside it: he produces it. We see the skin rash, and that’s how we know what’s going on inside him. This strange place exists because they do, because they are the way they are and their world can’t be any other way. When they change, their world changes. Often, that’s how we know a character has changed — we see their world change.


16
May 10

Audacity

Hesitant, cautious, careful, wondering — no one gives a shit. I can get that anywhere, from anyone. From everyone.

I want to see audacity.

People warn you not to be audacious for fear you’ll get hurt, you’ll look foolish, you’ll hurt them. They speak to their own fear, to the voice that says they must follow the rules. They don’t. You don’t. Rules exist for other people’s convenience, not yours. They’re there to comfort and guide those who don’t know how, or don’t have the balls to create rules of their own.

Somewhere along the way we absorbed limits. This catalogue of stuff I’ve already seen in T.V. and movies is allowable to pitch, on the list. These stories and images and references are on the approved list. This is what we can draw from. We stay within these limits so we won’t be laughed at, so we won’t be challenged. So when we’re in the room and we pitch gay robots and people sneer or laugh we can feel okay about ourselves knowing they already did gay robots on Battlestar or wherever the fuck. So I know I’m not a complete fucking loon.

But you know what, they hired you to be a complete fucking loon. I mean, not completely. You have to understand the map before you veer off it. And if you’ve got a map that’s working, no need to bring in a new map. Especially if you’re working for someone else. But no matter what the map says, you always have the option to grab the wheel and drive off-road. Don’t be safe. Be audacious. That’s what people remember — both people who hire and people who watch. They — we — don’t care about how well you stay within the lines, follow form. That does not interest me at all. What we crave is stuff that thrills us. What thrills us is when you break rules. When you get big and then you fucking explode and take the ship down with you, leaving us feeling real fear and empowerment at once — those were all his options. Now what? That’s what storytelling is.

Know your craft, know the form you’re writing, the genre, make sure we’re rooted and hooked from minute one and then — blow shit up in our faces. Set up our expectations and defy them. Slow down when it’s time to speed up. Throw away jokes, as Jane Espenson says. Go psychological when all convention says it’s time for action. Surprise us. Be brave. Be bold. Shoot your wad — the more you give, the more you’ll get.

As the firemen say — the hotter you are, the faster we’ll come.


4
May 10

Resistance Is Futile

Man. People do this every day? Really? Okay.

Forcing myself to write here regularly, whether I’m inspired or not, is good for me because that’s good writing practice.

Not wanting to write or not having anything to write about can be a sign of resistance — there is something there but for whatever reason you don’t want it to be there.

So when you develop the practice of writing every day, it no longer matters whether it’s there or not, resisting or not. You do it first, force the ideas to follow you.

We lead. By putting pen to paper, thoughts to words. The world and its ideas follows. We lead. They follow.


2
May 10

You’re Entitled To The Work

I got my first book agent when I was 25.

What followed was a few years of the publishing industry stringing me along, keeping me on the hook with the hope that my novel would be published if I would revise. It ended in wasted years of my life that could have been better spent elsewhere. I wish I hadn’t spent so long revising one book because editors and agent told me if I did it would be published. I wish I hadn’t spent so long living in poverty. Because that did something to me, that imprinted on me in a way I can’t shake. I wish that hadn’t been acceptable to me. I wish that for myself as a child. Most of all — I wish I could let this go.

I tend to lapse into self-pity.

When I see others whom I perceive have had it easier than me, my habit is to tell myself the story of that injustice over and over, rehearse it. Going “see?” is an excuse for why I’m not doing better, evidence that injustice exists in the world, or … I don’t know what it is. A bruise I can’t stop touching. My fear is that by constantly being on the look-out for these stories, feeling them so keenly and obsessing about what they mean for me and my life –

I create this. My behavior conforms to my expectations. I am so keenly sensitive to this that I subtly reproduce it. That’s the working theory anyhow.

“But why has is it taken me so much longer than so many other people to succeed?” whines the childish, self-pitying voice.

I quiet that voice by reminding myself of a mantra I read August Wilson posted above his desk. I find this mantra comforting and remind myself of it often, because no matter how hard this life might feel to be — I get to spend my life writing. I create works of art. I keep my mind loose and uninhibited because I like it that way. Because the work likes it that way. I have work that gives my life meaning and that is in itself meaningful. And all I have to do to earn the joy I get from doing it is to do it.

What August Wilson posted above his desk is a Buddhist mantra –

You’re entitled to the work, not the reward.


29
Apr 10

Ship It

Great news Internet –

I just finished the best job I’ve ever had, which means I’ll have plenty of time to blog and Tweet and get sucked down rabbit holes and stare at my own navel and you’ll be the happy beneficiary of all that.

One thing I’ve decided to do is blog more often — take more of a shoot from the hip approach, which is something I’ve already moved toward in my professional writing. And it’s working out for me.

Part of why I wasn’t blogging that often was the same reason I used to get stuck in the trap of doing multiple drafts, seeking notes — I’m a careful writer. I believe every word counts and should count for more than one thing at a time. I believe there should be a story being told beneath the surface of the story being told.  So my blog posts were carefully worked, considered, deliberate. I spent time on them because they were meaningful to me, important.

Fuck that.

As I’ve learned in my professional writing, time and care and deliberation don’t fortify your meaning. They threaten to overload it, make it ponderous. I’m trusting now that what’s on the tip of my tongue is safe and okay to share with everyone. I don’t have to think too hard about it. Because if it’s fresh and raw and true, it’s worth sharing.

So I’m going to start firing shit off more. It’ll still be important to me, just faster.

The following I copied from a series of direct messages I sent to a Twitter friend today. I think he’s very talented, and I was trying to encourage him. I think many of you regular readers are very talented, and I want to encourage you.   Here it is:

One thing I’ve learned after doing this a while is the key to all this is trying and failing, and doing that a bunch, and not spending too long on any one thing. Work fast, have an idea, put it out, “ship it” as Seth Godin says, get it out in the world, because it’s the getting seen by someone that will get you the job/contract/work, not the laboring over it, perfecting of it. I wasted years thinking that my talent as a writer would get me work. Now I know that talent and hard work is very little of it. It’s about getting access — which is not about who you know necessarily, but about how quickly you can have an idea and get it out in the world so hirers can see it and say — “you.”

It’s really that simple. Have an idea. Get it down in some form. Publish it, produce it, send it out. Get it out in the world. Fucking fast. Then do it again. That’s all you have to do to be successful as a storyteller, gain experience and get heard.

I love you all very much. I want to see you succeed.

x Julie


15
Dec 09

How To Create A Global Phenomenon Like Tim Ferriss

I went to college with Tim Ferriss, author of “The 4-Hour Workweek” which has been on the New York Times Business Bestseller list for two and a half years straight. He’s very smart and very practical.

In this video he explains how to create a global phenomenon for less than $10,000. If you make stuff you want other people to find, you must see this.

Get more real-world advice about marketing and how to be Jason Bourne at Tim’s blog.

6
Dec 09

How To Solve All Your Problems, Fast

Be honest.

It’s that simple. Be honest, all the time. With yourself and with others. Your problems will go away.

We lie because we feel the truth is unacceptable. Whenever you lie, you diminish yourself. You send yourself a signal that you matter less than the feelings of the person you’re lying to. You help neither of you. You create problems.

There are many ways to lie. Every time you tell yourself you have to do something you don’t really want to do, that’s a lie. If you work at a job you hate, that’s a lie. If you’re with a person you don’t love — or if you feel you can’t tell him or her anything about you — that’s a lie. You betray yourself — by acting like you like someone you don’t like, pretending you don’t feel violated when you do, saying you don’t want something that you do, keeping your mouth shut when you have something to say — and when you betray yourself, you chip away at your integrity, your boundaries, your wholeness as a person.

Don’t tell any lies. Start small: don’t tell any lies for an hour. Hold yourself to it, and see how freeing it is. Because all the decisions have been made for you. You don’t have to apologize or feel guilty or feel sorry — you made a pledge to yourself. You’re being honest now. Then do it for an entire day. Then take it from there. What you’ll find is everything else falls into place — because you’re no longer conducting your life as a negotiation of other people’s needs and feelings and opinions but instead as an expression of your own.

Tell the truth in your writing, and your writing problems fall away. Cliche, lagging, dullness, explaining, vagueness, awkwardness, predictability, wandering, flatness, imprecision, thinness, weakness, laxity, jerkiness, wordiness, passivity, exposition, choppiness, boring, talkiness, slowness, undefined, static, tired — these are problems of not telling the truth. The minute you force truth front and center into every moment of your story — every moment of your life — your writing leaps off the page. You don’t have to worry about all that other stuff.

Don’t tell the truth, and it shows up on the page and in your life. Fix it in one area, and you fix it in all areas. Don’t settle for any less than you deserve — full honesty, full integrity, vital boundaries, pages that live.


23
Nov 09

Characters Should Be Seen, Not Heard

The perfect screenplay is a silent movie.

Seeing the story transpire firsthand makes us witnesses. We participate. Instead of hearing the characters relate how they think and feel about what happened, we witness what happened and we relate how they think and feel for them. We tell their story for them, in our minds and to each other. When a character talks, she takes the witness stand, and we nod out in the spectator seats. When we watch her act, we take the witness stand, sitting upright and paying attention to detail and thinking carefully about what we know of her thoughts and feelings so we can get the story right.

When the entire story happens in the minds of the audience — with the audience as witness — audience becomes storyteller. We care more, we’re invested more, we believe more what we see with our own eyes. Because we’re in the witness stand now. We’re the real stars of the show now — we’re telling the story.

Whenever you can, let your audience tell the story. Give us all the information we need, and let us piece it together. Then it’ll be ours. You have no greater goal.


19
Nov 09

Don’t Leave Money On The Table

You control your bank account. You decide how rich you are.

Your wealth is the emotional account trapped inside you. You’ve got one, whether you acknowledge it or not. It’s the 401k your company provides — even if you didn’t sign up for it, it’s there, and your subconscious provides matching funds, which could be accruing as we speak, if you bother to add your 6% a day.

Don’t leave money on the table. Your emotional vault is the only resource you have, and if it’s bankrupt, or if you don’t know the access codes, or if you hate it and resent its existence and think it’s dumb, or if your Dad didn’t know his code, you lose capital. Right now. Because emotional capital accrues, like money in the bank. It builds on itself, it grows interest. The more you have, the more you get. It magnetizes, it draws energy, it gains power, it acquires strength.

And it translates into real-world capital. Because the more emotional capital you acquire, the more you use it. When you know your emotional account is flush, you act with certainty and confidence. That certainty allows you to relax and conduct your business intuitively, guided by the freedom a tremendous fortune affords.

How do you build emotional wealth?

Here’s what I do:

1. Write down anything you remember from your dreams when you first wake up. Often you won’t remember anything. But the more you do it, the more you remember. It’s not about interpreting — it’s about stretching open that connection to whatever’s in your head — keeping the line open. Even a few words will do. If you really can’t remember anything, try writing “what did I dream?” with your dominant hand, then writing whatever words come up with your non-dominant hand. You don’t believe that you don’t know your own mind, but whenever I’ve done this, my hand writes stuff that makes sense and that I didn’t know was there.

When you go back and read your dreams, you get a real portrait of where you’re at emotionally. Just now, I flipped through my journal. Everything sounded a lot more lucid than it felt at the time. The process of translating the abstract into language might crystallize meaning — we filter for the pieces that make sense to us. What stops you up in this is knowing you’re not describing the dream exactly right — but that’s what stops us up in writing. Better to get anything down on paper than to wait until we’re getting it down perfectly. Practicing this every morning keeps our blocks open: it’s like injecting Heparin in the IV tubes of the mind. Just get anything down, because these are pieces pointing to where you were that day. And as it turns out, the pieces add up to a very evocative whole.

2. Take a walk every day. There’s something about walking that stirs up the unconscious and clears access to your emotions. It’s like space clearing for the mind, and it literally readjusts your spine. Probably better to go alone, at least a few days a week, so you’re forced to confront yourself. You can try walking meditation, which Natalie Goldberg describes in Writing Down The Bones. Or you can listen to music or audiobooks. Or think about your story. Or think about nothing at all. Observe stuff, zone out. Be with yourself.

3. Meditate. Meditation was on my to-do list for a long time but I never got around to because I thought I was too busy. Meditation will change your life. I’m not fancy about it — sometimes I do it lying down. Sometimes sitting. Sometimes while walking. Usually it’s 15 minutes. I have a meditation timer on my iPhone, and I try to write down what I think about on the first bell and on the second bell — another way to track what’s going on inside me. Because this is the most valuable thing I have. My goal is to be still. Do nothing. Sometimes that means repeating a mantra that occurs to me in the moment — that’s how “Be More You” came to me. I was feeling anxious that day about staffing, and that’s what bubbled up from my subconscious: Be More You. Sometimes my thoughts run, and it’s a cacophony of all the junk of my daily life that I can’t seem to stop. And that’s okay — because being kind to yourself means allowing whatever is. Abandoning resistance. So if your mind needs to race and get all worked up, let it. Sit there with it quietly, because maybe all it needs is to be heard. And then eventually, if given enough time and enough hearing, it will run out of things to say, and then it will just be you and your mind, observing silence.

4. Write a couple of lines in a journal before you fall asleep at night. This is hard for me. But I do it because it’s good for me. If I really don’t want to do it, I’ll make myself write one sentence or one word. Again, this is about keeping that connection open and keeping a record of the flags that show up on the page. Very often you’ll be surprised by what shows up there, and it’s only when you’re forced to articulate on paper what’s in your head that you see what’s really going on inside you. What’s the point of owning a fortune if you don’t know the access codes? This is where you learn the access codes. Slowly, with practice.

5. Go there and stay there. You know that thing you don’t want to think about? The thought that provokes anxiety — that’s it, you just thought of it, then you pushed it back out of your mind. You know what it is. It makes you a little sick to your stomach. It creates a hot, burning sensation in your chest. You do not want to think about it, ever. You certainly don’t want to talk about it. You choke up a little when you try to talk about it. Go there and stay there. The ability to find those feelings and stay there, without running away is what makes us storytellers. When you feel vulnerable — humiliated — powerless — alone — do not resist. Do not puff out your chest and make yourself look bigger. Make yourself smaller. Look for chances to knock yourself down a peg or two. Your dangerous place is not the bottom: it’s the top. Stories are not told from up high. They’re told from below. Do not resist humiliation — embrace it. The more you dismantle your ego, the more you will access your own emotions, and the more your audience will access you.

Do not leave your matching funds on the table. They’re available right now, and if you let today pass without seizing and investing these funds, you’ll have nothing to draw on when it’s time to produce. Investing here, every day, is how storytellers get rich, quick.

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