The Pecman

Most of the year round. I'd say in the last ten years, we have about 2 months in LA that are 100 degrees (F), and then at least two months that are cold and rainy, usually around January-February. The other 8 months are generally pretty mild, 65-80 or so. Not too bad. Unless you consider the fires, mudslides, and earthquakes. And the horrific traffic jams (which I was in today for about 90 minutes).

Oh, I'd like to wave my magic wand and make this happen... http://vimeo.com/84244012

85 degrees today in LA! And the 20th anniversary of the Northridge Earthquake is coming up in just a coupla days...

I agree -- this is extremely good writing. Best thing I've read all year (so far).

Never say never. If even Rush Limbaugh can (reluctantly) endorse gay marriage, anything is possible: http://www.rushlimbaugh.com/daily/2013/03/27/how_will_gop_deal_with_gay_marriage Even Rush says the real issues we have are economic, and that gay marriage is just a distraction from that.

Oklahomo! (Sorry.)

I found the footnotes depressing.

You are very wise.

That's different, Des. Besides, you're much too ornery and outspoken to be brain damaged. But seriously: if there's zero brain activity and no blood flow in the brain for a week or two, it's over. If you're on an operating table and a heart-lung machine can keep you going during a procedure, that doesn't count. Glad you made it, BTW! It's interesting: I've almost died twice in my life (one not too long ago), and the experience does change you. I came away from both experiences as now being completely unafraid of death. If it happens, it happens. I don't necessarily want to die, but I have no hesitation of spitting in death's face on my way out. Pain and suffering, I don't like. Not a fan of either. But death itself, I'm not afraid of one bit.

Exactly. A lot of these rules are just basic instinct that anybody with talent would recognize. The problem comes with people who think they're smarter than the rules, but I think the rules are tough to overcome. Not impossible to do, though, and there are certain kinds of stories that can't be confined to rules. I cited Catcher in the Rye as an example of a novel that broke several rules. I'm hard pressed to say what Holden Caulfield wanted, and maybe the point of the story is that he was a neurotic teenager who was frustrated by the fact that he had no goals, no desires, no real passion for anything. So that would be an exception.

That can work, too. But in every case, the main character wants something: they want to be in love; they want somebody they can't have; they want power; they take a journey in order to find something they want. Well, I would agree that once you get past the simple question of what your lead character(s) want, you have to find a way to make the character accessible to the point where the readers can empathize with them. I always say, even if you have an unpleasant, flawed lead character who's a crook or a killer or worse, there are ways to somehow make the audience sympathize with him. This was never done better than in Alfred Hitchcock's classic Psycho, where there's a memorable scene where the audience is worried that the car containing a dead body might not sink into a lake. Hitchcock later said the test audiences sighed with relief when the car finally sank out of sight, and he knew he'd made a successful film. I would also agree that sometimes, the lead characters seem to want one thing, when the reality is that they really want something else entirely. You could have a story where, "Joe is head over heels in love with Sam, who doesn't want him, but realizes at the end that he really loves Michael, who reciprocates his affections." It's still a story about wanting. There's a thousand different ways to tell that story, but once you slice everything extraneous away, the core of the story remains the same. I have a story on this site, Jagged Angel, which is about a popular high school football star who has a beautiful girlfriend, wealthy parents, and (on the surface) seems to have a great life. He appears to start off with everything he wants already, and is an arrogant, entitled, spoiled little shit. But over time, he gradually changes into a much more complex character who realizes he's gay, he comes to terms with who he really is, and he discovers what he really wants in life is to be honest with who he is and find some happiness. Everything else (all 140,000 words) is just detail. You take a story like Wizard of Oz: that's a novel where you have four characters who each want something. Dorothy wants to go back to Kansas; the Scarecrow wants a brain; the Tinman wants a heart; the Cowardly Lion wants courage. At the core, that's what the story is about. But it's also about their journey to get what they want, and that's a long (yellow brick) road. The journey is what gives the book its emotion and all the action. But without the core of what they want, the journey would be empty and pointless.

And yet the central rules Mamet states are the same: 1) the story has to involve a character who wants something 2) be careful how much information you dole out. 99% of what he has to say makes perfect sense to me. Every great work of fiction I can think of observes these exact same rules. I don't dispute that there isn't nearly as much need to make fiction writing visual per se, but I do think going back and forth between dialogue and description helps the story become more real by giving the setting, people, and places a physical sense. I can name a half dozen major best-sellers that do just this: Harry Potter: Harry wants a family he can trust and friends he can rely on, and wants to avenge his parents' death by killing Voldemort. To Kill a Mockingbird: Atticus Finch's children want to see their father achieve justice, and they want to solve the mystery of Boo Radley. Gone with the Wind: Scarlett O'Hara wants a husband rich enough to allow her to hold on to her mansion, Tara. I agree there are great novels where the theme is much more obtuse (I'd put Catcher in the Rye and Great Gatsby in that category), but the vast majority of stories really do boil down to the lead character wanting something. Once you realize what the point of your novel is that you're writing, I think it allows you to trim the fat a lot easier and get to the point.

I bet the virus could be in the counter at the bottom of the page. Certain kinds of active code like that can theoretically hold viruses. Nothing happened to me on the Mac, so it's fine under Google Chrome.

A very wise move.

I liked it, too. My only criticism (and it's a small one) is that I think the scene between the narrator and his friend Settle would've been better if done through dialogue. Too much "tell" and not enough "show" for me. But I agree, it's a powerful story with the ring of truth.

When the doctors start using the phrase "quality of life issues," they're basically telling you that person is not gonna come back. I have a very close friend who had a heart attack about a year ago, and his brain was starved of oxygen for about 7 minutes. Unfortunately, this created massive brain damage to the extent that 99% of his memories are gone (short-term and long-term), he can barely walk, and he's gotten enough physical therapy that he can dress himself, go to the bathroom, take a shower, and sit down and eat. But aside from that, he needs constant round-the-clock care. He doesn't remember any of his family and friends, and his entire life (about 60 years) is gone. The hard drive has been completely wiped. I know this guy well enough -- since 1980 -- that I'm positive that if he could have made the decision, he would much rather be dead than to be this walking shell that he is now. Literally, I could go over last week, re-introduce myself, have a few laughs, then come back a week later and he wouldn't recognize me. Very sad. I think there's a point where you have to accept that these people are gone. It's worse in the case of brain damage so severe that the person is never going to wake up and never going to breathe on their own. When you get to the point where the machine is keeping them alive and they're just an empty body staring into space, that ain't what I call life.

The girl has been brain dead for ONE MONTH: http://www.cnn.com/2014/01/06/health/jahi-mcmath-girl-brain-dead/

I disagree. Good writing is good writing, and the same rules for fiction apply to screenplays. The only difference I would say is that a screenplay has to be more visual, while fiction has the ability to get inside characters' heads and go into great detail about what they're thinking and feeling. In a TV show or film, you only get a few seconds to make that thought clear, as opposed to five or six pages in a book.

And the link is here: http://www.awesomedude.com/rickbeck/Short_Stories/eric__eugene_get_married.htm I agree: Rick does great work.

The story about the brain-dead girl that Dabeagle refers to is very tragic. The ignorant, grief-stricken parents are proceeding on the mistaken belief that even though there's no brain activity and no blood flow in the brain, because the little girl's heart is still beating, she's "technically" alive. At some point, you just gotta accept it, let her die, and carry on with grief and move on. I think there are zero cases in recorded history where somebody had no brain activity and no blood flow in the brain and they magically came back to life. Once they've waited two or three days to be sure, it's over, Johnny. I'm all for having faith under reasonable circumstances, but you gotta know when to hold 'em, and know when to fold 'em.

I just read an excellent essay by David Mamet (courtesy of Hollywood blogger and noted TV writer Ken Levine) instructing his staff on how to write a TV series from a few years ago. I think his advice applies to a lot of different kinds of fiction writing, including what we do. His essential words of advice are: 1) come up with something the hero desperately wants, so that the story becomes how he or she will achieve this [or lose it], and 2) find a way to avoid giving the reader all the answers so that they continue to want to read as you provide the information over a period of time. Here's the full essay: ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To the writers of THE UNIT: Greetings. As we learn how to write this show, a recurring problem becomes clear. The problem is this: to differentiate between drama and non-drama. Let me break-it-down-now. Everyone in creation is screaming at us to make the show clear. We are tasked with, it seems, cramming a shitload of information into a little bit of time. Our friends, the penguins, think that we, therefore, are employed to communicate information — and, so, at times, it seems to us. But note: the audience will not tune in to watch information. You wouldn’t, I wouldn’t. No one would or will. The audience will only tune in and stay tuned to watch drama. Question:what is drama? Drama, again, is the quest of the hero to overcome those things which prevent him from achieving a specific, acute goal. So: we, the writers, must ask ourselves of every scene these three questions. 1) who wants what? 2) what happens if her don’t get it? 3) why now? The answers to these questions are litmus paper. Apply them, and their answer will tell you if the scene is dramatic or not. If the scene is not dramatically written, it will not be dramatically acted. There is no magic fairy dust which will make a boring, useless, redundant, or merely informative scene after it leaves your typewriter. You the writers, are in charge of making sure every scene is dramatic. This means all the “little” expositional scenes of two people talking about a third. This bushwah (and we all tend to write it on the first draft) is less than useless, should it finally, god forbid, get filmed. If the scene bores you when you read it, rest assured it will bore the actors, and will, then, bore the audience, and we’re all going to be back in the breadline. Someone has to make the scene dramatic. It is not the actors job (the actors job is to be truthful). It is not the directors job. His or her job is to film it straightforwardly and remind the actors to talk fast. It is your job. Every scene must be dramatic. That means: the main character must have a simple, straightforward, pressing need which impels him or her to show up in the scene. This need is why they came. It is what the scene is about. Their attempt to get this need met will lead, at the end of the scene,to failure - this is how the scene is over. It, this failure, will, then, of necessity, propel us into the next scene. All these attempts, taken together, will, over the course of the episode, constitute the plot. Any scene, thus, which does not both advance the plot, and standalone (that is, dramatically, by itself, on its own merits) is either superfluous, or incorrectly written. Yes but yes but yes but, you say: what about the necessity of writing in all that “information?” And i respond “figure it out” any dickhead with a bluesuit can be (and is) taught to say “make it clearer”, and “i want to know more about him”. When you’ve made it so clear that even this bluesuited penguin is happy, both you and he or she will be out of a job. The job of the dramatist is to make the audience wonder what happens next. Not to explain to them what just happened, or to*suggest* to them what happens next. Any dickhead, as above, can write, “but, jim, if we don’t assassinate the prime minister in the next scene, all europe will be engulfed in flame” We are not getting paid to realize that the audience needs this information to understand the next scene, but to figure out how to write the scene before us such that the audience will be interested in what happens next. Yes but, yes but, yes but... you reiterate. And I respond, figure it out. How does one strike the balance between withholding and vouchsafing information? That is the essential task of the dramatist. And the ability to do that is what separates you from the lesser species in their blue suits. Figure it out. Start, every time, with this inviolable rule: the scene must be dramatic. It must start because the hero has a problem, and it must culminate with the hero finding him or herself either thwarted or educated that another way exists. Look at your log lines. Any logline reading “Bob and Sue discuss…” is not describing a dramatic scene. Please note that our outlines are, generally, spectacular. The drama flows out between the outline and the first draft. Think like a filmmaker rather than a functionary, because, in truth, you are making the film. What you write, they will shoot. Here are the danger signals. Any time two characters are talking about a third, the scene is a crock of shit. Any time any character is saying to another “as you know”, that is, telling another character what you, the writer, need the audience to know, the scene is a crock of shit. Do not write a crock of shit. Write a ripping three, four, seven minute scene which moves the story along, and you can, very soon, buy a house in bel air and hire someone to live there for you. Remember you are writing for a visual medium. Most television writing, ours included, sounds like radio. The camera can do the explaining for you. Let it. What are the characters doing -*literally*. What are they handling, what are they reading. What are they watching on television, what are they seeing. If you pretend the characters cant speak, and write a silent movie, you will be writing great drama. If you deprive yourself of the crutch of narration, exposition,indeed, of speech. You will be forged to work in a new medium - telling the story in pictures (also known as screenwriting) This is a new skill. No one does it naturally. You can train yourselves to do it, but you need to start. I close with the one thought: look at the scene and ask yourself: “Is it dramatic? Is it essential? Does it advance the plot?" Answer truthfully. If the answer is “no” write it again or throw it out. If you’ve got any questions, call me up. Love, dave mamet santa monica 19 octo 05 (it is not your responsibility to know the answers, but it is your, and my, responsibility to know and to ask the right questions over and over. Until it becomes second nature. I believe they are listed above.)” ------------------------------------------------------------------------- I don't always like David Mamet's films and TV shows, especially when they get very long and talky, but I think these rules are totally sound and very hard to pick apart. A lot of the bad fiction on the net I see is guilty of violating these rules. I would caution you that his rule about being wary of providing information too easily can also go the other way: readers will know when you are deliberately hiding or withholding information in a contrived way just to prolong the story. On the other hand, one of the oldest plots in literature basically boils down to, "character A is thwarted, confused, and vexed because character B continues to lie to him." There's thousands of stories that do that, but I think the key is to figure out a good reason why character B has to lie. Mull this over. I've read the essay three times already, and I think it covers the basics very well.

I agree -- Japanese culture is extremely interesting and they are a fascinating people to observe. I spent some weeks in Tokyo back in the 1980s, and it was an amazing experience. I envy Chris for being able to actually live there on a daily basis.

The funniest line of 2014! (So far.)

I suspect he's too young to erupt.