Unexpected Juxtaposition – Part One
Written on January 7, 2010 at 5:52 am, by admin
One way to create a memorable title is by placing two opposing concepts next to each other.
Slum Dog Millionaire
The Accidental Tourist
The Blackboard Jungle
The Grapes of Wrath
It’s not the only way to create a title, but it is a good way.
The concept of unexpected juxtaposition is applicable to many facets of art and literature. In writing (with words) it often takes the form of a metaphor; a figure of speech in which two unlike objects are implicitly compared without using “like” or “as”. Some examples are “Time is a thief” and “All the world’s a stage”. Metaphors can also make effective titles.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
A simile compares unlike objects, but it does use “like” or “as”. “Blind as a bat”, “run like the wind” (both of these are clichés; don’t used them in your writing).
Unexpected juxtaposition can be used effectively in both designing and developing characters. Take two or more disparate elements and combine them in an unexpected way.
It is a way of developing characters. Not the only way.
It can also be applied to the development of a character’s personality. Unexpected juxtaposition can result in “quirks” (such as a private investigator that knits in his spare time) or something more deeply rooted in the character’s nature (a concert pianist who is a serial killer or a curmudgeon who writes romance novels). As with a good metaphor, the objective is not to combine elements that don’t fit together, but that fit together in a surprising, yet ultimately truthful way.
Unexpected juxtaposition is a useful tool in the design and development of characters for your stories, but there are many others.
Rüdiger Von Klug
Written on December 30, 2009 at 7:42 am, by admin
As part of the Visual Narration series I want to share excerpts from my copy of *Handbuch für die Schaffung des ideal proportionierten mannes und der frau, personally given to me by its author Rüdiger Von Klug (pictured above). These, plus the bizarre story of how I met this brilliant, but reality challenged scientist, will all be revealed early in the coming year.
*The Manual for Creating the Ideally Proportioned Man and Woman
Tom
Written on December 28, 2009 at 8:32 am, by admin
This week I am previewing material to be posted in the New Year.
“The Ratcatcher’s Son” is an illustrated example of character development. This short story (with a moral) is part of the Visual Narration series.
The Peril of Originality
Written on December 21, 2009 at 6:00 am, by admin
I’ve known would-be writers who never got their first sentence on paper because they couldn’t find an opening line that had not been written before. The problem with originality is that it is an adjective other people use to describe your work. You shouldn’t use it yourself. If you are writing with words (as opposed to pictures) it’s a good practice to curtail the use of adjectives and adverbs in favor of verbs and nouns. To understand why adjectives are the enemy of creativity let’s look at the subject of directing actors.
When you work with actors you shouldn’t tell them what to feel. Asking an actor to be sad, or frustrated, or excited is called result directing. If you are a director, or plan on becoming one, it’s good to remember this simple formula: result directing=bad. As human beings we don’t have control over our emotions; they are spontaneous reactions to stimuli. When you attempt to force an emotion it leads to affectation and false performances. So how do you direct actors if you can’t tell them what to feel?
The answer: by telling them what to do.
Here’s an example. I’ll make it quick since this post is about visual writing, not how to be a movie director (I’ll get to that subject later). Let’s say you have a scene where a woman is trying to get a loan from a bank official. The script says the woman is “angry” and the official is “blasé”. You could take the actress aside and tell her that she has never asked for help before, but it is vital that she gets the money now; she must convince the bank official how dire her situation is. And then you take the actor aside and say: “this woman comes in every week with a different hard luck story. She’s always trying to cheat the system. Be polite, but ignore her pretense of desperation.” Now get out of the way and let them play the scene. Although you haven’t told the woman to be angry, anger is likely to come out, but in a spontaneous and natural way.
Telling yourself to be original is like giving yourself result directing. It will lead to affectation. If you succeed in coming up with an opening sentence no one has written before you’re likely to find out why. Instead of trying to be original when you write and when you draw strive for being honest and specific. Honesty means that the characters you create are real in your mind; that they do things you believe they would do, and not things that are convenient for the plot. Specific means avoiding cliché; that when you write a description, or draw an expression, it belongs to that moment in your story and is not interchangeable with any other.
On the subject of opening sentences, here’s one of my favorites: “Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person.” It’s from Anne Tyler’s Back When We Were Grownups and it has found its way into many people’s lists of the best first lines from novels. It works for me because it belongs to the story that follows and is true to the character it describes.
If you succeed in being honest and specific, originality is likely to be the byproduct.
The Artists as Perfectionist
Written on December 16, 2009 at 11:46 am, by admin
The Ignored Language
Written on December 14, 2009 at 7:42 am, by admin
Many years ago I was in North Carolina, working on a big budget movie with third act problems. The small conference room was crowded, with one writer, two directors, three producers, an assistance director, and me. The writer was justifiably angry because one of the directors had tried to rewrite the climax himself. “If you’re not going to let me do my job,” he stated. “Pay me off and send me home to my wife and dogs.” No one wanted the writer to go. He had inherited the muddled script from three consecutive writers before him, and was the most expensive of the bunch. The room went quiet. One of the producers cleared her throat: “The storyboard artist has some ideas.”
I nervously handed over the stack of drawings I had stayed up late the night before working on. If two pages of script rewritten by the director had caused so much annoyance, what would the writer think when he saw what I had done? He studied the sequence carefully while I stared out the window. When he was finished he rustled the pages into a neat stack and said: “Thanks. This’ll help.”
The next morning the revised script came out. I didn’t have to redraw a single panel; the climax followed the storyboards exactly.
I was relieved (I also had a wife and dog waiting for me at home), but perplexed at the same time. In my storyboards I had reordered events to give the climax a three act structure; added the dramatic elements of objective, obstacles and “ticking clock”, and introduced a surprise reversal at the end of the scene. Not to mention developing action beats, gags and business that was specific to the characters and situation. What part of that wasn’t writing?
If I had given the writer my ideas in a different way, let’s say written in French, it wouldn’t have gone over for two reasons: first because neither of us spoke French, and second because it still would’ve been words on paper and that is the providence of the writer. But it was acceptable to him in a visual language. That way he could translate it into words, and give it to the directors to be translated back into visuals.
The ability to tell stories with pictures is both a secret weapon and an ignored art. It’s odd that the visual language is so seldom acknowledged, especially in the film business where we are supposed to be making moving pictures. None of this should imply I’m against traditional writers, the ones who put words on paper. I love writing. I love good pros. And, although I am no fan of the screenplay format, I have read a precious few that moved me to tears. But my focus here, and in articles to come, is to advance the art of visual writing.
Despite conventional wisdom, you don’t need a script to make a movie or create a graphic novel. You need a concept, dramatic structure, characters and (in most cases) dialogue. This can be done on the drawing board. I’m going to write (in words and pictures) about how to do it.
Visual Narration
Written on December 7, 2009 at 6:46 am, by admin
Before there was written language, stories were recorded with pictures. And although drawing by hand sometimes seems like a prehistoric art form, it refuses to become extinct.
It can be argued that anyone who creates representational art is telling stories with pictures. I envy the skill of illustrators like Norman Rockwell, J. C. Leyendecker and Dean Cornwell who can create drama and atmosphere with a single painting. But even more than that, I’m fascinated by what happens when you put two or more images together in a sequence. This is when drawing becomes writing.
Visual narration has its own grammar. Like any other language it should be clear, except for those rare occasions when the intention is to create confusion. Images have the potential for communicating ideas faster, and with more visceral impact than written words. In the months to come I’m going to be posting a series of articles on the subject of visual narration. Hopefully I’m not the only person who finds this topic interesting.
