The other night I took a break from an editing marathon to watch a movie. This will not surprise anyone who knows me. I love movies. Especially movies you haven’t heard of yet. Like this one.
Phoebe in Wonderland.
It’s the story of 9-year-old Phoebe (brilliantly played by the other Fanning, Elle) and her apparent Alice-in-Wonderland-flavored struggle with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (which turns out to be something else but I’m not telling because I think some of you are going to rent this movie now that I’ve mentioned it and it’s always more fun to discover Important Plot Points in the context of your own experience rather than through the eyes of another).
There are a number of reasons I enjoyed this film, but I’m only going to talk about one: I got lost in it.
Not lost in a “where is this going?” way (though a certain amount of that kind of lost is actually a good thing), but more in a “where did the time go?” way.
Phoebe (the movie, and the character) took me on a gentle, unexpected expedition. I felt as if I were actually wandering around in this uniquely blended mix of the real and unreal where Phoebe and her parents and sister and peers and a brilliantly odd drama teacher and more than a few fictional characters lived. It’s not that the story was a meandering mess – the structure and plot and point eventually revealed themselves. But for much of the story, I didn’t care about that.
I was having too much fun with the beautiful uncertainty.
I wanted to wander. I wanted to get lost.
Here’s the thing you already know about wandering: the point isn’t to end up somewhere, it’s all about wondering. (Didja catch that clever wordplay?) Wondering what’s around the next corner. What’s under the rug. What’s hiding in the tree. What’s lurking. What’s in the box. What’s making that noise.
Movies like Phoebe bend narrative rules a bit. They break out of the expected plot lines and invite viewers to experience snippets of the created world from the unique perspective of one of the characters. (See also: Finding Neverland and, if you’re not frightened by cardboard, The Science of Sleep.)
What does all this have to do with novel writing? Well, it’s simple, really. I’m telling you to get lost.
Go ahead and plot your story if that’s how you like to write. But once or twice or a thousand times, steal away into the novel’s world and allow yourself to step off the plotted path. Explore the stuff that’s not obvious, that’s not there.
You might be thinking “yeah, well my novel isn’t fantasy so I don’t see how this applies to me.” After slapping you silly with a waterlogged gnome hat, I’ll ask you to take back your words. It doesn’t matter what genre you’re writing – the world you’re creating is bigger than the story arc you’ve imagined. It’s deeper and wider and taller than the words on the page. You can’t point readers to that expanse unless you’ve been there yourself.
When you lose yourself in the world of your making, that world can grow, expand, and offer up things you’d never thought of. This can be a scary prospect, especially if you’re a write-by-numbers person. It might feel like being asked to strip naked and chase saber-toothed bunnies in a blinding sleet across a frozen lake. And it’s quite possible you could run in a hundred different directions and never discover a single thing you can actually use in the novel. But at least you will have gotten some exercise. And more than that, you’ll have discovered what you want your readers to discover – that there’s a great big living, breathing world behind the page.
If you follow all the writing advice books and blogs and tweets, you can learn to write a perfectly serviceable novel. Maybe even a really good novel. Tension on every page? Go for it. Flawed characters? Sure. Use all the tips and tricks you want. But before you type “the end” please take some time to wander. Here’s a helpful tip: If you find there’s nowhere to wander? Well, you might just need to start over.
There. That’s it.
Now get lost.
Comments
23 responses to “The Delirious Ecstasy of Getting Lost”
Homerun, Stephen. I know, I know. Those who preach “the rules” are twisting and jerking in agony, knowing that all these “new” writers will jump off metpahoric cliffs and add too much information to their formulaic regimens.
I understand you covered your assertion (or your tail? ;/) with this: “And it’s quite possible you could run in a hundred different directions and never discover a single thing you can actually use in the novel.” But what if we could use it? What if a particular publisher understood the value of maybe/maybe not superfluous detail in these stories, some of which have become as you noted “serviceable” where I might say “formulaic”.
Excellent post. Obviously, I couldn’t agree more. But then I’m . . . lost. (In the sense of writing lost.)
The great thing about having my own blog is I get to say whatever I want. In a way, that’s sort of like giving myself freedom to “get lost” every time I sit down to write a post. Of course, if there’s no structure to what I throw up on the virtual page [vomit reference intentional], lots of readers would go “huh?” a few would say “look at all the pretty words” and one would go all Dan Brown on me and discover a hidden code in my words that reveals the missing eighth day in the Creation account when God invented the Internet, then scrapped the whole idea because He was concerned someone might someday use it to write silly blogpost comments like this one.
What a great post! I want to see the movie now, and plan to go pull out my ms and ‘wander’ a bit…
I heard about the movie from a writer I work with, Jeffrey Overstreet. He’s the author of the Auralia’s Colors fantasy novels (just finished the third of a four-part series) and a Really Smart Guy when it comes to movies. Felicity Huffman is amazing in her role, too. She plays a writer.
Be careful there…
Or I may have to label you brilliant. That was a great post.
Oh, no need to worry about that. My near-brilliance is little more than a carefully crafted smokescreen meant to hide my complete lack of genius.
Came over on Katdish’s recommendation. Not writing a novel yet, but I have to say that my best storytelling happens when I wander. The ADD helps, I think.
And after reading this, I can’t help but wonder:
How did the gnome’s hat get waterlogged?
Where was the gnome at the time?
Does he mind when you borrow it?
ADD (whether acquired by nature or nurture) can be a boon to writers. So can caffeine. And a glass of wine once in a while. There’s probably other stuff thats good for writers, but I can’t think of it.
Well, as you know (because you peeked behind the curtain), the gnome got really frustrated at a different writer because the writer didn’t let him go beardless and so he threw the hat down in disgust, only to realize the writer had written a pond under his feet at that very moment. When he crawled out of the pond and soggy-waddled away in a huff to find quarters for the laundromat, I fished the hat out of the pond and stole it. It’s blue. It matches my eyes.
I know. This may come back to bite me later. You just never know how a gnome is going to react to the loss of his hat.
I so enjoyed this post! You are a gifted writer novel doctor, I love your humour and I totally agree. When a story becomes organic, when you get lost in the plot it becomes exciting and unexpected. Strict plotting gives you security but if the writer can let themselves be spontaneous, to live dangerously, the story will truly sing.
I once wrote a character named Sam into one of my novels. I ended up abandoning the novel, though, because it wasn’t very good. I’ve always wondered how the characters felt about that. I don’t know what sort of relationship real Sams like yourself have with fictional Sams, but in the off-chance that you cross paths with my created Sam, please let her know I meant no ill will. She’s pretty easy to recognize – look for a sullen, dark-haired teenager who’s only half-written.
@Steve – I love your comment about Sam and abandoned characters.. that would make a great story or movie in itself… a writer being haunted by his half written characters & story plots 🙂
Getting lost is my favorite way to watch a movie and to read a novel. A book that makes me loose sense of time and place is worth it’s weight in gold as far as I’m concerned.
I like “loose” in this context a lot. Isn’t that what a good story does? It unshackles us from the constraints of time for a bit. But I think you’re missing the word “my” in there. Shouldn’t it be “makes me loose my sense of time…”?
(edit much?) ‘lose’ sense of time.
Oh. Never mind.
😉
Another recruit via Katdish. This is definitely something I need to work on. Currently writing non-fiction, but a novel is my next project. You’ve gotten yourself another faithful reader.
Another recruit? Is Katdish forming an army? And if so, what is the purpose of this army? I might have to fast-track the construction of my bunker, just in case her plans are nefarious.
Oh, wait. I see. She recruited you to visit this blog. In that case, welcome. You’re just in time for the purple Kool-Aid…
I guess I should feel special since I had already seen “Phoebe in Wonderland” – there were some incredible scenes, and I absolutely loved the teacher. She captured something amazing, I almost feel that she stole the movie…
Question, can flawed characters be glorified though? I read something recently and I totally can’t remember now where it was.. but I have been thinking lately I wonder if we glorify flawed imperfections sometimes so much, as to forget what we are trying to become more like.
I know this is my first time comenting on your blog, so I should have kept things a little more shallow 🙂
Yes, you should indeed feel special. And not just because you’ve already seen the movie. You earn additional “special points” for being a first-time commenter. However, this is a new policy and other commenters might feel slighted, so don’t tell anyone, okay? Thanks.
Can flawed characters be glorified? Sure. I think what you’re asking, though, is whether or not this is a good thing. 😉 You probably will agree that it’s valuable in literature and the creative arts to acknowledge and reveal our flawed nature. In doing this, we create a sacred, safe space where readers can walk alongside fictional characters without feeling like total losers. This sacred space provides an opportunity for the reader to discover and grow in parallel with the created character.
Flaws, by their very definition, suggest “room for improvement.” But what is that room? Is it a series of actions that lead to a less-flawed person? A list of behavioral changes that can move someone toward being more Christ-like, for example? Maybe. But I believe more than anything else the “room for improvement” needs to be a room of grace.
If a book or movie or even a song glorifies a flawed character and still somehow reveals that grace room, I’m cool with it. Because I am that person. We all are. It’s when the writer glorifies the imperfections or flaws themselves that I start to get uncomfortable. The difference between glorifying the flaws and glorifying the flawed human might seem subtle, but it’s not. It’s the difference between hopelessness and hope.
This rambling response is skirting around the core of your question, though, isn’t it. Because you’re really asking “shouldn’t we write more stories that present what it is we’re shooting for [the “more” of your comment] and maybe not so many that show how far we fall short”? Right?
Hmm…good question. Probably. Yes. As long as the reader still feels comfortable in that sacred space – as long as it’s grace and not legalism that shapes the room for improvement. Because without a room defined by grace, I can’t get there from here.
But then again, I could be wrong. Sometimes I’m not so sure of myself.
It’s one of my flaws.
I once spent a gazillion dollars on a screenwriting course that was all about plot and structure. The formulas seemed to make a lot of sense, yet when I took my quirky ideas and imposed said formulas upon them, they became like every other movie out there — all the ones I didn’t want to see.
Martin Scorsese said, “Plot is interesting once, but story is interesting over and over again.” That’s how I see it, too, but agents don’t seem to.
I read somewhere that you can apply the paint-by-numbers formula oft-repeated in “how to write screenplay” books to nearly every movie ever made. Um, okay. Yes. There is some truth to that. Here’s the inciting incident. Here’s the climax. Here are all the setbacks. Etcetera, etcetera. You could probably devise and stretch a similar formula so it applied to all story-based works. I’m pretty sure that’s mostly because stories, whether told or written or unpublished or published, have the same basic ingredients.
The problem occurs when writers who don’t know how to tell a good story rely on the formula to do that for them. A formula might help you know what ingredients you need. It could help you put the pieces in order. It might even get you a two-picture (or two-book) deal. But I’m with Scorsese on this one: Story is king. Learn to tell a good story. Then, and only then, consider how plot and structure and the elements that make up any given formula can serve your story.
[Disclaimer: This comment was composed using the “Formula for Building a Perfect Reply” template.]
“When you lose yourself in the world of your making, that world can grow, expand, and offer up things you’d never thought of.”
That is an addictive thrill, that doesn’t always come readily, but I love the ride when I’m on it.
Any tips on getting there more readily?
Awesome post. Made me smile, think, .. and write!
Thank you.
Every now and then, even when I haven’t been writing regularly, I have a sleepless night when I chase rabbit trails all through the plot and setting of my book. I usually get some pretty good ideas, but I’m also usually too sleepy to write them down coherently. Those nights provide me with an extra dose of inspiration to keep going, or get going again. Even if I don’t remember most of my brilliant ideas, I’ve at least gotten to know my characters and my story better.
I’d like to watch that movie now too. Thanks for the movie recommendation as well as the writing advice.