David describes himself as a recovering Catholic, ex-PI, and one-time bar-band gypsy, and his book on the craft of characterization, THE ART OF CHARACTER, will be published January 29th by Penguin. (That's NEXT Tuesday, folks, so we are very lucky to get a sneak peek.) I read this book in galley (and yes, my blurb is there in the long list of praise from much more famous writers) and what I said was that this book should go on every writer's shelf, along with Stephen King's On Writing and Elizabeth George's Write Away. It's that good, and that inspiring, both for neophyte writers and those of us who are, um, a bit more seasoned...
So I asked David: I want to know how this book came about. Was it inspired by your teaching? Your writing? (I think it must have been bloody hard to write, much more so than fiction...)
And David said: Had I known then what I know
now, I would have run screaming naked into the night…
In 2008,
I was asked by Linda Venis to teach a course at the UCLA Extension Writers
Program. This meant I had to come up with something about writing fiction that
I felt I knew well enough to at least pretend
to be knowledgeable. I’d be in front of a classroom of students who needed real
instruction, not just witty anecdotes, off-the-cuff tips, and war stories.
I
decided to approach character since it’s an area I feel comfortable with and
think I do reasonably well.
Only
afterward did someone tell me: Good God, man, you never teach what you do well.
The fact you do it well means you do a lot of it instinctively, and that’s the
hardest thing to teach. One, much of your skill is unconscious. Two, you don’t
possess the language to describe how you do it. Three, once you begin to
analyze it, you’ll gum it up for yourself.
Let me
repeat: Had I known then what I know now,
I would have run screaming…
For
better or worse, this sage advice came to me too late to make a difference. I
titled the course: Who’s in Charge Here:
Building Vivid Characters Who Serve the Story.
My
premise was this: We often begin with a story idea that suggests a certain cast
of characters, though they may seem vague at first. Then, once we begin
fleshing out those characters, they begin to possess a life of their own—and
wander off the reservation of the story. If they do so interestingly, great.
But how do you guarantee that happens? How do you serve their unique essence
and the story at the same time? That’s what I hoped to teach my students.
It
turned out I had a pretty good knack for classroom teaching—God knows why—so
Linda wanted me back. But the weekly commute from the Bay Area to Los Angeles
for one Monday night course proved a little daunting. So Linda suggested
teaching online.
At the
risk of being tedious: Had I known then
what I know now, I would have…
Well,
if you teach online, you have to write out your lectures so they can be read.
Charming wit and personal charisma don’t cut it.
So I
was obliged to lay out my thoughts on the subject matter in detailed,
systematic fashion for a ten-week course. I stuck with character because, well,
I’d done it and no one had died, the polar ice caps hadn’t melted, and Venus
hadn’t collided with Mars. (Note the high threshold for meaningful reflection.)
And so
I was obliged to begin a long, elaborate, and detailed examination—and
explication—of the what, the how, and they why of characterization as I
understand it.
This
time I titled the course: The Outer
Limits of Inner Life: Building Consistent but Surprising Characters. I hoped
to continue to address the same tension between character and story demands,
but expand the focus into exploring the writer’s own memory and experience to
deepen characterization, and stress the importance of understanding that a
consistent character is a boring character if she lacks the freedom to do the
unexpected. How far can you push that and still have a character that readers
will accept as real, integral, and whole? That somewhat grand, quixotic scheme formed
my ingenious, evil plan.
All
together now: Had I known then what I
know now…
Once I
was done with those ten lectures, I thought: It would be a giant waste not to
expand all this bullshit—excuse me, knowledge—into a book. I discussed it with
my agent, we put a proposal together, and Rebecca Hunt, then with Penguin,
loved the idea and bought the book.
And
know what? The cautionary advice I received was correct in some ways. I began
thinking about characterization instead of simply doing it. But that passed. In time I discovered a
new, deeper level of instinctual engagement with my characters and the language
necessary to render them compellingly on the page. I became a better writer by
reteaching myself how to ride my fiction bicycle.
Strange,
but true.
So I’m
glad and grateful I did it. Maybe I was mad. Maybe I dodged a bullet. But it’s
a lovely little book and I don’t think I need to be too ashamed of it.
As to
your reflection on how hard it must have been, the hard part wasn’t being
instructional. Yes, I had to read a lot and think deeply about things I’d
previously shrugged off or not even considered—I’d never really struggled with
point of view before, for example, always employing multiple third person
subjective—and that was a head-scratcher on many fronts.
I also
had to dig up examples for the things I was trying to illuminate, and that’s
easier said than done.
Q: What’s a good example of contradiction created by the
concealment of a secret?
A: Sir Percy Blakeney of The
Scarlet Pimpernel.
Trust
me, it took a while to come up with that one. Haven’t read that book since I
was twelve.
But as
I said, it wasn’t the instructional part that was the most daunting. It was
trying to be more than that. I had to be interesting and unique, because there
are so many books out there on the subject. I had to bring a new approach to
the table—that much was obvious.
But
above and beyond that, I wanted the writing to inspire. I didn’t want to craft
a manual, with all the prose style of a pamphlet on how to grow African Violets.
I wanted students and writers to read the text and get excited, feel compelled
to put the book down, run to their desks and begin writing.
I’d had
a teacher like that when I studied mathematics at Ohio State. His name was Dr.
Arnold Ross, and never before or since in my life have I ever been in a class
where, as soon as it ended, I couldn’t wait to get to the library to begin my
homework.
The
best compliment I received on the book came from my editor who said it made her
want to get back to her novel (and she has). That’s when I knew I’d
accomplished at least a little of what I’d set out to do. Hopefully, I’ve done
more than just a little, but that’s up to my readers to decide.
BTW: If
the Jungle Red Folk would like a peek at the text, here’s a modified excerpt, published on the website for
the west coast literary zine Zyzzyva.
DEBS: For more about David and the book, visit his website: www.davidcorbett.com
Or check in with David today over on Murderati. (Yes, the man CAN be in two places at once!)
But we have a slight edge here on JR, because David is giving a signed copy of THE ART OF CHARACTERIZATION to one of our lucky commenters. And he'll be dropping in to answer questions and respond to comments, so be sure to drop in and say "hi."
Oh, and David, I'm blushing to admit I've never read The Scarlet Pimpernel. So, should I?
(P.S. The very lucky winner of Mychal's "cub" is Leslie Budewitz! So Leslie, email me your mailing address at deb at deborahcrombie dot com. And we will expect to see some of your journal entries!)
(P.S. The very lucky winner of Mychal's "cub" is Leslie Budewitz! So Leslie, email me your mailing address at deb at deborahcrombie dot com. And we will expect to see some of your journal entries!)
