Three
gathered around a table,
finding worlds
in words.
Three
gathered in a moment,
plotting destinies,
with pens.
Three
gathered in contemplation,
changing everything
with imagination.
Here’s a guest blog I wrote for Gail Anderson-Dargatz about the value of attending writing conferences:
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https://www.gailanderson-dargatz.ca/cms/index.php/resources/35-guest-blogs/326-shawn-l-bird
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Do you have a writing conference that has changed your life? Tell me about it in the comments below!
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I’m always happy to present at conferences, too, so if you are an organizer, drop me a line.
On a radio interview this week, I was asked about crafting anti-heroes, with the sub-text that Norton Edwards, the eponymous character of Murdering Mr. Edwards, is one. I responded in a vague, general way, but I’ve been pondering more about this, so here is the extended answer to the question! (It’s so much better when an interviewer tells you questions in advance, and you can put such thought into a response before it’s broadcast to the masses!) :-S
So, here are my “Thoughts on crafting the anti-hero.”
I don’t think of Mr. Edwards as the protagonist of the tales, so he is not an anti-hero by the normal definition of the term: a protagonist lacking heroic qualities of nobility, morality, and courage (etc). I think of the staff as the protagonists of their individual tales, with Edwards as the antagonist in each.
Of course, Edwards is the protagonist of his own life, but he would certainly not think of himself as an anti-hero either. He sees himself as the romantic lead. He believes he is dashing, fascinating, handsome and absolutely heroic in his pursuit of intelligent discourse against the apathy and ignorance of society. He imagines he is a great leader, inspiring the youth to connect to the great glories of literature. He sees in himself all the heroic qualities.
He’s right, too.
He is all those things. But just because he is charming and romantic when it suits him, does not mean that he is not also obnoxious, oblivious, and cruel. He behaves abominably to the women he entrances each school year. He has unsavory habits. In other words, Edwards, like most people, has negative qualities that he ignores or minimizes in the greater glory of his identity as hero of his own story.
As an anti-hero (if you must call him that) of the entire book, he is boring, pompous, and self-centred. No one is cheering for Edwards in these stories. We recognize him in the most irritating people we’ve ever worked with. He’s a pathetic creature to the outside world, but he is content in his own class room demesne, well satisfied with his role as benign dictator (or minor nobility, if you prefer) over the students in his purview. He is deluded about his nobility of purpose and his principles, but he is content.
In Murdering Mr. Edwards, this disconnect becomes the central conflict Edwards has between himself and each of the other members of the Canterbury High staff. He is oblivious to how he is perceived by others, and if he were aware, he would discount their perception as foolishly, ignorantly, incorrect.
I was asked how one crafts an anti-hero. My answer after consideration remains the same as I gave in the interview. You craft an anti-hero as you craft everything else in a book. You write the story in your head and then you edit to ensure what you see in your head matches what’s on the page. In a larger work, If you craft your characters well, they are complex creatures whose positive and negative qualities cause conflict within the reader. Even as they dislike the antagonist, they may find themselves feeling sorry for them, recognizing their fallible humanity. We see some redeeming qualities.
After all, in the real world, we don’t actually murder those annoying co-workers, do we?
You’re right,
of course.
The girl’s got skills.
She works a room with flare,
engages crowds confidently.
You want her in your corner,
unless of course,
she reveals your inadequacies,
tramples your manly ideas,
and overwhelms.
The public thinks she’s wonderful.
The contrast between you
crackles. Can you let her go?
Or should you hold her close?
.
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A poem for a character, as I’m working on Lydian Mode today. Lydia the artist is too capable by half. Poor Dustin. She is not making his world easy.
You can
so
you do.
Time.
Faith.
Encouragement.
You give yourself
in generous helpings,
spinning your blessings
into our blessings
into your blessings
into our blessings.
Oh, I am grateful
for such a
giving
heart!
I’m deliriously thankful
to be
amid
this dancing, scribing circle
of joy.
.
.
Another one for Diana, whose generousity of time and spirit are an inspiration.
Early in my publishing life, editor Sylvia Taylor spoke at a workshop about the importance of community: how as writers we reach up for guidance and assistance and we reach down to share benefit of our experience. I have seen many examples of this in the last decade, to my privilege and joy. Just this week, on one hand I purchased the book from a writer I’d encouraged at a conference, when this book was a dream, and on the other hand, I received an endorsement for my new book from a best-selling author. It’s a giant circle of support. We’re each other’s readers, promoters, flag wavers, editors, and shoulders to cry on. If you’re a writer, don’t sit alone, join a circle! You belong where people *really* understand about the voices in your head! 🙂 I highly endorse writing conferences as being the places to meet.
“Creations are creatures, and they have lives of their own.”
Louise Penny. The Nature of the Beast.
I’m reading this Inspector Gamache novel, and Ruth made this comment about a play. The line after indicates that the play was the playwright. It seems both powerful and succinctly true. When we create something, it comes from us, often reflect deep truths about us, but it also becomes itself. It speaks to those who view/read/listen/watch with its own voice (filtered through or reflecting their voice). I am often fascinated to hear what readers have taken from my work. Sometimes they find things I put there, but often they find things that are completely different, and just as valid. Once the book or poem left my hands, it became its own entity. It’s an interesting experience. It reminds me of the first time an adult mentions they know your child- they’ve interacted with them in a way that is unconnected to you, and you realize they have their own independent lives. Children are creations, too. They’re equally part of us and completely themselves. Ah. Creation is a complex thing!
From a writing point of view, what a perfectly crafted sentence for this character. Ruth is a poet, and doesn’t the line sound like a poem? Louise Penny is my hero.
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu in The Book of Joy.
Speaking of how the Dalai Lama can fill a stadium of people to hear him speak, Desmond Tutu observed,
(in The Book of Joy.)
When I read really great writing, I sense the ‘something’ that takes it from good to phenomenal. I was recently judging poetry, for example, and for most pieces, it was easy to set them aside as pretty words to something worth a second look. Others grabbed me and were set in the possible winner pile. My co-judges ended up with piles that included the same pieces. They were special.
I just spent the weekend at the Word on the Lake Writers’ Festival in Salmon Arm. I have reached the place in my writing where I have many skills. I am shortlisted for many competitions. But I often feel that ‘something’ is missing, and judges must too, since I have never won a first. What is it? This is the year I’ve been specifically searching for the answer. Through the course of the weekend, I found a familiar refrain through many workshops. The universe was answering my question.
It’s about intention.
We need to know WHY we’re telling the story. We need to know the audience and we need to know why we’re telling the story to THAT person (different things, possibly). Knowing these things puts a point of focus on the work that can elevate its power.
So I have this newfound knowledge in my pocket, and the next day, Desmond Tutu tells me this. It’s the spirit behind the word. What is that if not intention? I think personality is spirit, but fundamentally, it’s about intention. The Dalai Lama’s intention is spreading peace, love, and acceptance. It’s the spirit of the words he speaks, and the truth behind his intention resonates deeply within those who hear him. I’m not sure, precisely, how to do this, but I am fairly certain that like dealing with addiction, acknowledging it is the first step.
When the universe has a message for you, it can get quite insistent.
Well then.
Let’s begin.