Writing and Me

Please read: I was in a woozy and ramshackle state when I wrote this, so I don’t really know what the intention was. Don’t be mean. I wrote this a while ago, but there's something so raw, so naked, that keeps bringing it back to my mind.

It’s hard to describe why exactly I like writing. Obviously I admire storytelling and artistry, but the actual process of writing is quite different to simply creating worlds and characters. It’s an odd sensation to say the least; ostensibly it involves having a good range of language, and knowing how to creatively apply it. But that’s not quite it. Actually Sitting down, on a keyboard is exhilarating, like a drug. There’s a sudden, sweeping feeling of elevation, as my fingers quickly click and clunk, working in what I can only describe as instinctual copasetic synergy. Such enervation. It’s like your fingers are connected to the world of Tron (Trontopia??). My mind does not register its fingers individual movements; instead it seems stuck in some abstract holy land of rhythms, ideas, and emotions,  desperately attempting to interweave them. I think it’s all in my mind, the stories I mean. Seriously, I think the whole goddamn works of Shakespeare number two are stuck in there; it just doesn’t transfer through my digitally seduced fingers.

- Taha 

Miss Gee by Auden: Analysis

'Let me tell you a little story
   About Miss Edith Gee;
 She lived in Clevedon Terrace
   At number 83.

 She'd a slight squint in her left eye,
   Her lips they were thin and small,
 She had narrow sloping shoulders
   And she had no bust at all.

 She'd a velvet hat with trimmings,
   And a dark grey serge costume;
 She lived in Clevedon Terrace
   In a small bed-sitting room.

 She'd a purple mac for wet days,
   A green umbrella too to take,
 She'd a bicycle with shopping basket
   And a harsh back-pedal break.

 The Church of Saint Aloysius
   Was not so very far;
 She did a lot of knitting,
   Knitting for the Church Bazaar.

 Miss Gee looked up at the starlight
   And said, 'Does anyone care
 That I live on Clevedon Terrace
   On one hundred pounds a year?'

 She dreamed a dream one evening
   That she was the Queen of France
 And the Vicar of Saint Aloysius
   Asked Her Majesty to dance.

 But a storm blew down the palace,
   She was biking through a field of corn,
 And a bull with the face of the Vicar
   Was charging with lowered horn.

 She could feel his hot breath behind her,
   He was going to overtake;
 And the bicycle went slower and slower
   Because of that back-pedal break.

 Summer made the trees a picture,
   Winter made them a wreck;
 She bicycled to the evening service
   With her clothes buttoned up to her neck.

 She passed by the loving couples,
   She turned her head away;
 She passed by the loving couples,
   And they didn't ask her to stay.

 Miss Gee sat in the side-aisle,
   She heard the organ play;
 And the choir sang so sweetly
   At the ending of the day,

 Miss Gee knelt down in the side-aisle,
   She knelt down on her knees;
 'Lead me not into temptation
   But make me a good girl, please.'

 The days and nights went by her
   Like waves round a Cornish wreck;
 She bicycled down to the doctor
   With her clothes buttoned up to her neck.

 She bicycled down to the doctor,
  And rang the surgery bell;
 'O, doctor, I've a pain inside me,
   And I don't feel very well.'

 Doctor Thomas looked her over,
   And then he looked some more;
 Walked over to his wash-basin,
  Said,'Why didn't you come before?'

 Doctor Thomas sat over his dinner,
   Though his wife was waiting to ring,
 Rolling his bread into pellets;
   Said, 'Cancer's a funny thing.

 'Nobody knows what the cause is,
   Though some pretend they do;
 It's like some hidden assassin
   Waiting to strike at you.

 'Childless women get it.
   And men when they retire;
 It's as if there had to be some outlet
   For their foiled creative fire.'

 His wife she rang for the servent,
   Said, 'Dont be so morbid, dear';
 He said: 'I saw Miss Gee this evening
   And she's a goner, I fear.'

 They took Miss Gee to the hospital,
   She lay there a total wreck,
 Lay in the ward for women
   With her bedclothes right up to her neck.

 They lay her on the table,
   The students began to laugh;
 And Mr. Rose the surgeon
   He cut Miss Gee in half.

 Mr. Rose he turned to his students,
   Said, 'Gentlemen if you please,
 We seldom see a sarcoma
   As far advanced as this.'

 They took her off the table,
   They wheeled away Miss Gee
 Down to another department
   Where they study Anatomy.

 They hung her from the ceiling
   Yes, they hung up Miss Gee;
 And a couple of Oxford Groupers
   Carefully dissected her knee.'

-- W H Auden

Two Stylistic forces seem to juxtapose each other within the words of ‘Miss Gee’. One is deliberately misleading; a tonal façade than hides what the poem is actually about like a cloak. The other ‘Stylistic force’ lies underneath that cloak, and crudely contrasts against the initial tone.

That initial tone is a strikingly light and whimsical one. The poem’s repetitive structure (4 lines a verse with an alternate rhyme scheme) is reminiscent of playful nursery rhymes, or even a limerick. That kind of evocation is further cemented by the immediate subject matter; and odd ball tale about a dainty old woman with a funny name.  Notice the seemingly arbitrary aspects of Ms Gee’s life that the poet focuses on at first. ‘She lived at Clevedon Terrace… at number 83….Her lips were thin and small, and she had not bust at all’ It’s as if a humorsome poet is simply having fun with his wordplay – Something a lot of children poems do; creating repetitively catchy rhymes/tunes modelled around off-beat and simple set-ups. Perhaps this kind of manipulation is present to make the later sections all the more shocking, with its innocuous disposition being misdirection to what is actually an emotionally dampening poem.

 As the poem escalated, it seems to be more cynical, nihilistic and even existential. The ostensibly ‘playful’ focus we initially saw on arbitrary aspects of Miss Gee’s life was perhaps a subtle way of showing us the entirety of her mundane life. As readers, we will feel more shocked and sympathetic if the drabness of Ms Gee’s life comes as a sudden realization later on, and not the writer telling us from the outset ‘Her life is boring and uneventful’. The innocence of the character makes the reader sympathize (She talks like a child ‘make me a good girl please’ and dreams fancifully like a little girl to) but the tone of the poet seems cold and distant, as if he doesn’t want us to simply feel empathy. This is what I find puzzling about Miss Gee. The detached and somewhat apathetic language makes me think this isn’t just about us feeling sorry for Miss. Gee, but something more. We end up with some gruesomely gratuitous moments following her death (from cancer) ‘They hung her from the ceiling, yes they hung up Miss Gee; And a couple of Oxford Groupers, Carefully dissected her knee’ Which brings to mind meat that hangs from the ceiling in the back of butchers/resteraunts, simply waiting to be consumed. What is the point? To show how life can be meaningless and dull, with apathetic human beings? Fair enough, but the whole ‘human’s sucks’ is echoed more than enough in fiction, and is often done by well-off westerners who’ve never even imagined living homeless in some eastern warzone. ‘Oh the woes of our civilized and comfortable western life!’ This may sound mocking of me, but I can get behind a story like that. But it has to have the writer inject some kind of unique voice of their own, which Auden doesn’t seem to do. He’s probably comparable to Miss Gee’s doctor who plainly states to his wife ‘Cancer’s a funny thing’ – Cold and detached. It isn’t spiteful, but not lamenting either.

I realize that not every work of art has to be joyous celebrations of its medium. I’ll quickly get behind some cultural deconstructionist, a tragedy writer, and even some playful Schadenfreude. Yet, Miss. Gee is none of those things. And in the same way Auden muses on Miss Gee’s depressingly tiresome existence, I similarly muse on his depressingly tiresome poem.

Miss Gee’s a funny thing


- Taha 

Grant Morrison is a beautiful artist

And fucking awesome. Needed to be said.

 



And I want to thank him. He reminded me that fiction was at its core a joyous ritual, a joy I had lost in a sea of quasi-misanthropy and cynicism.

Time to Think a little Lighter, and Dream a Little Brighter.



- Taha

Acting Style and Stanislavski

Once upon a time, most theatre was very exaggerated. Certainly when one looks as far back as ancientt Greek plays, it’s easy to see hyperbolic energy flowing off the often bizarrely expressive masks, and the over-the-top satirical hand/body gestures. Of course exaggeration is a valuable dramatic device in all of storytelling, particularly in the genre’s of Science Fiction and Satire, but if one is not careful, it can often lead to a loss of subtlety, as the exaggeration may seem like it’s ‘hitting you over the head’ with its ideas, or ‘cleverness’. That might possibly be why so much modern storytelling today seems to be highly naturalistic, working as direct mirror to our lives, and not adding any kind of kinetic spice (Other than unfathomably attractive stars etc..)

Even if that isn’t the reason for the current state of storytelling (There are probably a lot of factors) , the trend of naturalism owes a great deal to the work of Constantin Stalivlaski. A Russian who lived between 1863 and 1938, worked as an actor and theatre director, he revolutionized stage acting with his own more realistic style. This change he brought about would have ripple effect that crossed into all storytelling mediums involving actors, so his legacy also extends to films, and even the voice acting in Video Games.( Though his methods would apply a lot less to Voice actors). He did this by bringing about his own ‘System’ of acting,  simply called ‘Stalislavski’s  System’(Though he originally had a lower case S for ‘system’ so as not to seem overbearing)

This system is also what probably led to bring about the term ‘Method Actors’ Actors who don’t simply act but ‘become’ the role, through heavily immersing themselves in every aspect of the character’s life style. They essentially construct the character alongside the writer, as they pay attention to what they think the character is supposed to be like outside of script, in order to fully embody he/she. This isn’t necessarily better. Robert De Niro probably thinks so, literally working as taxi driver before he was filmed in Martin Scorsese’s ‘Taxi Driver’ but other actors like Anthony Hopkins might reply with a snarky ‘Why don’t you just act?’ Stalislavski would likely approve of De Niro.

Staleslavksi believed in a psychological realism that actors embody, much like De Niro in Taxi Driver. Thus his system essentially involves rebuilding the way you behave. Things we take for granted, such as the way we stand, the way we use allocated space, and the way in which we hang our heads, is all broken down. When you see all the little pieces of what makes a human behave as he does, you can then reconstruct the pieces to seem like a different person all together. In this regard, Actors are almost like Jigsaw puzzles, however these puzzles can actually be made to make a variety of pictures, not just one. All you need to do is take apart the original picutre (The actor as himself) and put together a new one.

The inspiration for Stalivlaski to take such an approach probably came from the actors he admired most; tragedians such as Maria Yemolova and Tommaso Salvini. This makes a lot of sense. Comedy often works best when the hilarity is made hyperbolic, further exposing silliness/wit that makes it so funny. As the opposite to Comedy tragedy should logically work well with the opposite strategy, which is why more melancholy sombre tones are usually attached to tragedy, as the poignancy is amplified by the soft/modest tone, which contrasts against whatever the tragedy is. Conversely, exaggerated tragedy runs the risk of becoming irritatingly melodramatic, and even offensive, since the audience may feel that the proper reverence isn’t being given to the subject matter. Tragic topics seem to work better with the ‘artistic truth’ that Stalivlaski tried to attain in his system, as it isn’t trying to cheaply manipulate your sympathies around a dreary/shocking subject.  His fondness of tragedy must be why he ultimately applied the naturalistic style to the whole medium of theatre.

Those who prefer the garish over the sedate, Batman and Superman over Sherlock Holmes and Huckleberry Fin,  may blame Stalislavski for introducing a trend that would later encompass a lot (if not most) of modern fiction. But we still have fantastical adventures of hyperbole. And as an ardent follower of all things Storytelling, I will always appreciate the variety each style can bring. Stalivlaski’s style isn’t right or wrong, it’s just one very valid way of doing things. 

That all for today, I hope you enjoyed it!

-Taha

P.S Part 2 of 'Writing within restrictions' should be up soon ;)

Writing Within Restrictions Part 1: Plot and Meaning

A complaint I often hear from young writers about mediums like Comic Books and film is that they rarely allow for complete freedom to the artists. Like having to take into account a complex character history, or the intended audience. This leads to the term 'artistic compromise' -  a term treated with far more contempt than it deserves. I'm all for artistic freedom, where would be without it? Not somewhere nice, that's for sure. But restrictions aren't always a bad thing. They can be what keeps your work succinct, as you can no longer run away too far with your thoughts. It also means that your creativity has to be thoughtfully modeled around a core concept/character/theme etc, and isn't something random like 'THE ANT WHO SOUGHT TO TAKE OVER THE UNIVERSE' (Though I personally love the sound of that, it'd still be very easy to produce trash from it. Narrower subject matter would do better to keep a writer on track)

Over the course of a few months (Which concluded last July) I chose to write a play script for my Drama GCSE,and the restriction there were fairly rigid. I had to work in a pool of existing characters (Theseus,Athena, Aphrodite, Apollo and Ares)  and stay true/acknowledge their basic symbolism. The plot had to be sandwiched with the mythology of Theseus, taking place during his first journey to Athens. All within 12 pages (meaning I had little time to invent my own characters)

That was pretty daunting at the time, but I think I managed to do it with a reasonable level of quality. I don't put much stock in academic grading/accolades, particularly with opinionated subjects like the Arts. But for what it's worth, I got an A* in the script and accompanying coursework. I don't actually like the script too much, but I think I got my ideas across, and those ideas I believe in.

This isn't a guide on how your supposed to write characters within restrictions, because such a thing doesn't exist. There'll never be any 'right' way. It's just my own basic character profiles, their personalities, and relevance in the story.  It's merely how I did it with my GCSE, and what I think stands as an example of a way it can be done.




1) The Stimulus Material (A pre-existing script with ideas and characters my own writing had to relate to)

The original stimulus (by Neil Duffield)  involves a few overseeing Gods, controlling the lives of genuine humans as if they were chess pieces. The writer attempts to delve into deep emotion with drama that shakes two separated brothers to the core. Theseus is completely haunted by the discovery of his long lost father's kingship, and seeks a sense of belonging he seems to think his father has taken away. This links to the very universal theme of identity, something Theseus lacks, and something people usually require to fit in with life, move on, and grow.   

Story outline

Theseus meets a group of travelers in the wilderness with whom he joins with (strength in numbers)  

The group are mortals; however, their personalities are derived from the four gods in the stimulus material. Revenge and jealousy exist within this group, and it will be depicting the way the Greek Gods are very human, puerile and not fit to control or influence someone as intelligent as Theseus. The group behaves in an almost silly melodramatic style, while Theseus remains melancholic and natural. This will set up a contrast, the non-naturalism seeming even sillier due to being put beside a normal, intelligent, and charismatic lead.

The group’s dispute shall be numerous and petty, all diminutive echoes of the Mt. Olympus Gods.  Theseus will eventually learn that he is better on his own, making his way alone to Athens, where his own people lie. He will find relief from the almost scary thought of being ruled by clueless fools. The development will lead to a point where the message should seem to be this: Gods/Leaders often exist in their own little world, largely ignorant of the world they control and affect, and are not fit to rule people like Theseus.

The camp in which Theseus is staying with the mini Gods has two distinct sections; Theseus' area of normalcy, and the mini Gods area of surreal, and overemphasized social issues, all/most of which could be easily solved by intelligent people who were sufficiently in tune with the word and its nature. (I.e. not Gods) It reduces the God’s problems to that of an inane and self-indulgent soap opera, with incredibly transparent emotions.

Objectives/Intentions

The implication is that to truly know how to deal with humans,  to strive and long to be in a world with imperfect beings, one must understand the imperfect humans, and thus must be one of them. The idea of a creator is too abstract, and too vague for us to truly find everlasting belief in. To truly be free, we must be independent from a so-called ‘higher’ level of thinking.

The closest a God could ever be to human, is exactly the over-emphasized caricatures my travellers inhabit, as they don’t have the experience, memory and thinking that a normal human would have.  Attempting to fake or imitate something as complex as human nature can be met with very little success.

 Theseus sees the equivalence of Gods, isolated individuals who control and influence that which they do not understand, he leaves and goes gives the kingdom of humans (Athens) a leader, giving it back to the chaos of war and human’s art and greed. They are free. The anti-God message could easily be further applied to anti-authority, or at least authority that invests a lot of power in a few individuals. 

I want to use the dialogue and stage directions to be able to show how the two sides of naturalism and non-naturalism seem to coexist in this world. In writing it like this I want to be able to allow actors the opportunity to explore the themes raised earlier and showcase them to the audience.

You see? I'm not stating that's all super profound, but it did manage to take a largely meaningless script (Duffield's story was largely a loud clamor of different caricatures) and give it my own meanings, through subverting it. I do that even more with the characters, which will be the subject of Part 2.

Stay Tuned Folks!

- Taha