Gifts Exchanged
Author and poet Gerald L. Coleman wrote something a while back that resonated. See excerpt below, which I fully hell yeah. I’m terminally bored of reading books that are little more than premises in need of a story, twists about as sturdy as a loaf of bread’s twist tie, or execution so rote & pedestrian I want to whack the writer with a ‘Run’ signal repeatedly.
With Gerald’s permission, here’s his brilliant appeal:
Dear fellow writers:
As I muse about the possibilities for genre fiction in 2020 I implore you to be creative. I’m mind-numbingly tired of what passes for “great” writing according to Karen, Thad, and the marketing departments of publishing houses. The three act drama is so predictable that it bores me to death. The “if you tell me there’s a shotgun over the bar you better use it” pat storytelling exhausts me. We’ve codified these ideas to the point that they’ve strangled creativity and created readers with bland expectations masquerading as discerning taste. So much so, that when something truly creative comes along all people can do is say “you didn’t use the shotgun by act three.” I’m f******** bored to tears. I implore you. Throw out that stale a** “here’s the floor plan to a great novel” every self-appointed “expert” on *good writing* is pedaling and just write something oddly, surprisingly, ingeniously wonderful specifically because it throws out all the f******** rules. Write a five act tale without tying up all the loose ends. Write a two act 400 page opus without a main character. I don’t care, just break out of this stagnant pool people in publishing have created in the name of being the arbiters of good taste. And yes, I was entertained by The Witcher, but by creative I don’t mean jumping back and forth in time. The Witcher did it, Westworld did it, Becky in her soon to be released vampiric urban fantasy about a vamp who falls in love with a teenager is doing it as we speak. That’s not what I mean. Throw out the f******* rules and write something unique. All the books I love--that I go back to--are books that broke the rules and did something different. Let’s do THAT. I’m begging you.
Brother Coleman wasn’t asking a lot. Just for a little consideration, some sincerity. A bit of thoughtfulness.
Just like when you give someone a gift.
I first heard the notion of gifts in your art from a professor whose inquisitiveness and gentle inward-looking ways made writing a joy, not an assignment. Few things are as annoying as a university freshman Creative Writing class full of fuzzy-assed auteurs groaning that they have to actually write rather than endlessly rework that one short story that was lauded in high school. Professor Astrachan encouraged imaginative forays, risk taking, even the ultimate sin of being “challenging”—just never at the expense of gift.
“What are you giving the reader, eh?” he’d say. “Beyond wanting them to read it, what is the gift?” Every critique session: What is the gift? Every detailed margin note: What is the gift? He wasn’t being dismissive or saying there was no gift; he wanted us to identify it for ourselves.
Me, sometimes when I write I’m giving you a moment, a little floating bubble of swirling colors that you peer into at your leisure. Sometimes I just want you to see life for how ridiculous it is, or laugh at how sublime it can be. Sometimes there’s painful shit and I want to hug you but all I got are syllabic grunts. Other times the words are utterly meaningless because every once in a while the world is just one big Julia. Beatles reference for the win.
No matter what I write, there’s always a gift. I readily own up to that. There’s no foofery involved (writers are often told any awareness on their part of what they’re doing is self-important foofery; eff that on several levels). I consciously write with an intention behind the words beyond “look at me”; an intention beyond “I made a sale” or “this fulfilled the contract”. Something a little more than distraction, a little less than being there to talk to you.
Yes, some people like being gifted socks and ties. Most prefer deeper surprises. In your writing, no matter what, there should always be a touch of a gift, be it an interesting turn of phrase, a funny observation, a genuine plot twist, or descriptions that transport the reader someplace wonderful, because art is communication, and honest communication is the greatest gift any of us on this planet—artist, nurse, crossing guard or mystery shopper—can give each other; even the act of gift-giving is communication. It is an outward display of seeing one another.
Biff might like blue shirts. No reason you can’t gift him with aquamarine. Iridescent aquamarine at that. Doesn’t have to be the same shade of blue his closet’s full of because somebody once said, “Hey! Biff likes that one blue shirt!.” Maybe someone likes westerns. If they were to read Mr. Hadj’s Sunset Ride by Saladin Ahmed about Muslims, mystics and murder in the Old West they might turn to you with tears afterward and say thank you, because the story is at once a western and so much more. If you’re a writer reading this, let people receive varied and magnificent gifts from you. There’s no reason you have to design from a pattern set in stone and copied by thousands. Your power is literally making things up. Be creative with it, which means be creative with yourself. Re-create yourself if need be. Exposure to different ways of storytelling rewires the brain in intriguing ways.
Try asking yourself What is the gift? If your answer is a defensive “Biff likes blue shirts!” then what you’re giving isn’t a gift, it’s a confession of caring about Biff only so far. If it’s “This is how things are done!” you agree that both you and Biff have bland taste with no interest in spice, flavor or texture. Being creative is a mindful activity. It’s an active process. One has to think at it, question one’s decisions, biases, assumptions, and level of laziness. It can be tedious, infuriating, and blissful all in one to shake mental spice from your head onto the page, but it’s worth it. Inject life. The work you offer will taste like something. It will feel like something, sound like something. It will embrace the reader’s mind like being cared for by something. That something is the intent you offer. The gift. So make gifts uniquely you.
Can we get a right on?
Write on.
Surprise yourself.