Andrew Price’s video listing the seven habits of highly effective artists has great insights you should start using immediately. He’s talking about practice, not craft, so any artist will find his tips useful.
Since it’s also thirty minutes, I’ll summarize.
Don’t worry, I won’t spoil Ghost in the Shell (2017) for you… but the reviews are in, and they are decidedly “meh.” Despite Ghost in the Shell (2017) being visually and aurally stunning, no one seems to like it. So where did it all go wrong?
That may surprise you, because the original anime movie is loved by legions. Many of the scenes are lifted almost completely from the original movie, so it should be a no brainer, right? But when rewriting the 2017 version, the central question of the film (the question that holds your concept together) was changed. Once you mess with a story’s core-- it’s skeletal framework-- the flesh won’t hang on it the right way and it becomes an unwieldy lump. I’ll let Manohla Dargis of The New York Times describe the results:
I’ve waded through so many podcasts on writing and creativity, and Writing Excuses has risen to the top becoming one of my favorites. This podcast does something many others have failed to do: get to the point. Their tagline is “15 minutes long because you’re in a hurry, and we’re not that smart.” And they mean it… the first part anyway.
They are very diligent (almost zealous) about staying on topic-- or at least their fearless(?) leader, Brandon Sanderson, is. Perhaps the reason I like this podcast so much is Sanderson (like myself) believes the world can be explained with a proper outline and detailed bullet points. The podcasters are very conscious of their position as teachers as well as writers. They may begin with abstract ideas, but then they immediately ask: ‘yeah, but how do you do that?’
When I’m not reading or writing, I indulge in my other passion: I watch competitive gaming (video games in which players battle against eachother). Competitive video games and professional writing have some things in common. One of them is an ever-changing metagame. Broadcast personalities analyze competitive matches much like ESPN sportscasters. In their analysis they often discuss the game’s “metagame.”
“In the current meta…” They explain.
“This meta is very aggressive.” They all nod, ties bobbing.
The metagame is the strategies and environmental factors that affects the way a game is played. Most average players don’t pay attention to these shifting tactics. And even if they do, average players don’t know how to apply that knowledge to improve their game.
Understanding the metagame and knowing how to use it is what separates the amateurs from the professionals. So ask yourself, do you know your writing meta? Do you pay attention to the shifting environment that dictates your chosen field?
Sometimes a work gets under your skin, and it itches. You don't know why, but the novel/play/film sticks to your soul. I'm talking about that lingering sensation there's a puzzle piece missing but you just can't...
If you ever feel this itch, sit up and pay attention. Epiphany is on the horizon. Ernest Cline's novel Ready Player One clung to me this way. I kept thinking "Why does everything feel just a little off, as though I've fallen through a dazzling mirror?" That's when realized, Cline saturated his novel with the very nostalgia the book critiques. The characters, situations, and themes are all extensions of a 1980’s imaginative universe.
It wasn't only the characters in Ready Player One that are obsessed with the '80's. The tone, themes, and the very architecture of Ready Player One celebrates the '80's in every way possible. It is an immersive experience that rivals virtual reality. Ready Player One's level of cohesion should be an aspiration for writers.
Leadership is tricky for many ‘word people’ (writers, dramaturgs, humanities scholars, editors, librarians, etc.) because 'word people' are often a bit like cats: independent, solitary, self-reliant, and a bit ‘stiff in the knees’ when asked to bow to authority. A cat-ish person trudges to meetings as though a stick prodded them to the room. They offer vague criticisms but no practical solutions, equivalent to the mauled bird corpses real cats notoriously drag around. Then they expect everyone's gratitude for their contribution and proceed to preen until they lose interest, and then glower at the clock indiscreetly until the meeting is over.
If this is a portrait of your last meeting, you may be a cat-ish person.
So instead of talking about leadership with the typical tactics (microphones, ‘80s music, powerpoints, exclamation points, and emoticons) I want to do in our language: through a character study. Enter Pamela S. Turner's biography of Minamoto Yoshitsune, Samurai Rising.
What Minamoto Yoshitsune Taught Me About Leadership:
1. Always be the first to the Emperor.
Once upon a time in the 1100's, Kyoto was controlled by a low-ranking warlord who terrorized its citizens. The retired emperor of Japan invited the Minamoto family to invade Kyoto with his blessing. Yoshitsune led the charge from the south while his half-brother descended from the north. Their enemy ran in fear, but instead of pursuing them Yoshitsune rode directly to the retired emperor’s house and announced himself as Kyoto’s savior. Because he beat his brother there, he gained favor with the emperor. His enemy didn’t distract him from making a great ally.
2. Ask your samurai what they think.
Yoshitsune had humble beginnings and was not raised to be a warrior. Instead of hiding gaps in his knowledge, he often turned to his samurai for help. When embarking on a sea invasion, he asked his men for advice because he was a man of the horse, and not a sailor. This was an incredibly uncommon thing to do in Yoshitsune's rigid society.
Asking for advice does not make you look weak. Even if you have the answer, the point of this exercise is to inspire trust amongst those you have to lead. Yoshitsune was an independent man and a brilliant military strategist, but he still wanted to know: what do my soldiers think?
What will make you look weak is if you fret over the problem instead of taking action and drown in meeting after strategic meeting. Remember, you are the leader and it is your responsibility to get everyone out to sea as fast as you can.
3. Trade in your prized horse for a fallen brother.
When one of Yoshitsune’s sworn brothers fell in battle protecting him, our favorite samurai lord traded his prized horse-- a gift from the retired emperor-- to a monk who would pray continually for his brother's soul. His gift was valuable and deeply personal. In return he earned such profound loyalty from his immediate followers they eventually abandoned civilization and wandered the mountains of Japan with him. For years.
But don’t think you need to give everything you own to your underlings to gain their loyalty. These opportunities should be few and far between. But you need to go all-in when they arrive. Since you have been careful not to show favoritism, all your other underlings can assume a prized horse is in their future if they go to the mat for you.
4. 30 of your best will get more done than the other 3,000
Okay, we’ve all heard this before. The problem is we don’t understand how to apply it. When Yoshitsune and his brother, Yorinori, were ordered to take a fortress they put this principle to the test. Yorinori lead their whole army to assault the front while Yoshitsune took thirty of his best and scaled an unscalable cliff down into the fortress and set it on fire. This forced the enemy out the front gates and head-first into Yorinori’s cavalry.
But what would have happened if Yoshitsune had tried to assault the enemy’s front with his best 30? Slaughter. For some reason leaders try to make their 30 perform tasks best suited for 3,000. Yoshitsune was an excellent strategist because he often used a small force to do what small forces do best. If you have a lean but capable staff, consider how best to use your agile force to scale unscalable cliffs and burn down cities (metaphorically, please). Don’t waste your time emulating mammoth production companies or publishing houses. Be swift, be savage, and be precise.
There is a lot more to learn from Yoshitsune, so I encourage you to pick up Samurai Rising. You’ll also learn from his many, many mistakes from a brief but brilliant life.
One more trick: Yoshitsune always pushed forward. In any situation he kept moving, swiftly and efficiently. If you can do that, your (many) mistakes will disappear in your wake and be forgotten in light of your victories.
To supplement your veracious appetite for fiction, there are a lot of great books about the creative process itself. I'd like to introduce you to one of my favorites: Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic.
This is the first Elizabeth Gilbert book I’ve read, and her work hadn't tempted me before. But I heard Big Magic’s praise on (Pub)lishing Crawl’s podcast one morning and saw it in the library’s return pile that afternoon, it seemed meant to be. I’m sure Gilbert would think so.
Big Magic turned out to be exactly what I needed to push me through the final weeks for writing an academic article with a strict deadline. Gilbert’s book is both idealistic and practical at the same time (which is quite the accomplishment). It’s not a book about writing mechanics, though. She won’t help you establish style, build a narrative, or develop characters. This book is about how you treat your creativity in whatever form it takes. Gilbert seeks to orient you toward her north stars Gratitude and Perseverance and away from the black holes Bitterness and Martyrdom that tend to beleaguer the creative process. Big Magic is a navigational tool, not a step-by-step guide.
She offers gems like:
“My fear became boring to me, I believe, for the same reason that fame became boring to Jack Gilbert: because it was the same thing every day.
Around the age of fifteen, I somehow figured out that my fear had no variety to it, no depth, no substance, no texture… My fear was a song with only one note-- only one word, actually-- and that word was “STOP!”” (pg 19)
“He was lazy, and he was a perfectionist. Indeed, those are the essential ingredients for torpor and misery, right there. If you want to live a contented creative life… you must learn how to become a deeply disciplined half-a**.” (pg 166)
Creative journeys require constant reorientation and adjustment to keep on track. This book is the perfect tool to get you out of a creative slump and (importantly) keep you out of it. Read it devotionally: one chapter a day, every day, until the "slump-threat" is gone. Then slide it under your bed, close at hand and ready to battle the inevitable next slump.
One virtue of Big Magic is its breadth. Gilbert uses her own passion for writing to divulge lessons about creativity in general, so it works just as well for actors, chefs, designers, and master paper-folders. And yes, some of Gilbert’s lessons are as naive and sentimental as you expect (“the universe loves you” and the like). However, when you’re in a slump, and find yourself eating salt and vinegar chips and bemoaning your latest rejection, that’s the message you need. Even if you don’t believe the universe loves you all the time, believe it long enough to get out of the crater you’re making in the cushions and get back to work.
Why is it your creative relationships get no attention? My guess is you are too busy finding time to create, so cultivating artistic relationships and honing your partnership skills gets pushed aside. To get us started, then, let's address some common avoidance excuses to get you back on track to creating effectively with others :
"My partner gives vague critiques for my work."
This is a simple preparation issue. Creatives sometimes think efficiency is a counter to their process, but I'll bet your favorite books are precise, your favorite paintings are meticulous, and your favorite songs are thunderously clear. So don't treat critique sessions casually, like some watercooler recap of Game of Thrones. Show the process some respect. Come to a critique session with the same attitude you would to a Japanese tea ceremony: anticipating great pleasure, but with an posture of great respect. Start with the positives (these can be vague, like "you write great dialogue") then address the negatives (these are never vague). If you can't demonstrate a change you would like to see with a specific example, don't bother saying it. Your criticism may be valid, but it will also be useless.
"If an author needs a reader, it just means they haven't done enough rewrites."
This isn't true for literally thousands of reasons, but I'll give you one specific example where a reader's insight is irreplaceable. An author cannot read their own work in real time. Art is lived by the audience in a particular order the author can never experience (first word to last, usually). So a reading experienced in real time is valuable information an author can only get through someone else. Therefore getting trusted outside readers is a top priority. Critique partners should document their emotions in the moment. Write down "I laughed here," "I gasped here," or "I thought this guy died on the previous page but now he's back."
"My partner and I have no time to compare notes or read WIPs (works in progress)."
You have the time, you're just not "making" it. Stop thinking of your partnership as a casual favor exchange. You're not asking someone to help move your couch in exchange for pizza, here. You're writing is important. Treat it as such. Make short deadlines for yourselves (long deadlines only add stress) and one another accountable for them. On the other side of the coin, don't send your partner a lumpy, unpolished work. S/he isn't your personal spellcheck.
"My partner doesn't "get" my work."
Then, my friend, you need a new partner. Disentangling yourself from a creative relationship can be painful. But an influential voice who doesn't understand your vision will tear apart your work until its DOA. If you don't severe ties, you will eventually be putting your beloved WIP on the funeral pyre. But if you are just having trouble getting your partner to understand a particular work when there hasn't been a problem before, that's a different problem. Offer your reader a list of five works that align with your vision. For example, if Cody (my partner) tells me Die Hard inspired his WIP, I have a reference point through which I can orient my feedback.
Solving these problems gets me though 95% of my issues, but I'd love to hear about other partner issues and how you worked through them. Remember, your partners are an extension of your creative practice. Treat them generously and carefully, as you treat any true and beautiful thing.
Welcome to Married to the Author! I’m Rachel, and my greatest passions are editing and dramaturgy. I love to help artists like you bring the beautiful work they imagine into reality, whether that vision is a play, a screenplay, a novel, or a nonfiction piece. Many dramaturgs develop special relationships with writers they understand and respect. The amazing author at the center of my best collaborations is my husband, Cody. I am-- quite literally-- married to the author. At the same time I have a PhD in Interdisciplinary Arts and I produce my own work, both fiction and nonfiction. I will let you guess who my go-to critique partner is. Therefore, my husband is married to the author as well.
In many ways, our collaboration is an incredible gift. We share our professional and creative struggles in a way many other couples can’t. Every day we debate our craft, interrogate narratives in the media we consume, and speculate how to make our writing better. And no one is as invested in your success as the person who shares your life. When your life partner is also your critique partner, you know every word has been read and considered (no one is moaning “why did you write a fourth draft?” or whinging “do I have to read the whole thing again?” as some critique partners do), because when you’re married to the author each person’s victory is also a family victory.
My husband and I want to share what we’ve learned about writing, and especially about negotiating a shared writing process. Someone to walk with you on your creative journey is a gift we wish for all writers. Find someone you trust and experience the joy of writing together. Every thoughtful gesture you put into that relationship will be returned to you. We promise it will be worth it… and we should know.