storytelling

Imagine You Are a Blue Alien

May 26, 2009 By heather 6 Comments

It’s a tricky thing convincing two boys you are a blue alien. Five- and six-year-olds ask a lot of questions.

Hiking through Palo Duro Canyon, I discovered blue marks on my hands and arms. Of course, I told the boys, "Look! My fake human skin is coming off. You can see my blue alien skin."

"You’re not an alien," they insisted. After all, they’ve known me for most of their lives.

"How do you know?"

And so it began. I didn’t have antenna, they argued. Not all alien have antenna, I said. Plus, I’ve had to hide what I really look like under this human skin. Did you know I have four ears?

So ensued the barrage of questions that tested my mettle. I’m from Zircoff (which, for those of you interested, is 236.2 light years away from Earth). I mainly eat fruit (Zircoff fruit is much better than Earth’s), but I also eat little boys who disobey their parents. And bullies, yes. My three best friends are Lala, Rae, and Geep. Also, my name in Zircoff is Abema. (Pretty, no?) And I’m 802 years old.

They wanted to know the language. What do you call ears in Zircoff? (Leeleelee, for you linguists out there.) Eyes? Nose? Etc., etc., etc. Not only did I have to come up with words on the spot, but I knew I’d have to memorize everything I said. I’d have to remember the Zircoff word for neck (zulu).

Here’s what I learned: hanging out with two boys, ages five and six, exercises the imagination. We told round-robin stories on our hike (mostly about the village people who lived there protecting a secret; when an evil villain attacked to steal the secret, which would allow him to take-over the world, of course, and when his forces became to powerful for the village people to fight, the village people [who do not sing any rendition of YMCA] had to call on the curse of the gods, which turned everything and everyone into stone, which we then pointed out [that's the sentinel who warned the people; those are the warriors with their bows and arrows; there are the people's homes]), and I convinced them I was a blue alien. They believed me until one of their moms blew my cover.

The next time I discover blue marks on my skin, I may reveal my inner fairy.

Psst–If you find this post interesting and think others might as well, would you mind taking a minute to stumble it? It would mean a lot to me.

Filed Under: aliens, creativity, imagination, storytelling

"I'm very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany."

April 15, 2009 By heather 8 Comments

I love a good movie. I love the story. I love the artistic interplay of the writing, directing, acting, sets, costumes, music. I love reclining in that chair in the movie theater and watching it all unfold in two hours.

But I love books more. In movies, time speeds up, but in books, time slows. You have to commit to a book. If it’s a bad book, you lose more than two hours of your life. But if it’s a good book, you’ve immersed yourself more thoroughly in its characters and stories. It’s not a quick dip in the pool. By the time you’ve come to the end of the book, your fingers and toes are like prunes from the water.

The characters get under your skin. They become part of your life for more than two hours but for days, possibly. And because of this, they stay part of you.

HALLATROW, UNITED KINGDOM - DECEMBER 12: Book...

Image by Getty Images

Taking a movie back to Blockbuster is humdrum. Ho, hum, I think. Exchange this one for a new one. Out with the old; in with the new.

Taking a book back to the library tears a piece of me out and leaves it on the shelf with the book, smashed between pages 112 and 113. I mourn when I come to the end of a book. And I continue to have conversations with the characters. Anne, who shall we pretend to be today? Sully, how’s that knee doing? Tell you what, let’s run up to Rosy’s for a drink and see if that helps. Recently, I introduced Rebecca and Lauren, and though both are quiet, they’ve developed quite a friendship.

Movies draw me in, it’s true. I laugh. I cry. I get involved. And my favorite movies, I watch over and over again, and that process makes me part of it.

But I enter into a book on the first reading. I don’t easily move on to the next. I can’t say, "Oh, that was nice. What’s next?"

Movies make me think. They show me different perspectives. Or make me think about old perspectives in fresh ways.

But books shape who I am.

Title quote from Anchorman.

Filed Under: books, characters, movies, stories, storytelling

The Creative Life: Round Robin Storytelling

March 25, 2009 By heather 5 Comments

We sat around a table on the patio long after dark, sangrias in hand. The sound of the ocean lapping the rocky beach provided background music.

"Once upon a time, there lived a girl," someone started, perhaps Miguel. Miguel had a habit of starting things.

"Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl." That was Ben, without a doubt.

One by one, we passed along the story, each adding something, maybe a sentence, maybe several paragraphs, until the happily-ever-after.

Image via Wikipedia

I thought it fitting that I begin this new weekly (semi-weekly? bi-weekly?) series, The Creative Life, with storytelling. After all, stories are how I work through life. Heck, my life is a story within a Story.

Also, today is Flannery O’Connor’s birthday. What better way to celebrate?

This specific practice, round robin storytelling, combines the magic of storytelling with community. The story develops as you go. No one person has any control. It may take a turn you never intended when you introduced Lola the Showgirl, but that’s the beauty of round robin storytelling.

It’s the perfect after-dinner affair, as you relax, belly full, mouth happy. Perhaps as a friend or family member unfolds the next section of the story, you’ll learn something about them–about their life, values, struggles.

If you try this, I’d love to hear some of the stories you come up with!

Filed Under: creative life, creativity, storytelling, the creative life

Striving to be Good

September 10, 2008 By heather 2 Comments

On The Writer’s View 2 (a yahoo group for writers where we discuss craft, market, and career), Cecil Murphey asked:

"’I want to be an excellent writer,’ he said.
‘What qualities make a writer excellent? How do I develop as a writer?’

Before you respond, the resident curmudgeon believes that writers fit into one
of three categories. [He doesn't mind if you disagree with him.]

1. The Mechanical Writers. They know and practice the rules but their writing is
dull and lifeless. They’re like the pianists who hit the right notes, but it’s
not good music.

2. The Okay Writers. They write; they sell. But there’s something lacking. It’s
not bad writing. I like to say it this way: Their writing is as good as 50 other
writers, but it’s not better than the 50.

3. The Gifted Writers. They combine the spiritual gift with hard work and
produce quality. They may not be top sellers; they may publish little. But their
goal is quality, not quantity.

WHAT MAKES AN EXCELLENT WRITER?
Can average/mediocre writers become excellent writers?
How much of being a writer is a gift or talent and how much is the result of
hard work?"

I expanded in my answer to what makes a good artist, or what makes good art and what makes bad art (what are we striving toward and from what are we moving away). Here’s what I said:

"Because beauty is found in who God is as Trinity and what He does as
Creator, Redeemer, and Re-Creator, I believe there are objective
aspects to beauty. As I strive to develop, there are dangers that
threaten good art:
1. Art that is sentimental–it refuses to delve
into the depths of pain and ugliness or it refuses to emotionally move
beyond that (nihilism) (balance of the cross and resurrection)
2.
Art that is super-saturated in culture and doesn’t move beyond that
(following trends rather than working from the vision of the earth’s
resurrection)
3. Art that is manipulative
4. Art that is self-centered (merely wanted to express myself)
5. Art that refuses to explore (stubbornly clings to tradition)
6. Art that is escapist or a form of distraction (escape into feelings,
entertainment–now I have that song stuck in my head, "Feelings, nothing more than feelings…")
7. Art that is subjected to the utilitarian
8. Art that is mellodramatic
9. Art that is elitist–’Intelligence does not eliminate. It invites’ (Haven Kimmel).
Good
writing or storytelling, then, evokes people to think about things in a
fresh way, balances simplicity and feasting, is energetic, exposes the
depths, transforms, improvises, is based on the beauty of God and God’s
work and moves toward the vision given us of the future resurrection."

How would you answer the question?

Filed Under: aesthetics, art, bad art, film, good art, music, painting, photography, sculpting, storytelling, TWV2, writing

Redemption in Writing

July 20, 2008 By heather Leave a Comment

As so many of you, I watched the final act to Joss Whedon’s Dr. Horrible’s Musical Blog. Unlike so many of you, I was not disappointed with the ending. In fact, PhyWriter suggested an alternate ending.

But here’s the thing, why would it have to be happy? Why can’t it show the consequence to bad decisions that sometimes "good" people make and how those bad choices lead to a whole lifestyle? And why can’t that be considered redemptive writing?

Ala Judges, in other words.

It’s complicated. It’s ugly. It’s not pleasing. But isn’t it what happens every day?

Filed Under: Dr. Horrible's Musical Blog, Joss Whedon, redemption, storytelling, writing

Around the Blog–Misfit Artists, Storytelling, and Dancing

July 3, 2008 By heather 2 Comments

(1) You remember my misfit post, yes? And though I’m a part of a church that embraces me (and which I embrace), and though I have many friends, both "real" and cyberly, there’s still a part of me that’s misfitian. So how could I not rejoice in this series?

I find a kindred spirit in these misfit artists (though my work is not the quality of theirs!). They were rejected, their work declared ugly (as I write that, I realize that it sounds a little like Christ). Here’s one of my favorite lines from the post:

No simple or singular definition of their art, or their lives, would suffice: they were surprisingly varied in their personalities, political persuasions, and aesthetic dispositions, but found a common ground in their ambitions and in their brokenness.

Fujimura goes on to talk about the spiritual influences of the artists, the artists’ influence on spirituality, and what we can learn from them.

He says,

For me, even to reflect on the work of a contemporary artist is to wrestle deeply with questions of faith. For me, the role of an artist and a follower of Christ in contemporary culture is to transgress in love, learning from Jesus.

He mentions John Cage, one of the composers I studied in college (and performed some of his works). I always considered him almost more of a philosopher than musician, but I think I was wrong. I see now that you can’t separate the two in an artist–art is philosophy and philosophy is art.

Great article. You must hope on over to see it.

Other related links:

Impressions at a Museum

Someone’s in the Kitchen with Dinah

Movies and Theology–Pollock

On Aesthetics

Aboard the Black Pearl

(2) There’s a conference in Hollywood in the fall on Storytelling in the 21st Century. Let me tell you, if I didn’t already have so much going on in the fall, I’d be hopping on a plane for that one. It’s hosted by Act One. They’re asking some great questions. Since I can’t go, perhaps it’ll be interesting to bat around some of the questions here. Go to the link and come back and tell me which questions are most interesting to you. My readers are smart people, and I’d like to discuss these things with you.

(3) I saw this video at Diary of an Arts Pastor, so I know many of you have seen it. It’s a picture of the gospel. It reminded me of Philippians 2, of every knee and every tongue glorifying Jesus. It’s fun and beautiful and good. David Taylor said he almost cried at the end, and I thought (before watching it), how silly. Cry at a man dancing?

Then I watched it.

And I cried.

All I can say is, like Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember, beauty makes me cry.

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Filed Under: Act One, aesthetics, art, Barbara Nicolosi, dance, David Taylor, Makoto Fujimura, misfit, storytelling

The Whys, Wherefores, Thithers, and Hithers

July 25, 2007 By heather Leave a Comment

“Popular culture believes that the function of the artist
is to entertain. Artists are told that to be political or the challenge
authority is an abuse of their gift. How fortunate for our common
humanity that so many through history have refused to acquiesce! I
believe that art is a prime facilitator of truth, and those who have
come to embrace this have always enhanced our humanity.”
Harry Belafonte

“One
either serves the whole of man or does not serve him at all. And if man
needs bread and justice, and if what has to be done must be done to
serve this need, he also needs pure beauty which is in the bread of his
heart…[We need] courage in one’s life and talent in one’s work.”
Albert Camus

“The church has a prophetic role to speak the truth when no one else dares to.”
Archbishop Pius Ncube

“When
the one who gazes upon [sic] myth suddenly, in dreadful recognition,
cries out, ‘There I am! That is me!’ then the marvelous translation has
occurred: he is lifted out of himself to see himself wholly."
Walter Wangerin, Jr.

A
good book is first and foremost a good story. I am not suggesting that
we offer up our writing on silver platters of platitudes.* On the other
hand, what makes a good story, aside from personal preferences of it
makes me cry, it makes me laugh, or it makes me think, it makes me
forget? Perhaps a story is good because it contains the truth (or
Truth, I might even say). This does not mean that it is chalked full of
the four laws, the Romans road, or Christian conversions (although it
will probably have a conversion, if we are to follow Joseph Campbell’s
understanding of a hero), but it will reveal something about this world
and humanity, both of which are beautiful and revolting and in need of
redemption and reconciliation. Again, I draw you to Campbell’s
understanding, which includes a “resurrection” and a “return with the
boon.” (Take, for example, the show Lost and its character
development. Narrow down to Charlie [who, sadly, is no longer with us]
and his development from a party-hardy rock star to a husband and
father figure who willingly sacrifices his own life to save in
specific, Desmond, Claire, and Aaron, and in whole, the crash
survivors.) Inherent in every story is the possibility for truth.
Why
do I write? I have a whole slew of reason, and perhaps someday I will
share them with you, but first and foremost, I write to serve the
Kingdom of God.
With fiction? some may ask. (None of you
would ask this because if you are reading this blog, you are most
likely interested in fiction from a Christian point of view, but, hey,
it’s fun preaching to the choir sometimes.)
Of course. What better
way than with story? Stories give us our identity. If my identity is
with Christ (and I assure you it is), then my stories will reflect
someone who is commanded to love the Lord her God and to love her
neighbor as herself. So what if I mix sarcasm with trust issues and
quirky characters with fighting a sweatshop factory? (Double, double,
toil and trouble.) So what if at times I don’t even mention God’s name
(like Esther) or other times have a communion scene (I’m referring to
an actual communion scene with wafers and wine)?
How about Dickens,
who, through humor and intricate story, wrote about poverty and the
work-houses and the foibles of the “respectable” nobility, turning
upside down the understanding of what it means to be charitable?
Or Poisonwood Bible or Beloved or To Kill a Mockingbird or The Count of Monte Cristo or Quaker Summer or Uncle Tom’s Cabin
or any book that resonates in us more than amusement. What it comes
down to is this: whether a literary, Pulitzer Prize contender** or a
vacation beach book, our writing matters and has the power to change
the world.