"I like to fare forth fresh, if only for the alliteration."

- Peter De Vries, Slouching Towards Kalamazoo

Work and Therapy

My "day job" in film and television (which often bleeds well into the evening, depending upon what part of the process I'm involved with) is to supervise what is known as "post production" (sometimes hyphenated as "post-production"). This is the rather Deconstructivist (as opposed to deconstructionist) process which involves picture editing (which virtually assembles the footage and sound back into a comprehensible story, if all goes well), sound editing (including sound effects, dialogue replacement, foley - that's the man with the track pants and high heels - and music), and, depending upon the project, visual effects (whether they be corrective or something more snazzy involving CGI and goblins running down an exploding volcano).

It can all be extremely interesting - even if you've done it for years, sometimes you just can't wait to see the end result - or nightmarishly absurd. It really depends on the project, the people involved, and the budget. Working in post, as opposed to working on the set during production, I get to see the various bits that were shot slowly congeal into what eventually gets delivered to the broadcaster or film distributor. I end up seeing the shows I'm working on many, many times before anyone outside gets to see it once. Regardless of whether it is a sensitive, intelligent Canadian documentary or a Hollywood torture-horror film, they all kind of dovetail into one another. I sometimes wish the sensitive, intelligent people in the documentary were in the horror film. Sometimes I wish the people who work on horror movies were profiled in a sensitive, intelligent documentary.

Big or small, there is a lot of money hanging on any given project, so the pressure put on those, like myself, overseeing the process can be profound. Stress is like alcohol; it can be habit-forming as a motivator, but it can also engulf your better reasoning. Thankfully, I don't think I've worked on a project where I haven't been able to openly poke fun at it with my peers. Laughter is a wonderful antidote, particularly when you don't have a creative stake in what you're laughing at; the important thing is making sure that it isn't the mirthless, bitter laughter of someone whose sanity has been frayed by deadlines and intermittent bullying. If the latter is your case, you need to step away. Soon.

Last Frame

Photo: LaSalle

"Enter late, leave early."

- advice to writers, origin unknown.

Inuksuk

(Inuksuk information courtesy of Wikipedia)

Getting Better: Take It Outside

Writing programs, whether they be of the one-day or the week-long-getaway variety, can be good or bad things. In particular, I think anyone who is a closeted writer (ie. short stories and poetry hidden on your computer like pornography) and feels the need to affirm (or reaffirm) their direction should consider - at least as an option - a writing program. Provided you do some research and find a good course, a writing program allows you to unload your craft in front of others, receive honest feedback, and illuminate your shortcomings as well as your strengths.

Of course, there are always risks. Your teacher/mentor may not get along with you at all, for stylistic or personality-related reasons. You could be a poet in a room full of prose writers. You may find your peers to be full of themselves. You may find yourself an unintentional participant in a Self-Congratulations Society, where no one will accept or voice constructive criticism.

I lucked out, to put it briefly

Many years ago, I hooked up with a Toronto-based group, headed by someone who ran a web-based forum for local writers. It was ok. It wasn't what I wanted then, though of course I can articulate it perfectly now. The person coordinating the meeting I attended (and as an aside, being someone who coordinates a couple of groups now, it can be a thankless, dispiriting job) was not, at least on the surface, someone focused on the art or spirit of writing. She seemed more interested in writing events (contests and the like) rather than writing itself. This, I contend, is not wrong, but rather - being the sensitive philosophical type I am - it simply didn't jive with what I wanted. But even this is good, because the more you investigate the more you learn about what you need versus want. As a result of trial-by-error, your desires become less metaphysical and more concrete.

Fast-forward years later...my then-fiancée, Ingrid, who works in publishing, recommended the Humber College School for Writers' Summer Workshop. I had a novel. I didn't know whether it was good or bad, and it wasn't helped that I had no writer friends to bounce it off of for feedback. I looked into the program and decided to attend (financed by American Express). I ended up spending a week in a classroom of eight, with poet/novelist DM Thomas (The White Hotel) as our mentor. It was perfect. I could not have asked for a more seminal experience. Everything clicked. I walked away at the end, having attended seminars, Q&A's, and forums, with a much more evolved viewpoint of both the art and business of writing.

That week I learned to love and respect the art of revising/editing, something I'd always treated like poison. I met some great people who, for the first time, I could actually talk to about writing without having to explain what writing was in order to help them understand me. I was publicly confronted with a then-serious illness (habitually using it's when I should've been using its). I was flattered by the positive feedback I received but not stung or made sullen by honest critiques either.

As a result of that single week, my outlook, philosophy, and activity in writing was immensely deepened. I started a monthly writers' group - the very same sort of group I was searching for in vain before - which carries on successfully to this day (we celebrate our 3rd "birthaversary" this summer, in fact). The novel which had consumed so much of my time back then has since been shelved, having realised that it needed so much work that it was better for me to start from scratch and return to it later (under the axiom, "if you love someone set them free"). Now, of course, I have a new novel which I'm very happy with (along with a nice collection of short stories).

I write this because sometimes - particularly when you are an artist, alone, in an environment seemingly bereft of people who can empathize with what you do - it's important to look outside for that next important step: getting involved so as to help yourself. As writers, we can't allow ourselves to fall into the trap of thinking we are failures if we do not wake up at 5am, complete four chapters by lunch, followed by spending the afternoon staring solemnly out of our 3rd storey "writing nook" windows while we wait for the absinthe to kick in. That's mythology.

I should also mention an extremely good (short) book, called Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland [ISBN: 0961454733]. I recommend it to anyone from any artistic background who is looking for some objective advice, written by people who truly understand. Lastly, even though I mention this book and provide a link to the Humber College course previously, it's just as important for people to discover what's right for themselves - there are many options out there. Please do your research.

Photo: Dashboard Clouds

Writing on Writing

I would like to say that I've been prolific in my writing over the last few weeks, but that would be a lie.

My first focus has been the novel. It is complete (in the sense that I don't believe it requires anything new to be added: chapters, characters, story arcs, etc..), yet requires a good revision to smooth over the parts which were put in place (not unlike a temporary glue or kludges) so that I could carry on telling the story without getting bogged down with detail work. Thankfully, the amendable bits are easy to recognize and not too draining for me to clarify.

A few weeks back, my tangential focus was on submitting two stories to two separate entities (one a contest, another a lit mag). Again, revisions were needed, as I don't think it's very safe to blindly submit something, even if you were perfectly happy with it previously.

In other words, the novel's coming along very well, submissions are submitted (and the inevitable lottery entered). There's just not a hell of a lot of "new" writing happening these days, which bugs me.

It would bug me more if it wasn't for the fact that I seem to be in a "research" period. Quite involuntarily, I find that I'm following leads which present themselves to me without my seeking them: clues, ideas, conjectures. Most influential, at least currently, is Karl Popper, whose "Unended Quest" I have been devouring for the last while. His insights into the theory of knowledge and its application across the spectrum of art, science, and politics is - if anything - thought provoking. The goal of philosophy, I am reminded when reading someone who understands exactly what he or she is talking about, is not to blindly adopt beliefs because they sound good, but to digest them. To try them on like a pair of garish sunglasses and look at the world through them; rarely will even the most profound philosophy not require adjustments made to it in order for you to still be and think like you, and not someone else.

I'm reminded of Hesse's Siddhartha, where the protagonist, upon meeting the Gotama Buddha, rejects his offer for Siddhartha to join his group, stating that the Buddha himself came to his wisdom not by following others, but through making the necessary mistakes needed to attain wisdom.

Somewhere, far away, I am *this* close to something.

Photo: Swastika #2