Tag Archives: writers

Leap Day Blog: It’s Not Easy, Being a Dreamer

Yes, I promised I’d post two blogs Thursday. I didn’t get around to the second. I felt bad. Then I realized Monday was Leap Day. I couldn’t miss a chance to post something on a day that only comes once every four years. So, here’s the bonus blog. 😛

Anyway…

I’m a dreamer living in a world that seems hostile toward such people. I’m not the only one, though. I’ve heard many stories about artists (though dreamers can also be scientists and missionaries, etc.) in particular who grew up in blue collar families/communities and were discouraged from pursuing their passions. “Get a real job!” they’d be told. They didn’t understand the dreamers’ aspirations, their desire to do extraordinary things. No, these naysayers knew only of clocking in and out at their easily understood and quantifiable jobs and bringing home a paycheck.

I don’t say this to demean blue collar (or white collar) types. In fact, I admire their work ethic and down-to-earth attitudes. Many, if not most, are full of common sense and free of the delusions that pervade certain demographics of society.

However, oftentimes they are so down-to-earth, they can’t understand people who, for lack of a better term, has their heads in the clouds. Actors, writers, and directors, to name a few, often came from families like this who, at best, tolerated their kids’ unusual interests or, at worst, tried to force them into the “normal” mold. This was usually done with good intentions—wanting to make sure their kids could provide for themselves—but it came at the expense of crushing their children’s souls. It was a forced denial of who they were. It made the dreamers live while dying inside.

I know this from experience. My father has a blue collar mentality. When I said I wanted to go to college to study writing, he was supportive. He even helped pay for it. But then a couple years ago, he revealed to me that when I made that decision, he thought I was crazy. He didn’t think I could make it as a writer. I was flabbergasted, disappointed, angry. This was the man who, just a few years before, read my first novel, Pandora’s Box, and liked it; who read my newspaper articles and thought I was an ideal journalist because I didn’t put any biased spin in them. It was, to say the least, a bit of a blow, especially since I was (and am) a struggling artist.

My theory is people like this don’t understand dreamers for two reasons: 1) The dreamer’s path to success is more abstract, less direct, and less certain, and 2) the dreamer’s aspirations and goals are too “pie-in-the-sky.” Going to a factory or office and putting in one’s eight-hour shift is simple and direct. The most such workers have to think about is perhaps moving up in the company and/or getting a raise. Dreamers have to take risks and think outside the box. Someone who aspires to start a nonprofit to, say, help inner city kids has to do fundraisers. Writers have to submit stories to publishers and agents. Actors have to attend auditions. In all these cases, there’s no guarantee of success, and initial success doesn’t always guarantee ongoing success. They don’t get paid a salary or an hourly wage. The closest equivalent are independent contractors. It’s also usually a slow, gradual process to becoming “successful” for the dreamer. This is why most, including myself, hold down “day jobs” until they reach a point where they earn a living doing their “unorthodox” dream jobs. These aren’t usually the most glamorous or high-paying of day jobs, which doesn’t reflect well on the dreamers. (I’ve heard many stories of now-famous actors who worked at restaurants until they became successful).

Dreamers walk difficult roads, but if they stick it out, the results not only include a satisfying career for them, but changed lives for many others. Nonprofit organizations save lives. Writers and artists entertain and, most importantly, enlighten audiences with their art (if done right). Actors can do the same. The notoriety they gain through these can give them platforms from which they can do other great works.

This is why I’m a dreamer. This is why I support dreamers.

If you’re a dreamer, don’t give up!

If you know dreamers, I hope you will encourage them.

Are you a dreamer? If so, what are your “lofty” aspirations?

Writers are Sadists

While I don't hate Steven Moffat, he certainly has a reputation for torturing characters (and audiences).  (Image courtesy of Pinterest).
While I don’t hate Steven Moffat, he certainly has a reputation for torturing characters (and audiences). (Image courtesy of Pinterest).

I’ve missed a Thursday or three in my weekly posts the last few months. I should be flogged for that. I’ll probably have to find anorther writer to perform said flogging. Why?

Writers are sadists.

Well, most writers are sadists. Well, closet sadists. (Hear me saying that as the 10th Doctor?)

I’d define a sadist as someone who takes pleasure in the suffering of others. Now, generally speaking, I’d consider sadists to be terrible people (trust me, I’ve dealt with a few). But when you’re a writer—or even just a reader—you have to be one. Sorta.

The backbone of a plot is conflict (and there are nine of them). Without conflict, there is no story. What are essential ingredients for conflict? Trouble, misery, strife, and pain, to name a few. Characters must fight each other, overcome impossible odds, or battle forces (seemingly) beyond their control. As my friend Nick Hayden pointed out: “If a protagonist wakes up fully rested, eats breakfast, enjoys his day at work, comes home to his lovely wife and kids, fiddles on some project, and goes to bed, we might think one of two things: 1.) This is a terrible story. 2.) Uh-oh, everything’s going to hit the fan soon.”

When I attend writers’ meetings—particularly Children of the Wells creative meetings—I’m astonished at how much time writers spend figuring out how to make their characters miserable. Take my novel, Pandora’s Box, for example. I gave Pvt. Brewer the happiest life—career, family, fiancé—much of which she worked hard to get (there’s conflict), but then I took it all away in one fell swoop. If I hadn’t, the book would’ve ended in a few chapters or been terribly boring (like Pamela by Samuel Richardson, a 500-page book I had to slog through in a week during college). I rarely, if ever, wish such misery on people I know, yet I go out of my way to make my brainchildren borderline manic depressants. Yet that’s what makes their triumphs that much more satisfying. J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, called this a eucatastrophe: “…the sudden happy turn in a story which pierces you with a joy that brings tears….”

This was one of my problems with modern Christian authors for a long time: they were afraid to make characters miserable or include true suffering in their works (at least when it wasn’t an attempt at proselytizing). That’s why their stories didn’t resound with people. I determined when I started writing that I wouldn’t do that. I’m the kind of writer who puts his characters through Hell so their victory at the end is sweeter. I love those “eucatastrophe” moments. It makes the journey all worthwhile.

Perhaps that means writers like me aren’t necessarily sadists. We want our characters to be happy—they just have to survive long enough to reach the ending. (Get it? “Happy ending”? Never mind).