I’m jotting off a little post in the midst of a heavy work week and health insurance headaches (health insurance companies are Evil, medical facilities are Evil, they are all EVIL!!). But I’m nearly done with an article on John Rechy’s City of Night, and it should be cross-blogged here and at La Bloga soon. I haven’t returned to editing my novel, somewhat intentionally. Now with two weeks distance from the last draft, fully de-pressurized I think, I’m ready to go back. To get a leg up on “angel” novels, I started reading Anne Rice’s Angel Time.
And a word about the Oscars…
Sometimes it’s more about the acceptance speeches than the cinematic performances, isn’t it? So while I’ve seen neither The Blind Side nor Crazy Heart, I was delighted that Sandra Bullock and Jeff Bridges won. I did see Precious and loved that MoNique got Best Supporting Actress. Beyond that, I decided it was time for me to see The Hurt Locker and Up In The Air. Wish there had been more of Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin and less Best Picture segments. I agree with the principle of nominating more movies to encourage folks to check out worthy, sleeper flicks, but it sure made the awards show drag.
I don’t watch a lot of television, but when I’m watching it’s usually Reality TV. Some lazy Saturday mornings, I’ll veg out to Bravo for hours where the shows range from the highbrow (Top Chef) to the despicable (The Real Housewives Series) to borrow from New York Magazine’s Approval Matrix. But I love them all. In fact, I find I no longer have patience for network dramas and sitcoms. There’s too much predictability. And if I’m looking to get caught up in a plot, I’d rather watch a movie where things are wrapped up in a couple of hours, or better yet, read a book.
Everyone likes to pick on Reality TV whether they think it’s cruelly exploitative or a cesspool of pseudo-celebrity. I agree in some cases it deserves both raps. But for pure, instant gratification entertainment, I submit to you that Reality TV can’t be beat.
Reality TV has elevated the relatability of TV characters by replacing actors with average Joe’s and Jill’s. And where the Reality stars are not average, it’s given us over-the-top, have-to-be-seen-to-be-believed characters that I don’t think would be possible to create in another format. I’m talking about the “train wrecks.” It started with Anna Nicole Smith, went through several derivations on VH1 (Flavor of Love, I Love New York) and is alive and well in any Bravo Real Housewives Series (Kim from Atlanta is my personal fave). You could say on the one hand that people tune in for the voyeuristic thrill or to feel reassured about their own crummy lives by witnessing colossal acts of humiliation.
For me, train wreck Reality TV stars evoke complex emotions. Amused disbelief–can this person be for real? Unexpected moments of empathy–does the person realize how ridiculous they look and sound? Insatiable curiosity–how will she feel when she watches the playback?? But even when Reality TV doesn’t employ train wreck characters, it pulls me in through the ever present question: “If thrown in this situation, how would I react?”
As storytellers, Reality TV shows know that in order to have drama, you have to have conflict. Yes, the conflict is often manufactured. The worst example is Jerry Springer-style shows with their “surprise” guests and “shocking” confrontations. But at its best, Reality TV knows how to heap on layers of conflict, all reaching a breaking point in the last five minutes of the show. Someone gets voted out. Someone wins the big challenge. A contestant buckles under pressure and quits the show. Then like a soap opera, the story goes on leaving you hungry for what will happen next.
Reality TV subscribes to a dubious set of values. Physical beauty is everything. Vanity is good. It’s OK, even necessary, to win at the expense of other people. It can play to all of the ugliest impulses of human beings (much like the Republican party). But there are paradoxical moments that give me just enough reassurance that, as in the real world, things ain’t all bad. Sometimes the little guy wins out. When someone pushes themselves to reach a goal, there’s rewards (both intrinsic and material) to be had. In the end, Reality TV’s dogged assertion that anyone can be famous is an infectious kind of optimism. It may show people at both their best and their worst, but for me that central message is something worth tuning in for.
Ahead of schedule, I finished the first draft of my novel last night. It stands at 287 pages, 75K words. I’m excited to have reached the end, but there’s a sense of sadness that comes with the completion of this writing phase. No more jotting down fresh ideas for the story on the train, in between meetings at work, or via e-mails to myself. Permission to write whatever I want has been officially withdrawn. It’s on to the editing phase where hours (days sometimes) worth of work will be mercilessly annihilated with the stroke of a delete button; weakly-executed through-lines will test my faith; and there’ll be no quick fixes for areas of contrived plotting, character inconsistencies and cringe-worthy passages.
Yes, I’m being a bit of a drama queen about this. But I’ve been through editing a novel manuscript before (THE REGISTRATION) and it was pretty horrific. So maybe it’s like rounds of chemotherapy, getting easier each time. Maybe it’s all in the right attitude. I will be approaching my edits differently, taking the advice of writing guru Jack Bickham. I’m setting the manuscript aside for a couple of weeks. The idea is to let the brain cells regenerate and new ideas emerge.
In the meantime, I’ll be turning back to some of my short fiction projects. I recently posted IN A WINE PHASE on gayauthors.org, a fantastic on-line writer’s community. I’m continuing to look for a home for MIKE’S POND. Maybe I’ll even churn out a new story during this break.
Oh – and why the pic of Robert Verdi? I love his new show!!
The big news this week: I’ll be writing a book review for La Bloga, the award-winning blog for Latino/Latina literature!! La Bloga features news and views from a wide range of Hispanic authors and poets and has frequently included gay and lesbian writers such as Michael Nava. I’ll be reviewing John Rechy’s groundbreaking City of Night.
Then, in the “boo hoo” category, I received my third rejection for MIKE’S POND. My pity party lasted about 12 hours, and now I’m looking for another journal to sub to.
I’m closing in on the end of WHEN THE FALLEN ANGELS FLY. 280 pages. 72.5K words!! I’m wrapping up the climactic scene, and I have the denouement to work out. Feeling pretty optimistic about having the full first draft done by the end of the month.
What inspires me this week: the Olympics. My Honey-Bunny (HB) and I have been watching all of the events. Plenty of tragedy and drama so far, from the heartbreaking death of Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili, the wipe-out of two Korean skaters in the short track final and Canadian skier Alexandre Bilodeau ending his country’s gold medal drought on the moguls. I have to confess that it’s been hard for me to root on the US team. Maybe it’s the strident TV coverage. The US always comes across as cocky bullies, and I find myself pulling for the underdogs, which is pretty much athletes from every other country. Big news – the US leads the medal count! What a surprise. We’re the wealthiest nation in the world with more resources going into athletic training than any other country in the world. It takes a kid on skates in a sequined body suit with a pink tassel for me to get behind the US team. Go Johnny Weir!!
