So often, one of a writer’s limitations is that tone of voice is disguised. You try to translate from the sounds you hear in your head, down to the rich nuances of your playful sarcasm, pauses, and even body language like eye rolls, to the screen, using a bunch of marvelously structured symbols from which we derive some kind of meaning. Or rather, our visual perception of them is then translated into meaning. But it’s shaky ground. All you have to convey the rich cinema playing in your head are those few strokes and negative space. It’s a challenge, and one I often fail to overcome. It’s a hazard. Put pen to paper, fingers to keys, and instantly the dragon rears its head, ready to take you on once again. And you can only think, Gee, didn’t I fight you yesterday?
Humour is often more difficult, simply because it’s so subjective, so not only are you attempting to overcome the narrow focus of the written word, but you are also doing battle with an audience with a wide range of humour requirements. Some people are satisfied with a simple clever metaphor. Others prefer a litany of expressive comedic moments, culled with a fine comb to make the jokes run smoothly. And even then it can be hit or miss.
The trick, I’ve learned, is not to try. Trying equals momentary success, followed by abyssmal decline into irrelevance. It’s funny, but as a writer, I can hear it when a piece begins to slide. The sentences become monochromatic in structure, untinted by interesting imagery or linguistic combinations. The flow also starts to die, becoming a trickle that winds through the rocky terrain of an underwhelming thesis concept. Transitions between sentences and paragraphs are dim, or nonexistent. The language falters. The piece dies a slow, blistering death, filled with detritus of battles won, but the war lost in its entirety. To read a piece like that is difficult, time-consuming, and burdensome for the reader. It becomes a chore rather than a joy. In the end, no one is happy, least of all yourself.
I find that when I sense my writing is becoming dull and uninspired, it is time to hang up the spurs for a bit. After two or three thousand word stints in my novel, I’ve often come to the point where I’m no longer enjoying the process, and it has become a matter of word count for me. That’s death right there. Those are times to act in prudence and stop, lest you write something that is incalculably of poor quality. One of the most valuable lessons a writer may learn is to know when to put pen on table and take a walk.
Said the 25 year old know-it-all.
I have some potentially good news on the way, which I will relay to you as soon as it is feasible and appropriate. Hopefully tomorrow I can post a review of The Inside Man, which I saw and liked immensely. It’s a film in which Spike Lee doesn’t display his racist tendencies, which is a nice change. I’ve got loads to do now, so I’ll quit whilst I’m ahead. See, lesson learned!
See you tomorrow.