North by Northwest

This post originally appeared here in October 2010:

While watching TV today, I saw a clip of Hitchcock's North by Northwest, the clip most often associated with that movie:  Cary Grant's character on a lonely country road, a crop duster's propellor spinning toward him, and Grant's dive into the dust. The entire scene is several minutes long, but in the several times I've watched it, I've never seen a wasted shot or felt it ran a moment too long.

Funny, the things that start neurons sparking in the brain. I've been revising the latest WIP, and wondering how to get the most out of the chapters I'm working on -- those all-important first chapters (not that the rest don't matter, but no one will read them if the first few don't hook an editor). Seeing that movie clip reminded me of how Hitchcock used a storyboard to plot out each step of the scene, from the first appearance of the plane, to its approach, to every change of expression in close-ups of Grant's face.

Other writers have told me they see their books and stories as movies in their heads. So do I. We agree that translating those vibrant visual scenes into words that best express what we saw is the tricky part. Many writers use Hitchcock's storyboarding method to outline their novels. I've tried to do that, but my efforts fell flat. So I rely on my fingertips, keyboard keys, and the monitor screen to get me into the zone, draw out the first draft, and fuel subsequent revisions.

I've never tried using a storyboard method for revision. It might be useful to try. It might be even more helpful to go back to my movies, where my scenes and characters first revealed their magic, and watch each scene again, listen to each line of dialogue, re-experience the emotions. Once the who, what, when, and where are set in motion on the page in an order that satisfies me, what else can I see on the screen of my imagination?

http://www.nps.gov/moru/photosmultimedia/Mount-Rushmore-Now-Gallery.htm

And I quote--

A Louisiana farm wife watches the moon:

On July 20, 1969, Val slept as the Eagle landed and the first human beings made footprints on the moon. I started to wake Val, but he had said it was all a fake, so I let him sleep and watched by myself.  I leaned forward in my chair, straining to hear every word from Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, to see their every stride, every hop, and to separate the astronauts from their ghost images. My eyes kept focusing on the flag they planted, the American flag sticking straight out to the side. No wind, no air to move it.

From "Goose Chase," A Long Night's Sing & other stories, on Amazon Kindle.

Photo

Okay. That was NOT the photo I linked to. In case anyone was wondering.

A Long Night's Sing & other stories

I've spent the past week in a tizzy. Who knew publishing a book on Amazon Kindle would be so easy. Or so hard. It's a little like fixing Asian food--it isn't difficult but involves a lot of preparation before you do the actual cooking.

However, I'm happy with the result and hope a lot of other people are too. If you're so inclined, take a look here.

I love the photo I found. Amazing how many great public domain photos there are. This one just pulled the whole book together for me.

Real or not real?

After putting off reading The Hunger Games for as long as I could--do not ask me why because I don't know--I devoured it, putting one book down and picking up another till I finished.

The most obvious metaphor in the trilogy is reality TV that pits contestants against each other on jungle islands or across continents or on stage. You backstab or get voted off. Nice doesn't play well. Form as many alliances as you like on your way to the top, but never forget Highlander:  "There can be only one."And never forget the audience--what amuses, what doesn't. They want action, drama, conflict. They want blood. Fortunately, we haven't reached the point where we expect contestants to literally stab each other or intentionally draw blood, and we don't yet let contestants fight to the death--on national TV.

So reality TV is the most obvious, but not  the only metaphor. There I sat, books in hand, inhaling the brutality and selfishness, the nobility and selflessness, pain and desire. Children were dying horribly. Book in hand, I watched the Games as viewer and participant without being a murderer or an accessory.

Why do we read, anyway? Is it to spend time with happy people leading happy, safe, uneventful lives? We read because we can't crack open the roof of our neighbor's house and watch them run through the maze of their private misery. We can't crack open the roof of a bank and watch masked people barge in with guns and shouts and demands. We can't trot after two people down a dark, rainy street and watch one person rape, stab, rob and/or bludgeon the other. We can't do any of those things without putting ourselves in danger or becoming complicit in crime.

But we can read about it. I watched Katniss dig for food in garbage cans and start to go home to die until a boy handed her a loaf of bread. I crept through those trees with Katniss in the arena, felt the burns of the girl on fire, died a little when Rue died, felt Katniss's joy at finding Peeta, plotted with her to keep him alive. Readers are voyeurs. We read for the misery of it. With any luck, at the end, there's peace and release.

The Greeks called it catharsis. It isn't pretty, but it is necessary.

Prompt #108 – Monostitch Poems

When writing a poem seems intimidating, try writing one line. I love this idea. Check out Adele Kenny's latest prompt:  Prompt #108 – Monostitch Poems

The Bookshelf Muse: Want to Write a Best Seller? Change Your Mind

I thought like a child . . .
Before we are led where we don't want to go, maybe we can again.

The Bookshelf Muse: Want to Write a Best Seller? Change Your Mind

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Overabundance

Happy Independence Day, Gentle Readers!

I discovered a delicacy suitable for any day of the year you can get fresh tomatoes. It's easy to roast them, and a 300-degree oven didn't raise the heat to an uncomfortable level in summer. The recipe was one I found in the July 2012 issue of Relish, inserted into our newspaper every month. I sliced most of the ripe tomatoes cluttering our countertops and spread the slices in a baking pan prepared with cooking spray. Then I sprinkled on some olive oil, salt, and pepper and baked at 300 degrees for 2 hours. The recipe called for garlic, but I omitted it.

At the end of the baking time, the tomatoes were mouth-wateringly fragrant and tender. I made the mistake wise decision to freeze the tomatoes in a plastic bag before I decided the remaining layer of juice and baked bits stuck to the bottom looked too good to wash away. So I sopped a slice of bread in the pan, scraped the bits and spread them on too, then scarfed it all down in seconds. I wished I hadn't put the tomatoes themselves in the freezer, but I have plans for turning them into a sauce, so I restrained myself from grabbing them out again.

Next time--there will be a next time--I'll just heap the whole delicious mess onto some bread and go to it, probably with a glass of wine on the side. I recommend you do the same.
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