Desire is an interesting thing, isn't it?
A couple of years ago, I thought it would be better of myself to eliminate the phrase "I want" from my vocabulary. It hasn't been easy.
Then, I thought better to modify the usage, instead of saying "I want a new motorcycle", or "I want the latest smart phone", I would limit the usage to things like "I want to do five more sit-ups", or "I want to make my wife breakfast". These are real, actionable items that improve life and living, not detract from it with accumulation of meaningless, un-necessary stuff.
But the question comes at the drawing of that line, how does one set goals and eliminate desire at the same time? Isn't the wish to eliminate desire a desire in and of itself? Wierd huh?
I recently (20 days ago in fact) started a quest to earn myself a Firefly banjo ukulele with a walnut neck and hardwood fretboard. The thing is, when the Firefly banjo-uke came out I wanted one, but I was starting to work on my "can't say 'I want'" philosophy, so I couldn't get one. Besides, it would just hang there on the wall next to my unplayed bass, so there was good reason not to buy it.
Recently (about 20 days ago in fact) I started working on Summer Reading 2013. I know, it's pretty early, but Flash Gordon just wasn't moving for me and I was still high on Summer Reading 2012, so I looked up the theme for next year and found it to be: "Dig into Reading". I decided on a story I really love, The Fantastic Mr. Fox. I started out making a drawing to represent the show, a fox, a few scrolly banners with text, and a banjo. A banjo? What was the banjo doing there? I don't know, it just fit.
So I started thnking about that banjo. So many great old-time fiddle tunes would work well with FMF, played during the digging and chases and such like that, things like Turkey in the Straw and the Chicken Reel. But how to play them? I have a tin-can banjo I built when I started learning about music. It's actually a very playable baritone uke. I could strum it and play the melody on harmonica - I already play a bunch of fiddle tunes that way, including Turkey in the Straw, and this is the way I usually work, but I want more - I want to learn more and different styles of ukulele playing, I want to do the melody and the chords on the banjo, I want it to be simpler in equipment, I want it to be richer in musicianship and musicality. That's a lot to want.
So, I thought, "I should get the Firefly banjo uke?"
Here's where things get a little difficult, I'm not supposed to "want" things. I thought, "Just get the darn thing, you can afford it." But, that's a problem in and of itself. Back in the day I would've worked extra shifts, saved money, took on side-jobs. It wouldv'e taken at least a month to get together an extra couple of hundred bucks. In the end, I would've either given up, thus indicating that I didn't really want the banjo, or I would've earned the banjo and I would appreciate it that much more.
So I devised a system to get the banjo I "wanted" by earning it.
A banjo ukulele is tuned, strung and plays the same as a regular ukulele, so I don't need a banjo uke to learn to play banjo ukulele and I've got a couple of soprano ukes that I can work with.
So I did what I do whenever I'm making myself do something for a number of days, I made check boxes in my notebook, thirty of them in fact. And I started to teach myself to play clawhammer style ukulele. I won't get into the details of clawhammer style playing here, suffice it to say that it's a style of banjo playing that is used ofr old-timey music and that happens to work very well on one other instrument, besides the banjo, the ukulele.
So, now I've created some very explicit conditions. I can get a banjo uke if I practice clawhammer style playing for thirty days, without fail, if I miss even a single day I can't get it. Period.
Today is day twenty, and the one thing, more than anything else that has kept me going, is not the desire for the banjo, but the fact that I've posted my progress on Facebook every day. I started on day 4, just as a lark, and didn't post a day 5, but by days 6 and 7 I realized that people were reading the posts and I had developed a system of accountability.
In all, I think this raises more questions than it answers. Am I eliminating simple desire for the uke by forcing myself to learn/earn it first? Is this the good kind of "I want"? Or, am I just tricking myself to get something I want?
I don't know the answers to these things, I just know that, as a person, I'm not finished yet, and this is somethig I can do that will hopefully help me finish well.
If you want to follow my progress, "friend" me on Facebook.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Give us a kiss
The other day I re-watched the TED video featuring J.J. Abrams. It's one that I find particularly inspiring. J.J. is a little all-over-the-place, but that's ok, he covers a lot of material and is engaging.
I was particularly re-watching this video for his talk about Jaws. In it he explains that the movie isn't about a shark, it's about a man, struggling with his life. J.J. shows a scene from the movie where Chief Brody is sitting at the table, deep in thought, while his son mimics him.
Eventually he says, "Give us a kiss."
"Why?"
"Because I need it."
It's amazingly touching and it says more about the character than anything else in the movie.
It reminded me of the Scottish Games this summer, I told the story: The Woman Who Flummoxed the Fairies. It's a good story, there're lots of opportunities for vocal sound effects and anachronistic humor: "The wedding cake had one of those novelty cake-toppers. You know, where the Prince is trying to run away and the Princess is grabbing his coat-tails." But, in the denouement: "He wrapped his arms around her waist and give her a kiss. The kind of kiss between two people who have been married for what seems like a lifetime and they love each other more and more everyday."
I delivered that story three times over the weekend, and for all the laughs and fun people had through out the entire twelve minutes, when it came to that part, suddenly the walls came down - in just a few seconds the whole audience, even the teen-aged boys, sighed.
That's the secret sauce, isn't it? Art is best when it is emotionally impactful. Whether it's laughter, fear, courage or love, it's the human factor that really hits 'em where they live. Heroes should have weaknesses, lovers should sacrifice and villians should be passionate about their motives. It's that thing that everyone talks about, that being "genuine". I think that's what makes a great artist, the ability to deliver genuine emotion.
This, more than anything, is my over-arching "what I'm working on".
There's a short-short story that's commonly attributed to Ernest Hemmingway, "For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn."
Talk about pathos!
I was particularly re-watching this video for his talk about Jaws. In it he explains that the movie isn't about a shark, it's about a man, struggling with his life. J.J. shows a scene from the movie where Chief Brody is sitting at the table, deep in thought, while his son mimics him.
Eventually he says, "Give us a kiss."
"Why?"
"Because I need it."
It's amazingly touching and it says more about the character than anything else in the movie.
It reminded me of the Scottish Games this summer, I told the story: The Woman Who Flummoxed the Fairies. It's a good story, there're lots of opportunities for vocal sound effects and anachronistic humor: "The wedding cake had one of those novelty cake-toppers. You know, where the Prince is trying to run away and the Princess is grabbing his coat-tails." But, in the denouement: "He wrapped his arms around her waist and give her a kiss. The kind of kiss between two people who have been married for what seems like a lifetime and they love each other more and more everyday."
I delivered that story three times over the weekend, and for all the laughs and fun people had through out the entire twelve minutes, when it came to that part, suddenly the walls came down - in just a few seconds the whole audience, even the teen-aged boys, sighed.
That's the secret sauce, isn't it? Art is best when it is emotionally impactful. Whether it's laughter, fear, courage or love, it's the human factor that really hits 'em where they live. Heroes should have weaknesses, lovers should sacrifice and villians should be passionate about their motives. It's that thing that everyone talks about, that being "genuine". I think that's what makes a great artist, the ability to deliver genuine emotion.
This, more than anything, is my over-arching "what I'm working on".
There's a short-short story that's commonly attributed to Ernest Hemmingway, "For Sale: Baby shoes, never worn."
Talk about pathos!
Friday, August 3, 2012
it's a giant
This week I'm in Columbus, OH.
Whenever I visit a new city I study up on the things that I like to visit - tourist traps mostly. While so much of the travel media spouts "be a traveler, not a tourist" I wear my tourist badge (it's actually an iron-on patch) with pride, ambling through the streets like a rube, ogling at giant balls of string and waiting for the local toughs to take the big camera from around my neck. I have noticed the travel media seems to prefer you sit in the living room glued to the set rather than actually being a tourist, or a traveller. But that's a different blog.
Today I visited some sites I was most looking forward to - I visited a faithful reproduction of Christopher Columbus's Santa Maria and the local science musem - COSI, the Center for Science and Industry.
I like visiting science museums when I travel, and COSI is one of the best I've been to. To begin with the place is freaking huge, and there're so many high-quality attractions, some I would consider theme-park quality. But that's a different blog.
The reason I'm writing about COSI on a blog about music and storytelling is because of this:
That, is the skeleton of a one-hundred foot tall giant, named Gigantic, it was scultped from fencing material by artist Tim Reitenbach.
As someone who talks about giants for a living, it was incredibly cool to see this beast, hunched over in a three level mezzanine, glowering at me.
A hundred feet tall didn't seem like so much, particularly hunched up under the ceiling. I think that's because he's so separated from people - it's kind of like when someone places a soda can in a walk/don't walk light suddenly you realize just how big they are because you have some context.
That's a difficult thing isn't it, context. I've been trying to figure out a way to describe comparitive sizes of various things for years. It has to be something the listener is familiar with, but you don't want it to be so out of place that it's jarring.
Recently I told the goblin spider, and I described the spider as being "as big as a moving van" with legs that spread out a dozen feet from its body in all directions. I don't know if that worked, I know that a moving van is pretty big, particularly when you think about it in the conext of a giant spider, but again it's all relative, if the listener pictures a moving van driving down the road, it's not so big, but if somehow thay're able to conjure the image of a moving van supported by eight legs, spinning about and lunging towards you, well then maybe I'm doing a good job.
As coyote said, wandering through the desert,I shall have to think about this.
Whenever I visit a new city I study up on the things that I like to visit - tourist traps mostly. While so much of the travel media spouts "be a traveler, not a tourist" I wear my tourist badge (it's actually an iron-on patch) with pride, ambling through the streets like a rube, ogling at giant balls of string and waiting for the local toughs to take the big camera from around my neck. I have noticed the travel media seems to prefer you sit in the living room glued to the set rather than actually being a tourist, or a traveller. But that's a different blog.
Today I visited some sites I was most looking forward to - I visited a faithful reproduction of Christopher Columbus's Santa Maria and the local science musem - COSI, the Center for Science and Industry.
I like visiting science museums when I travel, and COSI is one of the best I've been to. To begin with the place is freaking huge, and there're so many high-quality attractions, some I would consider theme-park quality. But that's a different blog.
The reason I'm writing about COSI on a blog about music and storytelling is because of this:
That, is the skeleton of a one-hundred foot tall giant, named Gigantic, it was scultped from fencing material by artist Tim Reitenbach.
As someone who talks about giants for a living, it was incredibly cool to see this beast, hunched over in a three level mezzanine, glowering at me.
A hundred feet tall didn't seem like so much, particularly hunched up under the ceiling. I think that's because he's so separated from people - it's kind of like when someone places a soda can in a walk/don't walk light suddenly you realize just how big they are because you have some context.
That's a difficult thing isn't it, context. I've been trying to figure out a way to describe comparitive sizes of various things for years. It has to be something the listener is familiar with, but you don't want it to be so out of place that it's jarring.
Recently I told the goblin spider, and I described the spider as being "as big as a moving van" with legs that spread out a dozen feet from its body in all directions. I don't know if that worked, I know that a moving van is pretty big, particularly when you think about it in the conext of a giant spider, but again it's all relative, if the listener pictures a moving van driving down the road, it's not so big, but if somehow thay're able to conjure the image of a moving van supported by eight legs, spinning about and lunging towards you, well then maybe I'm doing a good job.
As coyote said, wandering through the desert,I shall have to think about this.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Now what?
I'm never as interested in what I'm doing now, as I am in what I'm doing next.
Now that I have finished Les Voyages Fantastique, I'm on the lookout for my next creative project. I took out my notebooks and determined that I have 53 ideas I would like to pursue.
It might seem like a lot, but it's pretty easy to narrow these things down. In the years that I've been making lists of projects my tastes have changed, my style has refined, my interests at this time have a particular leaning and my current working conditions make some projects more do-able than others.
I've narrowed it down to about a half a dozen projects I'm really interested in, and one that particularly strikes my fancy is a project I started a couple of years ago - Flash Gordon.
When I performed King Kong as a storytelling show, I presented it as a ninety-minute story and as a three-part serial. After that I wanted to do a longer serial, and since I love of old-timey science fiction, I decided to start work on Flash Gordon.
I worked out the first episode, but then I got busy with other projects and just left poor Flash to languish until someone booked him.
Well, time's have changed: my POV is much more focused, my style is more mature and I have a my own monthly venue where I get to perform whatever my heart desires.
Flash Gordon comes with his own challenges, firstly is setting. Not the physical setting, that's the planet Mongo, but the temporal setting. And not just the temporal setting of the story, but the temporal style of the writing. You can only guess what the future is like based on the present.
Case in point, a different Buster Crabbe serial, Buck Rogers: Buck and his buddy Buddy wake up in the 25th century. Dr. Huer verifies their story by looking it up in a book. In 1939 when the serial was developed there was no such thing as a computer, let alone an interconnected network of computers containing every bit of data, so the writers could imagine things like teleportation and inter-planetary travel, but not something really far-fetched like the digitization of personal data.
Or, in the 1956 movie Forbidden Planet, Leslie Nielson and his crew fly to Altair IV in a faster-than-light vessel, but when Nielsen addressed his crew, he did so by talking into a big microphone with a long cord. A radio that transmits to a ship flying faster than radio waves is imaginable, but a hand-held wireless microphone just simply didn't occur to the writers.
So, I want to portray the story as if it was told in a different time period. In the 1930s there were no man-carrying rockets, heck the only rockets didn't even look like rockets as we know them. The only flying machines anyone might have even a passing notion of was an aeroplane (not even an airplane, an aeroplane).
Things like this were just guessed at, and that is what makes it so gosh-darn charming.
In addition to the temporal style of the telling, there's an aesthetic quality that I need to take into consideration as well. I talked a bit about this when I covered the development of LVF, there's a "look and feel" that applies when a story is told.
Sometimes you can throw this to the wind for affect - when I tell the story Cobweb Christmas, it's obviously an old-world setting, but when Father Christmas sneaks into Tante's house late at night, I describe the TV as going "ssssshhhhhhhh" which is so out of place that it's jarring, but anyone who grew up in the world before 24 hour cable TV laughs out-loud.
For look and feel I'm toying with three different ideas, each one brings it's own temporal setting:
The classic 1930s serial - sparkler-spouting rockets, lots of fisticuffs, and every scientific device has a Jacob's ladder sticking out of the top.
1980s plastic toy setting - big, colorful spaceships, chunky ray guns, TV screens and big, clunky computers - think Buzz Lightyear.
19th century - Jules Verney, HG Wellsy. Imagine the original illustrations from War of the Worlds, and 20000 Leagues Under the Sea - big clanky machines with lots of rivets (remember, welding wasn't used on a wide scale at that time), rocket pistols and the mysterious power of electricity. Again, the attempt is to portray the story as written in the period, not in retrospect. In the book the Nautilus is plain and cigar-shaped, not at all like the cool Disney version.
With all that in mind, I must also remark that I'm honestly not interested in doing science fiction, I'm more interested in what they call "Sword and Planet" - not so much science as romantic high adventure - which is really what I'm all about.
Now that I have finished Les Voyages Fantastique, I'm on the lookout for my next creative project. I took out my notebooks and determined that I have 53 ideas I would like to pursue.
It might seem like a lot, but it's pretty easy to narrow these things down. In the years that I've been making lists of projects my tastes have changed, my style has refined, my interests at this time have a particular leaning and my current working conditions make some projects more do-able than others.
I've narrowed it down to about a half a dozen projects I'm really interested in, and one that particularly strikes my fancy is a project I started a couple of years ago - Flash Gordon.
When I performed King Kong as a storytelling show, I presented it as a ninety-minute story and as a three-part serial. After that I wanted to do a longer serial, and since I love of old-timey science fiction, I decided to start work on Flash Gordon.
I worked out the first episode, but then I got busy with other projects and just left poor Flash to languish until someone booked him.
Well, time's have changed: my POV is much more focused, my style is more mature and I have a my own monthly venue where I get to perform whatever my heart desires.
Flash Gordon comes with his own challenges, firstly is setting. Not the physical setting, that's the planet Mongo, but the temporal setting. And not just the temporal setting of the story, but the temporal style of the writing. You can only guess what the future is like based on the present.
Case in point, a different Buster Crabbe serial, Buck Rogers: Buck and his buddy Buddy wake up in the 25th century. Dr. Huer verifies their story by looking it up in a book. In 1939 when the serial was developed there was no such thing as a computer, let alone an interconnected network of computers containing every bit of data, so the writers could imagine things like teleportation and inter-planetary travel, but not something really far-fetched like the digitization of personal data.
Or, in the 1956 movie Forbidden Planet, Leslie Nielson and his crew fly to Altair IV in a faster-than-light vessel, but when Nielsen addressed his crew, he did so by talking into a big microphone with a long cord. A radio that transmits to a ship flying faster than radio waves is imaginable, but a hand-held wireless microphone just simply didn't occur to the writers.
So, I want to portray the story as if it was told in a different time period. In the 1930s there were no man-carrying rockets, heck the only rockets didn't even look like rockets as we know them. The only flying machines anyone might have even a passing notion of was an aeroplane (not even an airplane, an aeroplane).
Things like this were just guessed at, and that is what makes it so gosh-darn charming.
In addition to the temporal style of the telling, there's an aesthetic quality that I need to take into consideration as well. I talked a bit about this when I covered the development of LVF, there's a "look and feel" that applies when a story is told.
Sometimes you can throw this to the wind for affect - when I tell the story Cobweb Christmas, it's obviously an old-world setting, but when Father Christmas sneaks into Tante's house late at night, I describe the TV as going "ssssshhhhhhhh" which is so out of place that it's jarring, but anyone who grew up in the world before 24 hour cable TV laughs out-loud.
For look and feel I'm toying with three different ideas, each one brings it's own temporal setting:
The classic 1930s serial - sparkler-spouting rockets, lots of fisticuffs, and every scientific device has a Jacob's ladder sticking out of the top.
1980s plastic toy setting - big, colorful spaceships, chunky ray guns, TV screens and big, clunky computers - think Buzz Lightyear.
19th century - Jules Verney, HG Wellsy. Imagine the original illustrations from War of the Worlds, and 20000 Leagues Under the Sea - big clanky machines with lots of rivets (remember, welding wasn't used on a wide scale at that time), rocket pistols and the mysterious power of electricity. Again, the attempt is to portray the story as written in the period, not in retrospect. In the book the Nautilus is plain and cigar-shaped, not at all like the cool Disney version.
With all that in mind, I must also remark that I'm honestly not interested in doing science fiction, I'm more interested in what they call "Sword and Planet" - not so much science as romantic high adventure - which is really what I'm all about.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
It was a brilliant battle!
At Escondido, well at all of the libraries in San Diego, the average age of a daytime audience is usually pre-K, so I was a little concerned about performing Les Voyages Fantastique. It's a thirty-five minute story with lots of kookie things going on and a climactic battle of four men versus an army of ten thousand sabre-wielding infantry, five thousand musketeers, two-thousand mounted cavaliers, hundred of mahouts on the backs of great war elephants, generals in their silken tents, and the Sultan of Zalidan himself, standing atop a great white war elephant, his scimitar flashing in the air.
This is the kind of thing that can easily get out of hand. Telling the tale of a battle in graphic detail is fun, but it involves great quantities of violence, gore and death. I had many months ago decided that a bloody battle is not the sort of thing for this story, and perhaps something I should avoid in general. I wanted this to be a heroic escapade, told in lots of thrilling vignettes speeding at the audience like a machine gun, but my fear was that a pre-K audience would be overwhelmed.
Like the GI Joe cartoon from the eighties, wherein if a helicopter was blown up you always saw parachutes, so was my battle against the Sultan - sabres were shot from hands, elephants spun about by their trunks and thrown like bowling balls scattered men, unharmed, in all directions, and musket balls caught speeding through the air before any chance of an injury. It was a brilliant battle. I, of course was armed with a sabre in each hand, and took on as many men as were willing to face me - because it was only sporting to give them the advantage of numbers.
All in all, it was a fantasy story, and the battle was a fantasy battle. I have a bad habit of wanting to explain everything. But, with this story I learned that, in a fantasy, you don't need to explain everything, things just are the way they are (Yes it's a pirate ship suspended from balloons. No, I don't know how many hot air balloons would actually be required to lift a pirate ship. But, I do know that the hot breath of a hundred elephants won't actually lift a hot-air balloon - it just paints a cool picture). And, it's more fun to narrate the clashing of sabres than to describe a man being hacked apart with a battle ax.
The audience turned out to be older than I expected, about 6 through 10, plus parents, and I gave them the best delivery of my life, keeping them on the edge of their seats the whole time. I was incredibly pleased with myself. And, although the battle was furiously delivered, it was fun, funny and exciting - it wasn't a real war in all it's bloody detail, it was a heroic escapade, the kind of adventure that stirs the soul of a young boy.
This is the kind of thing that can easily get out of hand. Telling the tale of a battle in graphic detail is fun, but it involves great quantities of violence, gore and death. I had many months ago decided that a bloody battle is not the sort of thing for this story, and perhaps something I should avoid in general. I wanted this to be a heroic escapade, told in lots of thrilling vignettes speeding at the audience like a machine gun, but my fear was that a pre-K audience would be overwhelmed.
Like the GI Joe cartoon from the eighties, wherein if a helicopter was blown up you always saw parachutes, so was my battle against the Sultan - sabres were shot from hands, elephants spun about by their trunks and thrown like bowling balls scattered men, unharmed, in all directions, and musket balls caught speeding through the air before any chance of an injury. It was a brilliant battle. I, of course was armed with a sabre in each hand, and took on as many men as were willing to face me - because it was only sporting to give them the advantage of numbers.
All in all, it was a fantasy story, and the battle was a fantasy battle. I have a bad habit of wanting to explain everything. But, with this story I learned that, in a fantasy, you don't need to explain everything, things just are the way they are (Yes it's a pirate ship suspended from balloons. No, I don't know how many hot air balloons would actually be required to lift a pirate ship. But, I do know that the hot breath of a hundred elephants won't actually lift a hot-air balloon - it just paints a cool picture). And, it's more fun to narrate the clashing of sabres than to describe a man being hacked apart with a battle ax.
The audience turned out to be older than I expected, about 6 through 10, plus parents, and I gave them the best delivery of my life, keeping them on the edge of their seats the whole time. I was incredibly pleased with myself. And, although the battle was furiously delivered, it was fun, funny and exciting - it wasn't a real war in all it's bloody detail, it was a heroic escapade, the kind of adventure that stirs the soul of a young boy.
Friday, July 6, 2012
And the verdict is...
After nearly eight months in development, I performed Les Voyages Fantastique last week at my local library in Escondido.
Towards the end I was getting a little worried. I had only practiced it once or twice with my bucket. (For those of you who haven't seen me perform in person, I have a five-gallon bucket with a state of Texas License plate on the side, and a seat for a lid, that I use to transport my gear to shows) I was using my bucket as a prop - the cannonball upon which I rode, the place I set my head while awaiting execution, and the seat I could "pop up" from when I needed to appear bigger than life (more on that later).
Besides only getting one or two practices with my bucket, I was beginning to worry that the show might not appeal to the audience. This wasn't standard fair, there was no repetition, not a lot of obvious laughs, the entire story is first person and it grows more and more complex as the characters interact with each other. I was also worried in that I didn't get time to make an outfit for the show, and that I dropped the music.
In the end it worked - fantastically. The literary tie-in worked great for the library, the framing story of me, as a young boy, perfectly meshed with summer reading, and my delivery went great.
I started out talking about reading adventure stories, or as Jules Verne called them, Les Voyages Fantastique, in bed and then segued into the actual story (I thought it was a great segue too). As the story progressed, over the next thirty-five minutes, my "Charles Emerson Winchester" accent grew thicker and thicker until the climax, and then into the denouement I dropped it - indicating the return to the normal world.
I have never received a response like this from an audience that young, they literally exploded in applause.
I learned a great deal about project development and story writing with this program. But, most importantly, I learned a lot about delivering this type of action-adventure story to a gentler audience without the constant barrage of scary-violence.
A great time was had by all!
Towards the end I was getting a little worried. I had only practiced it once or twice with my bucket. (For those of you who haven't seen me perform in person, I have a five-gallon bucket with a state of Texas License plate on the side, and a seat for a lid, that I use to transport my gear to shows) I was using my bucket as a prop - the cannonball upon which I rode, the place I set my head while awaiting execution, and the seat I could "pop up" from when I needed to appear bigger than life (more on that later).
Besides only getting one or two practices with my bucket, I was beginning to worry that the show might not appeal to the audience. This wasn't standard fair, there was no repetition, not a lot of obvious laughs, the entire story is first person and it grows more and more complex as the characters interact with each other. I was also worried in that I didn't get time to make an outfit for the show, and that I dropped the music.
In the end it worked - fantastically. The literary tie-in worked great for the library, the framing story of me, as a young boy, perfectly meshed with summer reading, and my delivery went great.
I started out talking about reading adventure stories, or as Jules Verne called them, Les Voyages Fantastique, in bed and then segued into the actual story (I thought it was a great segue too). As the story progressed, over the next thirty-five minutes, my "Charles Emerson Winchester" accent grew thicker and thicker until the climax, and then into the denouement I dropped it - indicating the return to the normal world.
I have never received a response like this from an audience that young, they literally exploded in applause.
I learned a great deal about project development and story writing with this program. But, most importantly, I learned a lot about delivering this type of action-adventure story to a gentler audience without the constant barrage of scary-violence.
A great time was had by all!
Thursday, June 7, 2012
The true story
For the last couple of weeks I've been doing a lot of pacing over Les Voyages Fantastique.
When I first conceived the notion, I really had just the germ of an idea - a story, told in the style of Baron Munchausen, built from the bones of several other stories, strung together into a single 40-minute tale. But, except for a drawing of a flying ship, I really didn't have much when I set out to sell it to the libraries. I knew I would have a great show in the end, but it's difficult to explain an idea when you really don't know what it is yourself: "I don't know what it will be, other than good - trust me."
I knew the kind of thing I wanted to do, and I started throwing ideas onto my board. When I went into the studio to start writing I looked at my mood board and pulled stories from it one at a time and just started telling them to the couch. This one fit good here, that one fits good there. At that point I had a story about an anonymous European commander who rides a cannon ball, pilots a flying ship, commands an extraordinary crew, is swallowed by a whale and takes on an entire army of sword-wielding Turks. That's good, that's fun, but that's not really what the story is about.
"When I was a boy I dreamt of a life filled with adventure."
The story is not about Baron Munchausen, Commander McBragg, or whoever, and their amazing adventures, the story is about a little boy - me - who stays up late each night reading adventures by flash light, and dreaming those adventures, placing himself in the role of the hero - it's a true story.
It's the very reason I love my work so much, it's my "why" for being a storyteller. I tell stories because they make me feel the way I felt when I was a boy, dreaming of a life filled with adventure.
When I first conceived the notion, I really had just the germ of an idea - a story, told in the style of Baron Munchausen, built from the bones of several other stories, strung together into a single 40-minute tale. But, except for a drawing of a flying ship, I really didn't have much when I set out to sell it to the libraries. I knew I would have a great show in the end, but it's difficult to explain an idea when you really don't know what it is yourself: "I don't know what it will be, other than good - trust me."
I knew the kind of thing I wanted to do, and I started throwing ideas onto my board. When I went into the studio to start writing I looked at my mood board and pulled stories from it one at a time and just started telling them to the couch. This one fit good here, that one fits good there. At that point I had a story about an anonymous European commander who rides a cannon ball, pilots a flying ship, commands an extraordinary crew, is swallowed by a whale and takes on an entire army of sword-wielding Turks. That's good, that's fun, but that's not really what the story is about.
"When I was a boy I dreamt of a life filled with adventure."
The story is not about Baron Munchausen, Commander McBragg, or whoever, and their amazing adventures, the story is about a little boy - me - who stays up late each night reading adventures by flash light, and dreaming those adventures, placing himself in the role of the hero - it's a true story.
It's the very reason I love my work so much, it's my "why" for being a storyteller. I tell stories because they make me feel the way I felt when I was a boy, dreaming of a life filled with adventure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)