Tag: writing

The Rite: From A Writer’s Perspective

On By C. L. BlackeIn Motion Pictures From a Writer's PerspectiveLeave a comment

It’s four months in Rome. What could go wrong? Oh, you’d be surprised.

They say reality doesn’t need to make sense but fiction does, which makes me wonder what exactly happened in the real lives of the real Frs. Michael Kovak and Lucas because I had a hard time believing (and accepting) the storyline of The Rite. I could be biased; anytime I hear a movie is based on or inspired by true events, I tend to think they’re making it up just to increase sales. I mean, did we learn nothing from The Blair Witch Project?

Not that there is anything wrong with the actual elements of The Rite–most of them seem to be there: catalyst, internal need, external goal, opposition, darkest moment–it’s just that they are all squished into the last 2o (or 30 if we’re lucky) minutes of the film.

Enter Michael Kovak: a priest-in-training with no faith. Father Superior gets the brilliant idea to send him to exorcism school in Rome cuz, ya, that will help him. Maybe lectures aren’t Michael’s thing, so his teacher sends him to a little village in Florence to witness a real live exorcism. I’m fairly gullible, but even I don’t believe Rosaria is possessed. I think Michael hits the nail on the head (pun intended) when he states she was internalizing her guilt over being raped by her father and carrying his demon seed.

(One thing I would like to know is why doesn’t this happen more often? The possession part, I mean.  The other, I’m sure, happens more often than we know, and it does seem like the work of the devil, but not all victims go around speaking in foreign tongues. I guess I want to know why Satan/Beelzebub/Baal chose to inhabit a 16 year-old Italian girl. What exactly did he get out of it? She and the baby died, so…it seems rather anticlimactic and not really worth the trouble.)

We witness a few more possessions, a few more exorcisms, some of which are hoaxes, none of which are believable enough to force Michael to believe in God and take a stand.  What exactly pushes him over the edge? Is it realizing he just talked to his already-dead father on the phone? (I think I might have reacted a bit differently than sobbing on the bed if that happened to me. Just saying.) Is it the random voices in his hotel room or el mulo with the red eyes in the courtyard? Maybe it’s hearing Fr. Lucas himself tell us he’s possessed. (Again, I have to wonder why the devil chose him. Aside from the fact that Anthony Hopkins is a brilliant actor with a bit of crazy in him.)

Regardless, we finally hit our first plot point. Michael now has a goal, we know he’s searching for his own faith, why he has none, and that he’s recruited his friend, Angelsomething, to help him out.

The screenwriter shoots off the rest of the elements in rapid fire, wasting no time because he’s already over budget. Michael performs an exorcism on Fr. Lucas, it doesn’t work, his faith is tested, Angelsomething has to convince him to get back in there–he can do it, he’s not alone. (Usually, the opposition has much greater resources and is much stronger than the protagonist; however, Michael has the power of God on his side. Seems a lot like cheating, doesn’t it?) Michael tries again, this time he gets the devil to give up his name. (Baal’s screwed now.) Oh, it worked! Story’s over.

I’m not really buying that Michael suddenly finds his faith in God either. I don’t know if it’s just bad acting or not, but I tend to think it’s because we don’t get to see him really search for it, to really want it. The majority of Act Two should be the protagonist fighting against all odds to achieve his goal. Instead, Michael pretty much complains and denies his faith throughout the whole storyline until the very end, and actions speak louder than words. One can’t go from having no faith, to realizing you have no faith, to suddenly achieving faith. You kind of have to work at finding it. (In contrast, I totally believe Anthony Hopkins is possessed. The way he smacked that girl–freaking brilliant writing.)

I’m thinking the screenwriter could have gone back for a few more rewrites, weeded out some of the inconsequential details, worked on pacing, and found more creative ways to handle the amazing amount of backstory we had to watch for the first 82 minutes of the film.

The good news, though, is that Michael doesn’t have to pay back his student loans.

You Can’t Judge a Book by Its Cover, But You Can by Its Opening Line

On By C. L. BlackeIn Craft Work2 Comments

I’ve been thinking a lot about opening lines/sentences. Mostly because I’m supposed to have another installment in my serial fiction posted by Monday at the latest (my own deadline), and I can’t seem to find a way to start it. I know what’s going to happen but damned if I can fill that blank page. (So I know that technically this isn’t considered an opening line as it is a continuation, but for someone who might stumble upon it at some point, it is crucial that they want to go back and read the previous installments.)

The opening line is so important because every other word hangs on it. It’s got to be strong, evocative, surprising, and a whole host of other adjectives every writer knows and dreads. Not only do those first few words carry the weight of the entire piece on its shoulders (if it had any), but they are also the basis for our audience’s approval. How many times have you gone into a bookstore, picked up a random book because you liked the cover art, read the first sentence, and put it back down again? Granted, some of us may read the first few sentences and then do that, but really, it’s that first one that strikes an impression.

Maybe in that nano-second it takes to read the first few words strung together into a cohesive (or sometimes not) thought, your subconscious decides whether it’s worth reading a little more, which you do, only to be disappointed by the drivel that comes next. Now you have the added agony of trying to top that first line in everything else you write. (Writers are experts at self-torture in so many ways.)

As I was walking into hospital yesterday, an opening sentence just popped into my brain. (That is how it usually works–don’t try to create one on your own, don’t try to coax, threaten, wrangle, bribe, or even beg those first words into existence. It won’t work. We are masochists [spell check told me this wasn’t a word, but I don’t care] not sadists.)

Here it is: When the MRI tech asked if I was claustrophobic, I told her no because I’d been locked in a coffin before.

If I was to analyze this sentence, here’s what I would say: First, I would want to know two things: 1) what was the speaker getting an MRI of and why? what had happened leading up to this event? 2) how the hell did the speaker get locked in a coffin? Would I want to read more? Sure, but that’s just because I’m a sucker for the word “coffin.”

I can tell you with some certainty that I will not be writing a story based on this sentence anytime soon or otherwise, but I can guarantee that if I were, it would not be about vampires, zombies, or wrongfully-pronounced dead people. No, it would have to be something much more spectacular.

Surprise! The opening line should not give away the rest of the story, but merely hint at the wonders to come. (Ok, I’m going to be cliché now and say this is called the hook.)

If you’re a writer and have managed to capture anything on the page, look at your opening sentence (or line if you’re a poet). Does it live up to the same standards you use when evaluating other writers’ works? If it doesn’t, never fear. Until that sucker gets published, there’s always room for improvement. And sometimes you may have to get to the end of your piece before you find just the right way to begin it.

It’s a Major Award

On By C. L. BlackeIn Randomness2 Comments

Recently, my very good friend, K, known to the poetry and blogging community as C. L. Sostarich (found at http://clsostarich.wordpress.com/), awarded me with a Versatile Blogger Award. When I was first notified of it, I figured she’d stolen crack from our hunter and started smoking it.  I mean, I’m the least versatile blogger.

Once given this major award, I’m supposed to tell the world seven things about myself that I think people need or want to know about me. Following that, I’m supposed to pass on the Versatile Blogger Award to 15 (Yikes!) more bloggers. I see this is going to take an extended period of time.

Seven things about me people could care less about…

1. I am the worst blogger in the world. I write sporadically and pretty much about the same thing–the trials and tribulations of being a writer. I started my blog as more of a personal online diary–I didn’t care if anyone was going to read it so long as my words were floating around cyberspace. On top of that, I rarely have time to read other blogs; hence, my list of “followed” and “following” blogs is minute.

2. I wholeheartedly believe in reincarnation. Humans have inhabited the planet for roughly 200,000 years. What makes anyone think that living 80, 90, or even 100 years is enough time to learn and practice the universal lessons needed to reach “heaven?” What happens when people die from mistakes like texting while driving or overdosing on heroin? That’s it? You don’t get a second chance? Sorry, but Hell has no more vacancies then.

3. I am neither a scholar (despite the many lettered degrees after my name), nor a literary snob. I think I’ve only read about five of the Top 100 Books of all Time. And no, none of them were Harry Potter.

4. I am essentially lazy. That is not to say I am not a hard-worker, but usually when I try new things, they come fairly easy to me. And if they don’t, then I tend to re-prioritize my goals. I don’t quit things; I put them off until I can concentrate on them more.

5. I like adjectives and adverbs, and I don’t care if Stephen King hates me for it. In my real writing (as in not this blog), I make concerted effort not to use them. Most of the time.

6. My ratio of loved to lost is 1:1. Or is it 50:50? I’m a writer not a mathematician. (See #3.) Once you make it into my heart (and that is a feat in itself) and I consider you my friend, you are there forever. You can ditch me, ignore me, hurt me, whatever, but I will still care for you forever.

7. Oh, god, when is this going to end? (See #4.)

There will be a test on these seven items, so study up.

As for 15 bloggers I’m supposed to give this major award to: see #1. I’m pretty sure the whole premise of this stipulation is to increase traffic, but most of these have been Freshly Pressed, so I hardly doubt they need the few referrals I can provide.

Nonethless, here are some of the blogs I follow just because they had something interesting to say:

http://acgatesblog.wordpress.com/  NaNoWriMo fiend.

http://suehealy.org/ Everything a writer needs to know. (Don’t tell her about my affection for adjectives and adverbs.)

http://peasandcougars.com/ Remember the MTV show Daria? Humor just like that. Gotta love it.

http://girlonthecontrary.com/ She’s on the contrary, and I am so unladylike how can I not read it?

http://catlas.wordpress.com/ I don’t know how one can remain so positive and full of good energy, but she does.

Power

On By C. L. BlackeIn Craft Work1 Comment

Star Date: October 30, 2011

A freak snowstorm battered southern New England yesterday, resulting in a wet, white, foreign,semi-crystallized substance that accumulated on colorful leaf-laden trees. As heavy branches snapped under the weight and crashed to the ground taking power lines with them, all forms of communication with the inhabitants were cut off.

(Except for those of us who have Internet on our cell phones and happen to have a car charger or a power inverter. Well, I don’t have either of the apparatuses to transform my gas and battery-operated Jeep into a source of electrical stimulation, so when the cell phone juice ran dry, I was left alone and lonely.)

Fast forward to 10:00 PM two nights before Halloween, and I was in the dark, cold and alone, and lighting candles all over my house. What a wonderful time to write a ghost story, I thought.

And then I realized almost everything I wanted to write required research, and I had no means of accessing Google or heading out to my local library or Barnes & Noble.

It got me thinking what our forefathers had done. There were newspapers of course, and journals I supposed, that authors could have subscribe to, but how else had they gotten their information? How had they written all those wonderful classics such as The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins without the need for facts at the tips of their fingers and at lightning speed? Was traveling overseas so easy then or jobs for foreign correspondents were just plentiful?

I remember a time before computers and the Internet, and sadly it was probably one of the most creative and productive times in my writing career. I didn’t
look up anything; inspiration came from personal and physical experiences. Like a remote twisted country road, an eerie tree-lined path, the Tlaquepaque Mall in Sedona, AZ, and a torrid, sordid love affair. I used my mind and the power of my imagination to transform this stimuli into the characters and plots and settings of my stories. I used the “What If” method without even knowing it.

Why then should it be so hard now? Have I, and the rest of us, gotten so used to relying on other people for our knowledge of, well, anything that we can’t even pound out a semi-original ghost story?

I agree that the Internet is a fascinating invention that keeps us connected to a world we might never have known existed, but at what expense? With so much virtual information out there, I feel like we are becoming less and less creative. Look at this year’s major motion picture releases. How many of them were remakes of older movies? How many were based on books or comics or graphic novels?

Though Emily Dickinson might not have left her Amherst home for most of her adult life, she also did not resort to accessing the World Wide Web for inspiration and research.

It only took a few days without electricity and Internet service to realize the true power of creativity lies within our own imagination. But unlike modern
technology, if I can harness it, I will never have to worry about service interruptions again.

Regrets, I Have a Few

On By C. L. BlackeIn RandomnessLeave a comment

Summer’s over and I have regrets. As I always do when I realize another season has passed that I didn’t take advantage of. And after each one is gone, I tell myself that I will write a list of everything I wished I’d done so that next year I won’t be such a slacker.

This is my list for Summer:

Pick strawberries, raspberries, blueberries

Buy fruits and vegetables from local farm stands and actually eat them

Rollerblade on the Norwuttuck Rail Trail every weekend

Visit the beach at least four times or, hell, even spend a week there to write my island murder mystery

Read more Ameila Peabody mysteries

Run in Stanley Park

Bake breads, cakes, cookies, and pies with the flavors of the season

Vacation in New Orleans to drink washing machine strawberry daiquiris, visit cities of the dead, bayous, and plantation homes while working on my psuedo-vampire novel (no, they’re not all the fluffy bunny sparkly sensitive types), and with any luck take in a Roller Derby game.

Sit on my flower-laden balcony on weekend mornings sipping hot chocolate eating freshly baked strawberry almond bread and enjoying the quiet of the morning while pretending I’m eating beignets

Sit on my balcony in the evenings sipping iced tea and eating cool lemon cookies with powdered sugar

Walk to the park to watch the city’s 4th of July fireworks

Get drunk off Watermelon-Lime Coolers and Raspberry Spritzers

Clean my house more

I think this is a good start for now. Luckily, New England has four somewhat distinct seasons, so there’s always something different to do every three months.

Maybe I should start working on my Autumn list now.