(So. It’s spring break. Two-week-late post, and somehow by the end
it’s all aboard the angst train again?)
Two Sundays ago, I mobbed with a small group of MIT furries to watch
Zootopia, the recent highly-reputed Disney movie.
(Before anything else, first there were the previews. I was impressed
that every single one of them — there were six or so — was about an
upcoming movie featuring anthropomorphic animals front and center. Let
me see if I can remember all of them… in no particular order,
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Secret Life of
Pets, The Jungle Book, Storks,
Finding Dory, and Ice Age: Collision Course.
edit: Oh, also Angry
Birds. Wow, I said, they know their audience.)
I went into the movie with a vague impression that
Zootopia was more adult-oriented than most Disney films —
not in the naughty way, but in general making a lot of jokes and
invoking a lot of parallels that I think only adults might have the
experience to get. My suspicions were confirmed a few lines into the
movie, where there was a joke about taxes I cracked up at but can’t
imagine that children a few years younger would have found funny. If you
the reader haven’t watched it, I hope that was vague enough not to ruin
the start for you.
(To be fair — and, uh, some parts of the internet are kind of big on
this fact — the film also at one point enters a nudist colony.
Fortunately (?),
Animals
Lack Attributes.)
Humor aside, I think the movie also deals with some weighty and
nuanced themes, ones that would take more life experience to fully
appreciate than the themes of most Disney movies. The social commentary
is very clear. Possibly bordering on too blatant for my tastes — even
though the whole movie is kind of Funny Talking Animals, there are some
animal species for which it’s really easy to guess which human
demographic groups they might be symbolizing, to the point where I can
already imagine the other side of the debate. You won’t need a PhD in
literature to figure out the parallels; you wouldn’t even need an AP
English Literature class. But, I think, it still works. It’s like
Animal Farm on training wheels.
This is not Part 3. It’s just two things I thought of tacking on to
part 2.
What can I say? Part 2s are easy blog post fodder; Part 2 appendixes
are even easier.
One, there’s one other wall I run into often during those rare
attempts when I get motivated enough to try to write a story: naming
characters is hard. At least, it provides an excellent motivational
roadblock whenever I even consider committing a story to paper, a point
before I’ve actually written anything at which I think “maybe I should
give up and go on Facebook instead” and proceed to do so. Aggh. And I
think there’s more than one reason for this:
I have trouble coming up with names to some degree. Sure, it’s easy to
browse BabyNames.com and look for choices, but a lot of the names there
are really weird and contemplating them for every unimportant character
kind of rips me out of the immersed mindset.
Reading great stories in English class and elsewhere may have gotten me
feeling like every name ought to be a deep meaningful allusion, or at
least pun fodder. I feel like I will regret it if I write a story and, a
few months and/or chapters down the road, realize I missed a better name
or the name I chose has some undesirable connotations in context or
provides an atmosphere-ruining coincidence.
But I think the real kicker is simply that some part of me is
terrified of the awkwardness of giving a character the same name as
anybody I know, because then they might read the story and wonder if the
character is somehow based on them. And too many of the names that I
consider common enough to not lure readers off into looking for hidden
meanings are used up that way. This is obviously worst if the character
is an antagonist. But it seems just as awkward if the character is a
protagonist in accord with everything I’ve written, i.e. a paper-thin
character blatantly created for escapist purposes. I am already kind of
terrified I might ever meet anybody with the same name as one of my
mentally established characters even though I haven’t actually written
anything about him. And there’s a well-established convention of
not
reusing a first name in a work, so this gets even harder with every
work; I’m just as worried, what if somebody thinks this character is
related to the other character in that story I wrote in second grade? Oh
no!!
It’s like not reusing variable names in a programming language where
everything is in the same scope. Positively nightmarish.
And I actually discovered some evidence this is a thing in my past: I
found some stories I wrote in 2004. They are possibly the most extreme
exemplification of
Write
What You Know imaginable: the main character, Michael, goes to
school and makes friends. That’s all.
Illustration courtesy Brian2004
I kind of want to share these stories, but fast-forward a few years
and you’ll see that a classmate named Michael entered my grade and we
stayed in the same grade until we graduated.
Hi, Michael. You’re probably not reading this, but the character I
created in 2004 is not in any way based on or inspired by you,
especially not this image. And unlike later in this post where I name a
character after myself, I’m not being sarcastic, really.
Part 1 was here. This is
still part of the daily posting
streak I have openly committed to and standard disclaimers still
apply. Just as in my original
post, back to the flip side — let’s see what I have to do to
write fiction to my own satisfaction. And this time I have a
guide: the list I made in the first part of this post. Could I create
fiction I would enjoy reading?
1: I enjoy calling things before they happen…
2: …I also enjoy the Reveal for questions when the author has done
something clever I didn’t catch…
Well, obviously, I can’t predict things in my own plot. But I can
develop riddles in the plot, set up expectations and drop subtle clues
and use Chekhov’s Tropes. Can I?
I blogged about this before in
2013 — how I felt that the analysis trained into me by English class
was dulling my ability to appreciate and write the types of fiction I
really enjoyed. After thinking about it I realized the mismatch goes
deeper than that. Because the things I seek the most in fiction are
escapism and entertainment. I like simple fiction with obvious (though
maybe not
that
obvious)
Aesops
and extreme economy of characters via making all the reveals being of
the form “X and Y are the same person” (which does not quite seem to be
a trope but may be an occurrence of
Connected
All Along, with the most famous subtrope being
Luke,
I Am Your Father (which is
a
misquote!), and is also one common
Stock
Epileptic Tree, so maybe this isn’t the best example), because not
only are such reveals fun, they make the plot simpler. What can I say,
it works.
The qualities of being thought-provoking or heartwarming are only
bonuses for me; needless
complexity
in the number of characters or plots is a strict negative. Sorry, I
don’t want to spend effort trying to remember which person is which and
how a hundred different storylines relate to each other if they don’t
build to a convincing, cohesive, and awesomeReveal,
and often not even then. And I like closure, so I feel pretty miserable
when writers
resolve a
long-awaited plot point just to add a bunch more. Because of this I
am ambivalent about long book series; most of my favorite works of
fiction have come in long series but starting a new one always gives me
Commitment
Anxiety. Even when there’s closure, when I finish an immersive movie
or book I’m always left kind of disoriented, like I’ve just been lifted
out of a deep pool and have to readjust to breathing and seeing the
world from the perspective of a normal person on land. I like when I’m
reading good fiction, but I don’t like going through withdrawal
symptoms. If I want to read complicated open-ended events, I’ll go read
a history textbook, because at least the trivia might come up useful
some day; if I want tough problems I’ll just look at real life and think
about the possibility of college debt and having to find a job and
everything. (If it wasn’t obvious yet, this is why I hyperbolically hate
on Game of Thrones often.) Even worse than all of this is
multiple paragraphs full of scenery and nothing else, unless of course
parts or maybe all of the scenery are
Chekhov’s
Guns.
Some part of me is embarrassed to admit this because I’ve been
educated for so long about deep literature that makes social commentary
or reveals an inner evil of humanity or whatever. But then again, I
don’t really need an education to appreciate the simple, fun fiction I
apparently do.
So: there are a lot of famous classics or mainstream works I can’t
really enjoy too much, or in some cases, at all. And yet, sometimes a
random story or webcomic will appear and I just won’t be able to stop
reading. Why? I decided to try making a list of things I like in
fiction: