Coughing Mayhem…ahem…

In September 2008, I visited the subject of how to attend classical music concerts.  During recent internet research surfing, I ran across a fun essay at Theatlantic.com by Erik Tarloff entitled A Few words about Coughing.  Tarloff describes a concert of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony he attended at Lincoln Center and the uncanny focus of audience coughing during the quiet passages of music.  I’ve noticed this phenomenon, also.  Of course, louder passages would drown out the coughing. 

What is the reason for the coughing?  Here in Minnesota, the usual reason is the common cold or flu.  Tarloff, however, posits a theory concerning audience engagement with the music that also makes sense to me.  The amount of coughing correlates to the level of lack of interest in the audience member. 

Do you cough regularly at classical concerts?  If so, and you’re not sick, check your level of engagement in the music, how closely you’re listening to the music and watching the musicians.  I find it interesting that Tarloff noted people don’t usually cough during movies (no, they talk or text message on cell phones).  I attend plays at the Guthrie Theater on a regular basis and don’t ever recall hearing disruptive coughing during a performance.  Not like the hacking that Tarloff describes and I’ve heard during concerts at Orchestra Hall.  (I’ve also heard loud snoring in Orchestra Hall, but that’s another issue….)

With flu season almost upon us, and certainly novel H1N1 flu has been upon us since last March, I hereby review how to muffle a coughing fit until you can exit the concert hall.  Please, please, cover your mouth!  Please use a real cloth handkerchief (if possible) because the cloth absorbs the sound better than tissue.  Or, if no handkerchief is handy, do what public health nurses and other officials have been encouraging: cough into your elbow.  Easy.  And please, if you’re sick with the flu, whether seasonal, H1N1 or the notorious “flu-like illness,” please stay home, rest, drink lots of fluids and protect the rest of us from the illness you have.

Thank you for your consideration!

That All-Important Relationship

Back in the day (ahem), editors edited.  They guided writers, taught them about language and grammar, illuminated narrative structure for them.  The best and wisest understood that the novel was the author’s not theirs and never tried to impose their suggestions for changes on the writing.  They were the pair of eyes a writer sorely needed to gain objectivity about what they’d written.  Those eyes needed a sharp but compassionate intelligence behind them, with a broad canvas of experience and knowledge.  Such editors still exist, but more and more, the most recent generation of editors do very little actual editing, from what I’ve heard from other writers and from editors themselves in published interviews.  The newest incarnation of the old-fashioned editor is the freelance editor.

Magazine editors are a different creature entirely.  The basics are the same, but the format is shorter, and the turnaround time faster.  A really good editor responds with specifics of what he/she needs; and while working with a writer on a piece, makes specific suggestions, focusing in on the parts that need work and those that please the editor.  I’ve learned a lot from good editors.  I really enjoy working with them.  The best respect my writing, my efforts, my time and intelligence, as I respect them.  They are not adversaries but allies in the process of publication. 

How I wish every editor out there were good!  But there is a range, as in any business, of intelligence, competence and ability to communicate to writers what they need from them.  There is a range of writers of intelligence and competence, too, but I want to focus on the editor here because more often than not, the focus is on the writer: how a writer needs to work with an editor. 

What to do when you encounter a less than stellar editor?  The first thing I ask myself is: how badly do I want this gig?  Sometimes, publication in the magazine is worth the aggravation of working with a less than stellar editor, depending on which magazine.  Sometimes, not.  The second thing: How much will I be paid?  The money better be good.  If not, I would respectfully take my leave.  Working with a difficult editor takes patience, clarity of your communication, and fearless but respectful questioning.  Beyond a certain point, vague feedback, changes without substantiation regarding the editor’s thinking specific to a sentence or paragraph, or lack of clarity in communication can frustrate me beyond words, especially when the editor becomes frustrated with me because I’m not getting what he/she has said.  But I’ve never walked out on a commitment.  I do the best I can and chalk it up to my continuing education.  Sometimes it’s a genuine relief if the editor kills the piece.

Most editors know what they’re doing, what they want and are able to communicate it well.  In the all-important working relationship between editor and writer, the editor has a responsibility to the writer as well as vice versa.  We just don’t hear about it as much as what the writer’s responsibility is toward the editor.  Both must want to forge the best possible writing between them…..

To Outline or Not to Outline?

An existential question, no, but a question that pops up in writer interviews regarding the creative process all the time.  Is outlining important?  Not to me.  However, it could be important to a writer who needs that structure before beginning to write.  So…what is important is that a writer find what works for him/her and follow it.  The creative process tends to be unique to the individual despite similarities.  Some writers need a detailed outline before they write, others prefer to discover the story as they write.  I’m somewhere in between.

I need to know what I am writing to, i.e. the resolution of the main character’s goal or problem or desire which usually comes to me with the character.  An issue I discovered while studying screenwriting is to have enough conflict, to create enough obstacles, including a worthy adversary, for the main character to face and overcome.  I learned from writing screenplays that it’s easy to come up with an idea or character, but then what?  Ideas can go nowhere after the first act.  So, I have questions that I ask myself:

• What does the character want?
• What will he/she do to get it?
• What are the obstacles/conflicts in his/her way?
• How does he/she overcome them?
• Does the character get what he/she wants?

Answering these questions is my way of outlining a story, novel or screenplay.  Nothing is written in stone and the action is sketchy.  Ideas flood in as I work at this stage.  I want to know if the original idea/character is viable or not, and the answer usually comes with the answer to the obstacles/conflicts question.  The bulk of any story is the middle where the main character works toward his/her goal or desire.  The character needs obstacles, the story needs conflict, in order to sustain dramatic tension and movement.  If there are none, there is no story.  I don’t know how many times I’ve had a terrific beginning and an ending but no middle.

Nothing is written in stone at this stage.  I want to get to know the characters and discover the story as I write.  So I leave the doors and windows open to all possibilities.  This keeps the process fresh for me, but presents a real danger, i.e. the possibility of writing off in a wrong direction.  However, I tend to learn from detours, too.

When I began Perceval, the first book in the series, I thought I was writing only one novel, not a series, so that novel is a self-contained story.  As the idea for the series evolved, I realized that I wanted each novel to be self-contained but also another step toward Evan’s ultimate goal — one long story broken into five novels.  I had no idea what Evan’s ultimate goal was, however.  Instead, I focused on the goal of each novel.  At this point, Perceval (book 1) is done; I have the first draft of Perceval’s Shadow on paper; I’ve answered my questions for novel 3, Perceval in Love, and finished about half of the first draft; novel 4, Perceval’s Game, is still in the preliminary note-writing stage when I write down ideas about action and characters before sitting down to answer the questions; and Perceval’s Choice, the last novel, is but a shadow of a story right now, although I know what the climactic scene is — I’ve seen it play out in my mind like watching a movie.  That scene is the climax to both the last novel and the entire series.  When it came to me, I was stunned because I’d done nothing to encourage or force it to appear, and it really does end both the last novel and the series in a satisfyingly inevitable way.  The imagination is a powerful force.

Now I know enough to know what I am writing toward on this journey of exploration and discovery in Evan’s world.

Minnesota Orchestra Has a New Pops Conductor

Last week, the Minnesota Orchestra announced their choice for their new Pops conductor — Sarah Hicks. She was the first ever female staff conductor, and has moved into what appears to be the niche she’s chosen for her conducting career.

More info here.

Also, there was an “exclusive to the Sunday paper” story yesterday in the Minneapolis Star Tribune that included much more about Hicks and her views about Pops, about classical music, and on the Minnesota Orchestra. My favorite quote of hers: “I can’t conduct Bruckner. I don’t get it, and I never will.”

How can she say she “never” will? Sometimes a composer and his voice in music does find its way into the heart after living through more experiences….