When we write a novel or a screenplay we are basically
imagining things. I know that a very basic statement, but I feel this is often
forgotten when our brains are so consumed with other things that aren’t
creating: grammar, craft, and the worry of reviews that don’t yet exist.
Not only are these
things not imagining, they take away from our ability to fully immerse
ourselves in the world of our characters, and, instead of experiencing their
emotions, our own fears and doubts creep in. This leaves us with one foot in
our world and one in the world we are trying to call into existence when we
should leap into our worlds with both feet.
I’ve brought a very
special teacher here today to assist you with this problem. I would guess he’s
about four years old and maybe a little deranged. His name is Tom. I know this
because I heard his mother say, “Tom, stay where I can see you.” She’s said
this about eight times because Tom keeps easing away from her.
You see, Tom seeks adventure.
He’s tired of this mundane world where his mother sits with her friends on a
coffee shop patio, and her friend’s comment about how cute he is and ask him
stupid questions. “Tom, did you like that shirt I got for your birthday.”
It’s clear from Tom’s
face he has no idea what shirt the woman is talking about. In fact, I get the
distinct impression that if you wanted Tom to regard the gift of a shirt with
anything other than indifference it would have to be made of chainmail. He
gives her a nod to appease her.
Tom turns his back to
the table of ladies, and they disappear. The whole boring world disappears and
is replaced by another, a world that is filled with monsters and Tom is going
to kill them all with his sword.
Okay, he doesn’t really
have a sword. It’s a stick he’s picked up off the ground. Still, one has to
respect how much young Tom has committed to his role of Tom, the Destroyer of
Monsters.
He flails around with a
violence and passion that has caused many of my fellow coffee shop patrons to
lean away from him. The boy is not some dainty fencer. He is a deranged
berserker, powered by an extreme hatred for monsters. I don’t know what got Tom
into killing monsters, but, from the looks of him, it seems personal.
As I wait for the stick
to fly from Tom’s hand and embed itself in some unsuspecting coffee-drinker’s
eye, I hear Tom mumble as he slays, and I realize Tom is not fighting monsters
alone. He has a partner in his war on monster kind. Twist! It’s a good monster,
and these two have each other’s back. If a monster tries to sneak up on Tom,
the good monster leaps to his aid and scratches out the bad monsters’ eyes. If
the bad monsters team up on the good monster, Tom rushes to his side and chops
off all of their ‘dirty monster heads’.
I’m curious how this
alliance formed. What turned Tom’s monster against his own kind? Why do this
Berserker and Monster trust each other so unconditionally? Are they the only
thing keeping each other alive or are they truly friends?
I wish I could tell you I
found out. But, unfortunately, Tom didn’t act out any flashbacks showing how
this alliance formed. Nope. Once all the bad monsters lay dead on the coffee
shop patio, Tom would walk back to where his mother sat and start the whole
scene over…and over…and over. I was impressed by how little variation took
place in his reenactments, but after about the third time through, I found
myself rooting for the bad monsters.
But, that’s okay. Tom’s
not here to teach us the craft of good storytelling (remember that part about
him being four). He’s here to teach us how to pretend. Scratch that. He’s here
to teach us how to pretend intensely.
Tom is able to pretend
intensely because he doesn’t give a shit that I’m not impressed with his
storytelling. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks (He doesn’t even care he might
injure some innocent bystander just trying to get caffeinated). Tom is having
too much fun. Tom is so good at not giving a shit it’s become like a super
power. It allows him to be standing next to his mother and her boring friends
one moment and standing shoulder to shoulder with his monster partner the next
as they take on a squad of bad monsters. Tom is the walker of worlds.
This might have been a
superpower we all possessed at one time but we traded it for the concern of
what others might think of us. How sad is that?
Stephen King’s first
rule of writing is to write for yourself. Whether you’re a fan of King or not,
you have to admit it seems to have worked out for him.
So, the next time you’re
writing. Stop writing, start pretending on the page, pretend intensely. Fill
your work with passion and fun. Be like Tom the Destroyer of Monsters and don’t
give a shit what others think. Jump into your world with both feet. Canon Baaaall!
