Monthly Archives: February 2017

10,000 (Jennifer Kuzbary)

“Ten thousand hours is the magic number of greatness.”

A sense of relief came over me when I read that sentence in Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers. This “10,000-Hour Rule,” to which he devotes an entire chapter, is one that arises repeatedly in studies of highly accomplished people. Gladwell lists a few of these: “composers, basketball players, fiction writers, ice skaters, concert pianists, chess players, master criminals, and what have you.”

Master criminals? Okay. Fiction writers? Even better! That’s what I want to be. I’m studying* to be a fiction writer, and how wonderful to discover there’s a reason why I’m not “great” at it. Not yet, anyway.

Most of my writing experience is in technical and other nonfiction writing. I am discovering that learning to write fiction is a process, one that is time-consuming to learn.

You would think the process to be a lot easier, especially when you enjoy reading fiction as much as I do. Published novels are so polished and together, and yet I know getting them into that condition requires a lot of hard work. Hours of practice seem to ensure the actual effort will be at least a little easier. This is my guess. As I said, I’m not there yet. Not even close.

“The emerging picture from such studies is that ten thousand hours of practice is required to achieve the level of mastery associated with being a world-class expert — in anything,” according to Daniel Levitin who is quoted by Gladwell in the book. “It seems that it takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve true mastery.”

Another interesting discovery, not necessarily from Gladwell, is setting a timer can be more productive than just sitting down willy-nilly to write. I find that when I time myself, say 30 minutes without a break, I’m more pleased with the outcome. (Especially when I commit to not looking to see how much time is left, trusting the timer will in fact go off when time is up.) The quality of my thoughts seems somehow better, even if not everything that lands on the page is that useful. Overall, the flow of nonstop words for a set amount of time can generate ideas that you later incorporate into a larger work. I’m using this method now to practice what I’m learning in two books on writing fiction. (See below.)

I’d like to encourage you to remember the 10,000-hour rule as you write. Also, try timed writings if you haven’t already. These can be either hand-written or typed. Either way, the mini-deadline can improve your creativity and increase your output. Timing your writing also makes it easier to count the practice hours that will help you become a great writer.

Finally, if you have tips, suggestions, comments, observations, recommended practices, or anything else related to writing great fiction, you can share them below.

Good writing to us all! No, make that great writing to all who strive for that magic number.


* Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction by Jeff Vandermeer and Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft by Janet Burroway



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Love Me! (L. Stewart Hearl)

Well, maybe not love, but, as a writer, one of your goals should be to get your reader to develop empathy toward your main character. You want your reader to really care what happens to him. If he/she is threatened, you want your reader to feel a bit of anger at the one who did it. By the same token, you might want your reader to dislike or even hate the bad guy.

In both cases you must give your reader reasons to like the hero and dislike the villain. Simply telling the reader these characters are good or bad lacks any emotional impact.

When the Going Gets Tough, the Sentences Get Shorter

During an action sequence, this would be a big mistake: “As we came around the corner of the damp and poorly-lit dungeon, the thousand-pound, yellow and sickly green Thoraxy, with its huge eye and giant, pink bunny ears, took a solid stand, which seemed to indicate, to me at least, that it wasn’t going to let us pass no matter what we could do.”

Not very exciting, was it? Why? There are far too many words here. Description is important, but a large helping of description during an action sequence completely kills the mood of excitement you are trying to create. Incidentally, try not to use very long sentences anyway. It doesn’t impress anyone except retired English professors. You should use sentences no longer than eight or nine words during an action sequence. No one pontificates when they’re in a battle and lives.

Excerpted from the Kindle Book “Creative Writing Essentials” by me (L. Stewart Hearl)

For those who are 55 or older and live in Harris County, Texas, I give a one hour lecture based on the aforementioned book at Glazier Senior Education Center (16600 Pine Forest Lane). In addition to my class, there are literally hundreds of other classes given there on subjects related to health, gardening, hobbies, etc. and all classes are free. My next class will be on February 28th at 1 PM.

Here’s a link:

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Inspirations from the Schlock Fringe (Mark Phillips)

Today I have a tale of art, synchronicity, enthusiasm, nostalgia and the internet. I’ve just had a good couple of days pursuing connections between personal obsessions. This particular tale might not resonate with you because my own interests are idiosyncratic, but perhaps the example will inspire you to explore paths of synchronicity uniquely suited to your own interests and cherished memories.

It started with me recording a sword and sandal epic called The Colossus of Rhodes on TCM. Sword and sandal pictures or peplums were usually rather cheap Italian action films popular in the days before spaghetti westerns (late 50s to mid 60s). They featured heroes such as Hercules, Maciste, or Atlas fighting evil and oppression. Shot in Spain or Greece mostly with badly-dubbed Italian casts with a few washed up or D-list American actors, they were an attempt to piggy back on the popularity of Hollywood successes such as Cleopatra, The Ten Commandments, and Spartacus.

Now there was only one reason why I wanted to see The Colossus of Rhodes: it was the first film directed by the great film director Sergio Leone. His later spaghetti western Once Upon a Time in the West is arguably one of the best films ever made. Well, suffice it to say  The Colossus of Rhodes is not one of the best films ever made. It is a rather routine would-be epic helped along by a serviceable and professional acting job by American actor Rory Calhoun. Calhoun was adept at rugged tough guy roles such as cowboys and gangsters. He had actually served three years in jail in his youth for robberies and car theft. In 1955, his agent leaked the scandal of Calhoun’s prison record to a gossip rag as a substitute for a story he convinced them to suppress, an exposé on his other client Rock Hudson’s secret homosexual life. So, in a sense, Rory Calhoun’s greatest contribution to film was that his sacrifice made possible the post-1955 career of Rock Hudson. No Rory Calhoun, no Giant or Ice Station Zebra.

Anyway, I had never seen The Colossus of Rhodes, and now I had. Yay. Of course, TCM was showing several other typical examples of peplums that week, which leads me to my experience of Atlas. Naturally if there was money to be made by Italians ripping-off Hollywood period epics, could schlock-meister Roger Corman be far behind? Shot in Greece on a budget that would make the Italians cringe, Atlas was movie-making on the cheap: Spartacus cost $12 million; Atlas cost $108,000, and it shows. The warriors’ shields look to be made of tin foil and cardboard. Also, it’s hard to make epic battles convincing when only fifty inexperienced extras show up.

So, Atlas ought to be a simply awful film. But here’s the thing: it’s not. First of all, it’s got a reasonably literate, intelligent script by Charles B. Griffith. Griffith is a sort of underground Hollywood legend, penning lurid scripts for Corman, usually cranked out in a few weeks for a few hundred dollars. Griffith is responsible for the acerbically satirical masterpieces A Bucket of Blood and The Little Shop of Horrors (a musical version of which, my wife’s nephew Stefan starred in locally a few years ago). Griffith not only wrote Atlas, he also managed the production, was the assistant director, and acted as an extra. The dialogue is often subtle, witty, and even legitimately philosophical.

The intelligence of the screenplay was aided in no small part by the acting of a quartet of D-list actors who at that time were a sort of Corman stock troupe. The villain of the piece was played with an infectious charismatic integrity by Frank Wolff. An underrated actor who committed suicide at 43, Wolff played most of his roles in low-budget Italian productions. His most prestigious role was as Vartan Damadian in Elia Kazan’s America, America. But let’s not forget a small role he played in the previously mentioned Leone masterpiece Once Upon a Time in the West. He is the farmer, Brett McBain, murdered by Henry Fonda early in the picture. (Do you feel the tendrils of synchronicity lurking beneath the disparate details?)

The star of Atlas was Michael Forest. Although his face, voice, and physique were instantly familiar, I couldn’t originally place him. Fans of anime might recognize Forest’s voice as he is in a good number of dubbed versions. But his most famous role, for me, was as the Greek god Apollo in the original Star Trek episode, “Who Mourns for Adonais,” in 1967.

The theme of my wandering story so far has been hard working D-listers producing as much excellence as they can manage in the outer slums of the artistic world, sometimes rising above their origins to realize their potentials as with Leone, sometimes coming tantalizingly close to greatness only to die young and forgotten as with Wolff, but most often just tooling along producing the occasional memorable diamonds in the rough as with Griffith and Forest. As with all synchronicity-based stories this one could be spun out forever in fascinating ways, but I’ll end with an uplifting little coda showing that the work of scratching out tiny moments of brilliance despite the restrictions of poverty row production is ongoing and inspiring.

While researching all the above interconnections I discovered that the star of Atlas, Michael Forest, had played the role of Apollo in Star Trek more than once. Paramount Pictures has allowed the production of fan-fiction based on its Star Trek franchise so long as it is not made for commercial ends. So, crowdfunded and largely cast with amateur fan-actors, we get the web-based “fourth season” of the original Star Trek series Star Trek Continues. With meticulously recreated sets and costumes, talented pastiches of the original casts’ performances, canny use of the possibilities of modern special effects, and some writing that would make Roddenberry proud, Star Trek Continues is as close as I’ve seen to watching the original series.

And I only discovered this remarkable series because I was researching Michael Forest, an obscure actor from an ultra-cheap sword and sandal picture from the 1960s. 46 years after playing Apollo in that original Star Trek episode, Forest reprised the role in the first episode of Star Trek Continues, “Pilgrim of Eternity.” His acting in the original episode was brilliant and it was again in the new one. It made my day. And in this day and age of over-produced Hollywood mega-blockbusters (the recent Star Trek Beyond had a budget of $185 million), you can still find thriving let’s-put-on-the-best-show-we-can-with-what-we-can-scrounge gems. Vic Mignogna (actor, writer, director, producer, etc. of that first episode of Star Trek Continues) funded it out of his own pocket. He funded the next 3 episodes with a Kickstarter budget of $126,000. That is about $16,000 in the currency of Roger Corman’s 1961 Atlas era. (And as a personal note to my mother, yes, Vic, who plays Kirk in the new series, does have a scene where he appears without his shirt—I think you will be pleased!)

I hope you have enjoyed this ramble through the byways of synchronicity and I hope you get as much pleasure while undertaking your own rambles in search of synchronicity and inspiration.

Mark Phillips (2017)

Note: All of the data assembled above comes exclusively from Wikipedia.


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