Authors: Jerry Cleaver
BUT if due to forces beyond your control, you do miss your 5 minutes, never, never, never do extra to catch up. Don't say, "I missed yes-
terday, so I'll do ten minutes to catch up." Or worse, if you're into writing say a half hour a day and miss, don't ever tell yourself, "I didn't write for the half hour I had scheduled yesterday, so I'll do an hour today to keep my string going." Thou shalt not double up, ever. If you miss, forget it and go back to it tomorrow. If you're doing a lot (e.g., a half hour a day) and miss, you're better off dropping back a level for a day.
NOTHING = SOMETHING
With this method there is always something for you to do—even if it's nothing. With this technique,
nothing is something.
Your job, first and foremost, is to put in your time, always, no matter what. When you do, you actively, deliberately do nothing for 5 minutes, or you do something. Either way, you get full credit.
OUTPUT
Once you get into it, it's a good idea to limit the amount of time you spend sitting and mulling things over. The best way is to do a certain number of pages in the time you have. The minimum you should shoot for is one page every half hour. A sensible upper level would be three pages a half hour if you're writing by hand. You might do more if you're typing. I know people who can write five pages in a half hour by hand. A half hour a page leaves room for a lot of thought, too much maybe. Remember, it's better to
do your thinking on the page.
And faster writing is better writing. Dash it off. Come back and work it later.
FEELING IT
Writing is something you want to do—at least part of you does. But rarely when you sit down to do it, will you feel like it. And rarely will you feel like even sitting down to do it. So, never wait to feel it. Once you sit down to it, you will usually encounter more resistance. Especially at the beginning. Don't be surprised if you feel something like:
This is crazy. What can you do in five minutes?
I
don't even get warmed up in fifteen minutes. A writer in five minutes a day, B.S. This is stupid. I'm wasting my time. Cleaver is a wacko, and I'm just as nuts for trying this,
etc., etc., etc. To all of this you respond:
OK, it's stupid. I'm stupid. It's a waste of time. Fine! But, I signed on for thirty days. I'll do it for thirty days and be done with it.
Another excellent way to defeat this kind of resistance is judo. Judo is using the power of the enemy to defeat him. With creative judo, you don't resist, ever. You go with whatever is in you. So, you say, or write: "I'm not writing today because . . ." "I can't stand doing this because . . ." "What I hate about this stuff is . . ." or "Why is there always resistance? Is it worth it? Will I ever get there?" etc. Whatever is in your mind, go with it, explore it. If you do, eventually it will lead you into something you feel is worth pursuing.
SLOP
No one's mind is 100 percent accurate. It's not supposed to be. The mind did not evolve for accuracy alone. It was never "intended" to be 100 percent accurate. This inaccuracy causes us to mix things that don't go together so that we can invent new ways of solving problems. There is no such thing as a photographic memory. Eighty percent is the maximum anyone has ever demonstrated. So, the very best we can
do is 20 percent error, 20 percent slop. That, and the fact that we are looking for new combinations when we write, account for why the process is messy, disorganized, sloppy. In this game, mistakes and errors are good. They help us uncover new relationships. Fiction is about finding order in disorder—how everything relates to everything else. So you're supposed to make mistakes, get lost, drift off on a tangent. The slop can be maddening, but it's also your friend.
LEAPING AND LOOKING
One way of thinking of what you're doing in all of this is you are
training your imagination.
Which isn't exactly true, since it's not particularly trainable. But it's always there, and it's always willing to work for you. It's going all the time whether you're in touch with it or not. What you
can
do is
get in the way.
When you're in the way, you may feel that you have no imagination, but your imagination is a lot stronger and more durable and inventive than the rest of your mind. But it obeys its own rules. (The more you push it, the less you get, etc.) So, you don't train it. If anything, it trains you.
You have to learn how to follow your imagination's rules. Now, that's something you knew from the beginning. Little kids know it, since they haven't learned to approach things in a way that stifles the imagination. They haven't learned to plan ahead, to prepare, to think it through, to organize their thoughts before starting, to outline, to be careful, etc. All of this is what the educational system and the work world train us to do. And all of it is death to creativity. In creating, you
leap first
and
look later.
If you want your imagination to work for you, you must learn to open the door and step aside. It leads. You follow. And if you do it long enough, if you don't allow your doubts and worries and fears to
do you in, you will be rewarded. You will do less, and your imagination (subconscious) will do more. It will carry the load if you learn how to let it. Then, when you get into bed at night, when you turn onto the expressway or take your seat on the train,
your mind will go there on its own.
Your imagination will take you where you need to go.
There's nothing new about any of this. This is
daydreaming.
The technique I've laid out follows the natural currents of your mind. It takes some doing, but if you stick with it long enough to make the connection, to internalize it, to make it a part of you, you will discover what a great game this can be.
EXERCISES
Dealing with a nasty waiter/waitress or salesperson.
Dealing with a difficult child.
A character trying to figure out if he or she loves someone or not— if it's "the real thing."
[13]
Dead Weight
WHAT YOU CAN IGNORE
Earlier, I said that this story model is important for what it is, for what it includes, but just as important for what it isn't, for what it
excludes
—for what it saves you having to grapple with. Now I want to be more specific about what's excluded so that if you run into any of it, you'll recognize it and won't be confused or waste time wrestling with it. The few story elements and techniques (conflict, action, resolution, emotion, showing) I've given you take care of everything you need to do to create successful stories.
THE RAZOR
There's a principle in science called Occam's razor. It says that the simplest, most direct explanation is the best. So, although the theory that the Sun revolves around the Earth can actually be made to work with some mathematical contortions, we go with the simpler explanation that the Earth revolves around the Sun. It's simpler. It's more direct It works better.
This issue comes up a lot when we have an unexplained phenomenon, especially the kind that people start attributing to extraterrestrials. One of the more recent ones was the crop circles in England. Perfectly formed circles imprinted in the crops started appearing on farms. Visiting spaceships, right? Look far away for an explanation. That's more exciting and romantic. They set up all-night cameras in some crop fields in the area, and guess what they found? Two guys sneaking into the fields dragging weighted platforms around to make the circles. The more immediate, direct explanation turned out to be true.
Writing is tricky enough. You don't need any vague concepts, any excess baggage, to drag along while you're doing it. I'm going to go over a couple of things specifically to show you what I'm talking about, then give you a list of unnecessary terms and considerations that you need not bother with.
The concept of
beginning, middle, and end
is a good example. In the introduction I told you about my first experience with this idea. I'll repeat it here and then tell you what it really means. "Be sure your story has a beginning, a middle, and an end," one of my writing professors once said.
Ah ha! That was it. It made perfect sense. That's what I needed to do. I went straight home and sat down to write a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. I stared at the paper. A beginning? What did that mean, exactly? And what was the middle of a story, and how was it different from the beginning and the end? And the end, that's what I was having all the trouble with. Damn, I was back where I started.
At the next class, I asked, "Last time you said to write a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, but I'm not sure what they are exactly."
"Well," he said with a little smile, "the beginning comes first. The middle comes next. And the end comes last."
Everyone laughed. I didn't ask again.
But now I know what they are, and so do you. The beginning of a story is the emergence of the
conflict (want
meets
obstacle).
The middle is the struggle
(action).
The end is the
resolution.
They're already covered by conflict, action, and resolution, so there's no need to get into terms like
beginning, middle,
and
end
that are once removed and unnecessary.
Then there's this thing they call
character development.
I often have people come to me and say, "My plots are good, but my characters aren't developed enough." That tells me that the plot isn't working well either. What does character development mean? How does a character develop? How do we get a sense of who he is? A character is expressed (developed) by the way he handles his problems—how he acts when he's faced with an obstacle or a threat.
Action is character.
If you write a story using the model I've given you, your character will develop whether he or you want him to or not. He must develop. He must get off his ass and act in a meaningful way no matter what. This story model
makes
him act, makes him develop.
Voice and style
are two other issues that come up. Some workshops' single goal is to "help you find your voice." Well, you don't need any help in finding your voice. Your voice and your style will emerge on their own if you write enough. They're a product of who you are, of your personality and your preferences. I don't differentiate between voice and style, although I'm sure there are people who do. Also, there's nothing wrong with trying to write exactly like Hemingway or Faulkner (two very different styles/voices). In the end, you will find your own way of doing it. It will emerge automatically, because of who you are.
Two other unnecessary issues,
character biographies
and
premise,
are covered in chapter 9, on method.
Another issue is
outlining.
At least one prominent author says that to be successful you must outline your story before you start. (Remember, anyone who tells you what you
must
do is talking about himself and what
he
must do.) Again, there is no real need for outlining—unless it helps, unless it's your thing. Most writers feel it's just another burden. Most writers don't want to be tied down to a whole story plan at the beginning. They prefer the adventure of exploring things on the page as they go along—feeling their way, being open to whatever pops up. One writer said, "Outline? Sure, I'll give you an outline—as soon as I finish the book."
Again, outlining (planning your story out) is worth a try if it makes sense to you. It might be your thing. Also, it's never one or the other, never all or none. You may plan one story and just jump in with no plan on the next one. You might lay out a scene or a chapter in great detail and jump in blind for the next chapter or the rest of the book. Outlining might be your thing for a long time, but then you might outgrow it. Nothing is static in this game.
Likeable character.
Few things are more intimidating than having someone tell you that your character isn't likeable. And a good way to get stuck is to try to make him likeable. How would you do that? Have him help an old lady across the street or donate money to the poor? Likeability isn't a technical term. But
identification
is. Identification we can make happen. A character who is struggling with a threatening problem and is worried and frightened that it will defeat him will cause us to identify. Identifying is liking.
What about the need to pick a story that's
interesting?
One writing book says, "If you're going to bother to write a story, for God's sakes, be sure to make it interesting." The book fails to tell you what creates interest in a story or how to make it happen. The book did not even define "interesting" in a useable way. Be interesting! How intimidating is that? And why be just interesting? Why not be fascinating, captivating, mesmerizing? The answer to "interesting" is the same as the answer to likeability. Identification. If you've identified, you're interested—at the very least. Creating identification (revealing character through conflict and struggle) is what it's all about. Don't let yourself get distracted.