Using Journalism as a Form of Character Creation

          It's been a while since I last posted here. School is in session, and work has me making sure students are on their game most of the time. This leaves little room for me to write anything out of my Novel course's required chapters (the class being taught by John Brantingham himself).
          When I'm free, however, I do find the time to draft short non-fiction pieces. I'm a huge fan of travel writing and watching a landscape come to life with just a few words. It's magic--the same magic which brought me into writing creatively. Even without traveling to my favorite city up north, I can at least describe it.
           There's another purpose to being a fictional reporter. As a writer, I find myself constantly squabbling over how important it is to give a strong, detailed character illustrated by his or her actions. The mind can only see so much, so I have to put the character to work, just so everything becomes clear to the reader. In a recent, featured article in The Writer, Patrick Scalisi discusses how a writer can form stronger characters just by treating an exercise as if a professional, journalistic interview. It doesn't require the author to be a professional in journalism, as Scalisi argues, and it allows the writer to express any ideas while letting the character have his or her way.
          Interested in non-fiction, I decided to give it a try with my latest character, Paul, a narcissistic cheater living two lives.. The interview piece is short, but I was able to see more so on the first layer of my character, Paul Greer, while understanding what he has to hide deep inside. Here's what came out:

          The ferry roars into the docks and when settled, its gates open to let out dripping tourists and locals, each with cameras in their hands. Their ponchos glisten against the muted background of San Francisco's bay, and I watch them peel the layers away until they stand in jeans and sweaters.

          One man stands in a polo-shirt and pair of slacks. In his hand, he has a cell-phone and pair of bug-eyed sunglasses.

           Paul Greer works in Los Angeles as an attorney and public speaker. For him, traveling up north is just another day to add to his resume. We sit down on a bench in front of the clock tower standing over Market Street, with sandwiches in our hands, warm.

           “My trips are usually centered on wealthy businessmen, divorcing families, land owners.”

           “Do you ever feel the drive's too much?”

            He smiles and I can see lettuce stuck between his teeth. “It's worth it.”

           For him, the cool winds overlap into his burning world down south, where his family lives and works without him. He brings them food, souvenirs, and portraits they cannot get unless they spend the salary on traveling, something he says is an arguable approach.

            “My wife has a kid, and there's another one on the way.”

           “Does that upset you they'll be growing up only seeing you half of the time?”

           “We get used to it, and my son knows a trip means toys, bread.” He takes another bite out of his sandwich. “He's fond of those shaped bread loaves, from Boudin's.”

            As we're talking, a group of students rush to a halted street-car, the F-Line. The bell rings and the back door opens. Passengers get out, and Paul watches. We wait for the door to close and the tube of chrome to screech away.

            “I never get used to this city. I call it the city of love, and each drive up here is a new experience, new dream.”

           My sandwich begins to get cold as a pelican waddles up, head turned and eyes watching me. “What does an attorney dream of?”

           He holds for a second when the bird moves up, and his right foot lifts, scaring the pelican away.

           “I've asked the same thing with the Boogeyman, and I still haven't found an answer. I go where the money is.”

           “And is the money always in San Francisco?”

            He nods his head, bites the steaming pastrami once more, and doesn't wait to speak. “Sometimes,” he says. “Sometimes.”

John Brantingham is an author teaching in Southern California. His work can be found at johnbrantingham.blogspot.com.

The Writer is a monthly publication, which can be found online at Writermag.com.

"Character Profile," written by Patrick Scalisi, can be found here, http://www.writermag.com/2013/09/30/character-profile/

 

Open Arms and Manuscripts: Writers' Weekend and the Jitters

          This past weekend in sunny Southern California, Mt. San Antonio College hosted its Writers' Weekend event, a three day conference consisting of students, professors, published writers, and professionals all following one passion: writing, of course! It started on Friday with opening ceremonies and pushed through to Sunday with hours of creativity and socialization. And as a writer with anxiety, this was an amazing experience.
          At the beginning, I was a bit nervous on what would happen, but in an hour of that, every sign of worry went out the door. Yes, I hand the schedule in my hands, and I had planned which events were my go-to choices, but that didn't make things easier; even with a clear path and destination, my mind is working overtime to try and plot possible scenarios. However, I found myself enjoying the plan I had set forth, and each panel was educational and enjoyable. One of the highest points was having the chance to meet Bonnie Hearn Hill, an author and one of the friendliest persons I have ever met. Walking in, I didn't know what to expect, but the discussion, which progressed for fifteen minutes, was amazing. We discussed writing in its structure and even found ourselves on the topic of Virginia Woolf. I passed a story to her and was ecstatic to find it was taken well; being creative, I take my work as what it is, but hearing someone compliment it nearly gave me heart-palpitations. The session reminded me that everyone in the writing community is there for each other, regardless of level, and that was a special thing to experience. While meeting other writers was a special moment, the panels were just as eye-opening.
          Sunny Frasier, an acquisitions editor and mystery author, hosted a panel on genre fiction, which presented the world of publishing in a realistic, understandable way. As artists, writers have multiple reasons for why they create, such as passion or hobbies. For me, writing is a form of release and meditation, communicating to the outside world what the darkness is and how to overcome it (Stephen King calls it telepathy in his memoir, On Writing [which you all should read!]). But, like everything, we writers need to make a living, and Sunny presented how it is possible to do so with publishing. Genre is a form of entertainment, like all forms of reading, but it's more commercial than literary fiction, text that is seen regularly in College. Sunny's words of encouragement and wisdom were entertaining on their, and I know that I'll be keeping these notes with me every time I write.
     While not as big as major writing conferences, Writers' Weekend brought me further into the literary world; I engaged myself with people of similar interests, and the anxiety and fear washed away at how excited and friendly everyone was. Of course, that's the case for everything, but in an art form that relies heavily on solitude, it's nice to remember that there are others out there pulling their hair just as much as I am.
          I highly recommend Writers' Weekend, whether handling anxiety, publishing, or not. It's a glorious event with educated, creative people, and they gave away free pizza (now, let's not make that the only reason it was great). Looking forward to returning, I plan to spread the word out, and use what I've learned for writing sessions to come. Kudos to John Brantingham, Llyod Aquino, Michelle Dougherty, and the volunteers who put it all together.

Writing from the Prompt

     In college, one of the most important things when it comes to writing is being able to follow directions correctly by understanding what's asked. If a professor states they want a four page minimum and several sources prevalent throughout the piece, then it's best to give them what they ask for; however, essays and summaries are not the only forms of writing that can be prompted.
     I visited the classroom of John Brantingham after work to visit the Creative-Writing Club, a group of writers I haven't worked with before. He wasn't there, taking some time off to recover, but the club was hosted by the president and other coordinators. Walking in late, I slipped into the back, but I found myself added to the activities of introducing ones self and, of course, writing under a timed, prompt restrained setting. We were asked to write creatively, though: fiction and poetry was up for grabs, and I decided on doing the fiction. For the short-story, we had a few restraints written on the board:

•      The Protagonist's name was Amy.
•      Amy worked in a clown store.
•      She was deeply in love with a giraffe handler.
•      Amy had an evil clown stalker.
•      We must use the word "Buck-fumbling" within the literature.

     Once noted, we were asked to write what we could, where we would finish and present our works to the class if we chose to. Pasted below is what I came up with. Buck-fumbling, in the tense I used, is underlined within.

     "Can you tell me why he's following you?" David wiped the sweat off his brow, staring out the bungalow's front window.
     Amy held herself from an unseen breeze. "I'm not sure, but he's everywhere."
     "He can't be everywhere."
     "Yes, he can," she said.
     David turned. The golden giraffe pin, something only given to experienced handlers throughout the year--from what he said--glinted in the young woman's eyes, burning her. It illuminated her split ends into hanging embers of ash.
     "Listen, Amy, you're just tired. You've been working too much."
     She sighed. "And what are you saying?"
     "No one's chasing you out there, is what I mean; no one's hunting you."
     "You don't know. You don't know what I've been through," she said. "The freak watches me sleep. And that makeup."
     David turned to the window once more, palm on the glass with the other hand up.
     "His makeup looks like he buck-fumbled through it."
     "Does it frighten you?" he asked.
     Amy opened her lips, glancing at the handler. She wanted to tell him yes. She wanted to say how she wished David would hold her, letting her cry in his arms, taking away the weeks of hiding in the restroom and tidying a knife beneath her pillow. But, when he turned, her eyes clenched at the reflection of his dulled, misshapen clown nose.

     It isn't much, but it gave me a chance to just let a story come out, and allow the characters to breathe and become their own entities. Working with this novel, The Neptune, has pulled me from that very idea; I feel as though I need to plot so heavily, when I should let the work write itself instead.
     For Mt. Sac students, the club is on Thursdays, 2:30 to 4:00 P.M. and is hosted in 3411 of 26A. I'm personally looking forward to returning. Stop by if you want to give writing a chance!

A New Chapter

     With the last chapter written, I'm happy to say that my work-in-progress horror novel, The Neptune, has its first "book" completed. Yes, this is just the drafting stage, but it's a benchmark for me that I've never felt would ever come.

      One year ago, I had just came out of a dark, dark place in my life, and was working towards recovery in any way I could. School was a part of my life and I couldn't give that up, so I took extra classes to try and stay focused on something physical, rather than worry on something mental. I met an amazing professor who showed me I did have something to add to this world, and she allowed me to meet another professor, a great man who has become my mentor in creative writing.

      Now, that's not to say I'm completely recovered; I still have times where depression kicks in, or I get lonely and afraid. But those are only bumps in the road in comparison to what I've been through; those are only pebbles in comparison to what I have in store for me.

      I have a great job that keeps me on my feet, working hard, and while it can be stressful and draining, I love it so much and wouldn't trade it for anything. I have a plan to get my A.A. and transfer out of my school to CSUSB for their MFA and English program, and I--as of currently--want to become an editor; though, each and every day I find myself interested in becoming a professor at the community college level. And my writing craft keeps me going and knowing that I have a purpose, and I have a voice; I have a way to show the world I can add to it, rather than take, even if it bugs the heck out of me at occasional times.

      The Neptune is at just a slice of the full pie, and I'm planning to add another sixty-five thousand words to it before I get into the revision process. With luck, it'll progress into a great first novel, something I can be really proud of.

      Everything's been a roller-coaster the past two years, but I want to thank each and every one of you that have stood by me, guided me, assisted me, and been there for me when I need them. If this all works out, I dedicate The Neptune to you guys. Just, you know, please don't be turned off that it's a space infection horror story.

Why I Write

Today a bunch of us writers are trying out a little experiment; each writer, listed below with their names and blogs, will post why they write, and how they grew into a writer.

     I grew up in East Los Angeles with my grandparents and younger brother. My parents, living in Chino where I reside now, were always busy with work, and had no time to take care of us. My father was a trucker, and Mom was, and still is, a supervisor for the Southern California Gas Company. We would visit them on the weekends, but during the week it was just me and my twin-brother with the grandparents.
     We didn't have much to do there, and the internet wasn't out. My brother was very much into scary stories, and I was into the discovery and study of Paranormal activity (great kids, right?). The house had its own weird happenings, so on occasion we would stay up, in pitch darkness, and just watch for anything. Of course, we would get too scared to stay up past twelve, and School was something we did, so we would never go past ten at the latest. But it was exciting.
     I grew up with a bunch of kids who, like me, had a huge imagination. They weren't into the Paranormal like I was, but we enjoyed the same television shows. Eventually we got tired of playing these stories on the School's yard, and we moved onto our next big adventure: comics and stories. I wrote the dialogue, stories, descriptions, and dabbled a bit in drawing, but I was never as good as the others in art. These were the kids who spent hours drawing, and could turn out a new masterpiece within minutes (masterpieces, however, were restricted to the use of crayons and markers). We moved throughout our years continuing to create stories together. Eventually we passed on out of Middle School and had to move on.
     After the loss of my Grandfather, and missing the nights we would tell each other stories, my brother and I was asked to move to my parent's home in Chino by the state. We followed, and ended up going to the High School just around the block, but we were horrified. The years of scary stories and Ghost-hunting led to us dressing up as punks, and we were forced to attend a School where we had no friends to compare with. Of course we were the outsiders, but it didn't stay like that for long.
     My brother was known for his crazy ways and long, feminine hair. I gained friends thanks to my imagination and creativity. I joined the Japanese Animation and Art club, and hours after school, for four years, were devoted to Marching Band. I wanted to do theatre, having done acting as a child growing up, but our parents grid-locked us into making music. The years went by so quickly, and I had lost my spark in creating stories.
     After a few years I went into a medical scare--Cancer. I had gained an odd lump in my throat, and the mole on my chest was seen as an oddity to the doctors. They removed both things for testing, but I was traumatized; days were spent in bed, crying, and I was eventually forced onto anxiety medication. I fell out of an abusive relationship at the time as well, the person not helping me in the slightest, so things were grim.
     I started to attend therapy on campus for free. My mother was against it, saying my anxiety and trauma was nothing at all, but I was tired of the nightmares, crying fits, and general sulking that went on. The therapy didn't help much asides giving me someone to talk to, which was good, but I needed answers, solutions, and for my problems to just "fuck off." Then I found a book.
     The Tools, by Phil Stutz and Barry Michels, is what I'd like to think saved me. There I found techniques, tools, as they called it, to help combat my fears. I was amazed that books could do this for me, and while I grew up reading stories, novellas and novels, this was something incomparable. Immediately I talked with my friends, and told them what was inside. I was a missionary trying to tell of the Lord's graces. Then I began to write.
     And I wrote more.
     And I wrote more.
     Things were pouring out, and my grades in English were soaring high. Immediately I wanted to do this; immediately I wanted to write something that could change someone's life, or show them that they're not alone--no one has to go through this alone. I started writing dramas, romances, and even realistic, horrifying thrillers. I was hooked.
     I moved on to the next level of college, where thanks to my professor at the time I met my now mentor, John Brantingham. I awkwardly called him one day and told him I just wanted to writer--to know how to do the things these people did. We met up in his office and I showed him a trio of stories I threw together. He talked with me on what I was doing well, and not-so-well, but encouraged me to continue whether it be through our School's writing club, or the class. Again, I was hooked.
     I now tutor English and Writing at my School's Writing-center. My writing schedule takes over my entire day, as I make sure to write no less than 500 words (my goal, however, is to keep at 1000 words a day). I write and read every day, and make sure not to drop off the ball. If I can't write anything up to that amount, I keep it to a 500 word essay, or journal.
     Literature is a great thing, and in some way has influenced me throughout life. While it also might have saved my life, it's pushed me forward into a new, positive direction, where I can actually see a future for myself (majoring in acting or Italian were some of the silly things I thought of during my first years in College). Moving forward, I want to become an Editor as of this point, but continue to write encouraging, thrilling, or just plain horrifying stories that show the wonders, troubles, and accomplishments of real, every day life.


Below are the links to the other authors who are writing about their appreciation of this wonderful craft. Feel free to visit, and give writing a chance yourself!

John Brantingham 

http://johnbrantingham.blogspot.com/

Kyle Van Sant http://pkvansant.blogspot.com/

Charlotte San Juan charlottesanjuan.wordpress.com

Marta Chausee http://martachausee.blogspot.com/

John Daniel http://johnmdaniel.blogspot.com/.

Cora Ramos http://coraramos-cora.blogspot.com/

Melodie Campbell http://funnygirlmelodie.blogspot.com/

Lesley Diehl http://anotherdraught.blogspot.com

Jim Callan www.jamesrcallan.com/blog

Chris Swinney http://clswinney.com

Stephen Brayton www.stephenbrayton.wordpress.com

Carole Avila  http://caroleavilablog.wordpress.com/

Augie Hicks http://augiecorner.blogspot.com