Every Writer is NOT a Scribble Sibling

As noted in another post, I recently left X (the platform formerly known as twitter). Upside, I found new writer-communities on Bluesky, Post, Spoutible, and Threads. But every creative community, (writing, art, music) no matter how supportive, has a cross-section of creatives who insist on eating alone. They do nothing to support other creatives. The only work that matters to them is their own.

Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to tell who is which. Upon joining Bluesky, I immediately followed an absolutely brilliant writer who is also a brilliant social activist committed to uplifting those most likely to be under the boot heel of our socio-economic system, (LGBTQ, ethnic minorities, impoverished, etc.). If Bluesky Writer (BW) is a bit harsh, well, not everyone channels their passion through a tact-filter. 

And, of course, it is very rare to encounter anyone who shares all of your views and approaches. As it happens, I follow anarchist writers. I follow conservative writers, (few). I even follow apolitical writers, (fewer). So, I took BW’s exuberance in stride.

Then, a week or so ago, BW launched an incendiary attack on other writers. BW proclaimed they were tired of seeing “fake” writers posting about hating writing, not writing, and/or struggling with writing. That’s when I dropped BW like a bad habit. 

It’s called Social Media for a reason

Writers on social media just to promote their book and/or never interact with other writers? I question their logic but it’s not a deal breaker. Baby writers making declarative statements about writing/publishing/marketing that they would/will see as faulty with some experience? Cringe but not cancel. Writers who trash other genres and/or books in the misguided belief that doing so elevates their genre/book Their insecurity slip showing is their problem, not mine. 

But openly slamming other writers because of self-importance, (or insecurity)? That is a deal breaker. If the late-not-so-great twitter taught us anything, it’s that social media is a privilege predicated on perception. The interactions you have are largely based on the energy you put out there. Negative runs in ever-diminishing returns.

Community is based on  reciprocity. Modeling other, more mature writers, I regularly share new release information for fellow writers. Additionally, I do book reviews for fellow writers—many outside of my home genre. The reward is immense and immediate. I have learn SO much about writing, publishing, and promotion.

I’m months, if not another year away from publishing my little crime ditty (cancer sucks, yo). Still, I firmly believe that karma is doing the right thing and, when the need/cause arises, other people will do the right thing, too. I also believe that lessons learned from other writers is an ancillary benefit of karma.

My book brother Michael Cook truly helped me on my emotional journey to self-publishing. A happy warrior, Michael embraces the process with an exuberance that is infectious. Fiona Quinn could teach a master class in leveraging self-publishing success into an optimum partnership with one of the big five publishing houses. With her latest book, J.L. Campbell took me to writing school in building an atmosphere of tension that touches every character.

The narcissistic writer, (NW) fails to reap those karmic benefits. 

BW is the driver who’s annoyed with other cars on a very public road. That road was cut, leveled and paved by CENTURIES of writers before us. Every new writer, with every new essay, poem, short story, and book, contributes another paving stone that benefits all the rest of us.

Sadly, BW is far from the only writer who fails to recognize the benefit in other successes (and failures) born of other writers. I’ve written of NWs who use the writing community to build platforms and then turn their backs on genuine friendships once the NW “arrived” at publication. This is tragic for a variety of reasons but mostly because there are too many examples of HUGELY successful writers demonstrating great care with their fellow scribblers.

l-r unknown, Octavia Butler, Harlan Ellison

The Late Great Harlan Ellison and Samuel Delany both mentored and (monetarily) supported other writers. Ellison famously paid Octavia Butler’s tuition to attend the Clarion Writers workshop. Yes, the photo above looks like a police lineup, but really, they were great friends. 

Or, you could, just offer encouragement to your fellow writers.

Neil Gaiman is unstinting in his commitment to helping fellow writers. Chuck Wendig has been supporting us mad scribblers nearly from the beginning of social media. Walter Mosley, (a huge influence on me as a writer and a human being) talks mucho-mucho shit about his peers but is unstinting with his support of new writers and accomplished writers still fighting in the trenches for success (by publishing numbers terms).

So, we’re all besties, now?

Would I get along with Hemingway? No. Dude really sucked all the air out of the room. Likewise, Harlan Ellison was notoriously “flinty” which means we would’ve ended up hurting each other's feelings. I’ve met Walter Mosley and admire him greatly however, I also believe a little of the guy goes a long, long way. And, yes, I am a “hoot” at parties, can’t you tell? 

“We are scribble siblings—the same ink runs through our veins.” Yours truly, EJM

It’s always about the writing and the struggle we all face to get the words on the page (or screen, you know, whatevs). Other writers are not our competition. They are our natural allies. We owe it to them and us,  to read, review, and support each other. 

And if we cannot help—even as we drink from the same well, dug by our predecessors—we certainly should not hurt.

I own none of the images above. All images are used for educational/instructional purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

Critics Get It Wrong—Don't Let Them Sink Your Dream

 

A million years ago or, you know, 1991, I read a review of the movie Billy Bathgate, in a Houston newspaper, (when we had more than one). The story of a Prohibition-era teen who jumps head-first into organized crime in service to his hero, crime boss Dutch Schultz, the movie was based on a historical novel of the same name.

The newspaper critic claimed that the movie lacked the visceral impact of the novel. For reference he cites a scene between the fifteen-year-old protagonist, Billy, and his childhood sweetheart Becky. The critic states that in the book, Billy gives Becky a dollar to have sex with him but in the movie, they “just talk.”

Did they not teach “nuance” in film-critic school? 

At the time of reading the review, I had already seen the movie, mostly because I had read E.L. Doctorow’s book. I wondered if the critic had actually seen the movie or read the book. While we never see Billy and Becky bumping uglies, we do see Billy flash a dollar bill to entice Becky to the roof. The next scene is Becky, buttoning her blouse as they both smoke a cigarette and, yes, talk. Then Becky inspects Billy’s dollar bill. 

Subtle.

For the record, Robert Benton’s film, (from a script by Tom Stoppard) improves upon Doctorow’s overly-sentimental book. Benton drops the cut-and-dried-happily-ever-after ending. While Stopard cut Doctorow’s subplots that served neither character nor story.

Remember: it's supposed to be fun.

At the end, (of the movie) Billy is fundamentally changed. WAY beyond hero-worship he no longer harbors delusions about that gangster life. Best of all, Billy is untethered to Dutch Schultz and to crime. The open-ended fresh start is the best happy ending a Bronx boy can get. In his comparison to the book, the movie critic missed all of that.

 As I’ve written before, the critics are prone to be wrong and not just, “I didn’t catch that,” wrong. Too-often, they are ambition-wrong. In instances that resemble larceny, they may be “agenda” wrong.

Ambition-Wrong

A few years after reading the Bathgate review I began a composition and rhetoric class at community college. The professor was a published short story author, book critic, and aspiring novelist. In the ramp up to our big finale, (an essay of any book) the professor introduced us to critical analysis, Aristotelian Syllogism, and most importantly (to him) politics.

See, the prevailing logic is critics “can’t create” so they criticize. The truth, more often, is that critics are themselves creators of one form or another. Criticism is not only used to analyze and develop writing skills but to also to advance careers, build clout, and align allies.  

Dervia Murphy wrote about the AIDs crisis in Africa. Toni Morrison wrote of gender and race in politics. Our comp and rhetoric professor wrote to advance his job prospects. 

He walked us through a critical review of a novel by a prominent writer and member of the new guard. African-American, tenured at a prestigious uni and prominent on a lit-award panel, the man had achieved everything our professor could only aspire to. The professor outlined his argument: the man’s book, a revisionist western, was highly political and the professor objected to the commentary. True, he had taught us literary composition using Cormac McCarthy’s revisionist westerns, (with highly political commentary) but the late-great McCarthy was a white man. 

The professor reasoned he wasn’t likely to win one of those spiffy literary awards. So, why not tear-down the man’s book? That kind of controversy could get him noticed, might even get him into a PhD program with his hero, the literary critic of the day, Harold Bloom. 

If you can’t beat them, write a hit piece on their book…

Our professor did publish his review and he did get into his PhD program. The last I read, his novel achieved middling success and he now teaches at a college in Elvis country. Oh, Bloom died in ignobility as a serial sexual harasser. The review made not even a dent in the man’s book or career.

An objective, unbiased fellow, no-doubt...

Agenda-Wrong

Then there is the true believer AKA the critic with an agenda. Harrold Bloom (the previously mentioned professor’s hero) championed the literary tradition with xenophobic zealotry. Never mind that there wasn’t/isn’t a threat to said tradition. Shakespeare is still taught in English lit. Plato is still taught in political theory. Hemingway is still (Yoda help us all) the darling of the American lit textbook. 

Still, Bloom called writers of color, feminists, and new critics “inspired historicists” and “deconstructors.” while he embraced Cormac McCarthy’s use of literary license and historical revisionism. In his critique of Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, Bloom called the African American experience—the root of her work—“unimportant.” But he cited McCarthy’s southwestern roots as infusing the author’s understanding of the borderlands. McCarthy was born in Rhode Island and raised in Tennessee. 

Of Children’s author J.K. Rowling, Bloom said her books were little more than gateway drugs to Stephen King’s books. He also criticized her repetitive phrasing—when his bloated essays (dude loved to read his own copy) recycled the same five or six phrases in three or four arrangements with sprinklings of “strong” or “weak” descriptives but little to back up his opinion-as-fact assertions. 

This is the same Bloom who wrote:

“Imaginative literature is otherness, and as such alleviates loneliness. We read not only because we cannot know enough people, but because friendship is so vulnerable, so likely to diminish or disappear, overcome by space, time, imperfect sympathies, and all the sorrows of familial and passional life.”

Apparently certain exclusions do apply.

The net effect of Bloom’s assertion that only the work matters, not the author’s ethnicity/gender/politics—WHILE DENYING THE RICH STORIES AND INSIGHTS OF AUTHORS BASED ON THEIR ETHNICITY, GENDER, AND/OR POLITICS is not simply hypocritical, it is artistic malpractice. 

That is the malpractice that led to the New York Times publish a 1973 review of CBS’ The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman, in which Stephanie Harrington stated not only did she not read the Ernest Gaines novel but she hadn’t even really watched the show, “I found myself not minding when the children called me away from the set for a glass of water or another goodnight kiss.” Further stating that the teledrama taught her, a white woman, “nothing she didn’t already know about history.” 

I can’t even with this. Thankfully, I didn’t have to, (especially since I was all of four at the time).

In her counterpoint to Mrs. Harrington, Nikki Giovanni reminded the New York Times of its place as “an opinion making body.” Just as Ms. Giovanni reminded Mrs. Harrington of the reviewer’s duty: to study, to analyze, to report. Yes, exercise ambition. By all means, execute an agenda. But only after you’ve done the first part of the job: read/view/listen. 

When the critic puts agenda/ambition ahead of their work, they fail in the appearance of objectivity. 

As sensational as the JT LeRoy and the James Frey failures were for American opinion makers, (the NYT wasn’t duped, btw) those were honest mistakes, victims of stories that resonated with select reviewers. The professor, Bloom, Stephanie Harrington—they all got it wrong.

So shall so many more. The question is, will you allow critics, honest, ambitious, or zealot to impact your writing? Will you write for—critics, audiences, social, economic—interests? Or will you write for yourself?

In 1995, as E. Lynn Harris wrote groundbreaking bestsellers about being black and gay, as Octavia Butler published her prescient The Parable of the Sower, and Sistah Soulja loosed a strong new voice in social commentary, Dorothy West published The Wedding. A generational epic set against the backdrop of an African American enclave of Martha’s Vineyard, The Wedding was West’s first book in 45 years. 

West, like her contemporaries, wrote her story. As must we all. Publication, success even, by gimmick doesn’t last. Nor does writing by committee endure. Follow your story where it leads. That’s the business of the writer. The business of the critic…well, that’s the critic’s business.

I own none of the images above. All are used for instructional/educational purposes, as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

Writing and Marriage

 

Tabitha’s husband wrote short stories for men’s magazines. An unemployed teacher, hubby also collected rejection letters like failed-novelist merit badges. Then one day Tabitha found three crumpled pages for a discarded story. 

The tale of a teen girl with frightening abilities, the pages intrigued Tabitha. She pushed her husband to finish the story—with her insight to a teen girl’s perspective. There was so much potential there.

Hubby wasn’t so sure. Men’s magazines wouldn’t buy it. He finally had a full-time teaching position lined up and, if he was lucky, a summer gig doing driver’s ed that would give them some financial breathing room. There was no time for a novel.

Tabitha insisted. The story had caught her imagination. She knew other women would want to read it too. Another lean summer would be worth it…if hubby would just finish the book. 

He did, of course, finish the book and promptly sent it out and out and out. It seemed he might be 0 for 4 in the novel game.

Then a telegram arrived from Doubleday Press, (the phone had been disconnected because the teacher struggle is no joke). Hubby received an advance equal to 25-percent of his annual pay as a teacher. Oh, the book you ask? Carrie, (maybe you’ve heard of it). Within two years, the Kings—Tabitha and Stephen—where quite wealthy. 

However, if you buy the popular depictions, writers are hard drinking (drugging) misanthropes with loveless marriages and cyclical philandering. Thing is there is a thread of truth in that tacky cliché.

The oft-married, oft-divorced writer isn’t just a trope

Writers are not, by vocation, happy people. We dream of how the world should be even as we write (rail?) about how the world is. So, marriage is fraught with potential for deep dissatisfaction. But it is also subject to the writers’ insecurities and ego. 

Harlan Ellison was married five (5) times. Hemingway was married four times and Dorothy Parker three. There are myriad factors in those three examples, (mental illness, substance abuse, chronicle asshole syndrome). But central theme is the selfishness that is also necessary to shepherd creation to fruition.

Sacrifice your domestic happiness to your art…and other malpractice 

When I was a kid I aspired to write/draw comic books. A journalism major at the local university offered to mentor me out of the kindness of his heart. Truly. No smokeable involved. Aside from his disdain for what he called “mass-market trash,” I knew he had nothing to teach me when he stated with pride that he drank a pint of whiskey each day because “that’s what writers do.”

Like the alcoholic-writer trope, the love-crossed writer trope just as destructive and just as baseless to success.

“Protect the time and space in which you write. Keep everybody away from it, even the people who are most important to you.” -Zadie Smith

But how much self-absorption is really necessary and how much is just a justification for shitty behavior? Please do note: I don’t judge how anyone feeds themselves. It is, however, worth mentioning that all four of Hemingway’s wives were from wealthy families which afford him freedom from actually holding a job or having to depend on the income of his books. Nor do I judge how someone produces their art. F. Scott Fitzgerald was better known for his short stories than his novels during his life. Mostly because those short stories was how Fitzgerald kept the cabinet stocked. 

I do judge how people treat other people and, here, I question of how much the writer sacrifices to art versus how much is sacrificed to ego.

Frank Herbert was unstinting in acknowledgment of how instrumental his wife, Beverly, was to his career. That’s not “you can do it!” support. It’s Beverly, teaching school full time while Frank sat at home and wrote. Without her financial devotion you do NOT get Dune or The White Plague, or any of Herbert’s other groundbreaking books. The Herberts were married for 38 years. One need only read Frank’s loving tribute to Beverly in Heretics of Dune to see their dedication to each other.

The choice is not always a choice

Doris Lessing divorced her first husband, left her two children with their father, and then left the country to pursue her career as a writer. Her decision is exceedingly selfish. I also encourage those who would damn her decision to read Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper. 

Happiness is subjective but it has nothing to do with successful publication

One-year-ago last month, my wife had an abnormal mammogram. We would subsequently learn that the lump was cancer. Gaye would ultimately fight through lumpectomy, radiation, and she continues to fight through a difficult recovery that includes a maintenance medication with side effects that mimic severe arthritis. 

Perspective

Now, the writing time that I don’t have doesn’t matter as much. I have a professional certification to achieve if I want to level up on the job, (and I do). Financial security is kind of a big deal. Then there are still appointments and bad days where an extra person is handy with clothes and meals or just a supportive shoulder. But mostly, there is a new premium on our time together. 

So, these days, I don’t worry as much about my burning need to write. Nor do I sweat publication. if I never publish a word of fiction, I’ll be okay. 

Purposes and desks

Stephen King has written about his skewed perspective. See, at the height of his success he bought a massive desk. He parked it in the middle of his “writing” room. No one—wife, kids—no one could disturb King while he wrote and drank and coked. It’s all probably an allegory for his ego. Those writer-types are so smart.

But King has also written at length of his wife’s unwavering support…even through the horrors of addiction. King’s upbringing, his deep sense of loss for an absentee father and tragically deceased mother, and the outrageous success tied to his books lead King to equally outrageous excesses. Tabitha staged an intervention and stood by him as he sought rehabilitation.

Once through his stint in rehab, King got rid of the hubris-sized desk and bought a desk just big enough for his desktop and to prop his feet on. He also pushed the desk against a wall and out of the center of the room. The “writing” room was returned to its original purpose of family room as opposed to an altar for his ego. 

Ultimately, writing should serve the writer, not the other way around. The writer’s life is not spent in service to writing. Writing is incidental to life. Writers, lawyers, accountants, all work is completely in service to life and those we share life with. Otherwise, what’s the point?

The photo at the top, "Carrie Promotional Poster," is the property of United Artists, et al. It is used here for instructional and educational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine. 

What's the Worst Thing You can do to Your Character?

 

“Every character should want something, even if it’s just a glass of water.” -Kurt Vonnegut 

​​Lilith Iyapo wants to save humanity. Jim Lassiter wants justice. Vigdis wants revenge. Luke wants to save Leia. You get the idea. No want, no story. 

The standard structure is: 

• Want (girl/guy, car, crown/throne, etc.)

• Struggle (courtship, level up, suffering/growth)

• Get (girl/guy, car—you get the idea)

Occasionally there’s a twist where the ultimate “get,” while completely different from the initial want is even better. Otherwise, the standard story follows the basic track. But there are so many other pathways to drama.

"A man doesn't become a hero until he can see the root of his own downfall." -Aristotle

Homer gives us a masterclass in “be careful what you (your character) wish for.” Sure, Paris gets the girl. Then the “black-bellied” ships land, a siege turns into an occupation, and the people turn on Helen. The star-crossed passion cools. By the point in which the Greeks are farming to support their siege of Troy, Helen lives apart from Paris.

Fearless, Achilles doesn’t simply lead the Myrmidon into battle, he leaps ahead of them, a man destined to become a legend. In full-on battle rage, he slays Prince Hector, the hero of Troy. And then Achilles grieves but not for his lost love. He grieves for Hector. With no one left who can challenge him, Achilles is lost and rudderless. At the apex of his triumph, Achilles—who should be celebrating his conquest of the last worthy adversary—has nothing left but to die, from the arrow of a coward.  

How about something more contemporary?

In Banard Malamud’s The Natural, Roy Hobbs dreams of the big leagues. A pitching prodigy, he’s on his way to Chicago to try out with the Cubs. Then he meets Major League Baseball star, Walter “Whammer” Whambold, (stand-in for Babe Ruth) only to then strike him out in an exhibition game. Hobbs has everything he ever dreamed of and he’s not even 20-years-old yet.  

Then he meets Harriet Bird, a disturbed woman who is fixated on MLB stars. After an attempted murder-suicide, Hobbs is damaged goods. Major League Baseball wouldn’t touch Roy with someone else’ ten-foot pole. 

How about something in red?

Little Clarice Starling dreams of excelling and of saving the day. The daughter of a mining-town marshall, (little more than a security guard) killed by hopped-up burglars, Starling wants to redeem her father, the yokel who died slow and clumsy. As Dr. Hannibal Lecter says, Clarice dreams of getting away, all the way to the F-B-I... 

Ambition seldom makes for happy endings and almost never for women in 20th century fiction.

Clarice survives an orphanage, starves through college, and labors as a lab assistant during the FBI hiring freeze of the 1990s. If you doubt her struggle, remember that by the time we meet her in Silence of the Lambs, she’s driving a Ford Pinto. Spoiler alert, she makes it to the FBI. She catches the bad guy. And no one ever forgives her for it. Instead of a hero’s welcome at the bureau, Starling’s career is sidetracked, even dead-ended. By the events of Hannibal, she’s at the bottom of the bureau barrel, serving high-risk arrest warrants. Clarice never fully recovers from achieving her dreams. 

"Count no man happy unitl his end is known," Herodotus

What if the real conflict comes after the want? In Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, Amy Dunne's marriage, that she has worked so hard to cultivate, is dead. She would like her philandering husband dead as well. Sadly, Amy is trapped. She put her entire life, her career, and her fortune into her marriage. Unwilling to live in average-life wreckage, Amy decides to end it. All of it. 

Unwilling to leave her husband unscathed, Amy decides to frame him for her “murder.” Hilarity does NOT ensue. 

Amy does gets what she wants...out of her withering marriage. Then the public becomes captivated by her story. She finally has her parents' attention—without actually having to engage with them. Best of all, Nick, (husband) is the prime suspect and the cops are grilling him like a chicken. 

But while the disappearing part is easy, staying out of sight becomes nearly impossible. The original plan—much like the idea of suicide, once so alluring—is less appealing in the warming beam of public obsession. Then there is Nick.

Even as the general public turn on him, Amy falls in love with Nick—so easily manipulated, so helpless without her—all over again. Amy also sees a path forward. The ending is an entirely different type of horror story.

Your results may vary but the important part is your options abound. The trader amasses a great forturne in buying and selling, sacrificing family, love, and happiness, only to find the cost of great wealth is life itself, (A Christmas Carol). The ambitious general who conquers all—wins all but can trust none because he is trusted by none, (Arthurian legend).  The do-right spouse who forsakes temptation only to learn their spouse harbors another in their heart (The Dead). When there is nowhere else to live and nowhere else to run, burnt bridges lead to new realities.

"Sooner or later, we all sit at the banquet of our consequences." -Robert Louis Stevenson

I once read that no one gets a happy ending. Indeed if the ending is happy it is because the story is cut off before the actual end. That is the drama behind giving your protag exactly what they want—as well as the headaches and heartaches that come with it.

The photo at the top, Gone Girl Theatrical Poster, belongs to 20th Century Fox, (et al). It is used here for informational/educational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

Thirteen Lives—Real People, Real Valor, Real Lessons for Writers

 

Ron Howard’s 2022 film chronicles factual events in the attempt to the rescue 12 Thai school boys and their coach after the group become trapped, two miles deep, in a cave flooded by torrential rains. Of course actual events do most of the heavy lifting but near-seamless writing smooths the rough edges, (dramatic arc, story flow, etc.)  

What Howard and screenwriter William Nicholson remain target locked on is the kids—12 school boys, (one boy turned eight-years old the day of the floods) and a coach scarcely older than his charges. Indeed saving the boys is everyones’ focus. 

“We cannot wait on the government.” -Thanet Natisri, Water engineer, hero

Local officials, central government officials, and the military spearhead rescue efforts. However a Thai water engineer seeks out a local expert on the Doi Nang Non Mountains in a guerilla effort to redirect streams and sinkholes responsible for flooding the caves. Parents, police, civil authorities, even local farmers band together to help the kids. 

“I don’t even like kids.” -Richard Stanton

Desperate with stalled rescue efforts and rising water, the Thai Government reach out to rescue divers, John Volanthen (Colin Farrell) and Richard Stanton (Viggo Mortensen). The brilliance of Howard’s film—and the lesson for writers—is in subverting expectations. Instead of a muscular, sullen and thoroughly American action hero, (probably haunted by his past) we get soft-spoken, distinctly graying men who simply want to help. 

Volanthen has a child the same age as some of the boys in the cave. Stanton is less than enthusiastic by the prospects of the rescue but respects Volanthen enough to answer the call.

Boots on the ground, Stanton and Volanthen are ready to go into the cave. However there are political obstacles. Just as sure as the Brits would’ve been cast American in traditional Hollywood production, the bureaucrats would be the natural villain here—especially the captain of the Thai Navy SEALs. But Nicholson and Howard's briliance is in subverting tropes.

“Happy men don’t volunteer.” Boris Pasternak

There are egos here, to be sure but no one forgets the 13 people in the cave. While neither are overly optimistic with the Brits, both bureaucrats and military men are at wit’s end to save the boys. When Volanthen and Stanton explain to the Thai Navy SEALs that cave diving is completely different than open water diving, the military men listen. The SEALs had made it 1600 meters, (right at a mile) into the flooded caverns before turning back. 

“They found them. The old men found them.” Thai Navy Seal

When Volanthen and Stanton make their dive and find the boys, still alive, over two miles in, no one is sour. When the military and civil administrator share the news with everyone—against Stanton’s warnings—neither he nor Valanthen hold grudges or fuss. It bears noting (in reference to expectations and tropes) that no one punches anyone. Honestly, no one raises their voice in this film. It's a quiet flex from professionals who let the story do the work.

“Alpha men protecting the alpha in each other…” Fiona Quinn

Type-A personality trait is a theory attributed to behavioral patterns associated with high-achievement, competitiveness, and aggression. It is an unproven theory. Hollywood has also perverted the theory into a stereotype “Alpha Male” who is the leader of the proverbial pack, self-confident, and POWERFUL. Most thrillers feature one flavor or another of this archetype. 

Ron Howard, et al, show us the real alpha—the protector and leader. The Thai alphas (divers and mountain man) are stymied by the circumstances. They don’t know how to save the kids. Meanwhile, the western alphas, (Stanton and Volanthen) are nearly immobilized by their thorough understanding of how grim the prospects of the kids coming out alive really are.

After the initial discovery, The SEALs undertake a dive to bring in supplies. In the process they use more oxygen than they anticipate and three must remain with the boys. On the swim out, Saman Gunan, (Weir Sukollawat Kanaros) dies in a terrifying accident. 

There is no indignant “I told you so,” from the westerners. They know it could just as easily have been one of them. Everyone feels the loss. Everyone struggles under the gravity of those lives sustained in a pocket cave where the oxygen saturation of the air is dropping.

These are real people with real egos. When Volanthen suggests bringing in additional divers Jason (Paul Gleeson) and Chris (Tom Bateman) he qualifies with an “if.” As in if Jason, (Paul Gleeson) isn’t pissed that he hadn’t already been called. Stanton, (considered one of the best rescue divers in the world) humbles himself to ask Jason if he will help them. He also calls in Dr. Richard Harrison, (Joel Edgerton) also an accomplished cave diver. 

The buddy system

Stanton takes no pride in the solution he comes up with. Dr. Harrison (Joel Edgerton) certainly finds no joy in Stanton’s idea. If not apparent, the solution—to get 13 people who have never dived before, out of two miles of flooded caverns with treacherous currents—is deadly-dangerous and won’t be spoiled here.

Again, Stanton is deferential to Dr. Harris. Both Stanton and Volanthen are respectful when they approach regional Governor Narongsak (Sahajak Boonthanakit) and Captain Arnont, (Theerapat Sajakul) the SEAL team leader with their plan. But with new rains rolling in and diversion efforts at their very limit, Governor Narongsak tells Stanton and Volanthen that their plan is approved and he will take full responsibility for the expected casualties.

Care for relationships is the line that tethers us all

In the course of the rescue a diver makes a critical error. He becomes disoriented. The result is nearly tragic. 

Stanton recognizes instantly that a reprimand or even the shadow of judgment will only compound the difficulty and danger stacked on their efforts. Instead, Stanton is gentle with the errant diver. A third diver is even more compassionate and shows tremendous regard for his comrade’s emotional wellbeing just as he does for the children’s physical wellbeing. 

We are all fumbling around in the dark, one misstep from deep water and deadly currents. The only way we get through is by caring for one another. That the central message in this film.

If you haven’t seen Thirteen Lives yet, go, do, now. Run, run, run. It is an excellent demonstration of humanity as well as a master-class in writing. 

The image at the top “Thirteen Lives Promotional Poster” belongs to MGM, UA, et al. It is used here for educational/instructive purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

How Technical Writing Can Inform Your Fiction

 

Last year I took a training class in report writing. As yawn-inducing as that reads, I couldn’t help but notice some immediate benefit. In fact, many of the lessons carried over to my fiction writing.

Background

My department does risk assessments. Current reports include everything but the proverbial kitchen sink. Short reports weigh-in at 25 pages with six page summaries. Long reports are ridiculous. Obviously, those reports are quite verbose. Don’t even get me started on the prevalence of passive voice.

Who is supposed to read all of that?

The trainer took one of our reports and condensed the multiple-page summary to a concise one-and-a-quarter pages. How did she do it? She began, as we all should, with one question—“Who is the intended audience?” 

My department reports to a governing board. Most of the board members are quite imminent in the private sector and resent wasted time. They don’t care about policy-and-procedure details, (that’s for management to address). They certainly don’t care about how things are “supposed” to be done. They are highly concerned with risks to the institution. 

Lesson for fiction writers: know your audience

The reader doesn’t care about your college major, your MFA (lack there of), or how much you know. They want a story. Opening with 100 pages of exposition is not a story. 

Less is more 

Professional reports impact budgets, inform staffing decisions, and may result in program or department eliminations. Those reports are scrutinized by the press and elected officials. Things can go from banal to “highly charged” in the turn of a phrase. So, for years, the prevailing practice in report writing involved a lot of padding and cushioning. Obviously, that makes for a lot of words that the intended audience does not care about. 

Lesson for writers: more is never more

Fiction writers fall into two “wordy” categories. The first is the “noob,” or new writer who knows a lot of words and wants to use ALL OF THE WORDS, preferably in every sentence. The second is the seasoned but concerned “over-writer.” They don’t trust the reader to “get” their schtick so they explain and explain and explain. The reader doesn’t appreciate the extra words. The reader doesn’t hate the extra words. The reader either skips over the extra words or the reader stops reading entirely.

Word economy is key to brievity

Most report writers have favorite words (e.g. mitigate) that we use WAY too much. The report deconstructed in class was riddled with pet words and phrases (e.g. as a result) that bring neither clarity nor candor. We cut those down to: did, didn’t, have, haven’t, will, will not, caused, resulted, reduced, increased. Active, short, and to the point.

Lesson for writers: kill your darlings

Fiction writers have favorite phrases, too. If you cut all the scenes where someone goes to “stretch their legs,” in the Harry Potter books those novels would be pamphlets. Other writers exercise personal obsessions like Stephen King and the farts he packs into every story. Irreverent private investigator Spenser and no-nonsense police chief Jesse Stone share creator Robert B. Parker’s obsession with men’s fashion. None of that advances the story or contributes to character development.

Sticks and stones—word choice can cost you credibility

Originally, I come from an enforcement-and-interdiction background. So, my report language is direct. My fall back words—fraud, lied, failed, et al—are not really report words. They are fault-finding words and potential criminal-findings words. Used carelessly, they are aggressive, incendiary, even. Part of the training involved finding direct but objective language. 

Lesson for writers: word choice can cost you readers

If your descriptive also serves as an invective, it’s not a descriptive. It’s an insult. While I love Robert B. Parker’s early novels, I have to pick on him again, here. Author-attitude bleeds through Parker’s descriptives. Parker’s schtick—insults for everyone who isn't him or his perfect companions—is funny. The first time. But with each use, in each book, a little more of the bright/shiny rubs off. The tedium and one-note tone are the reasons I stepped away from his books after 20 years.

Restatement muddles more than it clarifies 

It's easy, for a variety of reasons, to repeat statements. In the training, we learned to ruthlessly excise restatement. Write it. Support it. Leave it where it lands. It's the same in fiction.

Lesson for writers: trust your readers 

Repitition is common to new writers but even experienced writers will resort to saying the same things in different ways if they doubt their prose or their readers. The hero explains the mystery/crisis/epiphany to the supporting character. Then she/he has to explain it all again to a skeptical boss or frenemy. By this point the reader has dropped the book and turned on the television.

That's why we have edits. Find the best version and strike the rest.

Ultimately, technical or entertainment writing have the same objective: convey information. That one is factual information and the other is fiction really doesn’t change the overarching imperative: clarity. A great story means nothing if your reader is put off by clumsy prose.

The image at the top does not belong to me. It is used here for education/instructive purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.