In my vlog I was going to review some of Shyamalan’s movies, talk a bit about screenwriting, and a bigger bit about the various deeper issues that Shyamalan addresses in his projects. But the other day I stumbled across Robert McKee giving a rather snide and demeaning nod to “bad writers”, and specifically to “M. Night Sugarman, or whatever his name is.” McKee bluntly states that ‘these types’ write for profit, and not for creative process, and accuses them of being “imitators.” He goes on to distinguish this along the line of exposition.

But screenwriting is just one aspect of movie-making. People generally don’t read screenplays- but they do watch movies. So translating a screenplay into a movie is perhaps as crucial as the story arc itself. McKee talks about Spielberg being a good director, but “having nothing to say” as a writer, and then lumps Shyamalan in the same category of “bad writers.” By the way- congratulations, Mr. Shyamalan- you’re in good company! Shyamalan not only writes his movies, he produces and directs them too. McKee does admit that Shyamalan has good craftsmanship in terms of “lighting the scene”, but then accuses him of having a “cartoon/comic book mind”, and as with Spielberg, having nothing to say.

I think what McKee is really trying to suggest is that he believes Shyamalan has nothing valuable to say. But is McKee really listening?

The first Shyamalan movie I watched was The Sixth Sense. It was brilliantly layered with so much Kubrick’esque ‘hidden in plain sight’ backdrop that I really believe it was Shyamalan’s giant slap to get us to wake up. It was riveting, had me on the edge of my seat, and was very reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (based on the novel by Stephen King). So, if this is what McKee meant by “imitation”, then why not imitate a master? And it really did set the precedent for his following movies. While The Sixth Sense got good reviews, nearly all of his subsequent movies got a lot of criticism and weren’t necessarily box office hits. Over and over I have read snarky comments and heard scathing reviews of the pointless, Hollywood-ized grandeur of his movies. And I have to admit, at first pass, I sort of felt the same way.

The second movie of Shyamalan’s I saw was The Village. While like The Sixth Sense it maintained an air of supernatural horror that had me riveted, I felt cheated at the end, and then I didn’t know how to feel about it. I watched it again about a year later and decided I liked it after all, having gained just a tiny bit of insight into a deeper meaning. And then every subsequent viewing it became more and more compelling to me. (I think I’ve seen it about six times now, and it remains the one movie of his I am most drawn to watch, perhaps because of the visual elements). So often in a context of culture, and class, and particularly communal living (as these are issues I frequently explore and discuss in conversation), I reflect back on the lessons of The Village. I think about whether I would want to start a communal living project if I was wealthy. Aren’t all communal living projects based on the same goals- to join together with like-minded individuals who are also desiring to escape the evils of the over-culture to find some level of independence, trust, and peace? And how do we separate ‘them’ from ‘us’, when in the end we are all human beings? There is so much about this movie- from the red color signifying life, the root chakra, the yellow “protective” color signifying the solar plexus, the sense of self, to Ivy’s blindness, to Noah’s childlike innocence and then murderous jealousy, both magnified through his retardation, to the specific cameo role Shyamalan plays in the movie- all aspects lending themselves to deeper truths.

I distinctly remember seeing the trailer for The Happening, and being mortified. I was so repulsed, I refused to watch it. I haven’t been a horror movie fan since the days of Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street. About a year after it came out I finally decided to stomach it, just to see what all that weirdness was about- people seemingly falling off of buildings and all. Again, I felt cheated. All blood and no meat. I found myself agreeing with most of the criticism- “stupid” and “shallow”, with no meaningful story line.

But then around 2010 something started happening to me. Not only was I taking my writing more serious as a profession, I was also thawing out after a several year span of feeling stuck. I went through a period of very rapid spiritual growth and the gridlock in my reality started to come undone. I watched The Village again and ended it with giddy excitement- it wasn’t just a vague grasp on some sort of social commentary, but every detail became brilliantly woven to provide a remarkable message about us as human beings, where we’ve been, where we are trying to go, and the pitfalls to look out for. I followed that up by watching other Shyamalan movies I hadn’t seen, specifically Wide Awake and Unbreakable– both equally worthwhile movies with deeper messages than one might consciously understand if just viewing on the basis of entertainment or “good writing”, whatever that even means. Indeed, his movies seem to beg us to ask the questions, and it’s only through asking and perhaps seeking ourselves for the answers that we begin to understand the true depth of M. Night Shyamalan’s movies. I’ve since seen all of Shyamalan’s movies, and find them all worthwhile in some way. But The Happening is the most memorable Shyamalan movie for me. I reflect back on it so often that I’ve probably recreated the entire movie in my head.

What makes a 5/10 rated movie so memorable? The message of the story and all the intricate signs that reveal deeper and profound truths. It seems so obvious, but we do seem to be a zombified nation, the walking dead, so unconscious even in our waking state that we miss the most obvious. Which is:

– All the bees are missing. There are no more bees. What do bees do? They pollinate. Pollination is a form of reproduction. It is necessary for the survival of plants, and many flowering plants rely on bees to act as the transfer agents in the pollination process. What happened to all the bees? And it is interesting that when The Happening was released in 2008 we didn’t have nearly the alarmingly low numbers of bees that we have in 2015.

– The plants are releasing a neurotoxin that causes people to suffer some sort of mental breakdown which ends in them committing suicide. We are undoubtedly influenced by our environment, by what goes into our body. Psychotropic medications are prescribed with the goal of altering our thoughts and behaviors. Those same psychotropic medications can have negative side effects, such as increased thoughts of suicide. So a little pill can potentially cause someone to be suicidal, and also eliminate suicidal thoughts.

But before you dismiss the idea that plants can become defensive murderers, consider again (this is long- you might want to come back to it- but it is so worth it):

Fascinating stuff. But is Shyamalan’s message in The Happening entirely environmental- a warning to us about how we are caring for our planet? That seems too obvious. The more subtle messages perhaps say something to us about suicide, depression, isolation, how we’re living and caring for one another. And like with The Village, the colors yellow, blue, and red are used by Shyamalan in The Happening to say something to his audience. There are so many theories about the messages Shyamalan was trying to convey, and because my intention here is not to pick apart a specific movie, but just provide insight into why I believe Shyamalan is intelligent and intentional in his writing, I’m not going to go over them all. I encourage you to peruse the Internet for some lively discussion and postulations, if you’re intrigued.

* A really great review with technical insight into the message of The Happening can be found here. A summary of the movie can be found here. A much longer synopsis can be read here. And the screenplay might be found here.

It’s so fascinating that Shyamalan’s works after Unbreakable took a nose-dive in ratings and he has attracted so much disdain and criticism. It’s also a shame we measure a writer/director’s success and worth on box office sales. Quentin Tarantino called Unbreakable “one of the masterpieces of our time.” Yet many others, such as McKee, seemed to have missed the boat entirely in understanding Shyamalan and what he is about.

What do we know about Shyamalan?

His website is outdated, but it holds a dark, spooky paranormal, occult feeling, complete with a spooky old house, a dark grey, almost foggy back scene, and a prominent black crow, sitting on a fence in the foreground. It seems Shyamalan likes to project this sort of paranormal, dark forces persona. And perhaps like in all things paranormal, his movies ask more questions than they answer. This doesn’t make Shyamalan a master of macabre as much as it makes him a master of illusion. To me the foggy backdrop speaks of the subconscious mind, and subliminal messaging seems to be Shyamalan’s preferred method of communicating. And the crow- Shyamalan himself has stated that his message in The Happening has elements representative of the Native American relationship with nature, and his beliefs that this is a correct relationship. So if we look at crow medicine, we see crow is an archetype for illusion, change in consciousness, and the keeper of the Higher Laws.

We know Shyamalan likes to have cameo appearances, playing small roles in all his movies.

We know Shyamalan is very intentional in his movies, meticulous with detail, that nothing is wasted.

We know he likes to use color in particular.

We know he likes to trick us, and use subliminal types of clues.

We know his movies, if we truly contemplate them, leave us with more questions than answers, have many layers and facets, invite ongoing discussion, and offer many plausible theories.

We know the arching themes of Shyamalan’s work speak to faith, belief, and the intersection with science, math, and empiricism, and that they convey messages to us as individuals, but also to the larger community, and even to the human species.

So if this has caught your interest and you’re not familiar with Shyamalan’s movies, or have a vague opinion based on a first view that left you unimpressed, and you’d like to go back in with a discerning eye, I’ll summarize some tips on what to look for (the list doesn’t come close to being exhaustive, but it’s a good start).

Tips For the Uninitiated:

-Pay particular attention to the roles/characters Shyamalan plays in his cameos, and even his specific lines or actions in the movies, because I am quite certain they reveal something. In Unbreakable he plays the drug dealer- the guy who offers a means to alter experience, alter reality. And what is his interaction with the main character? In The Village he plays the guard- what is Shyamalan trying to guard? In The Sixth Sense he plays the doctor. And the lines- let them stand alone, but also within the wider context of the movie. Don’t just assume the lines speak only to that moment in the scene or even to the particular character they’re being spoken too. I believe the roles he chooses and the lines he chooses say something about how he sees himself in relation to his movie.

-Pay attention to props, backgrounds, signs. As with Kubrick, almost everything is an intentional clue. Shyamalan uses color, but also small details like paintings on walls, pieces of candy on the table, butterflies floating across the scene.

-Pay close attention to all the character’s lines. As trivial, misplaced, or silly as they seem, they are intentional, and not necessarily solely intended to inform the obvious story. There is likely to be a more hidden story, one that calls to the subconscious. And some of the lines are just solid life philosophy, being driven by a higher spiritual dynamic:

 “People break down into two groups. When they experience something lucky, group number one sees it as more than luck, more than coincidence. They see it as a sign, evidence, that there is someone up there, watching out for them. Group number two sees it as just pure luck. Just a happy turn of chance. I’m sure the people in group number two are looking at those fourteen lights in a very suspicious way. For them, the situation is a fifty-fifty. Could be bad, could be good. But deep down, they feel that whatever happens, they’re on their own. And that fills them with fear. Yeah, there are those people. But there’s a whole lot of people in group number one. When they see those fourteen lights, they’re looking at a miracle. And deep down, they feel that whatever’s going to happen, there will be someone there to help them. And that fills them with hope. See what you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, that sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way: Is it possible that there are no coincidences?”  – M. Night Shyamalan / SIGNS

-Watch the movie more than once. Just have a casual first watch, and then watch again, but take notes. And then watch again, and again. I know, it seems a bit fanatical. But really, you can’t watch an M. Night Shyamalan movie just once and form any real, true idea about it. You have to let it tug at your subconscious, and slowly tease it out into your conscious mind.

-Research. Spend the time to explore the themes and ideas the movie brings up. See what other people are saying about the movie. You’ll find lots of different theories, but that’s the whole point.

McKee was dead wrong, because Shyamalan isn’t just making Hollywood movies (ironically he’s from Pennsylvania and most of his movies are set and filmed there). Shyamalan’s movies raise dialog about very important issues, and I wouldn’t call that “having nothing to say.” In fact, it’s better than just saying something- it’s inviting others into the conversation.

Filmography

• Praying With Anger, 1992
• Wide Awake, 1998
• The Sixth Sense, 1999
• Unbreakable, 2000
• Signs, 2002
• The Village, 2004
• Lady in the Water, 2006
• The Happening, 2008
• The Last Airbender, 2010
• After Earth, 2013
• The Visit, 2015

I have worked hard and learnt that I have to make a decision – whether I am going to conform and protect myself or not. I chose not to. – M. Night Shyamalan

Shyamalan offers some inspiring thoughts here on creating and staying true to oneself.

But in honor of all the fiction books I haven’t finished (and this is nowhere near all, as 99.5% of my books are currently in boxes in storage), I wanted to share a list of the ten most influential non-fiction books I’ve read over the past 20 years (and have finished, a few with multiple reads). (note: these are not ordered by any criteria, and obviously The Bible is excluded).

1. People of the Lie: The Hope for Healing Human Evil, by M. Scott Peck
2. The Existential Jesus, by John Carroll
3. One Thousand Gifts, by Ann Voskamp
4. Man’s Search For Meaning, by Viktor Frankl
5. The Gift of Fear, by Gavin de Becker
6. The Book of Knowing And Worth, by Paul Selig (The Guides)
7. Women Who Run With The Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
8. The Science of Mind, by Ernest Holmes
9. Journey of Souls, by Michael Newton
10. The Red Book, by Carl Jung

My personal library consists of hundreds of books, and I’ve just included the books that stuck with me, that I reflect back on often, or that radically shifted my perspective. There are several noteworthy books, like The Denial of Death, Long Walk to Freedom, Autism and the God Connection, Hostage To The Devil, A Father’s Story, The Magic of Conflict, etc. that have a special place on my shelf. I notice that nearly all of the books that made the top ten are of a spiritual nature. Interesting, but not at all surprising.

I would hope all this reading would shape my fiction stories and characters into something deep and dynamic. But it seems writing fiction is more about the nuts and bolts of story structure and the ease of reading than about anything else. Our stories are competing in a stimulus saturated world. Long gone are the days of sitting around the tribal fires listening to the chief or shaman tickle the imagination while answering life’s deeper questions with allegory. Long gone are the days when families gathered around the table by kerosene lanterns, or candlelight to fill their leisure time with reading, or when people communicated from afar by handwritten letters, full of poetry and prose.

Ah, well, what can you do? Resistance is futile. I remember ten years ago I was talking to a self-publishing salesman about my cancer journal project and he suggested that everything was eventually going to be either print-on-demand or digital format. He was using this as a sales point in persuading me to self-publish. I scoffed, thinking that was ridiculous. And I’ve fought buying a Kindle harder and harder every year since then. It seems inevitable- I think I’m going to have to ask for one for Christmas, because all this moving and having to haul around hundreds of pounds of books is getting unmanageable and no one in my family wants to inherent them. It just makes me really sad though.

I realize the impression this may leave of me. I am who I am. I don’t watch Orange is the New Black or The Bachelor. If I watch television at all it’s hand-picked documentaries and an occasional “reality” show in the vein of Anthony Bourdain or America Unearthed. I like life story, culture, travel, science, art, and *some* history. TedTalks. All day long. So the kinds of things I could blog about aren’t generally the kinds of things that relate directly to the stories I write or the kinds of readers I’d like to connect with.

But I do want to take a stab at sharing my post-conference thoughts. I was gracious enough to let it simmer for a couple weeks so I could temper the emotion with a heavy dose dash of wisdom. And now I’m ready to write. So here goes:

The publishing industry sucks. It exists to make money, and just like the recording industry, it shows signs of dying, as profit margins narrow and writers, the very backbone of the industry, are being driven to the higher royalty, self-publishing channels because of dramatically shrinking paychecks. I’m not going to speculate much on this- I have my ideas. Until something innovative changes the face of big house publishing, it’s going to continue in its slow, agonizing death. Publishing houses are selling out like Cabbage Patch dolls to offer high priced a la carte services to self-publishing authors. Yes, they will never completely go away, but publishing in paper and ink will likely exist as a mere novelty. Nevertheless, most of us writers out here are still trying to play the game, especially those of us writing things that ebook buyers don’t download (aka, literary fiction, upmarket women’s fiction, memoir, etc.). And as long as we’re still in the game, there’s some ‘rules’ and mores we have to admit.

Maybe it’s the existential crisis I was in the midst of when I attended the conference, but I did notice a growing cynicism welling up in me. Last year I was buzzing with nervous excitement about the opportunity to pitch to these New York agent types. But I also walked out of the hotel that Sunday afternoon last year with a nausea. There were so many ‘rules’ and pet peeves I heard the agents in the various panels mention that it felt overwhelming, even impossible. I knew so much about what not to do that I began to feel like just being a human being was a pet peeve I’d never be able to overcome. Of all the agents I pitched last year, all asked for submission. And I submitted to all, but one. I’ve also queried a few others the past year. All in all I shouldn’t be this down-hearted so early in the game- I’m not even coming up on the first quarter. I guess I just don’t play by rules very well. It’s in part just old fashioned rebellion, but it’s in greater part the desire for creative freedom and resistance to anything that squelches that. I AM a writer. I write well. I know how to write, at least technically. Just leave me alone and let me do it. Sure, we’re all still learning. Even successful career writers are still learning. But when you’re constantly bombarded with messages about what you’re doing wrong, and shown only a narrow path of emulated storytelling, defined as much by word count and what’s selling as the ability to write a coherent sentence, it gets discouraging. So I left this year’s conference believing I don’t even want to be a writer anymore- at least not a published writer. Because I AM a writer, it’s something I will always do. But to write for intention of getting published, I don’t know. The path seems so narrow, and heavy with obstacles, and the reward so slight in comparison to the effort. Making any kind of financial substance from writing is a rare thing.

I did have a ten minute one-on-one consult with a literary agent this year. My early registration came with a free consult. Last year I didn’t have the privilege, so had to work the cocktail reception, which is such a quirky and awkward thing to have to do. It felt like speed dating mixed with some sort of competitive sport, where the prize is the undivided attention of an agent who might potentially be “the one.” The agent I consulted with this year asked for submission of full MS (both of them). And I pitched two other agents during cocktail hour. One of the two also asked for submission. I should be ecstatic, right? Ugh. I just feel dread. It’s not the rejection I dread- it’s the lack of specific feedback coupled with the knowing what my “problems” are. These are problems I am not so eager to work out. I’ve attempted to read one too many shallow, unbelievable stories to feel good about stripping down my story characters to these shells of experience. Yeah, there’s my cynicism rearing its’ head again. The Alchemist? Really- that book “changed your life?”

Anyway, here are my thoughts and observations after letting some fermenting take place.

1)      Why do we have writers’ conferences where we get together and school writers on the craft? Do we do this for painters, sculptors, musicians? This is a serious question. It just seems like writing is not really respected as an art. We’re told what to write, how to tell a story, how many words to do it in, and sometimes even what voice to use. Do we tell painters what brushes to use, how many strokes, what colors, and so on? It’s so discouraging.

2)      Why is published writing the end product of many minds and opinions all having a say in the final novel? We don’t take a painting and agree to show it in gallery only after a team of art dealers, art critics, and gallery owners have their chance to alter the painting in the ways they see as necessary for maximum reception of the piece.

3)      The process of becoming a published writer favors certain socioeconomic and cultural groups. I know this because I just sent off my MS to a content editor for some work- $700 worth of work. This was $700 I didn’t have, and when considering the annual conference is a few hundred, there’s fees to enter the manuscript contest, fees for agent consults, fees for the key note speaker lunch, fees to take writing workshops and classes, fees to join the various organizations, costs of buying books (because you can’t be a good writer unless you’re reading other people’s work), costs of purchasing and hosting an internet domain, etc. it adds up to be more of a hobby than a viable career. Oh, and if you decide to just skip all that and self-publish, there’s enormous costs associated with that as well. It’s a considerable amount of money one has to put out with absolutely no immediate return and no guarantee of a return EVER. Quite simply, if you’re poor you’re not likely to ever get published because you will lack the resources to position yourself in a way that is almost necessary. Also, if you’re elderly you’re not likely to ever get published either, unless you happen to be unusually savvy. Most elderly people I know are technologically challenged, and since we are moving to an almost exclusive social media and electronic communication society, the elderly have limited means of accessing the network. This would also hold true for people unable to afford a computer and/or Internet access and people who are intentional about “living off the grid.” Nearly all agents require electronic submission these days. It’s interesting the number of elderly people I met at the conference, most writing memoirs. While many have the time and money to put into writing, they don’t have the technological skills to keep pace with the demands of the modern publishing world.

4)      If you’re African American or Mexican American and writing clearly from that point of view (whether fiction or non-fiction), you will be expected to write with a voice that promotes the stereotypes of your race. I’m obviously white, so I don’t know this first-hand. I know it because I sat through various conference sessions and this was brought out several times this year. First a successful African American woman wrote a memoir about coming from ‘the projects’ to being the CEO of her own successful company, and she shared that she was told by an agent (not one attending the conference) that her language and voice is “not black enough.” Second, it was brought to my attention that a famous published African American writer was heavily criticized and edited by a black editor in a big publishing house for the same thing- not fitting into a preconceived idea of what a black voice should sound like. So it seems to me that your race and cultural experience, if different than the mainstream white experience or stereotypes, will be additionally scrutinized and “edited” to fit the publishing industry agenda, whatever that is. While there were more African American women at the conference this year compared to last (as far as I am aware), one of my sisters in my critique group is African American and she noted that there wasn’t a strong representation of African Americans from the publishing industry in general.

5)      This critique group sister also happens to write Christian fiction. It is a niche market that is apparently so niche that the entire system is in a different vein really. I know when I was writing Christian stuff I had to go buy the Christian Writer’s Market Guide, which is distinctly different than the mainstream Writer’s Market Guide. And never the two shall meet. I haven’t seen a single literary agent in either year I’ve attended the conference that accepts submission of Christian manuscripts.

6)      When I lamented about my existential frustration it was suggested to me by a fellow writer that I consider writing a memoir. Believe me, I’ve thought about it many times. I think my life’s been interesting in the sense that I have overcome more than anyone should really have to, and I’m not lying in the gutter with a heroin needle hanging out of my arm. But I lack the story arc. I fear my memoir would be one giant vomit-fest with way too much trauma. A Job story indeed. But I haven’t yet gotten back the tenfold that Job saw, so I don’t think it’s a story I’m ready to tell. But I humored myself and went to a breakout sesh on writing memoir. I would have never chosen that one if it weren’t for the suggestion. Donna Johnson, author of Holy Ghost Girl was on the panel. Fascinating stuff. But it seems to me that of the two authors and two lit agents on that panel, no one could succinctly define the line between creative non-fiction, memoir, and fiction. It’s apparently VERY blurry. And it just served to confirm what I had been thinking all along- my stories are my memoir, dished out in tolerable doses and packaged in dynamic characters with amazing and transformative stories. Like all writers, I believe that every single character in my stories has an element of me, and their experiences mirror my own. So I didn’t walk away convinced that I need to rush out and write a memoir. Maybe someday for an act of offering to my children.

7)     Labels. I understand why we need them. But. Does. Every. Fucking. Thing. have to have a label? Oh, yes, I use labels too. But they become particularly painful when none of them exactly fit. Remember being in high school and it was “the jocks”, “the nerds/geeks”, “the cheerleaders”, “the punk rockers”, “the metal heads”, “the wannabes”, and everything in between? I promise you I had friends in every single one of those categories when I was in high school. Apparently in the publishing industry this is a bad thing. If you aren’t sure where you belong then you must have a weak story, a story with an identity crisis. And pitching in multiple genres- a real no-no. Only published and successfully selling writers get the privilege of crossing genres…..sometimes. This feels really alienating to me because I don’t know where I fit. I like to think it’s literary fiction. I was told not to call it that because it sets the bar too high and then lit agents will turn you down more often. I guess the assumption is I can’t be that good of a writer because I’m not published. So I was told to call my work ‘upmarket women’s fiction’. When I mentioned my uncomfortableness in segregating half the population by labeling my work as “women’s”, the response was, “Well, come on, let’s be honest, we all know men don’t read.” Ummm….yes. Men do read. I know a few men who read rather carnivorously. Whether they would read the kind of stuff I write, I don’t know. Probably not. And maybe the type of men who would are the same who would not get tripped up by knowing my stuff is labeled as “women’s.” And then I’ve been told, based on the elements of my first completed MS, that I write romance. Lol. Now I know that is a shoe that doesn’t fit. Elements of romantic love do not make for a romance novel. Neither does a single sex scene make for erotica. The second MS and any conceived futures MSs do not have any elements of romance or heterosexual love. So I definitely wouldn’t label my work as romance. And then a reader innocently asks, “Well isn’t all writing literary?” Touche!

8)      I was asked by the lit agent I consulted with what I read. Ruh roh. Why couldn’t she have just asked me what the source of inspiration was for my stories, or something far more interesting? See, I have this new theory, based on all the mediocre fiction I’ve attempted to read, that what sells books are the compelling life stories of writers themselves. That’s what brings in invitations for interviews and speaking engagements. But maybe I just need to believe this because I scored a ’70/100′ on my MS contest entry and ummm…I don’t read fiction. I always cringe when I am asked this question. I feel a mixture of rebellious teenage pride and freshman shame when I have to explain that I have a personal library of probably over 300 books but 99.9% of them are non-fiction. I don’t read fiction. I just don’t. I never have. Oh, I try. I’ve gotten hold of numerous books over the past few years, and made a legitimate attempt to read them. But I’ve rarely gotten past the first chapter. They bore me. Either the language is so ridiculous I’m turned off, or the storyline doesn’t keep my interest long enough, or the characters are flat, or they’re talking at me in this weird way that I just don’t like. I hate fiction. Actually, truth be told, the only fiction books I’ve ever finished (except for the ones I was forced to read in school) were the Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Alchemist. That was a short and easy read. But I did have to force myself to finish it. I don’t get it when people say it “changed their life.” Sorry. I’m trying to get through Veronika Decides to Die, but I’ve been on it a year already, and it’s a really basic read. I should have had it knocked out in a few days if I was truly passionate about reading fiction. It’s not that it’s a bad story. I almost feel guilty about it. I just can’t seem to find the motivation to finish it. So yes, theoretically this puts me at a huge disadvantage. I guess when you read a lot you sort of learn by osmosis what good storytelling looks like. But is that the ONLY way to be a good writer? I know that’s the implication. Or else they wouldn’t ask, and wouldn’t look so disappointed in me when I admit that I don’t read fiction. This must be a classic problem, because in the movie Authors Anonymous the writer in the group who gets published first in the one who doesn’t read fiction. She’s sort of the joke of the group. (By the way, although the movie got bad ratings, if you’re a writer and haven’t seen it, I highly recommend you take a writing break to revel in the humor). Anyway, when the lit agent asked what I am reading now, I was caught off guard. I stumbled my way through. How unfortunate. I actually have about 20 books I’ve read the past year- all non-fiction. Right now my ‘thing’ is anything pertaining to Carl Jung and shamanism. If I had a minute to really think about it I might have had a more intelligent response instead of the mumbling that came out of my mouth. I’ve read some really good ones lately. Next on my list is Leaning Into Love by Elaine Mansfield, and Letters to a Young Poet by the infamous Rainer Maria Rilke. I still have an Eckhart Tolle and a Sandra Ingerman on my shelf that I need to read. And I’m eager to devour Pluto by Jeff Green (a timeless classic), and several more in this genre. I have a lot of interests, and I think reading non-fiction lends to more dynamic characters in my fiction stories. But I can’t convince anyone in the industry that this is the case. So, is this true that to be a good writer you have to read a lot of fiction? Or is it a bias?

So yes, I feel discouraged. I feel sort of out of place too, even amongst writers. I am a deep, complex person with many archetypal constellations, and I like to explore and reflect this in my stories. I get the sense the industry isn’t wanting this, or doesn’t find value in it because it isn’t the type of stuff that sells. Write about sexual deviance, or about vampires, or angels, or kids with magical powers and you’re golden. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. These agents are often saying they want something fresh. One encouraging thing I heard this year as well as last was, “If your writing is good your story will find it’s way to the light.” I’d like to hope on that. But then the question really is, is my writing good enough to attract a fan in the industry, willing to go to bat for me?

So after thinking about all these things, coming home absolutely discouraged and almost certain I don’t have what it takes to be a published writer, I’m left trying to talk myself out of quitting and wondering why we don’t question all these things? So many books I’ve read (i.e. Wired for Story, etc.) and classes/workshops I’ve taken have all laid out the structure of story in such a precise way. Is this really the only way? It’s not that my stories fall outside this age-old structure. I just wonder why we keep repeating the same things over and over and rarely go out on a limb to try something new. Wouldn’t it be fun if we tried something like the painters do and pass around a story for collective writing? That would be so much more creative and interesting than the collective of the publishing industry editing process. I don’t know. I just feel really squeezed, and the demands of the industry feel stifling and tireless. You can give your MS to 100 different people and get 100 different opinions, and many of them contradictory. So you can’t ever achieve a “perfect” novel. You really have to have the stars line up with the right people at the right time reading your stuff and thinking it’s awesome. It’s an awful lot of work and hope to put into a crap shoot. And then there’s the financial issue. I’m in a situation, and I don’t have access to an abundance of money to use outside of my basic needs. Many writers have other careers, day jobs. They write at night, on the weekends. And even after they get published they have to keep their careers because publication rarely equals instant financial success. It takes a lot to be able to quit your job and depend exclusively on royalties. And I don’t have an income. So this adds to my disappointment and frustration.

I obviously haven’t decided I’m giving up just yet. I borrowed money to send my first MS out for content editing and will work through the fourth edit before I send it out to the agents who requested. I’ll also query a few just for good measure. But if I don’t get any positive response, I really am going to have to consider if I want to invest any more of my valuable time, energy, and money into playing the game. I may not have what it takes. I sort of feel like the honeymoon is over and I’m going through that phase in the marriage when the mask is off and the real deal is standing naked in front of me. Now I have all the information I need to truly make the commitment, or not. It’s really going to depend. Two things I am certain of: I AM a writer and I AM so much more than that too. So we’ll see……

My article on living with metastatic cancer was published online by CURE, the cancer community’s premier magazine. Horray! I hope I represented my ‘lifer’ sisters in the best way possible!

Thankful to my sisters at the Inflammatory Breast Cancer Foundation for helping me get there!

Greg talked a lot about his own mentor, Robert Olen Butler. And then at the end of the lecture we spent an hour on a guided writing prompt. I wanted to share that. First, I’ll provide the prompts and follow them with the writing that flowed from them so that there’s no disruption in reading the story. But no critique is necessary- this was a spontaneous, free flow writing prompt, and I’m sharing it in it’s unedited form. If I had it to do over again, I would probably focus more on detail and anchoring emotion. But I enjoyed the experience and the outcome enough to share it here:

Prompts are given one at a time. Write until the next prompt is given. When the next prompt is given, write a brief bridge to it and continue with the prompt. Think of a specific place you feel safe.

1. Describe in detail this safe place and what is around you.
2. You hear a noise. Stop, and resolve it and come back to describe one specific item in detail.  
3. The item/object prompts a memory, a flashback.
4. Coming back from the flashback, how has your view of the object changed? 

#1     The lighting is dim most of the time, but controlled by the simple pull of a cord, if I choose. I am surrounded by things, my possessions, carefully chosen and as equally carefully placed. They all have significance- the blue morpho specimens hanging on the wall, three of them to be exact, the collaged poster I made with my 2014 resolutions- (I probably should at least change the date on it), my SoulCollage® facilitator training certificate, oh ya, and the card my mom sent me right before she died- the one with the character pulling lemons out of her shirt where her breasts should be, reminding me to make lemonade when life hands me lemons.

The dusty tops of the dark laminate furniture support trinkets of equal sentimentality- the Tibetan chakra bowls, resting on their pillows, waiting to make their sounds, the clay house trinket box my autistic son made in elementary school, with the roof that doesn’t quite fit, and is always slightly ajar, the beautiful slab of an agate geode, carefully displayed on a stand, just enough the light shines through when I do pull that cord to allow it in, and I can’t forget that hand-carved, sand colored stone swirly thing my husband insisted on contributing.

#2     I suddenly hear a noise, unsure of what it is. It came from behind me, so I turn around, and hear it again. It’s my granddaughter, knocking softly at the door. I open the door and greet her, inviting her in. As always, a smile across her face, her shoulders high, she marches in, asking me what I am doing.

“Feeling my space”, I tell her.

With the unconditional acceptance of a three year old, she replies, “Oh.”

She asks, “Can I see your fish, MeMa?”

I follow behind as she gets up on the tips of her toes, hanging onto the edge of the cabinet with her hands, and pushes her face as close to the fishtank as she can get.

“Do you want to feed him”, I ask?

“Uh-huh”, she says, feet now flat as she opens the door to the cabinet to get out the fish food.

“Hang on”, I tell her, words pushing out faster than usual.

She likes to do things on her own, which on more than one occasion has resulted in half the container of tiny fish food pellets ending up all in the carpet. But she doesn’t wait. She yanks the container out with the energy only a three year old could have, and without any seeming awareness of the spilled contents, she gets back on her toes, waiting for me to lift her up to the tank opening.

“How about this, Maddy”, I tell her, “why don’t we feed the fish later. Let’s sit down for a minute and just look, okay”?

“Okay, Mema”, she says.

I sit down in the chair next to the tank, and bring her onto my lap. She points to the monkey holding out a bowl that is resting next to us on the bookcase. “Monkey”, she says.

“Yes, monkey. And you know what’s in there, don’t you?” I smirk as she reaches long to pluck out the inch-long, smokey quartz pendulum resting in the monkey bowl.

It’s got a sharp point, so I’m always conscious of that when she wants to hold it. And she breaks the chain on it just about every time she wants to hold it, which has been about five times now. The silvery chain is rather cheaply made, held together by weak and loose links. She holds the pendulum by the chain, closer to the heavy wide top, and begins to twirl it around. She’s never seen me use it, but she intuitively knows how.

#3     As she sits on my lap, the pendulum circling around, I remember how he had the pendulum in his hand, his grip fiercely tonic. He’s hyperventilating and I don’t know what’s wrong. I call out his name, over and over, but get no response. His entire body is violently convulsing, and he’s gurgling, foamy saliva gushing up out of his mouth. The room is chaotic, full of panicked people and not even a bare spot on the floor, as he has this habit of not cleaning his room. I quickly push away stuff, shoving hard with my hands and feet into a pile, just to make enough room to roll him over on his side. I can’t see or hear anything else but him, as my mind is laser-focused on what is happening, and is racing with thoughts faster than I can catch up with them. I roll him over to his side, his entire body still in convulsive motion. I yell out, “go call 9-1-1”, but the words gush out from a place I am not connected to, an unconscious place. I do not have my phone with me- I left it in the panic. I consider this for a moment- I don’t know how I knew, because I never even checked for my phone, and I don’t remember even thinking about whether I had it with me.

#4     Indeed, the mind is a powerful thing. Maddy twirls the pendulum around one last time before the chain breaks. “Uh-oh, MeMa”, she says, as she turns and looks at me with her big soulful eyes. “It’s okay”, I tell her. When she used to want to play with the pendulum I would dread it, knowing it would require me to get out my jewelry repair tools, taking the time to repair it. I gently take the pendulum from her hand, and she reluctantly drops the broken pieces of the chain into my cupped hand. I lay the pendulum, and all the broken pieces of the chain back in the monkey’s offering bowl. It can stay broken for a while. I’m in no hurry to fix it. I pull Maddy deeper into my lap and ask her if she wants to sing a song with me. She quickly answers, “Yes!”

“Ok, which song do you want to sing then?”

“Ummmmm”, she pauses, tilting her head slightly, she blurts out, “Wheels on the Bus.”

“Wheels on the Bus it is then”, I say. “Okay, I’m going to clap and when I get to three, we’ll start singing, okay?”

She nods, putting her hands together.