Tonight, Joe Biden accepted his party's nomination as Vice President, to run with nominee Barack Obama, who speaks tomorrow night in Denver.
However, as good a running mate as Biden is, I think Obama's real running mate is history itself. The first African-American nominee of a major American political party. A man whose father was from Kenya, and whose white mother raised him herself with the help of her parents. A black man with the unlikely name of Barack Hussein Obama, running for President. If this isn't the unfolding of history, a history with a new face, a new contour, a new expectation of how things go, I don't know what is.
History itself is Obama's running mate, and partner, and advisor. History itself is the thing with which he must contend, the thing he must convince with his oratory and policies, the thing he must both respect and challenge. But it's not his personal history that accompanies him on the upcoming campaign trail. It's our history, the history of the American voter, that stands with him on every podium at which he speaks in the coming months. It's our history that will be challenged, tested, wooed. It's a nation's history that will be made and, perhaps, re-made, in a new, 21st-century image.
Yes, history was made tonight, when Obama became the Democratic presidential nominee. And so he begins his campaign with his new partner, new constant companion, new (and truest) running mate: American history--as conflicted, complicated, disheartening, inspiring, and surprising an entity as any living, breathing person.
Only in November will we know whether the team of Obama and history itself can work together in such a way as to move them both forward.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Obama and Biden:Let the Games begin!
Well, I did it.
I went ahead and signed on to Barack Obama's website, and sent in my two cents' worth of advice to the Democratic candidate: namely, not to let the GOP attack machine "define" Barack Obama, and to strike back forcefully when John McCain's campaign goes negative.
Now that Obama's chosen Joe Biden as his V-P candidate, I'm hoping the Democratic campaign will get back on track: clear, focused, and aggressive (when necessary) in the face of the coming GOP negative onslaught.
And that Bill and Hillary Clinton will get (without ambivalence) on the same page...
I guess we'll see about this last point, when the Democratic Convention begins next week. Stay tuned...
I went ahead and signed on to Barack Obama's website, and sent in my two cents' worth of advice to the Democratic candidate: namely, not to let the GOP attack machine "define" Barack Obama, and to strike back forcefully when John McCain's campaign goes negative.
Now that Obama's chosen Joe Biden as his V-P candidate, I'm hoping the Democratic campaign will get back on track: clear, focused, and aggressive (when necessary) in the face of the coming GOP negative onslaught.
And that Bill and Hillary Clinton will get (without ambivalence) on the same page...
I guess we'll see about this last point, when the Democratic Convention begins next week. Stay tuned...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
No Olympics Gold Medals for Commentators
Like a zillion other viewers, I've been enjoying the Summer Olympics from Beijing. However, it seems to me the comments from the broadcast booth are more pointed, nationalistic and downright insulting than ever before.
I mean, is it me?---or should commentators refrain from using phrases like "She just didn't bring it," or "I don't see the focus there," or "I don't understand what he was thinking." After the years of arduous training these elite athletes have put in, I feel they all deserve a huge amount of respect and regard. The nit-picking and second-guessing of some of the commentators have made some of the most biased event judges seem rational and fair-minded.
Also, I'm tired of on-scene reporters shoving microphones into the faces of tear-stricken teenagers who've just lost a berth in the medal round. "What are you feeling right now?" the reporter routinely asks an obviously devastated competitor. Geez, there's a puzzler. What the hell do you think he or she is feeling?
Moreover, the way NBC has edited their broadcasts, you'd think there were only two nations competing for medals---the US and China. (Except for the amazing "Lightning" Bolt from Jamaica!)
But, admittedly, all these complaints fade in the face of the courage, tenacity and skill of the athletes themselves. No scripted drama matches the emotional heights attained by these international events, where the commonality of the human condition---regardless of country of origin---is demonstrated before the world. Triumph, failure, pain, loss, shame, envy, rage---they're all here, in rich abundance. The Olympics, at its core, is the world revealing its true face to itself.
And that's why the Olympics call to us every four years. And why, I believe, we respond.
Though it's become a cliche, I think nothing has expressed its essence as well as the opening lines from the old ABC Wide World of Sports: we watch because we remain riveted by "the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat." Feelings we experience in our own lives, in big ways and small, every day.
It's only a deal if it's where you want to go. Find your travel deal here.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Foyle's War Comes to an End
After bashing (slightly) a recent episode of Foyle's War on PBS's Masterpiece Mystery for its depiction of male therapists as thieves, blackmailers and killers, I have to admit it was hard to see the series come to an end this past Sunday.
The final episode was a strong one, and the interweaving of the war's end with the mystery itself was well done. As usual for the entire run of the series, the writing, acting and direction were first-rate. Plus the production designers did a great job evoking the world of WW II Britain.
I've been a fan of the series since its inception, and am truly sorry to see it go.
Perhaps creator Anthony Horowitz and his team will be entreated to give us a post-war glimpse of these characters in a stand-alone episode in the near future. After all, post-war Britain was a very different place than it had been during the five years of war.
In fact, so completely did the British public want to throw off the memory and deprivation of that time that they chose not to re-elect Winston Churchill as Prime Minister, even while acknowledging his crucial role in guiding the nation and inspiring the nation's citizens during the conflict. But the people wanted to move on...which might make for an interesting new angle with which to view Christopher Foyle and his friends.
Just a thought. Regardless, my appreciation to all involved for a wonderful series.
Next up from Masterpiece Mystery: the Inspector Lynley Mysteries, based on the series of novels by Elizabeth George.
The final episode was a strong one, and the interweaving of the war's end with the mystery itself was well done. As usual for the entire run of the series, the writing, acting and direction were first-rate. Plus the production designers did a great job evoking the world of WW II Britain.
I've been a fan of the series since its inception, and am truly sorry to see it go.
Perhaps creator Anthony Horowitz and his team will be entreated to give us a post-war glimpse of these characters in a stand-alone episode in the near future. After all, post-war Britain was a very different place than it had been during the five years of war.
In fact, so completely did the British public want to throw off the memory and deprivation of that time that they chose not to re-elect Winston Churchill as Prime Minister, even while acknowledging his crucial role in guiding the nation and inspiring the nation's citizens during the conflict. But the people wanted to move on...which might make for an interesting new angle with which to view Christopher Foyle and his friends.
Just a thought. Regardless, my appreciation to all involved for a wonderful series.
Next up from Masterpiece Mystery: the Inspector Lynley Mysteries, based on the series of novels by Elizabeth George.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
KILLER SHRINKS STRIKE AGAIN!!
As some of you know, one of my pet peeves--as both a therapist and a writer--is the abundance of TV shows and films in which psychologists and psychiatrists are portrayed as villains. From Hannibal Lecter to your garden variety culprit on any TV crime show, male therapists are often shown as capable of everything from serial murders to sexual exploitation to brain-washing.
Last Sunday's episode of Foyle's War, on PBS' Masterpiece Theater Mystery, was no exception. Now let me be clear: I'm a huge fan of this series of World War II mysteries starring Michael Kitchen. (In fact, next week's episode is the series finale, after five years, and I'm very sorry to see it go.)
But in last Sunday's show, centered around dark deeds at a mental health clinic, all three of the male therapists at the clinic were guilty of something...one of theft and blackmail, another of sleeping with a disturbed patient's wife, and the third of murder. (The second shrink committed murder, too, but since the victim was the blackmailing, thieving first shrink, I don't think we were supposed to feel that badly about it.)
You see my point. In a first-rate, beautifully-scripted and acted series, there's yet another story in which the male shrinks are all killers, crooks and adulterers. As my old Italian grandmother used to say, "Oy!"
As I've written elsewhere, I know why male therapists are ideal villains...all that education, supposed empathy and concern for humanity, turned to the Dark Side. The ultimate paternal figure turned evil, running amok. Irresistible to screenwriters.
But, c'mon, people. Let's give this on-screen stereotype a rest. At least until the second season of HBO's In Treatment airs, wherein depressed shrink Gabriel Byrne, despite his all-too-human foibles, struggles to do the right thing.
End of rant.
Last Sunday's episode of Foyle's War, on PBS' Masterpiece Theater Mystery, was no exception. Now let me be clear: I'm a huge fan of this series of World War II mysteries starring Michael Kitchen. (In fact, next week's episode is the series finale, after five years, and I'm very sorry to see it go.)
But in last Sunday's show, centered around dark deeds at a mental health clinic, all three of the male therapists at the clinic were guilty of something...one of theft and blackmail, another of sleeping with a disturbed patient's wife, and the third of murder. (The second shrink committed murder, too, but since the victim was the blackmailing, thieving first shrink, I don't think we were supposed to feel that badly about it.)
You see my point. In a first-rate, beautifully-scripted and acted series, there's yet another story in which the male shrinks are all killers, crooks and adulterers. As my old Italian grandmother used to say, "Oy!"
As I've written elsewhere, I know why male therapists are ideal villains...all that education, supposed empathy and concern for humanity, turned to the Dark Side. The ultimate paternal figure turned evil, running amok. Irresistible to screenwriters.
But, c'mon, people. Let's give this on-screen stereotype a rest. At least until the second season of HBO's In Treatment airs, wherein depressed shrink Gabriel Byrne, despite his all-too-human foibles, struggles to do the right thing.
End of rant.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Robert Downey, Jr., Moves to Baker Street
File this under the "That's More Like It" category: after lamenting recently that Sasha Baron Cohen was set to play Sherlock Holmes (to Will Farrell's Dr. Watson) in an upcoming spoof, I was pleased to learn that Robert Downey, Jr., has just signed on to play the Great Detective in a new straight film. Downey's a great actor, and an interesting choice.
The film will be directed by Guy Ritchie. Fingers crossed, I guess.
The film will be directed by Guy Ritchie. Fingers crossed, I guess.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
WHODUNNIT??---Why not YOU?
Q: Your upcoming one-day seminar is called "Taking the Mystery Out of Writing Mysteries." In your own work, what has been the most challenging element of writing mysteries?
A: Initially, years ago, the hardest element was the plotting. Then, as I grew more confident as a writer (fueled, in great part, by my years as a screenwriter, which requires diligent attention to plot and structure), I discovered that equally important to a good mystery is creating strong, relatable characters.
Henry James famously said, "Plot is characters under stress," and this dictum is never more apparent than when devising powerful, involving mystery and crime stories.
In fact, when you strive to develop interesting characters, who are struggling with relatable emotions---fear, envy, lust, etc.---the way they intersect helps build the foundation of the plot.
Mystery writers need to remember: crime stems from strong emotions, and strong emotions stem from interpersonal conflict. Kinda like life.
Q: As a licensed psychotherapist specializing in creative issues, what are some things from your psychotherapy practice that you bring into your teaching? What about to your writing?
A: After 19 years counseling writers who struggle with issues like writer's block, procrastination, and fear of rejection---not to mention anxiety and depression---I think I bring to my teaching both a real understanding of the difficulties of the writer's life, as well as some solid tools for addressing those problems.
That said, despite my many years as both a therapist and a professional writer, I come up against the same fears and doubts as any other writer. Except that now I just see them as part of the creative process, part of who I am when I'm writing, and trust in my craft as a writer. Most of the time.
Q: You were recently an inactive instructor, now returning to the Writers' Program to teach this fall. For those students who may not be familiar with your teaching or with your work, what is it that you'd like students to know about your courses? What would you like students to take away from your courses?
A: I'd like students to know that my workshops are interactive, lively and combine solid information with good in-class writing exercises. Also, because of my experience as both a writer and a therapist who counsels writers, I think I bring a unique perspective to whatever personal issues they might be grappling with that are impeding their work.
Q: Where do you find inspiration for your own writing?
A: Everywhere. How people interact with each other. My own passions, fears, concerns, interests. Frankly, however, I don't put much stock in inspiration. I think waiting and hoping to be inspired is a drain on a writer's time and energy. You're better served, I believe, by hard work and striving to cultivate imagination, which, unlike inspiration, is available to everyone and doesn't depend on divine intervention!
Q: What's your best advice for those trying to published mystery novels?
A: Read what's out there, just to get a general sense of what the industry's publishing, but don't try to slavishly emulate it. Now is not the time to write a novel like The Da Vinci Code. That trend is over. Which means, it's a mistake to try to follow trends. I believe your best bet is to mine your own life, your own passions and interests, and then write the kind of story you'd like to read.
For example, in my new collection of mystery short stories, From Crime to Crime, most of the tales are about a group of hapless amateur sleuths based on real people--a therapist (me) and three of my friends. Our relationship to each other, how we interact under stress, our humor and personal foibles---all formed the foundation of the story-telling. Though the mystery stories are of course fictional, I was curious as to how we would react if we stumbled upon crimes and tried to solve them.
Q: Who is your favorite mystery author of all time?
A: Too many authors to name, across a range of types of mystery stories. Conan Doyle, Hammett and
Q: Is there anything else that you'd like students to know about your upcoming class?
A: Just bring writing implements. Oh, and dress is formal.
Again, for info about this seminar, please call UCLA Extension's Writing Program at 310-825-9415 or (800) 388-UCLA.
Get the scoop on last night's hottest shows and the live music scene in your area - Check out TourTracker.com!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Cohen and Farrell as Holmes and Watson??
Now I'm worried.
I just learned that Sasha Baron Cohen is going to play Sherlock Holmes in an upcoming film, assisted by Will Farrell as Dr. Watson. Hmmm.
Maybe it'll be funny, maybe it'll be...well, not so funny.
Not that I'm a stickler for high-minded seriousness when it comes to my favorite Baker Street duo. In fact, there was an underrated comedy some years back called Without A Clue, featuring Michael Caine as a totally clueless Holmes and Ben Kingsley as the brilliant though unheralded man behind the genius.
Plus, I'm a huge fan of Billy Wilder's Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. Beautifully directed, written and acted, with a real affection for the characters even as they were being gently sent up.
I even enjoyed Gene Wilder as Sherlock Holmes' Smarter Brother (with the wonderful Leo McKern, of Rumpole fame, as Professor Moriarty).
Then there's a real gem, The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, with a screenplay by Nick Meyer, based on his best-selling novel of the same name. Again, distinguished by a wonderful cast and beautiful production values. With the unlikely but terrific team of Nicol Williamson and Robert Duvall as Holmes and Watson.
Now we have Sasha Baron Cohen and Will Farrell. Am I wrong to be worried about this pairing? Why can't I get my mind around the idea?
If you get a second, let me know what you think.
Gas prices getting you down? Search AOL Autos for fuel-efficient used cars.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Inspector Lewis On The Case
This coming Sunday, on most PBS stations, the venerable Masterpiece Theater series Mystery! brings us a new mystery featuring Inspector Robbie Lewis.
Played by Kevin Whatley, Lewis is the former sergeant of the late Inspector Morse, whose own series of mysteries was among the most popular filmed crime stories in the world.
The character of Endeavor Morse--opinionated, passionate, easily irritated and relentless in the pursuit of the truth--is one of the greatest fictional detectives ever created. As originally conceived by novelist Colin Dexter in a series of books, and then brought to vivid, unforgettable life by the late great actor John Thaw, Inspector Morse was our skeptical and inquisitive guide to the world of a modernized, rapidly-changing Oxford. A place where venerable college dons and rare-books collectors coexisted with phony religious gurus and Internet porn. And the crimes themselves were almost always intriguing and surprising.
Without a doubt, it was my favorite filmed TV crime series. So much so that the on-screen death of Inspector Morse, followed regrettably by the real-life passing of John Thaw a short time after filming ended, brought a real melancholy and sense of loss.
John Thaw and Endeavor Morse were the perfect blend of actor and character; I doubt whether any viewer could imagine anyone else playing the cranky Chief Inspector. Nor would they want one to.
Then, last year, PBS ran the pilot episode of a new series of mysteries, in which a widowed Robbie Lewis, now promoted to Inspector himself, returns from abroad to Oxford to find his own young sergeant, a baffling case to solve, and echoes of his old mentor everywhere. I thought it was an excellent episode, and a much-needed return to those old Oxford haunts.
I hoped then, as I'm sure a lot of other viewers did, that more Lewis adventures would follow. Happily, that's now the case.
So, if you're a fan of modern-day British crime dramas, and haven't yet investigated a newly-minted Detective Inspector named Robbie Lewis, I recommend you do so this coming Sunday evening.
I know I'll be watching.
Played by Kevin Whatley, Lewis is the former sergeant of the late Inspector Morse, whose own series of mysteries was among the most popular filmed crime stories in the world.
The character of Endeavor Morse--opinionated, passionate, easily irritated and relentless in the pursuit of the truth--is one of the greatest fictional detectives ever created. As originally conceived by novelist Colin Dexter in a series of books, and then brought to vivid, unforgettable life by the late great actor John Thaw, Inspector Morse was our skeptical and inquisitive guide to the world of a modernized, rapidly-changing Oxford. A place where venerable college dons and rare-books collectors coexisted with phony religious gurus and Internet porn. And the crimes themselves were almost always intriguing and surprising.
Without a doubt, it was my favorite filmed TV crime series. So much so that the on-screen death of Inspector Morse, followed regrettably by the real-life passing of John Thaw a short time after filming ended, brought a real melancholy and sense of loss.
John Thaw and Endeavor Morse were the perfect blend of actor and character; I doubt whether any viewer could imagine anyone else playing the cranky Chief Inspector. Nor would they want one to.
Then, last year, PBS ran the pilot episode of a new series of mysteries, in which a widowed Robbie Lewis, now promoted to Inspector himself, returns from abroad to Oxford to find his own young sergeant, a baffling case to solve, and echoes of his old mentor everywhere. I thought it was an excellent episode, and a much-needed return to those old Oxford haunts.
I hoped then, as I'm sure a lot of other viewers did, that more Lewis adventures would follow. Happily, that's now the case.
So, if you're a fan of modern-day British crime dramas, and haven't yet investigated a newly-minted Detective Inspector named Robbie Lewis, I recommend you do so this coming Sunday evening.
I know I'll be watching.
Monday, June 9, 2008
UCLA/Skirball
In case you're interested, I'll be at the Skirball Center in Los Angeles on Wednesday evening, June 11, for the UCLA Extension Faculty Published Authors event. Joining me for the reading and book-signing event (followed by a coffee and cake reception) will be many other UCLA colleagues with books out this year.
Here's the info:
Reading/Book Signing
June 11, 7-9:30pm
Skirball Center
2701 N. Sepulveda Blvd (at Mulholland Drive)
Los Angeles, CA.
For info, call: 310-825-0107
Hope to see you there!
Here's the info:
Reading/Book Signing
June 11, 7-9:30pm
Skirball Center
2701 N. Sepulveda Blvd (at Mulholland Drive)
Los Angeles, CA.
For info, call: 310-825-0107
Hope to see you there!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Memorial Day Weekend
In my view, Memorial Day ceased to exist some years back. Now the focus is only on the "Memorial Day Weekend," which means different things to different people.
To Hollywood, it's the weekend of the fourth Indiana Jones sequel.
To chain stores, it's a weekend selling barbeque grills, picnic tables and lawn dart sets.
To school kids, it's the last 3-day weekend during the school year. The Fourth of July weekend, coming during the summer break, doesn't count.
To the automobile industry, it's a 3-day blow-out sale of all the new models they've been having trouble moving off the lot since January.
To the news media, it's a 3-day vamp, re-treading old stories and controversies, until---Thank God!---Tuesday rolls around again.
And, of course, to countries outside the United States, it's just another 2-day weekend, followed by another Monday.
However, before it was merely embedded in a 3-day sale-a-thon, Memorial Day itself was a day when the nation reflected on those who died in various wars, here and abroad. Regardless of one's position on the various wars we've been involved in, I think it's still a good idea to remember the sacrifice of those who've served.
Not a highly original or controversial position, I know. But there it is.
To Hollywood, it's the weekend of the fourth Indiana Jones sequel.
To chain stores, it's a weekend selling barbeque grills, picnic tables and lawn dart sets.
To school kids, it's the last 3-day weekend during the school year. The Fourth of July weekend, coming during the summer break, doesn't count.
To the automobile industry, it's a 3-day blow-out sale of all the new models they've been having trouble moving off the lot since January.
To the news media, it's a 3-day vamp, re-treading old stories and controversies, until---Thank God!---Tuesday rolls around again.
And, of course, to countries outside the United States, it's just another 2-day weekend, followed by another Monday.
However, before it was merely embedded in a 3-day sale-a-thon, Memorial Day itself was a day when the nation reflected on those who died in various wars, here and abroad. Regardless of one's position on the various wars we've been involved in, I think it's still a good idea to remember the sacrifice of those who've served.
Not a highly original or controversial position, I know. But there it is.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Hollywood on the Couch: KCRW Radio Interview
After reading an article of mine called "Hollywood on the Couch," NPR producer Matt Holzman asked me to guest on his weekly show about the entertainment industry.
In case you're interested, the first of that two-part interview aired this week on KCRW-FM's program "The Business," and is available for listening from their site.
Here's the link: Click here: Hollywood on the Couch — KCRW | 89.9FM
If so inclined, let me know what you think. Thanks!
In case you're interested, the first of that two-part interview aired this week on KCRW-FM's program "The Business," and is available for listening from their site.
Here's the link: Click here: Hollywood on the Couch — KCRW | 89.9FM
If so inclined, let me know what you think. Thanks!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
A WRITER'S LIBRARY
Everyone has a list of his or her favorite books on writing.
Everyone also knows the better-selling ones, and I can pretty much recommend them without reservation: Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way. And for the mythological underpinnings of narrative, Joseph Campbell's justly-famous Hero with a Thousand Faces.
I'm also a big fan of William Goldman's book about movie writing, Adventures in the Screen Trade. (I once mentioned it glowingly to a studio executive I knew, who exclaimed, "I hate that book!"--a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one.)
However, I'd like to suggest some other books, personal favorites, that I think speak more powerfully and tellingly to the inner life of the writer. Though not all these books are about writing specifically, the issues explored are relevant to anyone living the writer's life.
In Praise of What Persists, edited by Stephen Berg. A collection of essays by a variety of writers detailing the personal experiences that influenced their work.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig. A great book on the dynamic--and often crazy-making---process of striving for quality, however you define it.
The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard. Elegant and personal, as well as hard-nosed and pragmatic. Wonderful reading.
Life Work, by Donald Hall. A beautifully-written book by the much-honored poet and man of letters, exploring his obsession with--and consolation from--a life devoted to the craft of writing.
Mastery, by George Leonard. A primer on the value of practice, the consistent doing of a craft. A strong rebuttal to a goal-oriented approach to creativity--and to life.
The Courage to Create, by Rollo May. The title says it all.
On Moral Fiction, by John Gardner. Densely written, frankly pedantic, and inevitably self-righteous--and those are the things I like about it. A stirring, sometimes maddening call-to-arms on behalf of writers taking what they do--and its effects on society--seriously.
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Sixty thousand perfect words. A masterpiece of lucidity, banked emotional fire, sustained tone, depth and heart. I try to read it once a year, just to clear out the cobwebs.
That's just a sampling of my favorite writing books, of course. An eclectic group, I admit. There are other worthy books I could've included, by writers as diverse as E.B. White and Ray Bradbury, Ben Hecht and Stephen King.
But for now, I'll stick with my list. Good companions on the writer's journey.
Naturally, if you have any favorite writing books to add to my list, I'd be happy to hear about them!
Everyone also knows the better-selling ones, and I can pretty much recommend them without reservation: Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird, Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way. And for the mythological underpinnings of narrative, Joseph Campbell's justly-famous Hero with a Thousand Faces.
I'm also a big fan of William Goldman's book about movie writing, Adventures in the Screen Trade. (I once mentioned it glowingly to a studio executive I knew, who exclaimed, "I hate that book!"--a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one.)
However, I'd like to suggest some other books, personal favorites, that I think speak more powerfully and tellingly to the inner life of the writer. Though not all these books are about writing specifically, the issues explored are relevant to anyone living the writer's life.
In Praise of What Persists, edited by Stephen Berg. A collection of essays by a variety of writers detailing the personal experiences that influenced their work.
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig. A great book on the dynamic--and often crazy-making---process of striving for quality, however you define it.
The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard. Elegant and personal, as well as hard-nosed and pragmatic. Wonderful reading.
Life Work, by Donald Hall. A beautifully-written book by the much-honored poet and man of letters, exploring his obsession with--and consolation from--a life devoted to the craft of writing.
Mastery, by George Leonard. A primer on the value of practice, the consistent doing of a craft. A strong rebuttal to a goal-oriented approach to creativity--and to life.
The Courage to Create, by Rollo May. The title says it all.
On Moral Fiction, by John Gardner. Densely written, frankly pedantic, and inevitably self-righteous--and those are the things I like about it. A stirring, sometimes maddening call-to-arms on behalf of writers taking what they do--and its effects on society--seriously.
The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Sixty thousand perfect words. A masterpiece of lucidity, banked emotional fire, sustained tone, depth and heart. I try to read it once a year, just to clear out the cobwebs.
That's just a sampling of my favorite writing books, of course. An eclectic group, I admit. There are other worthy books I could've included, by writers as diverse as E.B. White and Ray Bradbury, Ben Hecht and Stephen King.
But for now, I'll stick with my list. Good companions on the writer's journey.
Naturally, if you have any favorite writing books to add to my list, I'd be happy to hear about them!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I Know I Have a Book in Me: Writing for Therapists
In the name of shameless self-promotion, I'm making a pitch:
For those who might be interested, I'm teaching a workshop this Sunday, May 4th, at the California Association for Marriage and Family Therapists Annual Conference. The 3-hour intensive workshop is called "I Know I Have a Book in Me: Writing For Therapists."
Who might benefit from this workshop? Glad you asked.
It's perfect for therapists, psychologists, social workers and psychiatrists who want to write for either clinical journals or the general public.
This workshop addresses everything from writer's block and procrastination to the plain facts about editors, publishing and the changing marketplace.
Using anecdotes, examples, and in-class writing exercises, the mental health professional yearning to write will learn how to turn their clinical expertise--as well as the lessons of their own personal journey--into marketable material for magazines, newspapers and books.
The Conference takes place at the Marriott Hotel at the Los Angeles Airport. My workshop runs from 9:00 AM to Noon. For registration info, call 888-892-2638.
End of pitch. Hope to see you there!
For those who might be interested, I'm teaching a workshop this Sunday, May 4th, at the California Association for Marriage and Family Therapists Annual Conference. The 3-hour intensive workshop is called "I Know I Have a Book in Me: Writing For Therapists."
Who might benefit from this workshop? Glad you asked.
It's perfect for therapists, psychologists, social workers and psychiatrists who want to write for either clinical journals or the general public.
This workshop addresses everything from writer's block and procrastination to the plain facts about editors, publishing and the changing marketplace.
Using anecdotes, examples, and in-class writing exercises, the mental health professional yearning to write will learn how to turn their clinical expertise--as well as the lessons of their own personal journey--into marketable material for magazines, newspapers and books.
The Conference takes place at the Marriott Hotel at the Los Angeles Airport. My workshop runs from 9:00 AM to Noon. For registration info, call 888-892-2638.
End of pitch. Hope to see you there!
Sunday, April 27, 2008
LA Times Festival Of Books
I just got back from signing copies of my new book, From Crime to Crime, at the LA Times Festival of Books at UCLA.
What a crowd of book-lovers, authors, Festival volunteers and food vendors. Pretty impressive gathering, given that the temp hovered around 100 degrees!
So much for the idea that Southern Californians aren't readers, or interested in literature. Some of the most eager attendees gathered around small press booksellers booths, or took a chance on books (and authors) they hadn't heard of.
The most exciting thing about the whole event was how happy, engaged and curious the attendees were. Glad to be among others who loved books. Glad to meet their favorite authors. Glad, I think, that such a festival exists.
I know I am.
What a crowd of book-lovers, authors, Festival volunteers and food vendors. Pretty impressive gathering, given that the temp hovered around 100 degrees!
So much for the idea that Southern Californians aren't readers, or interested in literature. Some of the most eager attendees gathered around small press booksellers booths, or took a chance on books (and authors) they hadn't heard of.
The most exciting thing about the whole event was how happy, engaged and curious the attendees were. Glad to be among others who loved books. Glad to meet their favorite authors. Glad, I think, that such a festival exists.
I know I am.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
ATTACK OF THE TEENAGE BRAIN!
From the pages of medical journals to feature stories on the network news, there's been a swell of media coverage the past few years concerning "the teenage brain."
Despite sounding like the title of Hollywood's latest horror-movie blockbuster, the phrase actually refers to recent neurological research on adolescent brain chemistry. To the surprise of practically no one not wearing a lab coat, it's finally been demonstrated scientifically that the teenage brain is different from that of a mature adult.
According to the data, these differences explain the average teen's inclination to stay up late, sleep until noon, and exhibit extreme mood swings (for example, from sullen and defiant to really sullen and defiant).
Some researchers have even blamed these brain differences for the adolescent's inexplicable devotion to high-decibel music, low-decibel mumbling and the piercing of unlikely body parts.
As soon as these results made national headlines, the usual social pundits weighed in: This new research, they claimed, clearly suggested that we should ban teen driving and even raise the voting age. After all, we now had proof positive that today's teens are simply too erratic to be entrusted with such responsibilities.
This may be. But what about the midlife brain? Perhaps the next time we embark on exhaustive, heavily-funded research into what's in the human skull, we should focus our efforts on the average middle-aged person--because if my friends and I are at all representative, I'd argue that whatever's going on in our collective brains is equally suspect.
Though not without good reason. Most adults I know are over-worked, over-stressed and generally overwhelmed from their daily struggles with careers, child-rearing and relationships. They're forgetful, obsessed with their health (popping pills to an extent no teenager would even contemplate), envious of their neighbors and co-workers, and always--always--sleep-deprived.
Frankly, even on a good day, our brains are nothing to write home about. It's everything we can do to keep our complicated, must-have Starbucks coffee orders straight in our heads.
I think it's too easy to blame all this on brain chemistry. The truth is, life is hard, no matter how old you are. Whether you're worried about making the track team or paying the mortgage, about fitting in with the cool kids or impressing your new boss, it's all about trying to cope.
Granted, your average teen's coping mechanisms rarely extend beyond junk food and video games. But are adults' choices any better? Addicted to Internet porn, "Deperate Housewivess," Tom Clancy novels and golf. Running from their yoga class to a Parents Without Partners meeting to the latest Donald Trump get-rich-quick seminar.
And, between all this, compulsively checking e-mails and sending text messages on their cellphones (all while nursing fantasies of winning the Lottery or running off to Tahiti with the office manager).
Let's face it, teens have just two basic goals: having sex and getting into a good college. Both pretty laudable and straightforward aims, especially when compared with the confusing and relentless demands of contemporary life with which adults have to contend. It's no wonder that at the end of the day, most adults just want to collapse on the sofa and channel-surf.
Sartre once said that the state of man is incomprehension and rage. Okay, maybe he was a bit of a Gloomy Gus. But isn't the bewilderment and struggle to which he alludes true at times for all of us, particularly at certain crucial stages in our life?
As a psychotherapist, I see daily the unfortunate consequences of assigning a diagnostic label to practically every kind of behavior under the sun. We need to remember that people are too complex to fit neatly into categories.
And that includes teenage people.
In fact, before we start debating whether teens should be allowed to drive and vote, we'd better be able to defend letting us adults do so. It's not as if our record in either of these endeavors is anything to brag about.
In other words, give the kids a break. They're not responsible for the way their brains develop, any more than they are for the world in which they have to grow up.
If anything, the latter is a result of brains much older, and supposedly wiser, than theirs.
Despite sounding like the title of Hollywood's latest horror-movie blockbuster, the phrase actually refers to recent neurological research on adolescent brain chemistry. To the surprise of practically no one not wearing a lab coat, it's finally been demonstrated scientifically that the teenage brain is different from that of a mature adult.
According to the data, these differences explain the average teen's inclination to stay up late, sleep until noon, and exhibit extreme mood swings (for example, from sullen and defiant to really sullen and defiant).
Some researchers have even blamed these brain differences for the adolescent's inexplicable devotion to high-decibel music, low-decibel mumbling and the piercing of unlikely body parts.
As soon as these results made national headlines, the usual social pundits weighed in: This new research, they claimed, clearly suggested that we should ban teen driving and even raise the voting age. After all, we now had proof positive that today's teens are simply too erratic to be entrusted with such responsibilities.
This may be. But what about the midlife brain? Perhaps the next time we embark on exhaustive, heavily-funded research into what's in the human skull, we should focus our efforts on the average middle-aged person--because if my friends and I are at all representative, I'd argue that whatever's going on in our collective brains is equally suspect.
Though not without good reason. Most adults I know are over-worked, over-stressed and generally overwhelmed from their daily struggles with careers, child-rearing and relationships. They're forgetful, obsessed with their health (popping pills to an extent no teenager would even contemplate), envious of their neighbors and co-workers, and always--always--sleep-deprived.
Frankly, even on a good day, our brains are nothing to write home about. It's everything we can do to keep our complicated, must-have Starbucks coffee orders straight in our heads.
I think it's too easy to blame all this on brain chemistry. The truth is, life is hard, no matter how old you are. Whether you're worried about making the track team or paying the mortgage, about fitting in with the cool kids or impressing your new boss, it's all about trying to cope.
Granted, your average teen's coping mechanisms rarely extend beyond junk food and video games. But are adults' choices any better? Addicted to Internet porn, "Deperate Housewivess," Tom Clancy novels and golf. Running from their yoga class to a Parents Without Partners meeting to the latest Donald Trump get-rich-quick seminar.
And, between all this, compulsively checking e-mails and sending text messages on their cellphones (all while nursing fantasies of winning the Lottery or running off to Tahiti with the office manager).
Let's face it, teens have just two basic goals: having sex and getting into a good college. Both pretty laudable and straightforward aims, especially when compared with the confusing and relentless demands of contemporary life with which adults have to contend. It's no wonder that at the end of the day, most adults just want to collapse on the sofa and channel-surf.
Sartre once said that the state of man is incomprehension and rage. Okay, maybe he was a bit of a Gloomy Gus. But isn't the bewilderment and struggle to which he alludes true at times for all of us, particularly at certain crucial stages in our life?
As a psychotherapist, I see daily the unfortunate consequences of assigning a diagnostic label to practically every kind of behavior under the sun. We need to remember that people are too complex to fit neatly into categories.
And that includes teenage people.
In fact, before we start debating whether teens should be allowed to drive and vote, we'd better be able to defend letting us adults do so. It's not as if our record in either of these endeavors is anything to brag about.
In other words, give the kids a break. They're not responsible for the way their brains develop, any more than they are for the world in which they have to grow up.
If anything, the latter is a result of brains much older, and supposedly wiser, than theirs.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
GRAVE SECRETS
Given its obvious drawbacks, there aren't many good things to say about death. Sure, it's quiet, and you're unlikely to be bothered anymore by Internet spam and telemarketers. But, to many a noted person throughout history, perhaps the only real comfort of the grave has been the secrets you were allowed to carry to it.
Not anymore. A few years ago, a leading news story concerned the late Dr. Robert Atkins, whose popular diet has taken a bite out of the profits of bakeries, pizza parlors, and other purveyors of high-carb delights. Until a group of pro-vegetarian physicians obtained copies of Atkins' medical records and released them to the press.
Apparently, the happily-carnivorous diet guru's health was less than optimum for some years before his death.
Understandably, his supporters--including his widow Veronica--were outraged. "They're like the Taliban," she said. "The vegetarian Taliban."
Health issues aside, what I find alarming here is the increasingly common practice of violating the privacy of the departed. Just a few months after the Atkins story appeared, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis' former priest broke his forty-year pastoral silence to disclose her private talks with him following her husband's assassination.
And he's not alone. In a parade of tell-all books, ostensibly scholarly biographies and TV show "exclusives," people are rushing to reveal the intimate details of the lives of (usually) famous friends and relatives no longer around to defend themselves. So much for the sanctity--let alone the silence--of the tomb.
It's as though we're in some new Age of Postmortem Debunking, a kind of sociological frenzy of hero-bashing that reflects our doubts about altruistic or intellectual integrity. Or, perhaps more to the point, confirms our cynicism.
How else to explain the spate of less than flattering portraits of formerly Great Men and Women that seem to be appearing weekly? Even such usually untouchable stalwarts as Einstein, Lincoln and Gandhi have taken a drubbing.
Lately, it's a truism of American life that privacy is under attack. From identity theft to "profiling" air passengers; from the inequities of the Patriot Act to the selling of personal information databases. But at least those of us troubled by these developments can complain about them. We can email our elected officials. Write scathing letters to the newspapers. Harrass radio talk show hosts.
Alas, these options are unavailable posthumously. Perhaps it's just the therapist in me, uncomfortable with the idea of confidentiality expiring just because the person in question has. Yet I can't help thinking of an interview I saw with Carl Jung, filmed shortly before his own death, as he politely but firmly refused to divulge the details of a painful dream Freud had disclosed to him.
In exasperation, the interviewer said, "What difference can it make now? He's dead."
To which Jung replied, "Because it was told me in confidence."
Bad television, maybe. An anecdote without a punch-line. Plus the fact that Jung--himself fodder for a number of recent idol-smashing biographies--was apparently something less than a paragon of integrity in either his personal or professional life. But in this moment he shone, merely by keeping silent.
For the rest of us, still above ground, not a such a bad model to emulate.
Not anymore. A few years ago, a leading news story concerned the late Dr. Robert Atkins, whose popular diet has taken a bite out of the profits of bakeries, pizza parlors, and other purveyors of high-carb delights. Until a group of pro-vegetarian physicians obtained copies of Atkins' medical records and released them to the press.
Apparently, the happily-carnivorous diet guru's health was less than optimum for some years before his death.
Understandably, his supporters--including his widow Veronica--were outraged. "They're like the Taliban," she said. "The vegetarian Taliban."
Health issues aside, what I find alarming here is the increasingly common practice of violating the privacy of the departed. Just a few months after the Atkins story appeared, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis' former priest broke his forty-year pastoral silence to disclose her private talks with him following her husband's assassination.
And he's not alone. In a parade of tell-all books, ostensibly scholarly biographies and TV show "exclusives," people are rushing to reveal the intimate details of the lives of (usually) famous friends and relatives no longer around to defend themselves. So much for the sanctity--let alone the silence--of the tomb.
It's as though we're in some new Age of Postmortem Debunking, a kind of sociological frenzy of hero-bashing that reflects our doubts about altruistic or intellectual integrity. Or, perhaps more to the point, confirms our cynicism.
How else to explain the spate of less than flattering portraits of formerly Great Men and Women that seem to be appearing weekly? Even such usually untouchable stalwarts as Einstein, Lincoln and Gandhi have taken a drubbing.
Lately, it's a truism of American life that privacy is under attack. From identity theft to "profiling" air passengers; from the inequities of the Patriot Act to the selling of personal information databases. But at least those of us troubled by these developments can complain about them. We can email our elected officials. Write scathing letters to the newspapers. Harrass radio talk show hosts.
Alas, these options are unavailable posthumously. Perhaps it's just the therapist in me, uncomfortable with the idea of confidentiality expiring just because the person in question has. Yet I can't help thinking of an interview I saw with Carl Jung, filmed shortly before his own death, as he politely but firmly refused to divulge the details of a painful dream Freud had disclosed to him.
In exasperation, the interviewer said, "What difference can it make now? He's dead."
To which Jung replied, "Because it was told me in confidence."
Bad television, maybe. An anecdote without a punch-line. Plus the fact that Jung--himself fodder for a number of recent idol-smashing biographies--was apparently something less than a paragon of integrity in either his personal or professional life. But in this moment he shone, merely by keeping silent.
For the rest of us, still above ground, not a such a bad model to emulate.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
DATELINE HOLLYWOOD: Ageism vs. Dying Young
There's an old joke about a man working in the circus, whose job it was to follow behind the elephants, sweeping up their droppings. When asked why he doesn't find some other line of work, he replies, "What, and leave show business?"
What makes the joke funny, of course, is the truth behind it. Creative and talented people, once having tasted the wild nectar of Hollywood success, find it almost impossible to quit the field, even when the odds are stacked against them.
And nothing stacks the odds higher than committing the one unpardonable sin in Hollywood--getting older. As veteran TV writer Larry Gelbart said in a recent interview, "The only way to beat ageism in Hollywood is to die young."
Which reminds me of a story, from my own practice as a therapist working with creative people in Hollywood: At 58, my patient Walter has been directing episodic television for most of his adult life--except for the past five years, during which, despite Herculean efforts to get work, he's been unemployed. He also got divorced and lost his house, and had to move to a condo in Thousand Oaks.
At a recent session, Walter announced more bad news.
"My agent finally dumped me," he said quietly, without rancor.
"I'm sorry, Walter. I know you've been his client a long time."
"Twenty-one years. Lasted longer than my marriage. And the sex was better..." He managed a rueful smile. "Hey, I can't blame him. He busted his ass for me. But let's face it, nobody wants to see a gray-haired old fart like me on the set. Everybody there looks like my grandchildren."
As is often the case with patients in his situation, we talked about options. Walter agreed that he could probably teach, but that even teaching jobs were getting scarce and the money wasn't very good.
But the money wasn't really what bothered him. Right now, at 58, he felt he was a better director than at any time in his life. He knew his craft, he understood actors, he could keep his head in a crisis. But it seemed clear that nobody wanted to see a face much over 45.
"I might as well pack it in," he said gloomily. "My life in this town is over."
"Your life isn't over, Walter," I said to him. "Neither is your career. Unless you're ready for it to be over."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you don't have to let other people decide what you can do. Or how to feel about what you can do."
"Shit, don't get all therapeutic on me now."
"I'm not. I'm being pragmatic. If you want to teach, go teach. But if you still love directing, go find something to direct. A play. A short film. Maybe something you can show on the Internet. Everybody else is."
I leaned in closer. "Listen. You told me once you still have a few bucks. Okay, then hire someone to write something. Or rent an Equity-waiver theater down on La Cienaga for a week and put something up on its feet."
"Forget it. I'm used to working for studios. Networks. Guys with parking spaces on the lot, who at least have to pay me for the privilege of pissing all over my work."
"And I know how much you'll miss that. But at least you'll be directing. If that's what you still want to do."
"Hell, it's what I am."
He sat back, stroking the edge of his trim, salt-and-pepper beard. Then he laughed.
"Hey," he said, "remember that joke about the guy at the circus, cleaning up after the elephants?"
"One of my favorites."
"You think I'm that guy?"
"Walter, I think we're all that guy. These are the lives we lead, the things we do. If it's who we really are, all we can do is keep doing it. As a colleague of mine said once, about trying to achieve in any profession: Keep giving them you, until you is what they want."
He paused. "You know, Alvin Sergeant is in his seventies, and he wrote those Spider-Man movies. Huge hits. For years, David Chase couldn't get arrested, and then he creates The Sopranos. Hell, John Huston directed his last picture in a wheelchair, sitting next to an oxygen tank."
"All true."
"I mean, maybe I'm just kiddin' myself, but..." He nodded toward the door. "There's gotta be at least one more elephant out there, right?"
I smiled. "I've never known a circus without one."
What makes the joke funny, of course, is the truth behind it. Creative and talented people, once having tasted the wild nectar of Hollywood success, find it almost impossible to quit the field, even when the odds are stacked against them.
And nothing stacks the odds higher than committing the one unpardonable sin in Hollywood--getting older. As veteran TV writer Larry Gelbart said in a recent interview, "The only way to beat ageism in Hollywood is to die young."
Which reminds me of a story, from my own practice as a therapist working with creative people in Hollywood: At 58, my patient Walter has been directing episodic television for most of his adult life--except for the past five years, during which, despite Herculean efforts to get work, he's been unemployed. He also got divorced and lost his house, and had to move to a condo in Thousand Oaks.
At a recent session, Walter announced more bad news.
"My agent finally dumped me," he said quietly, without rancor.
"I'm sorry, Walter. I know you've been his client a long time."
"Twenty-one years. Lasted longer than my marriage. And the sex was better..." He managed a rueful smile. "Hey, I can't blame him. He busted his ass for me. But let's face it, nobody wants to see a gray-haired old fart like me on the set. Everybody there looks like my grandchildren."
As is often the case with patients in his situation, we talked about options. Walter agreed that he could probably teach, but that even teaching jobs were getting scarce and the money wasn't very good.
But the money wasn't really what bothered him. Right now, at 58, he felt he was a better director than at any time in his life. He knew his craft, he understood actors, he could keep his head in a crisis. But it seemed clear that nobody wanted to see a face much over 45.
"I might as well pack it in," he said gloomily. "My life in this town is over."
"Your life isn't over, Walter," I said to him. "Neither is your career. Unless you're ready for it to be over."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you don't have to let other people decide what you can do. Or how to feel about what you can do."
"Shit, don't get all therapeutic on me now."
"I'm not. I'm being pragmatic. If you want to teach, go teach. But if you still love directing, go find something to direct. A play. A short film. Maybe something you can show on the Internet. Everybody else is."
I leaned in closer. "Listen. You told me once you still have a few bucks. Okay, then hire someone to write something. Or rent an Equity-waiver theater down on La Cienaga for a week and put something up on its feet."
"Forget it. I'm used to working for studios. Networks. Guys with parking spaces on the lot, who at least have to pay me for the privilege of pissing all over my work."
"And I know how much you'll miss that. But at least you'll be directing. If that's what you still want to do."
"Hell, it's what I am."
He sat back, stroking the edge of his trim, salt-and-pepper beard. Then he laughed.
"Hey," he said, "remember that joke about the guy at the circus, cleaning up after the elephants?"
"One of my favorites."
"You think I'm that guy?"
"Walter, I think we're all that guy. These are the lives we lead, the things we do. If it's who we really are, all we can do is keep doing it. As a colleague of mine said once, about trying to achieve in any profession: Keep giving them you, until you is what they want."
He paused. "You know, Alvin Sergeant is in his seventies, and he wrote those Spider-Man movies. Huge hits. For years, David Chase couldn't get arrested, and then he creates The Sopranos. Hell, John Huston directed his last picture in a wheelchair, sitting next to an oxygen tank."
"All true."
"I mean, maybe I'm just kiddin' myself, but..." He nodded toward the door. "There's gotta be at least one more elephant out there, right?"
I smiled. "I've never known a circus without one."
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Sue Grafton's Integrity
I just read a terrific interview with best-selling mystery novelist Sue Grafton in The Strand magazine. (Pretty terrific magazine, too---and I mean that sincerely, not just because they published two of my mystery stories!)
Anyway, the best thing about the interview was Sue's continual insistence on not selling the rights to her long-running Kinsey Milhone series of books to Hollywood.
Having worked as a TV writer for years before becoming a novelist, she's too well aware of what can happen when the Hollywood "development" process gets a hold of a beloved character.
As she reminds the interviewer, Strand editor Andrew Gulli, "From my perspective, they would ruin my series in a heartbeat. One of the lessons I learned many years ago was from Lawrence Block, who sold his Bernie Rhodenbarr series to Hollywood. Bernie Rhodenbarr is a white, male, Jewish burglar. They cast Whoopi Goldberg in the part!"
Sue goes on to point out that, regardless of which current "hot" actress was chosen to play Kinsey, many of her readers would be upset, or at least disappointed. And with good reason.
"They will cast anybody they think will sell tickets," she explains, "which means they most certainly would pick somebody totally inappropriate to play the part of Kinsey Milhone."
While I think Sue might be over-stating her case a bit--Kathleen Turner was perfect casting for the part of V.I. Warshawski; they just screwed up the movie--I do respect her integrity and allegiance to the character she created. As well as to her loyal fans who've supported her work over the past twenty years.
BTW, though I doubt she'd remember, Sue and I met many, many years ago, when we were both members of an awards selection committee of the Mystery Writers of America. I can't remember myself exactly what category we were deciding (best mystery short story, best TV crime show episode, etc.?), all I know is that at the end of a very pleasant--though long--afternoon at fellow writer Mark Schorr's house, we ended up giving the coveted Edgar award to something.
Anyway, I recommend the interview with Sue Grafton whole-heartedly. It contains a lot of great writing tips, as well as rueful advice about the writing life.
You can learn more about The Strand magazine by going to http://www.strandmag.com/.
It's worth the visit.
Anyway, the best thing about the interview was Sue's continual insistence on not selling the rights to her long-running Kinsey Milhone series of books to Hollywood.
Having worked as a TV writer for years before becoming a novelist, she's too well aware of what can happen when the Hollywood "development" process gets a hold of a beloved character.
As she reminds the interviewer, Strand editor Andrew Gulli, "From my perspective, they would ruin my series in a heartbeat. One of the lessons I learned many years ago was from Lawrence Block, who sold his Bernie Rhodenbarr series to Hollywood. Bernie Rhodenbarr is a white, male, Jewish burglar. They cast Whoopi Goldberg in the part!"
Sue goes on to point out that, regardless of which current "hot" actress was chosen to play Kinsey, many of her readers would be upset, or at least disappointed. And with good reason.
"They will cast anybody they think will sell tickets," she explains, "which means they most certainly would pick somebody totally inappropriate to play the part of Kinsey Milhone."
While I think Sue might be over-stating her case a bit--Kathleen Turner was perfect casting for the part of V.I. Warshawski; they just screwed up the movie--I do respect her integrity and allegiance to the character she created. As well as to her loyal fans who've supported her work over the past twenty years.
BTW, though I doubt she'd remember, Sue and I met many, many years ago, when we were both members of an awards selection committee of the Mystery Writers of America. I can't remember myself exactly what category we were deciding (best mystery short story, best TV crime show episode, etc.?), all I know is that at the end of a very pleasant--though long--afternoon at fellow writer Mark Schorr's house, we ended up giving the coveted Edgar award to something.
Anyway, I recommend the interview with Sue Grafton whole-heartedly. It contains a lot of great writing tips, as well as rueful advice about the writing life.
You can learn more about The Strand magazine by going to http://www.strandmag.com/.
It's worth the visit.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
HOLMES AND WATSON IN THE GREAT OUTDOORS
A pithy little fable, for all you Sherlock Holmes fans out there (But I'll be damned if I can remember where I first heard it.)
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went for an outing one weekend far north of London. They pitched camp, ate a rustic meal over a wood-fueled fire, and sat contently as night fell, smoking their pipes and talking about nothing in particular.
Finally, they decided to turn in.
Some hours later, Holmes woke up his sleeping companion and pointed up at the ink-black sky, dotted with hundreds of luminous stars.
"Tell me, Watson," Holmes said. "When you look up at the night sky, what do you perceive?"
Watson blinked awake and contemplated the heavens above them.
"Well, meteorologically, I can tell from the striations of cloud that the weather will soon turn inclement. Astrologically, I can see that Orion's belt has shifted a bit toward the horizon. Astronomically, I understand that those stars twinkling above are actually roaring suns, giving off tremendous energy. Chronologically, I realize that the distances between those stars and our world are so vast, the light we see now actually shone from them millions of years ago. And, philosophically, I comprehend that in the limitless vastness of the universe, man and his works are quite small and insignificant."
Then Watson turned to his friend.
"Now, Holmes, what do you perceive?"
Holmes sighed. "I perceive that someone has stolen our tent!"
----------
I don't think a Zen monk could have fashioned a better story about mindfulness, and the seductions of over-intellectualizing the world we experience. Plus, it's funny.
Anyway, happy to share it with you. And if anybody has any information about the story's origin, I'd love to hear about it.
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson went for an outing one weekend far north of London. They pitched camp, ate a rustic meal over a wood-fueled fire, and sat contently as night fell, smoking their pipes and talking about nothing in particular.
Finally, they decided to turn in.
Some hours later, Holmes woke up his sleeping companion and pointed up at the ink-black sky, dotted with hundreds of luminous stars.
"Tell me, Watson," Holmes said. "When you look up at the night sky, what do you perceive?"
Watson blinked awake and contemplated the heavens above them.
"Well, meteorologically, I can tell from the striations of cloud that the weather will soon turn inclement. Astrologically, I can see that Orion's belt has shifted a bit toward the horizon. Astronomically, I understand that those stars twinkling above are actually roaring suns, giving off tremendous energy. Chronologically, I realize that the distances between those stars and our world are so vast, the light we see now actually shone from them millions of years ago. And, philosophically, I comprehend that in the limitless vastness of the universe, man and his works are quite small and insignificant."
Then Watson turned to his friend.
"Now, Holmes, what do you perceive?"
Holmes sighed. "I perceive that someone has stolen our tent!"
----------
I don't think a Zen monk could have fashioned a better story about mindfulness, and the seductions of over-intellectualizing the world we experience. Plus, it's funny.
Anyway, happy to share it with you. And if anybody has any information about the story's origin, I'd love to hear about it.
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