Becoming a nobody and Ahdaf Soueif

I am in agreement with J D Salinger:

I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody.

I suppose my appreciation of the Salinger quote is a sign of impending middle-age and my lack of satisfaction with myself: I don't have a "life project".

Or you could say it is wisdom, slowly seeping into my consciousness.  I suppose that in the flatter world of today, where class, culture, race, even nationality, barriers are declining in influence, a world in which we increasingly grow up believing we can be anything, that absolutely anything is possible, I suppose in a world like that we all end up having the same dreams, wanting the same things.  We all want to become millionaires, have big houses and the best amenities, to leave traces, to have influence, to be renowned.

What about that alternative of dying a complete unknown?  Remembered only by a close circle of children, siblings, and friends - and perhaps a few colleagues here and there.  Outside of that circle of, say, 20-odd, no one has ever heard of you and no one ever will.

You lived in a rundown home in an undistinguished neighbourhood, you drove a below-average car, you took the occasional above-average holiday, you went out to ordinary places.  And you were proud, and you felt great.  You lived it: Life.

Ahdaf Soueif (of Map of Love fame) was on Egyptian television tonight (Dream2).  I was surprised when she said that a book that no one reads is a failure.  She said the art of the writer is to make the reader keep reading.  She mentioned several writers who took part in PalFest and she qualified each of the names with how famous, how big their readership is.  She certainly seemed pleased with her million plus readership in Britain alone.

It brought to mind the little chats I had with avantcaire about whether the appreciation of the multitudes is important for art (I think so), or if a niche of ten-odd was sufficient (avantcaire thought so).  Ahdaf Soueif seemed to agree with me.

Yet, because of that little Salinger seed that I mentioned above, that may or may not grow, I was less respectful of her achievement.

FYI: The secret to keep the reader reading - according to Dr Soueif - is Detail.

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The Bonfire of the Vanities - coming to this blog

Tom Wolfe likes to introduce his novels with a sort of "making of" Introduction. I noticed he did so with "I am Charlotte Simmons"; and now I discover that, about twenty years before, he did the same with "The Bonfire of the Vanities."

The Introduction to "The Bonfire of the Vanities" is a lovely literary essay, the sort of thing that arouses serious writers (whom Tom Wolfe defines as those who aim for literary prestige). It is rich with historical context from the world of fiction, from as far back the nineteenth century to the 1980s. It is also an argument for something.

Wolfe argues that novel writing must rely on reporting skills. A serious writer must be able to document - carefully - the world he wishes his work to inhabit. He has to interview, live in, make friends with, that world. Wolfe compares realism to electricity; you can't go back on it, you can't do without it. Realism is essential for fiction, he argues.

His point seems true; part of The Wire's immense TV success is that its creator immersed himself in the inner-workings of Baltimore, Maryland. Indeed, David Simon was a reporter for a local Baltimore paper for many years.

Some nuggets:

• In 1969, Tom Wolfe sought to write a novel about New York - that irresistible destination of all those who insist on being where things are happening. He thought it the most obvious idea an American writer could have.
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• 1960s America was a time of immense change. He kept waiting for novels about those changes. Nothing.
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• By the time 1979 swung around, and still no grand novel on New York had come out, Wolfe began to prepare for writing that book himself.
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• The reason why no novels where forthcoming was complicated. Most writers were experimenting with different forms of fiction. The realism school was deemed to have been 'over'.
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• Extraordinary and abundant news coverage challenged fiction writers. There was no way they could replicate that realism. The news was full of detail, full of things even a fictional novelist would be at loss to match for symbolism and surprise.
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• Reporting is the most vaulable and least understood resource available to any writer with exalted ambitions, whether the medium is print, film, tape, or the stage.
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• Wolfe sought to document the influence of society on even the most personal aspects of the life of an individual. It strikes me as folly to believe that you can portray the individual in the city today without also portraying the city itself.
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• I doubt that there is a writer over forty who does not realise in his heart of hearts that literary genius, in prose, consists of proportions more on the the order of 65 percent material and 35 percent the talent in his brain.
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• Between 1981-1985, Tom Wolfe gathered material by visiting neighborhoods and making friends with people he would never have encountered. The novel was published in 1987 to widespread acclaim; it was often described as 'prophetic'.

Hola: While in London, my friend avantcaire set up this book-reading-circle of sorts; to my lot fell the honour of "The Bonfire of the Vanities" - all 740 pages of it. My task is to read it, and send it on to the next person in the ring. Wish me luck!

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Synecdoche, New York

Charlie Kaufman needn't prove his artistic worth to anyone. He's written Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Being John Malkovich. For some reason, the 50 year old writer's worried about his heritage, his mortality; he's still trying to show how broad, vivid, inventive his imagination is.

Synecdoche, New York is a vanity project. Kaufman is not entertaining anybody's concerns; he's just telling us all of his own. He is 50; it's time for his pièce de résistance, his magnus opus (not necessarily his masterpiece).

What a world he depicts: a central character insecure, unhappy, unhealthy, deserted by his wife, longed for by a receptionist whom he cannot fuck, admired by an actress whom he does fuck, ... Meanwhile, he receives a generous grant and embarks on a lifetime project lasting 20-25 years, in which actors play actors playing actors (ad finitum). His project becomes a full replica of an NYC cityscape, with the stories of his main characters taking part inside apartments.

An epic imagination; a crazy, fevered desire to leave, make a mark, to have insight; a bleak, nihilistic, vision; a dream.

http://www.sonyclassics.com/synecdocheny/site/

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Il Divo

About four years ago, I watched director Paolo Sorrentino's "Consequences of Love". A cool, stylised Italian film it was; magnetic, intelligent. How about this for an opening sequence?

Or how about this scene for cinematic inspiration? You don't even need subtitles.

Two weeks ago I went to see Sorrentino's latest: "Il Divo". It won the 2008 Cannes Jury prize.

The movie is about the real character of Giulio Andreotti, who was prime minister of Italy three seven times, 1992 being the last year he was so. Andreotti is reputed to have had links with the Mafia, but despite numerous investigations in Italy, nothing has been proved, and he has been acquitted time and again. He is alive - 90 years old.

The film is a stylish, funny, energetic film about a man whose entire attitude to life seems to be tight-lipped, sardonic, wily. Andreotti is a shrewd man with a quick mind who seems to have studied his acquaintances, his peers very carefully. His every move is a chess move, designed to take advantage.

The film does a terrific job of mocking the man and the whole enterprise of power. Framing certain scenes in funny ways, ridicules the situation and the characters very effectively, without getting them to say ridiculous things.

I enjoyed it thoroughly.

An examination of his daily routines, that often started at 4am and involved a deep relationship with the Church.

The scene which depicts his supposed meeting with mafia bosses, an event never proven. Notice the subversion of the whole thing.

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Detail is like the water we take to swallow the pill of meaning

I saw a short animated film earlier tonight. The hero got struck by a meteorite and as a result is displaced by 91cm from his usual physical self. People see him where he is supposed to be, but he is detached 91cm away. At first he is confused. Then he works out what happened, and manages to adapt. He stands at 91cm away from the bathroom sink to use it, he sits 91cm away from the telephone to use it, etc.

But he can't live like that. So, he leans out the window and it comes to him: he needs to find another meteorite to collide into him, to undo the displacement. So, he travels far and wide, and manages to get at the exact location another meteorite is supposed to hit. Except this time, the collision causes him to be displaced even further, and with a vertical displacement too. (Previously, he was displaced 91cm horizontally.) So, he learns to accept his situation, to live where he is, not where he should be, or wants to be.

The film is Skhizein - directed by Jeremy Clapin.


Stories have all sorts of twists and turns but what we remember are the meanings.

I was struggling to recount to a friend the details of a funny sketch by Harry Enfield when I realised that I had already told him the meaning of it. Interestingly, my precis didn't mean anything to him! He wanted details to flesh out the gist, the idea.

Detail is like the water we take to swallow the pill of meaning.

When creating something, it works in an opposite direction: you have to go through the mechanics of storytelling, but what makes it a satisfactory process is when what you've detailed has meaning, says something. It takes many iterations to find out what the hell you're trying to say. Sometimes, ideas come fully-formed with their meanings already clear. Such ideas are a delight to write - just don't force it too much, and make sure you don't get distracted.

Other ideas come as what-ifs, observations, questions, how-about-thats ... Those need lots of iterations. I would say that out of so many iterations and versions, there is usually only one or two that are satisfactory - the rest are forgettable.

It seems to me the most effective creators, innovators are those who know what they want to say first.

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Collaboration - how does it work?

Summary

Isn't there something intrinsically strong about work produced not by one mind but two (or more)? Sure, you can have dilution. But equally you can have a potent mix!

Quick-links

Solo or Collaborator?
My Experiences
Pros and Cons

Solo or Collaborator?

Woody Allen writes alone. Steve Martin writes alone. Einstein got help with his maths from a trusted friend but worked on his theory of relativity alone. Picasso painted alone.

"The Office" was created by Gervais and Merchant; "Seinfeld" was created by David and Seinfeld; and the discovery of DNA was made by Crick and Watson. Indeed, a lot of science today is the result of collaboration. Nobel-prize chemist Ahmed Zeweil reminds his audiences that his work is really that of directing a lab of about 25 top-flight doctoral and post-doctoral researchers. In TV productions, writing a show "by committee" is typical.

Could there be an invisible line, somewhere around the 1960s, when it became more and more accepted for innovators to work together? A time when it became not just accepted but expected that collaboration brings about better-quality inspiration? I know that in science one of the buzz-words is the word "inter-disciplinary"; put that in a paper or proposal, and you're going places.

My Experiences

I find this topic particularly interesting in light of the fact that in both my research output and my fiction output, I have this feeling that I'm missing collaborators. I've tried finding them, but gotten nowhere. Finding a person with whom you can brainstorm, write, share, exchange, create, ... turned out to be very difficult.

In science, most of the people I know work quid pro quo. "I've done this, I've got this working. What have you done, what have you got working? Let's fuse our works and get some outputs!" It's so exchange-based, so dull! And if you question it, you're looked at as if you're delusional. "Did you drop the Nobel prize off your CV or something? When you get your Nobel, we'll sit here for hours, pondering and musing. In fact, win the Nobel and we'll do all the running for you. But for now, pal, what have you got for me that I can get some recognition from right away?"

In comedy writing, I'm finding a different problem. The clash of tastes; of senses of humour. Whereas my attitude is: any collaboration is good, the writers I have dealt with are very protective of their "point of view". They find it immensely difficult to not own the full vision of anything they put their names to.

A friend told me I should just write my own stuff independently. "It's harder, but it will make you stronger," he said. And isn't it interesting that it took two of Gervais and Merchant, or David and Seinfeld to create what one of Woody Allen could? In fact, could those later writers (who have all cited Woody Allen as an inspiration) have felt the same measure of confidence about their styles without Woody Allen's trailblazing work?

Pros and Cons

Admittedly, there is something to be said for the feeling of comfort and confidence in your collaborator's input. And, maybe, they're right to insist on being in-tune with their prospective collaborators. I suppose it's like picking a life partner; it's not an easy, anything-goes, it's-all-experience decision.

But is the collaborator decision on a par with the marriage decision?

In the world of science, where things are highly structured and people are fastidious, your past record is paramount. Without a record you won't even get to talk to anybody. Once you're in, your ideas do not need to be very good, if you've got access to data, resources, staff, funding, connections, etc, these can compensate. Of course, if you've got a weak record and no special benefits, no one will want to collaborate with you.

In the world of writing, the world is flatter. Provided you've shown some evidence of mastery of technique, it's a world of ideas from then on. In some respects, you have less room for negotiation when collaborating artistically. Either we bond in idea and presentation (substance and stylisation) or there's not much else we can 'trade'.

What do you think?

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The Arab Terrorist Comedian

This evening, I was with a bunch of people that I don't know very well - I am on nice, friendly terms with them. The subject of my youtube clip came up, and one of them told me that whereas she thought my youtube clip is fun - in particular (note her distinction), the actress was amazing, she wondered if I am suited to play that type of role. Having the accent that I have, she continued, she was wondering if I have thought of playing different types of roles, more suited to me. "Like an Arab Terrorist," I asked. The whole table burst with laughter. She said, "Yes, absolutely. I mean, I didn't bring it up, you did. But that would suit you much better. You can bring so much to roles like that."

She continued digging herself deeper and absolutely ruined my night.

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The air is full with New Year resolutions

A friend attends a self-help seminar. He tells me, "Write your top 10 goals and put them up on the wall so you can read them everyday"; I neglect to tell him I used to have a piece of paper on my wall that said in big, inelegant handwriting: "Finish PhD by June". I finished it four years later.

"He made us write the 10 goals and then asked which would we like to achieve in the next 24 hours. The one you pick, that one, that is your priority, focus on it exclusively. But it is so hard. Distractions!"

"Yeah, check the blonde that just passed."

"I know, I was wiggling my eyebrows, didn't you see?"

"I thought you were emphasising priority."


I am back from Cairo - where I had a slow internet connection via timed sessions at cafes - to my London flat with its decent, untimed bandwidth. In Cairo, my life was structured around my parents' routines. My sisters, relatives and friends gave me no scope for solid blocks of time.

Now I am back to uninterrupted lengths. I don't have to handle drop-ins by my dad wanting to chat, or my mum eager to find out "just exactly what are you doing". I can sit at the computer for hours on end. Unsurprisingly, I find the lack of structure unnerving. I end up getting deluged.


I start my internet check-in with clear goals: reply to Kristof, write a tweet about that mentoring thing, and check my email. Ten minutes in, I'm a zombied-out druggie: "Who is that Chelsy Sullenberger again? I wonder what they're saying about her on twitter."

Five hours later, totally drained, I realise I have not done any of my goals.

Of course, I should learn. Add another goal to the list. "Waste day on internet": tick.


Seth Godin tells me that if the marketplace isn’t talking about me, there’s a reason. I'm boring. I need to be remarkable. But remarkable costs time and money and a willingness to be wrong.

Yeah Seth, and so does ordering something off a menu. The next time I take a chance on an expensive item off the menu, I'll call myself remarkable.


Embryonic ideas belong in a personal diary, or in a discussion forum;
much as they seem ours, they are just thoughts fused out of daily events.

Fully-formed ideas are truly ours; we did the due diligence on them.
If I can’t differentiate between the early-life and fully-formed ideas,
others will have to do that for me; and they can be quite moody.


I glance at the title of Chris Brogan's post: "Take Charge of your Career" and I am already turned off. Dude, honestly, show me someone who wants to hate his job, make less money, and have no clue what to do next?

Turns out the post is a book recommendation. Great. I overcome mental obstacles to read the post, only for Chris to add another to-do to my list.

Chris Brogan's "Cultivating a Writing Habit" nails it. He writes with so much ease, he actually writes too much. The guy has been writing all his life: he got writing awards at high school, won a spot at a writers' convention at college, plus he is an avid reader. He says, "Shipping News taught me brevity. Fight Club taught me how not to pull a punch. Slapboxing with Jesus taught me how to really pull raw emotions out of the air. Does this help my nonfiction writing? You bet it does."

Helps it too much, Chris.

Chris Brogan publishes several tweets and at least one blog post, daily. Each loaded with several ideas - embryonic ones.

An argument for NOT cultivating a writing habit!

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Prepare and get Adrenaline on Your Side

The comedy-writers' workshop I have been attending since October culminated in a 'graduation' performance (a 'showcase') earlier this evening. In front of an audience of about 50 people, 6 writer/actors performed 12 sketches back-to-back. Learnt lessons? Rehearse and prepare a lot; relax and have fun; and bask in the glory of Adrenaline. Whatever chemical it is that flushes your brain in these situations, it works.

Learnt Lessons

1. Prepare.
2. Rehearse.
3. Over and over until you are fluent.
4. Double-check every detail.
5. Have clean, clear actions so you do not appear hesitant.
6. On the day, loosen up, warm up, relax.
7. Don't over-rehearse on the day.
8. Adrelanine will lift you and steel you (*).
9. If you're upbeat and calm, you will handle any fluffs well.

* Adrelanine exaggerates; so don't trust it completely. Check afterwards.


Here is what happened

After dedicating four-five weeks to writing, we voted for our most favourite sketches, picking two from each writer, and went to work on them. For the past four weeks, we have done nothing but rehearse those 12 sketches. We performed them again and again, cutting, adding, amending, tweaking ... Through all this we were led by an experienced tutor. Sometimes he case-studied particular sketches to dial them up. This involved asking us to improvise the scene, brainstorm better endings, or add new twists.

The last two weeks were dedicated to running through pretty-much-finalised sketches. Most of us were already "off-book" on most sketches (had memorised the lines). Still, we organised about four or five extra sessions amongst ourselves to double-check.

The last few days

For me, the real heat turned up in the last few days. I had memorised the lines but they were slow-to-mind. This means they had not been memorised well enough. I would easily come unstuck, lose focus, stumble, blank a line, and generally feel stiff.

A particularly helpful technique I picked up from a trained actress is to record the other roles' lines and leave durations of silence for your own lines. After a few practice rounds with my dictaphone, I was pretty much set. This technique worked for me like a treat. It was like I had a pocket-actor to play the other roles for me at all times. Over the past few days, I drilled the sketches with more frequency. The lines began to come out more fluently now, and by the night before last, I began to feel safe.

It was useful to be able to sit in a coffeeshop and hold my dictaphone to my ears as if it were a mobile. I would hear my voice playing the other roles, and then during the silences speak my lines. To anyone who cared, I was having a phone conversation. More importantly, because I was sitting in a public place and people might eavesdrop on bits of my speech, I made sure to sound perfectly normal. Forced not to put on a show, and instead to engage in a "phone conversation", I found myself realigning the logic of the lines, and the words felt real.


On the night

Three hours before the show, we all gathered to enact the show. We did physical warm ups, loosened ourselves, and generally made sure we had everything ready. Our first run-through was almost faultless. Everybody was up to speed on the lines. Hardly a fluff. I was proud of myself for not letting the side down.

Our tutor then made us rehearse things like coming on and off the stage, and putting the chairs on and off stage. We had a full run-through without sketches: just their beginnings and endings; this way we could focus on the links between, to make sure they too had been rehearsed.

Then came our second and final run-through of the sketches: a mere 90 minutes before the show. I was now fully relaxed and confident. Everyone had gone and got a glass of wine in the break. But our final rehearsal was a massive let-down. There were many blanks, including one from me (my mind froze and I couldn't remember the rest of the line). The energy was altogether very low. Some of us looked defeated already. One guy withdrew into himself, worried he might bring the whole show down.

Thankfully, I kept my energy up and tried to support those who looked a little down. But it's a tough call: you don't want to draw attention to what they already know.

The show

At 9pm, we now huddled into the dressing room (only one) and began the final preparations. Ten minutes before the start of the show, I ducked into a corridor and had a phone conversation with my dictaphone, running through all four sketches I am in. At 9.30pm, the audience took their seats. Morale in the dressing room was high, but so was tension. I surprised myself with how upbeat, dancey, and smiley I was; it was the only way.

The show started.

Things flowed like clockwork. Pretty much as planned.

The intro got a few chuckles, the first proper sketch got a couple of laughs, the second sketch got bigger laughs, and now we had ourselves a wave that we could ride.

The third sketch - my first appearance - went down very well for the absurd flight-of-fancy that Tim (a team-member) had created. I came off feeling all-buzzed-up. Things were flowing. The rest of the team looked like they were beginning to relax. No forgotten lines so far.

And on it went. By the time I came on again, for the 8th sketch, I was so warmed-up, I did not feel the slightest hesitation. The audience's warmth was there, I was playing to it, and it did not bother me at all. After the 12th sketch ended, which I wrote, we all lined up to bow. Afterwards, various members of the audience said they had wanted more.


Afterwards

We were all very pleased at the end; we spent a minute or two in British-style, self-effacing congratulation. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" "No, it could've been much worse, couldn't it?" "They seemed to like it, didn't they?"

I was so psyched up. I felt my sketches had gone down very well, and my performances in other team-members' sketches had not let them down. And I enjoyed those fleeting seconds when various audience members were checking me out after the show. In particular, of course, the attractive women.

In the pub afterwards, the people we had invited congregated to congratulate us and there was a jolly atmosphere for the rest of the night.

The Twist

I filmed the performance.

When I got home, I watched it.

To my surprise, I discover that what I had thought was perfect diction came out as Ahmedspeake - a mix of mangled words and staccato rhythm. Sure, the audience must have understood me, because they laughed. But on tape, the glamorous image of me rising to the occasion and producing perfect enunciation and poise was wrong. It turned out I had also slightly mis-remembered a line or two. And my body language was not as perfectly fitting as I thought it was.

I was surprised too that during my performances, I had not noticed that some of my co-performers had mis-remembered a few lines. In one case, Rob had fluffed his line badly, rendering it very differently to intended, but I had not noticed. During the performance, I thought he'd done a perfect job.

Adrenaline! Yes, it helps us, but it also washes over some unflattering details.

I guess it goes back to that blind-spot phenomenon I blogged about before.


What were our sketches about?

• A guy who goes overboard trying to save Pandas
• Two dogs in the park having a conversation
  
• A pretensious chat-show host and his 'down-at-heel' guest
• A weirdo on a bus who does not take a hint
• A guy who calls in 'sick' because he's having an orgy
  
• A lifecoach who does not have limiting beliefs
• A corporate interviewer who demands 'a song' from the interviewee
• A talking guitar

Which two are mine?

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