Tag Archives: books

On Violence In My Stories

“Ensnared” – Illustration by Scott Ritchie

The recent tragic events in Aurora, Colorado and both their apparent and alleged link to the most recent Batman films spurred me to reflect on the use of violence in my own writing, as well as what my responsibility is as the creator of such elements and images in my stories.

First and foremost, I believe in the First Amendment and that the duty of any artist is to avoid self-censorship and be unsparingly honest in his work, whatever the subject matter or medium. Personally, I do tend to explore the darker side of humanity in my writing, mostly expressed through psychological terror, or emotional violence, but also occasionally through the depiction of physical acts of violence. Should I be concerned that a reader or audience member after reading or viewing something I’ve written will personalize and pervert it, use my imagination as inspiration to commit a heinous act?

If I worry about that, I’m already censoring myself and the work suffers.

Nature vs. Nurture. Does violence in books, film, art, video games, etc. turn seemingly normal, everyday people into sociopaths or psychopaths? I say no. Perhaps I’m more concerned that its ubiquity in our popular culture is having the opposite effect: desensitizing us to the point where we simply shrug our shoulders after reading about tragic and senseless death that occurs in the real world.

I have a choice. I have free will. I can write about anything I choose, so why do I choose to depict violence in my stories at all? What about it attracts me? Well, in the spirit of free speech there is, admittedly, and I know I’m not alone here, a small part of me motivated by an exhibitionist impulse to shock or elicit an emotional reaction from people via my somewhat twisted imagination.

And I am intrigued by the dark pocket I believe exists in each of us, the contents of which we’re secretly (and not so secretly) titillated by: the things that frighten us or seem most prurient to our more surface, public sensibilities. But it’s quite healthy, necessary even, to dip into this pocket and bring the darkness up into consciousness through creative expression.

What has suppression ever done but create walking talking powder kegs?

To be clear, I’m not interested in putting purely exploitative material out into the world, the only purpose of which is to debase and disgust. No thank you. I want to be provocative, yes, but in the pursuit of something with a point of view, where substance and style can achieve equilibrium.

In regard to violence (again, both physical and emotional), I feel a need to examine the act and its perpetrators in an attempt to understand why we behave the way we do, why we hurt each other, and to shine a light on the damage and the cost inflicted. The nature vs. nurture debate when it comes to violence can be spun into so many various and fascinating narratives, and ultimately the end result I’m striving for is a confluence of the thoughtful, unflinching, entertaining, and often uncomfortably humorous.

Sometimes the results of my “investigations” are ambiguous because there aren’t any clear, obvious answers. And some of the best writing doesn’t provide answers, but rather inspires more questions. But that doesn’t mean I’m hiding behind fiction or afraid to assert an opinion. There are artists who are not compelled to explain or defend their work, but if so challenged I will stand behind anything I’ve created and enter into any reasonable debate about its merit, about its right to exist.

I’m curious to hear from other writers, readers, filmmakers, filmgoers, artists and consumers of art in general. What’s your opinion on violence in the arts, the impact it has on our society, and the responsibility of the artist?

Ray Bradbury and Attitude

Photo by Alan Light

By now I’m sure you’ve heard that we lost one of the great titans of literature a few days ago: Ray Bradbury, the grand fabulist, visionary,  prolific concoctor of enthusiastic, exuberant, far-sighted prose. Admittedly, I’ve read only a small fraction of his vast output, focusing on his longer works like Fahrenheit 451, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and Death Is A Lonely Business, but even so I can feel his influence, his imprint, in the skin of my own dark-fantastic stories.

As impacted by his fiction as I’ve been, however, it’s Bradbury’s nonfiction, specifically his collection of essays on writing known as Zen in the Art of Writing, that’s raising the hair on the back of my neck these days.

Because lately I’ve been thinking a lot about attitude. As in, how the right attitude about his work can usher a writer through the occasionally tumultuous and volatile terrain of story-telling. And how that attitude can carry-over and color his view of his life. To say Bradbury’s attitude toward both was ecstatic is certainly true, but still the word seems too meager to encompass the size of his passionate curiosity as a man of this world and a creator of “other-worlds” to be seen by our collective mind’s eye.

This passion is immediate, right there in the preface: “Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. The landmine is me. After the explosion, I spend the rest of the day putting the pieces together. Now, it’s your turn. Jump!”

Throughout the essays in his book Bradbury implores writers to work with zeal and gusto. Joy. To first, be excited, to be a “thing of fevers and enthusiasms.” He poses these questions: “How long has it been since you wrote a story where your real love or real hatred somehow got onto the paper? When was the last time you dared release a cherished prejudice so it slammed the page like a lightening bolt? What are the best and worst things in your life, and when are you going to get around to whispering or shouting them?”

There’s energy in these words, encouragement, and obviously some provocation, like a finger poking you in the chest a little too hard. But there’s also a deep sincerity here; I think it infuses every piece he’s ever written, and I find the mixture pretty intoxicating. Maybe that sounds a bit overheated, but this book affected me, and perhaps it’s because I broke it open at a moment in my writing when I needed to hear certain things said without equivocation.

Like this: “The other six or seven drafts are going to be pure torture. So why not enjoy the first draft, in the hope that your joy will seek and find others in the world who, reading your story, will catch fire too?”

Isn’t that what any writer wants to achieve?

And also this: To reach a point where “…you might easily find a new definition for Work. And the word is Love.”

Thank you, Mr. Bradbury. It’s sad to say good bye, but thank you for the life you’ve led. No doubt you’ll lead one just as fantastic in the after…

 

 

 

LATFOB – What Stuck With Me Part 1

Photo by Carolyn Kraft

“Starting a book trying to achieve the big picture will get you into trouble.”

“You can’t be an American novelist and not be haunted by The Great Gatsby.”

“Reinvention. Characters who try always fail…and that’s a novel.”

“Cormac McCarthy has three books where babies are being eaten. How does he get away with that?”

The answer to our nation’s problems is craft brewing. It’s the artisanal movement that’s going to save us.”

“75% of all literary fiction readers are female.”

“I refuse to have a cover with a beheaded woman on it.”

“Can’t think about who’s going to like your book while you’re writing it.”

“Fiction is an act of prolonged empathy.”

“Writing is about trying to be less afraid.”

“The reward of writing is the opportunity of having a genuine experience.”

“Worst thing to do as a writer is to be afraid of writing from the perspective of gender or race other than one’s own.”

“You can’t read a great novel and update your Facebook status at the same time.”

“I want to entertain myself at the same time I’m trying to entertain my audience.”

“You never stop coming of age.”

“When you go into a project nervous–that’s a good sign.”

“If you’re from the South and someone kills a person in front of you, the proper thing to say is ‘Well, that was a very interesting choice.'”

“While you’re writing, always ask yourself ‘Is it true?'”

“The hive mind is in ascendance.”

“YA writers have established a community; they even write together.”

“This is the golden age of storytelling in YA fiction.”

“To be a reader now is really to be in pig heaven.”

“There needs to be more diversity in YA literature. Overall, there’s not a lot of people of color [in executive positions] in the publishing industry.”

“Transvaginal wanding is not just my drag name.”

“Fairytales take away the burden of originality. They are like a river of stories we can dip into and swim around in.”

“Fairytales invite us to change the world as we know it. And because it is a world of change it’s possible to take the marginal characters and make them the center of the story.”

“Fairytales are constantly recast to fit the culture.”

“Ultimately what we take away from fairytales isn’t their morals but their sense of wonderment.”

“It is so pleasurable to read as a child.”

“Finding yourself as a writer is discovering what really moves you as a reader.”

“Writing is intuitive. Like a person stumbling around a dark room, a dark forest. Images become stepping stones to get across the river.”

“Post-modern novels seem to be contemptuous of the reader.”

“The first job of the writer isn’t to cater to the audience.”

“The challenge is clarity.”

“Amazing that out of nothing can come a novel.”

 

The wit and wisdom above was collected onto a miniature yellow notepad Saturday April 21 at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. Said perspicacity was uttered by anonymous festival-goers, as well as the novelists Chad Harbach, Lauren Groff, Jonathan Evison, Anthony GiardinaLibba Bray, Pete Hautman, Aimee Bender, Sarah Shun-lien Bynum, Trinie Dalton, Jack Gantos, Ransom Riggs, and Thane Rosenbaum.

Destination: Powell’s

Photo by Carolyn Kraft

It began with a vision box.

Similar to a vision board, our box was decorated with images and words linked to and evocative of the place  my wife and I were determined to return to after three long years.  Our version of Disney World, our Mecca: Portland, Oregon’s very own Powell’s, City of Books! We chose a box to advertise our dream, by the way, as it also carried the books from our private collection that we were going to trade in. For credit. To buy more books from Powell’s to bring home of course.  But would we be able to afford the trip?

A few months after finishing the vision box, while returning from a trip home to Wisconsin, we were offered the opportunity to give up our seats in return for two round-trip tickets worth $950. All we needed to know was that the airline flew to Portland and we were all over it. A few months after that, we negotiated a great deal with the Mark Spencer Hotel, which is a mere two blocks  from our version of heaven: a bookstore three stories high covering an entire city block. The vision came true. We were on our way.

I’m only able to write this now, as we spent the last six days of December in a book-induced trance. Our trip itinerary was as follows: Wake up; eat breakfast (fast); spend day at Powell’s, browsing and reading; eat dinner? We were engaged in books, immersed in them; in short, we geeked out on them. For us it seemed like time did not exist. Most of my timeless wanderings were spent in the Blue Room (Literature) and the Gold Room (Genre Fiction). The great thing about Powell’s is that they shelve new and used books together, and most of their used books are in great condition. This allowed me to be a bit more adventurous, and I bought some titles by authors I’ve never read before, How the Dead Dream, by Lydia Millet, and Things That Fall From the Sky, by Kevin Brockmeier, and Peter Straub’s Ghost Story. I also wanted to explore more by writers whose body of work I’ve only scraped the surface of. Thus: The Houseguest, by Thomas Berger, The Double, by Jose Saramago, and War Dances, by Sherman Alexie.

The other advantage to taking a trip without a touring agenda or a need for sightseeing was that it forced me to slow down–really slow down–relax and take a break from the hustle and flow of normal life. This is not always easy for me to do. But I did it, and thanks to the great atmosphere at Powell’s Cafe and the Dragonfly Coffee House, I was also able to read two books I’d brought along on our vacation: Unstuck in Time: A Journey Through Kurt Vonnegut’s Life and Novels, by Gregory Sumner, and The Boy Who Followed Ripley, by Patricia Highsmith. Highly recommend both.

Okay, Bryan, enough gushing. Suffice to say this was a great way for me to end a year that I feel was one of my most challenging and rewarding. And now I’m refreshed and ready to get back at it in 2012.

Now how about you? How did you spend your holiday and New Year? Did you keep working through, or did you take a break and stop time for a little while?