Thursday, June 19, 2014

Don't Stop at Orange


Achieving an effect: that's art. A writer has to think about this stuff just like a painter, for instance. If a painter wants to paint a molten orange sunset, you bet she's going to focus on that orange. Naturally. A beginning painter would simply open a tube of orange paint and slather it on in a circle. A painter who has really taught herself to see, will start with a base of perhaps white, then add yellows and reds and maybe some brown, blue, or green. Since if you really look at anything, even a molten sun, it's not all one completely even color.

A real example: One of Vincent Van Gogh's self-portraits. The picture looks lively, vivid, real, honest. Yet if you look closely,


there are streaks of green paint in his beard. (You can see it better in the original in person; this is just to give you the idea.) Well, his beard hairs might have been a mix of reddish, brown, and maybe even a little gray. But green? Why does the picture look so great? Maybe because Van Gogh looked at the world with fine attention. He saw that light reflects off of just about every surface, and colors change as the light changes. Shadows aren't black; they're blue, brown, olive. (Note on copyright: I took this photo of a page in a book. Because the photo is an image I created, I own the copyright. If I captured an image of a Van Gogh painting from the Web, that image might be copyrighted by somebody else. So basically: If you take a photo, it's your property, and no trouble ought to come of your sharing it.)

The observer of that finished painting doesn't go, "Hm, I think the artist began with a base of umber wash; no, maybe a dull white—and then he added the umber, some yellow, then maybe some vermilion, and maybe—do I see a trace of ultramarine?" No. Unless the observer too is a student of art, or a passionate artist who sees and understands art technique, they're just going to go, "Man, that is one intense, energetic picture." And they have a feeling that the artist gave it everything he had.

When a good writer sets out to represent a character or a setting or a story, they take the trouble to conjure it mentally, first, as clearly as possible. Then they look, listen, smell, taste, and feel deeper, then they go about writing. This takes time. But the result is writing that feels more alive on the page than the reality that might meet the reader when they look up from that page. And that is known as a tour de force.

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5 comments:

  1. In addition to writing, I took up oil painting three years ago as a way to offset the wear and tear that waiting to be published can take on one's creative soul. Ironically, the gratification of putting paint to canvas and of orchestrating a visual composition "just for me" has had the unexpected benefit of making me a better writer. Thanks for this post. Thanks for these thoughts. I enjoy your blog very much.

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    1. How cool that you paint too, Maggie! I too have found that the other arts, especially painting and drawing, have the power to cross-pollinate with writing.

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  2. Elizabeth, I just want to say how much I really enjoy your blog. I am not the most internet or computer savvy person this side of Jupiter . So you should know that after reading your book, yours was the first blog that I ever subscribed to. I have read several books on the craft of writing and I have to say that I wish that I had read "You've Got A Book In You" years ago. It is one of the best books on writing that I have ever read. I'm looking forward to reading your Lillian Byrd and Rita Farmer series. I'm not an educated man. I did not particularly enjoy school so I barely graduated. I had always felt out of place in school. In the small town I grew up and live in, literature was not something that was stressed heavily in school. When I entered high school we started learning about vocabulary. We also began to read some of the classics. For the first time I found something in school that spoke to me. I had always loved words and had a vivid imagination. When we started having to compose and put our own thoughts down on paper, it was as if someone had drawn back the curtains and opened the windows. I found it easy to take my thoughts and feelings and put them down on paper. For the first time I began to make higher marks in a class than anyone else. It's nice to feel a sense of worth even if just for a little while. Soon I began keeping a journal and reading more outside of school. I read a lot of books while in school, but that doubled when I graduated from high school. I sought out anything that would catch my interest - Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Mickey Spillane, J.R.R. Tolkien, Terry Brooks, Stephen King, The History of Pulp Magazines, gypsies, Edgar Allan Poe, and so many other things that I can't remember. And I wrote. Whatever I thought about I wrote down in my journal. I also became a bibliophile. I collected scores of books. Yet the thought of wanting to be a writer had never occurred to me. I would, and do, look at the back of books and read the bios of writers and found it intimidating. These people were intelligent and extremely educated college graduates. Me, I worked most of my life in a grocery store. Eventually life happened. Family tragedies and the day to day taking care of my parents took over my life. But the truth was,... I was afraid. Afraid of not being smart enough. Afraid of failing, of being unable to succeed at the only thing I ever showed any talent for,..the devil you know. I stopped reading and writing. I still bought books. Sometimes I would read them but many would just gather dust. I would watch movies and TV and in my mind I would take them apart and examine them as to what made them work. I've heard about people who lost an arm or a leg that have 'phantom pain'. They will reach to scratch a limb that has been gone for years. That was how I felt about writing. I had a lifetime struggle with depression and just recently began to slowly put my life back on track. I saw your book at Barnes & Noble. After I took it home I couldn't put it down. I'm 50 years old now, I wish I could have read the words in your book a long time ago. Even if I might not have been able to believe them. I apologize for this having turned into a full letter. I just wrote unrestricted what I felt and who I was because I wanted you to know how much your book effected me. I am still afraid, that is something that I am trying to overcome. I just want you to know that you wrote a book that was incredibly special to someone. Like a man who is stranded on a desert island all alone, seeing a rescue ship on the horizon, he finds the hope that he can rejoin his true life. I just wanted to let you know that your book was not just informative,...but also enheartening. Thank you. From someone who is trying to find their heart again. - James Mills

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    1. James, you made my day. I'm so glad the book has been meaningful to you, and I can't tell you how happy I am that you're writing!! Deep thanks for sharing your experience here. Please keep me (& us) posted on your journey as a writer. On the question of fear, here's something a sports champion once said to me: "The reason I won is that I wasn't afraid to screw up."

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    2. Thank you Elizabeth, I will try to remember this.

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