Listening To the Voices

By Keith Fisher

In one of the many books about writing I’ve read over the years, I remember one author writing about arguing with characters and having them dictate their own story. I kind of knew what he was talking about but it sounded crazy. I showed the paragraph to my wife, and she agreed the author is crazy.

I’ve since come to understand exactly what he was saying. I too, might be crazy, but when you live with a story long enough, it begins to take on a life of it’s own in your mind. How many of you converse with others about Harry Potter and find yourself talking like the characters really exist? This, in a way, is what writers talk about, when they say things like "my characters won’t leave me alone".

How many of you remember the movie, The Sixth Sense? The protagonist in that story has been given a gift. He can see and hear dead people. He helps many of them deal with their issues so they can move on, but they scare the crap out of him. He’d rather not see them. In fact he tries to ignore them, but they clamor for his attention.

I started writing a new story two weeks ago. (As if I needed another project, right?) I got the idea for the concept a while back. Since it wasn’t exactly in my genre, I tried to persuade a friend of mine to write it. Then I signed up for the first chapter contest, and a pitch session at the upcoming LDStorymaker’s conference. I wondered what to enter. Then, this story hit me over the head.

I began to draft it but characters started tapping me on the shoulder. Kind of like in the movie above, They wouldn’t leave me alone. I’ve been writing whole chapters in notebooks, because it’s bothersome to get to my computer. I’ve heard authors say their story wanted to be told, but this story is like The Sixth Sense, I can’t ignore it.

I know this can’t continue through the whole book, but for now it’s exhilarating. So, if you’re talking to me and I suddenly start arguing with someone you can’t see. Or I start scribbling in my notebook and ignore my surroundings, please be kind. I’m experiencing character overload. I can’t seem to write fast enough to please them. But I don’t want to turn them away.

Good luck in your writing—see you next week

Writing through the Pain

By Keith Fisher

Back in the early 1990’s I got involved in the Lower Your Fat Thermostat program. It did, and still does make sense. If you want to lose the fat on your body, you must convince your body that it should be smaller.

As part of the program, I learn to study nutrition labels, limit my meals to low fat, no sugar, no salt, and no refined carbohydrates. Coupled with the diet, was a regiment of exercise. I re-learned to ride a bike, stationary and ten-speed. I walked, and tried to run. I got out into my beloved mountains.

The program worked. I was healthier, and thinner than I had been in years. Buying clothes off the rack in a regular department store was a thrill. Then, while in a rush to go to the automatic teller one day, I stepped out of the car into a rainstorm wearing spongy-soled flip-flops. They soaked up the water—I stepped onto a tile floor and my feet went out from under me. I knew I had injured myself but I tried to ignore the pain in my shoulder. I didn’t go to the doctor, and I couldn’t ride my bikes. The shock transmitted to my shoulder from the handlebars was unbearable. I began to slack off. Then, Christmas came and I cheated. Just one chocolate covered Macadamia Nut couldn’t hurt, could it?

About that time, I went through a very stressful time at work. Attacks against me were frequent and I slipped into my old self.

Recently, I have been experiencing a stressful time. I don’t want to elaborate because it’s personal, but I noticed a decrease in my writing. Other than the blogs I am obligated to write, I have been slacking off. I sit in front of the computer for brief periods and check email.

When I was on the low fat program, I felt wonderful. When I am writing, especially plotting, I feel a release of creative energy that excites and delights me. Why do I let problems defeat me?
The fall of my diet program began when I injured my shoulder. It culminated in giving into the stresses of life. I often kick myself for not getting medical help but more than that, for not keeping up my exercise. I should’ve walked more until my shoulder healed.

My writing, as a friend of mine said, "Is life." It’s what I have chosen to do. I may not be very good at it, but I find joy in putting stories together. I find release in getting my point across in a blog or article. I cannot let it fall by the wayside. I cannot give in to discouragement. I must toe the line and continue to fight the battle of word placement and arguing with characters.

I sat down yesterday, determined to write something other than my blog. I pulled up a new story I’ve been plotting. At first, I edited (a task I’m not fond of). Then, I got pulled into the story. I found the world I’d created and continued my journey. It only lasted for the brief moment of an hour, and I had to go, but it felt wonderful.

I learned that I must keep to my task. Even if all around me is falling apart. I cannot allow my concerns to take over my life, the way my shoulder injury changed it. And you know? Writing, especially plotting, is like a shot of morphine against the pain of a broken body. What I write can sooth my stress with the balm of creative release. I must write through the pain.

Good luck with your writing—see you next week

What Did you Really Mean by That?

By Keith Fisher

Okay, drum roll please. Imagine, if you will, an old man in tattered white robes, carrying a large hourglass in one hand and a scythe in the other. It rests on his shoulder, with the blade pointing down. The man has a long gray, beard and hair past his shoulders. His legs wobble from old age as he walks across your screen. He meets a little baby who wears a diaper and sash that gathers on his right hip. There is writing on the sash that says happy 2009.

The tired old man picks up the baby, kisses him, and puts him down. Then, he lays down his hourglass and scythe at the feet of the baby. He lets out a long breath, sighs, and shakes his head. With a good luck wave, he turns his back on the baby and shuffles off in the direction he came from.

This is a tired cliché used for many years to illustrate the year changing. But what if I added details about the old man’s wallet being tattered? Or, what if I pinned a campaign button on his robe? Something like McCain 08? How would you feel if the baby wore a logo T-shirt that said Save the Ozone or something like that?

These would be political statements and every one makes them. But then, so is the tattered condition of the old man’s robe. So is the unblemished condition of the baby.

Recently, I listened to the conversation at work. I know—it’s always a mistake, but I heard a man talking about an animated movie he wasn’t fond of. Because I have argued with him before, I was interested in his opinion. I asked what he thought of WALL-E. His answer surprised me.

He complained about political innuendo. Now, while I might be considered ravenous when it comes to political content. I don’t appreciate being indoctrinated by an animated family movie, but WALL-E? Yes, Happy Feet crossed the line, but WALL-E?

Okay, the whole story takes place in one of the many possible futures of the world. My friend talked about a specific chain of superstores and the similarities. I understand that people might be offended by the image of mankind in that possible reality. But can’t you just enjoy the story?

When I saw the movie, I noticed none of the things my friend mentioned. I came away cheered by the wonderful story. WALL-E finds true love and he overcomes all obstacles to fight for the future of mankind. It’s a great piece of writing.

During the course of our discussion, I realized, because writers have opinions and bias, it’s impossible to write anything that doesn’t have some semblance of the writer’s opinion. I guess the secret of being a popular author is to agree with the majority. Either that, or disagree entirely so that the writer becomes a bastion of radical thought.

When I think of my stories, I see places where bits and pieces of my own ideas come through. I know I must keep politics out, but I wonder why readers and viewers can’t look past the political, and enjoy the story.

I guess I’m getting old or something but I’m still confused. What was Wrong with WALL-E?

I’m reminded of the story of Puff the Magic Dragon. It’s a song by Peter Paul and Mary. The lyrics were a 1959 poem, written by a college student. Critics asked whether it was about smoking marijuana. Peter Yarrow, the man who wrote the music, said the song is about a boy and a dragon. In reality it’s the writers feelings about having to put away the trappings of his childhood and grow up.

As you might have guessed I loved WALL-E You see, Sometimes a movie is just a movie.

Good luck with your writing—see you next week

So this is Christmas

by Keith Fisher

In 1971, John Lennon recorded a Happy Christmas song that always haunted me. Here are the lyrics from the first stanza.

So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you have fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young

Every time I heard, "And what have you done?" I always thought about whether I’ve done my part to end war and poverty. Every year, I came up short. Each year, after the dust settles and the wrapping paper goes in the trash, I look out at the abundance and I know I could do more. There was far less this year than years before, but still, I could do more.

But this year, I was struck by another meaning: Another year over and a new one just begun. I look back on my writing year and I’m happy. I’ve got four books finished one at the publisher, one in critique group and the other two in the wings. I’ve started plotting another book and I’m writing three blogs a week. Getting paid for writing. Things are looking up. A new, year has just begun and I hope that this year will be the one that I look back on as the year it all came together.

Christmas was two days ago, the world is shifting gears for New Years but I’d love to play Nichole’s game.

My favorite Christmas stories are not published per se. They are from family history and bear remembering. Like the time in Southern Alberta when my great grand parents, ordered Christmas from a catalog. Shoes for the kids, it was all they had. Christmas Eve came, and no shoes. They received word there was a package for them in the post office in Cardston, but the storm was too much. The kids would be devastated. My great grandmother prayed. Suddenly a man appeared on the porch. He was completely covered in snow, but he’d brought the shoes for Christmas. He was their neighbor and was coming home from Cardston. He felt inspired to go to the post office.

As for the other stories about Christmas,

A Christmas Carol.
It’s a wonderful life.
Luke II
Polar Express
National Lampoons Christmas Vacation

I know. The last one is a movie. And it’s unusual, but it brings a smile to my face and often, that’s just what I need.

Good luck with your writing—see you next week.

I Found Lincoln on My Couch

By Keith Fisher

I spent a lot of time as a child, lying on my back gazing at clouds. I’d imagine wild animals, odd shapes, and people’s faces. I’m sure you did also. It seems to be a childhood occupation on summer days. How many of you also spent hours making faces out of a floral print on furniture? How many of you looked at wallpaper and saw people staring back at you? I remember the old man with the long nose, and the elephant with square ears. My childhood was filled with images of this kind.

Recently, I caught myself staring at the floral print on our living room couch. There was a hole in my plot, and I sat there brainstorming, when it happened. The image of an old man grinned, and pointed out other images from the recesses of my mind. The experience reminded me of my childhood and the vivid imagination I once had.

I was delighted to see how many faces inhabited our couch, but then, my adult mind began to erase those shapes. The floral print returned and my mind went back to the task at hand. I discovered, however, that every time I used my imagination to solve the plot problem, the images returned.

A week or so later, I sat in the same place at a different time of day. The light had changed, and a different shape appeared. I looked at a representation of Abraham Lincoln, not the man, but the carving on Mount Rushmore. I realized the images change in relation to the environment, and my mindset. I recognized the need to exercise my imagination is essential to good writing.

So how do we tap the wonderful power that turns clouds into creatures? I thought of an exercise that works for me.

Look at the picture I attached here. What’s going on? Well of course, you say, it’s when Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence. But, look at the picture. Why is Jefferson standing? What’s in the clutter on the floor? I see crinkled and torn parchment, a discarded quill pen, and a book. One of those discarded parchments has a seal on it. Is it important?

Why would Jefferson discard an important paper with a seal on it? Books were expensive in those days. Why would these men toss one on the floor? What’s in the book?

Look at the faces. Adams looks distracted. Franklin looks displeased. Jefferson looks almost like he’s going to cry. And why is there a model of a ship on the shelf?

There isn’t much written about the actual writing of the declaration. We can make judgements based on what we know about these men, but if we examine other pictures. Wherever we find them and try to answer the questions, the foundation of a story will take shape. Our imagination will kick in.

It might be as simple as picking a path through difficult terrain in the forest, or finding the best fishing hole in a picture of a mountain stream. Whatever your imagination conjures, the story will be there. Write it down. If it’s really good, and the lighting is just right, you might be writing the next great American novel. Even if it isn’t, remember the satisfaction of spending the day making images out of clouds. That’s what writers do everyday. The satisfaction comes in using your imagination. Each one of the people in the picture below has their own story. What are those stories? Use your imagination.



Good luck with your writing—see you next week

And Do it with Words

By Keith Fisher

I’m a graphics guy. I may have mentioned it before, but it bears repeating. I was a kid at the beginning of the media revolution. Television in all its glory was just getting started. I sat in a dark room with the whole school as we watched parts of President Kennedy’s funeral (at least I think it was) on a black and white screen with terrible reception.

You might say, I grew up with the medium. I remember seeing many of the classic TV shows in first run, not re-run. Add movies, radio, vinyl records, and printed media to the mix and I was a media junkie. It all had an effect on my upbringing. Now we have so much more and the internet. We should be an educated people.

I recently commented on Sariah Wilson’s blog that I look for a graphic example to express my point in a lesson or talk. It’s all because of my media upbringing. I used a clip from the original StarWars to emphasize a point about seeking the spirit. I used Pinochio to show that the Holy Ghost will help—just whistle. I show Church videos that are made for the purpose of illustrating the lesson, and I use those videos, or parts of them, to illustrate other points.

A thought about this occurred to me this morning, when I was reminded of the latest session of my critique group. I often feel the need for further explanation when someone questions some part of my story. At those moments I wish I could use a graphic. If I could use graphics in my novel, the point would be expressed exactly as I wanted.

Alas, you say, I have missed the point. As a writer it’s my job to produce the graphic, and do it with words. If I do it right, my book could be the graphic someone holds up to emphasize their point.

Good luck with your writing—see you next week.

P.S. I’m giving away a Chuck Wagon Dinner bell at another blog. Come and play.

See, I'm hooked. I used a Graphic.

http://thecampcookinyourbackyard.blogspot.com/

Don’t Forget the Shackles and Chains

By Keith Fisher


I’m the kind of person who has many different projects going at the same time, and every project has a pile. I sat down at my desk to write the other day, and began to look around. The piles had grown so high I couldn’t see over them, and I couldn’t remember what some of the stacks were for. Oh what a wonderful excuse for procrastination, and I took full advantage of mine.

My writing time was spent shuffling papers and making to-do lists. I leaned back in my chair and said "Ah, now I can write." I placed my fingers on the keyboard and the great concept I’d planned to write had evaporated from my mind.

As writers, I’m sure we have one thing in common. We all dream of the that perfect writing space. Be it office, studio, or game room. I always loved the television depiction of Dave Berry’s office on Dave’s World. An abundance of space, pinball machines, toys everywhere. I often put a picture on my desktop at work. It shows a castle, perched on a cliff, overlooking the Rhine River. What a great writer’s retreat. I’ve also shown pictures and talked about the oval office on this blog.

In all of my dream spaces, including the tower of a lighthouse, I have a comfortable couch that I can lie down on, and work out plotting problems. It’s also for talking to my kids. At a writer’s conference, Willard Boyd Gardner told the story of his office. He’d written Race Against Time, in pieces here and there at the kitchen table and so forth. When the book was published, he decided he needed an official writer’s office. So he built one. When he went in there to be alone and write, he found he needed the distraction of having the kids underfoot. He dragged the toys into his office and brought the kids in.

Currently I have an office I share with my daughter. It’s one way of keeping an eye on her internet use. There are pictures and plaques and awards on the walls. (There’s never enough wall space.) All in all, It’s cramped, but it’s not bad. I still want that comfortable couch, but it’s not bad. Still, I ask myself, how I can get inspiration for those great, new ideas, if I’m in the same old surroundings?

Don’t get me wrong I write in there. But lately I’ve been cheating on my office. I run away carrying my laptop. I find unusual places to write. I drive up to the mountains and support my computer with the steering wheel. I find parking lots with unsecured networks to post my blogs and check email. I write in café’s.

I’ve been reading Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. She recommends several unusual and exotic places to write. If I write in airport terminals, or the mall, I am never in need of a character. If the protagonist needs to talk to a police chief, I look around the room until I find the person I want. Then I describe that person.

When I do family history research, and I write about my ancestors, it often lends credence, if I happen to be in the places where my ancestors had the experiences I’m writing about. The same is true for the mystery novel. It’s hard to describe the smell of a place if you’ve never been there.

Putting authenticity aside, however, It’s great to get out of the office. I could redecorate or add on into the carport, but that would be procrastination. I’m reminded of the lyrics of an old song,

Come Saturday Morning
The Sandpipers Words by Dory Previn and Music by Fred Carlin
Peak chart position # 17 in 1970
Featured on the soundtrack of the film The Sterile Cuckoo starring Liza Minnelli

Come Saturday morning
I'm goin' away with my friend
We'll Saturday-spend till the end of the day-ay
Just I and my friend
We'll travel for miles in our Saturday smiles
And then we'll move on
But we will remember long after Saturday's gone

It’s Saturday morning. I think I’ll take my character friends and run away. By the end of the day, I might have a good first draft of a new novel.

Good luck in your writing---see you next week.