How do I smell thee? Let me count the ways....
One fascinating area of perceptual research involves the ways in which human being communicate (often subliminally) through the olfactory sense.
That old adage about dogs being able to "smell fear" on us? True. But did you know that humans can also recognize the smell of fear? And of happiness.
A couple of researchers at Rice University in Texas conducted a neat study to prove this: (Chan and Haviland-Jones, 2000).
They asked a group of male and female college students to watch portions of happy and frightening movies, while wearing gauze pads under their armpits. This allowed the researchers to collect samples of Male Happy Sweat, Male Fear Sweat, Female Happy Sweat, and Female Fear Sweat.
When we experience emotions, it changes the biochemical composition of our sweat--when we're afraid, we emit different protein molecules than when we are happy.
Once they had their sweat samples, the researchers recruited a different group of students--male and female--to sniff each sample and try to identify it.
(You gotta love those college students...they'll try anything!)
The results? People were surprisingly good at being able to "sniff out" these differences.
1) The most easily identified scent was Male Fear Sweat. Both male and female "receivers" picked this one up right away.
2) Female "receivers" were equally skillful at identifying happy scents from both male and female donors.
3) Male "receivers" were better at recognizing happy females than frightened females.
Part of our "Intuition" of emotions...particularly female intuition, comes from our ability to a) detect and b) identify chemical differences in the composition of our sweat.
Females (in general) tend to test better on skills of olfactory perception. They're more sensitive and responsive to scents. (This could explain why my wife brought home a package of scented razors not long ago...Marketers are not dummies.) And when you consider how closely the olfaction system is tied to the emotions, this makes sense (scents?).
For Writers to consider:
1) You could show animals in your story identifying and responding to human emotions.
2) Since olfaction is typically secondary to vision in humans, it might be interesting to portray a character (or even a whole race, if you write Sci-Fi) who rely more on smells than the normal human.
3) Science is full of fun, quirky experiments. Consider involving one of your characters in an experiment as a minor/major part of the plot. Michael Gruber's novel The Forgery of Venus, is a good example. When the protagonist (a painter) takes an experimental drug to enhance his creativity, it has unexpected consequences.
4) When describing fear and terror, don't forget the sense of smell. One of Flannery O'Connor's short stories (Wildcat) makes great use of this. The protagonist is blind...and the tension builds as man and animal become aware of each others presence largely through smell.
references: Rachel Herz, 2007; The Scent of Desire (William Morrow)
Chan, D, and Haviland-Jones, J. (2000) Human Olfactory Communication of Emotion. Perception and Motor Skills, 91, 771-781
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
What's That Smell? (Part Two)
Continuing with our discussion of how we perceive smells:
It's interesting to learn that smell preferences are not innate.
The easiest way to check this is to study babies--If our likes/dislikes for smells were hard-wired, then newborns and very young children would show the same patterns of preference that adults do, right from the start.
But they don't...
Herz (2007) explains how infants actually show a preference for the smell of feces, but they don't seem bothered by things adults would consider very unpleasant (rancid cheese); conversely, they don't show any particular favoritism for smells that most adults would identify as pleasant (banana).
Herz notes: "It is not until around age eight that children begin to match the responses of adults in their culture."
And even then, there is wide variability.
The U.S. Army has tried (and failed) to produce a universal "Stink Bomb"--something that could replace the more dangerous method of tear gas when it became necessary to disperse a crowd.
Unfortunately, there is no universally repugnant odor.
Really? Apparently so... A few examples:
Some tribal cultures put dung in their hair as a cosmetic.
In earlier times, before the advent of refrigeration, rotten meat and fish were often served. Accounts from that period suggest that the odor and flavor of rotten food could actually be preferred by some, as it was considered more intense. (I'll bet it was!)
And in her book The Natural History of the Senses, Diane Ackerman describes the smell of durian fruit as a cross between "a sewer and a grave." Yet people in Southeast Asia consider it a delicacy.
Smell preferences are learned, not inborn.
The key is first associations: What were you feeling when you first encountered a new smell? (Remember from Part One: Our sense of smell and our emotions are tightly linked.)
(It's interesting that the closest thing to a universally preferred smell is Vanilla--and the chemical components of vanilla are present in human breast milk, as well as many prepared baby formulas. First associations with comfort and nurturing.)
For Writers to consider:
1) Could one of your characters loooove a scent that many people find unpleasant?
2) Could two of your characters argue over whether a scent is pleasant or unpleasant?
3) Could one of your characters put dung in her hair? (Just kidding...unless you actually write tribal stories or prehistoric epics like Clan of the Cave Bear. Notions of cleanliness were different back then, before Head and Shoulders shampoo commercials.)
4) Particular smell preferences (and how intense those preferences are) can be another way of differentiating characters...and might even play a minor (or major) role in your plot.
What about you? Anything you love to smell that others generally avoid? Or scents you can't stand that others tend to enjoy?
reference: Rachel Herz, 2007; The Scent of Desire (William Morrow)
It's interesting to learn that smell preferences are not innate.
The easiest way to check this is to study babies--If our likes/dislikes for smells were hard-wired, then newborns and very young children would show the same patterns of preference that adults do, right from the start.
But they don't...
Herz (2007) explains how infants actually show a preference for the smell of feces, but they don't seem bothered by things adults would consider very unpleasant (rancid cheese); conversely, they don't show any particular favoritism for smells that most adults would identify as pleasant (banana).
Herz notes: "It is not until around age eight that children begin to match the responses of adults in their culture."
And even then, there is wide variability.
The U.S. Army has tried (and failed) to produce a universal "Stink Bomb"--something that could replace the more dangerous method of tear gas when it became necessary to disperse a crowd.
Unfortunately, there is no universally repugnant odor.
Really? Apparently so... A few examples:
Some tribal cultures put dung in their hair as a cosmetic.
In earlier times, before the advent of refrigeration, rotten meat and fish were often served. Accounts from that period suggest that the odor and flavor of rotten food could actually be preferred by some, as it was considered more intense. (I'll bet it was!)
And in her book The Natural History of the Senses, Diane Ackerman describes the smell of durian fruit as a cross between "a sewer and a grave." Yet people in Southeast Asia consider it a delicacy.
Smell preferences are learned, not inborn.
The key is first associations: What were you feeling when you first encountered a new smell? (Remember from Part One: Our sense of smell and our emotions are tightly linked.)
(It's interesting that the closest thing to a universally preferred smell is Vanilla--and the chemical components of vanilla are present in human breast milk, as well as many prepared baby formulas. First associations with comfort and nurturing.)
For Writers to consider:
1) Could one of your characters loooove a scent that many people find unpleasant?
2) Could two of your characters argue over whether a scent is pleasant or unpleasant?
3) Could one of your characters put dung in her hair? (Just kidding...unless you actually write tribal stories or prehistoric epics like Clan of the Cave Bear. Notions of cleanliness were different back then, before Head and Shoulders shampoo commercials.)
4) Particular smell preferences (and how intense those preferences are) can be another way of differentiating characters...and might even play a minor (or major) role in your plot.
What about you? Anything you love to smell that others generally avoid? Or scents you can't stand that others tend to enjoy?
reference: Rachel Herz, 2007; The Scent of Desire (William Morrow)
Friday, May 21, 2010
What's That Smell? (Part One)
It's a piece of Standard Writing Advice (SWA)--and a good one--not to ignore the sense of smell when describing the fictional world. Let's spend some time getting better acquainted with this underrated stepchild of the senses.
First, olfaction is not only given short shrift by writers--it tends to be held in lower regard by humans in general.
World languages, for instance, consistently have fewer words for smelling than for any other sensation.
And when people are asked to rank the five senses in terms of which they would prefer to lose (assuming they had to lose one), smell typically tops the charts as being most expendable.
(Try this experiment around the office, or at your next PTA meeting. If the five senses were Survivor contestants, Smell would get tossed off the island first.)
What many don't realize, however, is that when humans lose their sense of smell, it can have devastating effects on their well-being.
Anosmia (smell-blindness) is the term, and it can result from exposure to certain chemicals, the formation of nasal polyps, or head injuries (particularly hard blows to the face). It can also be genetic, present at birth. In addition, some individuals have this difficulty only with specific odors...but they can readily smell everything else.
While some persons are able to cope well with this limitation, for many it has profound impact on their emotions and sense of life-satisfaction. In the long term, depression and mood disorders are more common in those who have lost the sense of smell, than in those who have gone blind.
(Interesting note: Depression is commonly seen in Parkinson's patients, and the loss of smell can be one of the early symptoms of Parkinson's.)
The reason for this connection between smell and emotional well-being seems clear: Humans are hard-wired that way.
The same neural structure of the brain--the limbic system--is responsible for interpreting olfactory signals and for activating emotions. In fact, one of the names for this part of the brain is the Rhinencephalon (literally, the "Nose-Brain").
Within this limbic system, the hot-spot of olfaction and emotion is the almond-shaped amygdala. Using brain-imaging technology, we can see that when we experience a scent, the amygdala activates, helping us both to the identify the smell, and connect it with emotions.
Researcher Dr. Rachel Herz, in her book The Scent of Desire (William Morrow, 2007), says this: "No other sensory system has this kind of priviledged and direct access to the part of the brain that controls our emotions."
A few applications for writers to consider:
1) When describing scenes, characters, objects, etc... Don't neglect the sense of smell.
2) Sensitivity to smell (or not) is a character trait. Some persons have very keen noses, others (Anosmics) cannot smell at all. This ability (or lack) may be another element you can use to differentiate characters.
3) If want your characters (and therefore, your readers) to feel emotion, understand the power that fragrance has to impact this. Show your characters reacting emotionally to good/bad smells.
More on the psychology of how we perceive smells, next time...
First, olfaction is not only given short shrift by writers--it tends to be held in lower regard by humans in general.
World languages, for instance, consistently have fewer words for smelling than for any other sensation.
And when people are asked to rank the five senses in terms of which they would prefer to lose (assuming they had to lose one), smell typically tops the charts as being most expendable.
(Try this experiment around the office, or at your next PTA meeting. If the five senses were Survivor contestants, Smell would get tossed off the island first.)
What many don't realize, however, is that when humans lose their sense of smell, it can have devastating effects on their well-being.
Anosmia (smell-blindness) is the term, and it can result from exposure to certain chemicals, the formation of nasal polyps, or head injuries (particularly hard blows to the face). It can also be genetic, present at birth. In addition, some individuals have this difficulty only with specific odors...but they can readily smell everything else.
While some persons are able to cope well with this limitation, for many it has profound impact on their emotions and sense of life-satisfaction. In the long term, depression and mood disorders are more common in those who have lost the sense of smell, than in those who have gone blind.
(Interesting note: Depression is commonly seen in Parkinson's patients, and the loss of smell can be one of the early symptoms of Parkinson's.)
The reason for this connection between smell and emotional well-being seems clear: Humans are hard-wired that way.
The same neural structure of the brain--the limbic system--is responsible for interpreting olfactory signals and for activating emotions. In fact, one of the names for this part of the brain is the Rhinencephalon (literally, the "Nose-Brain").
Within this limbic system, the hot-spot of olfaction and emotion is the almond-shaped amygdala. Using brain-imaging technology, we can see that when we experience a scent, the amygdala activates, helping us both to the identify the smell, and connect it with emotions.
Researcher Dr. Rachel Herz, in her book The Scent of Desire (William Morrow, 2007), says this: "No other sensory system has this kind of priviledged and direct access to the part of the brain that controls our emotions."
A few applications for writers to consider:
1) When describing scenes, characters, objects, etc... Don't neglect the sense of smell.
2) Sensitivity to smell (or not) is a character trait. Some persons have very keen noses, others (Anosmics) cannot smell at all. This ability (or lack) may be another element you can use to differentiate characters.
3) If want your characters (and therefore, your readers) to feel emotion, understand the power that fragrance has to impact this. Show your characters reacting emotionally to good/bad smells.
More on the psychology of how we perceive smells, next time...
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
This Is Not A Drill
I was reading a collection of Flannery O'Connor's letters last night (Collected Works, Library of America, 1988 p1013), and came across a reference to Writing Exercises.
Writing to a friend in December of 1956, she commented, "Experiment but for heaven's sake don't go writing excercises. You will never be interested in anything that is just an exercise and there is no reason you should."
She went on to suggest that anything you write should have the "promise of being whole."
Myself, I'm in Flannery's camp. Never had much luck creating isolated paragraphs or scenes, without the context of a story to give it meaning. But I can see both sides.
Some people may see it as a freeing experience: No pressure, no expectations of creating something worth saving. And that freedom from pressure may allow the necessary breathing space in which to improve a particular element (e.g., "write a scene in which two characters disagree, but neither wants to openly admit the conflict").
What do you think? Are writing exercises a necessary part of your craft, like a musician practicing scales? Or do they strike you as artificial?
Writing to a friend in December of 1956, she commented, "Experiment but for heaven's sake don't go writing excercises. You will never be interested in anything that is just an exercise and there is no reason you should."
She went on to suggest that anything you write should have the "promise of being whole."
Myself, I'm in Flannery's camp. Never had much luck creating isolated paragraphs or scenes, without the context of a story to give it meaning. But I can see both sides.
Some people may see it as a freeing experience: No pressure, no expectations of creating something worth saving. And that freedom from pressure may allow the necessary breathing space in which to improve a particular element (e.g., "write a scene in which two characters disagree, but neither wants to openly admit the conflict").
What do you think? Are writing exercises a necessary part of your craft, like a musician practicing scales? Or do they strike you as artificial?
Friday, May 14, 2010
Milton Erickson, Abused Children, and the "Always-a-Robin" Syndrome (Part Five)
We've been talking about using observant details, and last time we discussed two practical steps the writer can take to increase his or her skills in that area.
Today, let's finish out the series by tackling that last step:
3) Select carefully and thoughtfully, based on your audience and genre
This is pretty intuitive...Much of it is what I call Standard Writing Advice (SWA)..... That doesn't make it bad advice... it just means that it's frequently repeated by a host of writing teachers (I figure if I hear the same concept from 5 or more sources, it's SWA).
a) Pay attention to the needs of your audience. Tom Clancy's readers expect plenty of techno-detail (like the inner workings of an atomic bomb). Nora Roberts, not so much.
b) As a gross generalization, literary fiction demands more detailed description than series westerns, series romance, series anything.
c) Page count counts. In a epic-length excursion like Moby Dick, you can afford a chapter of detail into the life and times of Cetaceans (admit it, you skipped it anyway...). In a 175-page YA novel, feel free to leave that out.
d) Don't stop to worry about robins in your first draft. But later, substitute something less commonplace.
e) Get it right. (Soapbox Warning!) I cringe every time an author mixes up the professional roles of the psychiatrist and the psychologist. Or worse yet, (As I once found in a bad Christian novel) freely alternating between the two, as if they were synonymous. That sound you hear is your credibility falling. Because whether it's true or not, it looks like you didn't care enough to do your homework.
Read up on that particular kind of gun. Do some research into your character's chosen profession. What exactly does that bird's call sound like?
I doubt if it's humanly possible to get every detail right in a novel-length work, but I don't think it hurts to make that your goal...Because someone out there knows about the inner workings of a nuclear bomb, or how fast a Continuous-Extrusion Blow Molder can spit out molten plastic. And if we goof up, they'll call us on it.
What are your rules of thumb for choosing and using details?
Today, let's finish out the series by tackling that last step:
3) Select carefully and thoughtfully, based on your audience and genre
This is pretty intuitive...Much of it is what I call Standard Writing Advice (SWA)..... That doesn't make it bad advice... it just means that it's frequently repeated by a host of writing teachers (I figure if I hear the same concept from 5 or more sources, it's SWA).
a) Pay attention to the needs of your audience. Tom Clancy's readers expect plenty of techno-detail (like the inner workings of an atomic bomb). Nora Roberts, not so much.
b) As a gross generalization, literary fiction demands more detailed description than series westerns, series romance, series anything.
c) Page count counts. In a epic-length excursion like Moby Dick, you can afford a chapter of detail into the life and times of Cetaceans (admit it, you skipped it anyway...). In a 175-page YA novel, feel free to leave that out.
d) Don't stop to worry about robins in your first draft. But later, substitute something less commonplace.
e) Get it right. (Soapbox Warning!) I cringe every time an author mixes up the professional roles of the psychiatrist and the psychologist. Or worse yet, (As I once found in a bad Christian novel) freely alternating between the two, as if they were synonymous. That sound you hear is your credibility falling. Because whether it's true or not, it looks like you didn't care enough to do your homework.
Read up on that particular kind of gun. Do some research into your character's chosen profession. What exactly does that bird's call sound like?
I doubt if it's humanly possible to get every detail right in a novel-length work, but I don't think it hurts to make that your goal...Because someone out there knows about the inner workings of a nuclear bomb, or how fast a Continuous-Extrusion Blow Molder can spit out molten plastic. And if we goof up, they'll call us on it.
What are your rules of thumb for choosing and using details?
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Milton Erickson, Abused Children, and the "Always-a-Robin" Syndrome (Part Four)
Vigilance: That's a term psychologists sometimes use when discussing these issues of perception, focus, and attention we've been talking about. The science of paying attention.
Last time, I suggested three practical steps, if you want to improve your capacity for observant detail in fiction:
1) Observe more of life around you.
2) Write it down, or you will forget.
3) Select carefully and thoughtfully, based on your audience and genre.
1) Observing more is a discipline. If you want to see the world around you--really see--you must make a conscious effort. Left on our own, we "see" enough to get by. And what we see is selective. It's generally established in the research, for instance, that females observe and decode non-verbal signals with greater skill than males. This helps account for that phenomenon we label "female intuition" (Which isn't as mysterious as it sounds...Intuition is based on observations/interpretations that seem to occur below the level of conscious awareness.)
So the first step is to decide to see more...and keep that decision in front of you on a regular basis, to guard against slipping back into the more comfortable mode. Write yourself a note. Carry it with you. Ink the world "see" on the back of your hand for one day. Put it on a stickie over your computer. However you do it, be more intentional about observing.
Another strategy to help you get started is to use that selectivity that we all seem to have...but use it to your advantage and play Observation Games. Pick a specific detail, and go on a hunt for examples. How many types of doors can you observe today? How many different ways are there for people to sit? (Posture, legs crossed, still or jittery, etc.) Have you ever studied the way people comb their hair? Let yourself become very still, right now, and identify all the sounds in your environment. The hum of fluorescents? Is your computer making subtle sounds? Wind, or street sounds from outside? Someone typing in the office down the hall? (Hey...What are you doing reading blogs at work, anyway??) You may find...probably will find...sounds you've never noticed before--because you weren't attending to them. How many color gradations of eyes can you find today? Count 'em.
(Hint: If you relied only on fiction, you'd get the idea that nine-tenths of the world walks around with eyes of piercing ice-blue.)
2) Human memory is demonstrably fickle. That's worth a post of its own sometime, but for now, trust me on this. (You didn't think it was just you, did you?) So if you don't write these little tidbits of detail down, later on, when you need them, they will be forgotten.
Many, many writers..those famous and those never-to-be...keep a writing journal. I keep one, and in it I jot down not only story ideas, but little observations I make along the way. Now, here's what I was thinking about the other day:
Wouldn't it be great if I could peek in your journal?
No, I don't want your story ideas...(Well, maybe I do)...but the point is, I'm only one lone writer. And I can only observe what happens in my little slice of the world.
What if we shared observation journals?
You could see my observation notes...and I could see yours...and maybe something that you see in mine would spark your imagination. Maybe the perfect detail you've been searching for is out there, only it's not in your journal.
It's in mine.
And if we had a dozen contributors...two dozen...a hundred?
Wow...think what a resource that could be.
Not that you have to use my journal notes verbatim. You'd be free to mix them up, change them around in accordance with your imagination. For instance, I might observe an interesting tattoo which incorporates the name "Betty."
If you like the tattoo I describe, but don't have a Betty in your story...use the tattoo's design, but change the name.
Here are some true examples of the kind of thing I'm talking about, from my journal:
8/31/09... a small bird chasing a car. Flitting along right behind the vehicle for at least a full block as it sped down the street (Think maybe it was enjoying the heat of the tailpipe?)
9/13/09...divining rods and "water witching"
11/20/09...a vast field of sunflowers, shriveled and spent with black, drooping heads.
3/11/10... Flagpole in a stiff wind. Arrythmic "ping" of the chain against the pole.
3/22/10... woman with arms crossed, who continuously plays with the hem of her short sleeve as she speaks.
3/24/10... sign outside business: "Ion foot detox = $25. Ear candling."
Now, maybe I'm the last person in the world who's never heard of Ion foot detoxes, or ear candling...But those things caught my attention. Some day I may use that sign verbatim in a piece of fiction...or I may change it a bit...or I may never come up with a use for it.
But even if I never have reason to use that particular observation...You might.
So I'm adding an online Writer's Journal to this site...Probably over in the left sidebar. For now, if you're interested in participating in this experiment, just send me your observed detail in the Comments.
Along with your observation, give me the date, the general geographic location if it's important, and your name if you would like attribution.
And remember...details don't have to be bizarre to have impact. But they have to ring true, and, when possible, present a fresh perspective.
Ok...I observe that I'm running long, here...so I'll save the final thoughts for next time.
See something today...and write it down!
Last time, I suggested three practical steps, if you want to improve your capacity for observant detail in fiction:
1) Observe more of life around you.
2) Write it down, or you will forget.
3) Select carefully and thoughtfully, based on your audience and genre.
1) Observing more is a discipline. If you want to see the world around you--really see--you must make a conscious effort. Left on our own, we "see" enough to get by. And what we see is selective. It's generally established in the research, for instance, that females observe and decode non-verbal signals with greater skill than males. This helps account for that phenomenon we label "female intuition" (Which isn't as mysterious as it sounds...Intuition is based on observations/interpretations that seem to occur below the level of conscious awareness.)
So the first step is to decide to see more...and keep that decision in front of you on a regular basis, to guard against slipping back into the more comfortable mode. Write yourself a note. Carry it with you. Ink the world "see" on the back of your hand for one day. Put it on a stickie over your computer. However you do it, be more intentional about observing.
Another strategy to help you get started is to use that selectivity that we all seem to have...but use it to your advantage and play Observation Games. Pick a specific detail, and go on a hunt for examples. How many types of doors can you observe today? How many different ways are there for people to sit? (Posture, legs crossed, still or jittery, etc.) Have you ever studied the way people comb their hair? Let yourself become very still, right now, and identify all the sounds in your environment. The hum of fluorescents? Is your computer making subtle sounds? Wind, or street sounds from outside? Someone typing in the office down the hall? (Hey...What are you doing reading blogs at work, anyway??) You may find...probably will find...sounds you've never noticed before--because you weren't attending to them. How many color gradations of eyes can you find today? Count 'em.
(Hint: If you relied only on fiction, you'd get the idea that nine-tenths of the world walks around with eyes of piercing ice-blue.)
2) Human memory is demonstrably fickle. That's worth a post of its own sometime, but for now, trust me on this. (You didn't think it was just you, did you?) So if you don't write these little tidbits of detail down, later on, when you need them, they will be forgotten.
Many, many writers..those famous and those never-to-be...keep a writing journal. I keep one, and in it I jot down not only story ideas, but little observations I make along the way. Now, here's what I was thinking about the other day:
Wouldn't it be great if I could peek in your journal?
No, I don't want your story ideas...(Well, maybe I do)...but the point is, I'm only one lone writer. And I can only observe what happens in my little slice of the world.
What if we shared observation journals?
You could see my observation notes...and I could see yours...and maybe something that you see in mine would spark your imagination. Maybe the perfect detail you've been searching for is out there, only it's not in your journal.
It's in mine.
And if we had a dozen contributors...two dozen...a hundred?
Wow...think what a resource that could be.
Not that you have to use my journal notes verbatim. You'd be free to mix them up, change them around in accordance with your imagination. For instance, I might observe an interesting tattoo which incorporates the name "Betty."
If you like the tattoo I describe, but don't have a Betty in your story...use the tattoo's design, but change the name.
Here are some true examples of the kind of thing I'm talking about, from my journal:
8/31/09... a small bird chasing a car. Flitting along right behind the vehicle for at least a full block as it sped down the street (Think maybe it was enjoying the heat of the tailpipe?)
9/13/09...divining rods and "water witching"
11/20/09...a vast field of sunflowers, shriveled and spent with black, drooping heads.
3/11/10... Flagpole in a stiff wind. Arrythmic "ping" of the chain against the pole.
3/22/10... woman with arms crossed, who continuously plays with the hem of her short sleeve as she speaks.
3/24/10... sign outside business: "Ion foot detox = $25. Ear candling."
Now, maybe I'm the last person in the world who's never heard of Ion foot detoxes, or ear candling...But those things caught my attention. Some day I may use that sign verbatim in a piece of fiction...or I may change it a bit...or I may never come up with a use for it.
But even if I never have reason to use that particular observation...You might.
So I'm adding an online Writer's Journal to this site...Probably over in the left sidebar. For now, if you're interested in participating in this experiment, just send me your observed detail in the Comments.
Along with your observation, give me the date, the general geographic location if it's important, and your name if you would like attribution.
And remember...details don't have to be bizarre to have impact. But they have to ring true, and, when possible, present a fresh perspective.
Ok...I observe that I'm running long, here...so I'll save the final thoughts for next time.
See something today...and write it down!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Just Because: Dirty Work
From time to time, I'll post an observation or question Just Because, which may or may not directly relate to the topic of Psychology and Fiction. Today, it does relate...
So, my family is not exactly famous for doing things normally.
Yesterday was Mother's Day in the United States and Canada (If you're keeping score, today is Mother's Day in Mexico). And while people across the land were buying flowers, taking their mothers (and wives) out for lunch, and pampering those fine ladies with chocolates, I drove my wife out to the barn to scoop poop.
Husbands, if you're seeking a unique experience for the mother of your children, you might want to jot this little gem down, and try it next year.
(You are--I trust--beginning to see why I don't write a blog on romance tips)
In my defense, we had a nice cookout beforehand, and I grilled her favorite steaks while she rested in the recliner and chatted with my mom. More importantly, there's no place my wife enjoys more than the barn. Horses are her thing. And right now, we're horse-sitting for some vacationing friends who own about forty of them.
So Mother's Day afternoon found my wife with a shovel and a pick, filling an enormous wheelbarrow with stall droppings, and wheeling it outside where Mount Poopius stands aloof, as forbidding and foul as Frodo's grim destination. Like that courageous hobbit, she trundles up the mountain with her burden--not once, but over twenty times.
When I finished filling all the water tanks, I asked for a new assignment, and got recruited to join in the "fun."
And as we're laboring at the task, somewhere around my fifth wheelbarrow I start thinking: "This is like writing."
Now, I love writing. My wife loves horses. But we both understand that in any endeavor of love, you have to muck out the stalls.
It's not glamorous. Not much fun. It's hot, and sweaty, and stinky.
But it's necessary.
What about you?
1) What part of the writing journey is like mucking out stalls, for you? (Feels like drudgery, but it's got to be done.) Or maybe you have to muck out the stalls of your life before you can even sit down to think about writing...
2) How do you motivate yourself to tackle the parts you don't relish? (Or maybe you haven't been doing them?)
Love to hear about it...
So, my family is not exactly famous for doing things normally.
Yesterday was Mother's Day in the United States and Canada (If you're keeping score, today is Mother's Day in Mexico). And while people across the land were buying flowers, taking their mothers (and wives) out for lunch, and pampering those fine ladies with chocolates, I drove my wife out to the barn to scoop poop.
Husbands, if you're seeking a unique experience for the mother of your children, you might want to jot this little gem down, and try it next year.
(You are--I trust--beginning to see why I don't write a blog on romance tips)
In my defense, we had a nice cookout beforehand, and I grilled her favorite steaks while she rested in the recliner and chatted with my mom. More importantly, there's no place my wife enjoys more than the barn. Horses are her thing. And right now, we're horse-sitting for some vacationing friends who own about forty of them.
So Mother's Day afternoon found my wife with a shovel and a pick, filling an enormous wheelbarrow with stall droppings, and wheeling it outside where Mount Poopius stands aloof, as forbidding and foul as Frodo's grim destination. Like that courageous hobbit, she trundles up the mountain with her burden--not once, but over twenty times.
When I finished filling all the water tanks, I asked for a new assignment, and got recruited to join in the "fun."
And as we're laboring at the task, somewhere around my fifth wheelbarrow I start thinking: "This is like writing."
Now, I love writing. My wife loves horses. But we both understand that in any endeavor of love, you have to muck out the stalls.
It's not glamorous. Not much fun. It's hot, and sweaty, and stinky.
But it's necessary.
What about you?
1) What part of the writing journey is like mucking out stalls, for you? (Feels like drudgery, but it's got to be done.) Or maybe you have to muck out the stalls of your life before you can even sit down to think about writing...
2) How do you motivate yourself to tackle the parts you don't relish? (Or maybe you haven't been doing them?)
Love to hear about it...
Friday, May 7, 2010
Milton Erickson, Abused Children, and the "Always-a-Robin" Syndrome (Part Three)
If you'd like to strengthen your skills in handling detail, where do you start?
Milton Erickson, as most students of psychology recognize, was a unique figure in the field of psychotherapy. Overcoming a life of hardship himself, he dedicated his career to finding direct, short-term solutions to people's problems, in an era when the prevailing notion was that therapy demanded an extended period of intense work.
(As a sidebar, if you're looking for inspiration for an offbeat, iconoclastic medical professional, you could do worse than to study this man's life. I guarantee you'll get ideas for a memorable character. Erickson was House before House was House.)
Part of what set Erickson apart were his legendary powers of observation. Stories abound, but one of my favorites involves the day he walked across campus and encountered the wife of a colleague. "You're pregnant," he said as soon as they met. The woman was stunned, and asked how Erickson could possibly know that, since she had just that moment come from her doctor's, where she had learned the news.
"The color of your forehead has changed," he explained.
This, despite the fact that Erickson was born color-blind.
(Tone deaf, as well--and he suffered two bouts of Polio, lived much of his life in significant pain, etc. It's a fascinating story.)
Erickson insisted that his students practice the discipline of intense observation, because he considered it essential to the helping professions.
Abused and neglected children, for different reasons, often develop hyper-sensitive powers of observation.
Having spent my entire career in the helping professions--(Ok, I also took a two-month excursion into the world of Plastic Bottle manufacturing. Did you know there was such a thing as a Continuous-Extrusion Blow Molder? Me, neither.)--I've seen first hand how young people with abusive backgrounds and severe emotional disturbance enlist the power of observation to stay alive. Hyper-vigilant, we call them, and these are kids who needed to know, the instant Mom's boyfriend walked in the door, whether it was safe to hang around, or whether it was time to hide (or crawl out the back window and sleep in an overturned garbage bin).
They are alive today, because of their acute powers of observation.
The point of application?
I'd like to convince you that every single writer--every single person--has the capacity to improve his/her skills at observation.
You just have to want to...
Most of us mortal-types, because we lack the motivation, wander through our days, seeing without really seeing. It's not a matter of life and death to us.
By typing this out, I'm hoping to inspire myself to see more than ever. Every day. And then, to incorporate some of that into my fiction.
I have a related idea, which I'll share in my next post.
Before I close for today, a word about robins. In his fantastic book Revision, David Michael Kaplan warns against the "Always-a-Robin" approach to details--commonplace details, in other words, where every spring morning brings robins hopping across the lawn, their sweet songs filling the air as fresh breezes drift in through gauze curtains.
Couldn't it be a blue jay squawking? Or a pair of squabbling starlings? Or--if you're really set on a peaceful mood--how about finches? Doves? Pigeons?
You know why we get so many fictional robins? Because we're not motivated to go out and search for fresh, unique details.
In A Scandal in Bohemia, Sherlock Holmes upbraided his faithful Watson, "You see, but you do not observe."
Steps to try:
1) Observe more of life around you.
2) Write it down, or you will forget.
3) Select carefully and thoughtfully, based on your audience & genre.
Next post, I'll flesh these out a bit, and talk about an experiment I'd like to try with your cooperation. Don't worry, it won't hurt... :)
Milton Erickson, as most students of psychology recognize, was a unique figure in the field of psychotherapy. Overcoming a life of hardship himself, he dedicated his career to finding direct, short-term solutions to people's problems, in an era when the prevailing notion was that therapy demanded an extended period of intense work.
(As a sidebar, if you're looking for inspiration for an offbeat, iconoclastic medical professional, you could do worse than to study this man's life. I guarantee you'll get ideas for a memorable character. Erickson was House before House was House.)
Part of what set Erickson apart were his legendary powers of observation. Stories abound, but one of my favorites involves the day he walked across campus and encountered the wife of a colleague. "You're pregnant," he said as soon as they met. The woman was stunned, and asked how Erickson could possibly know that, since she had just that moment come from her doctor's, where she had learned the news.
"The color of your forehead has changed," he explained.
This, despite the fact that Erickson was born color-blind.
(Tone deaf, as well--and he suffered two bouts of Polio, lived much of his life in significant pain, etc. It's a fascinating story.)
Erickson insisted that his students practice the discipline of intense observation, because he considered it essential to the helping professions.
Abused and neglected children, for different reasons, often develop hyper-sensitive powers of observation.
Having spent my entire career in the helping professions--(Ok, I also took a two-month excursion into the world of Plastic Bottle manufacturing. Did you know there was such a thing as a Continuous-Extrusion Blow Molder? Me, neither.)--I've seen first hand how young people with abusive backgrounds and severe emotional disturbance enlist the power of observation to stay alive. Hyper-vigilant, we call them, and these are kids who needed to know, the instant Mom's boyfriend walked in the door, whether it was safe to hang around, or whether it was time to hide (or crawl out the back window and sleep in an overturned garbage bin).
They are alive today, because of their acute powers of observation.
The point of application?
I'd like to convince you that every single writer--every single person--has the capacity to improve his/her skills at observation.
You just have to want to...
Most of us mortal-types, because we lack the motivation, wander through our days, seeing without really seeing. It's not a matter of life and death to us.
By typing this out, I'm hoping to inspire myself to see more than ever. Every day. And then, to incorporate some of that into my fiction.
I have a related idea, which I'll share in my next post.
Before I close for today, a word about robins. In his fantastic book Revision, David Michael Kaplan warns against the "Always-a-Robin" approach to details--commonplace details, in other words, where every spring morning brings robins hopping across the lawn, their sweet songs filling the air as fresh breezes drift in through gauze curtains.
Couldn't it be a blue jay squawking? Or a pair of squabbling starlings? Or--if you're really set on a peaceful mood--how about finches? Doves? Pigeons?
You know why we get so many fictional robins? Because we're not motivated to go out and search for fresh, unique details.
In A Scandal in Bohemia, Sherlock Holmes upbraided his faithful Watson, "You see, but you do not observe."
Steps to try:
1) Observe more of life around you.
2) Write it down, or you will forget.
3) Select carefully and thoughtfully, based on your audience & genre.
Next post, I'll flesh these out a bit, and talk about an experiment I'd like to try with your cooperation. Don't worry, it won't hurt... :)
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Milton Erickson, Abused Children, and the "Always-a-Robin" Syndrome (Part Two)
Another reason to pay attention to details in our fiction...
2 The "real world" is made of details.
We live in a world of concrete details--not abstraction.
For instance, I don't own a car.
I own a tan Bonneville with an overachieving check engine light, oil smoke emitting from the tail pipe when it shouldn't be, and a weird wobble in the front when I brake. As I write, the center cubby holds a black ink pen, a yellow packet of sweetener, and a discarded tissue.
Our brains are constantly recording sights, smells, tastes, touch sensations, and sounds--each of which comes to us in High Definition.
So, whether we are conscious of it or not, a work of fiction with the appropriate amount of concrete detail strikes us as more believable.
You see this in the world of Law: "Where were you on the night of August 14th, 2007?"
"Uh...I was...shopping. Yeah. Shopping."
"Can you tell the court where, specifically?"
"Uh...I...bookstore. I was at a bookstore."
"Which bookstore, please?"
"Uh..."
Do you believe this guy?
Parents: You've experienced this too, right? Your kids tell you a story, but it sounds a little vague, and the Parental Suspicion Meter pegs out. Crafty little sprogs learn to invent concrete details to bolster credibility.
Well chosen, vivid details help create the illusion of reality.
That's why a really good liar can fool us.
You've heard news stories about those master imposters, right? People who fake their way through a series of jobs, like airline pilot, lawyer, and even brain surgeon...and they accomplish this deception because they sound like they know what they're doing...By sprinkling their conversation with specific detail, they convince everyone around them.
Since the "real world" flows by us in High Definition detail, then a word, a sentence, a paragraph that lacks specificity may, by comparison, seem contrived. Flat or lifeless. Phony.
Obviously, balance is critical...I'm not suggesting you slap a Brand Name on every product a character touches...nor am I suggesting you take three paragraphs to describe the envelope your character receives. Rip it open and get on with your plot.
But look for small ways to convince your reader: This is a real world. This actually happened.
Next time, thoughts on how to apply this...
2 The "real world" is made of details.
We live in a world of concrete details--not abstraction.
For instance, I don't own a car.
I own a tan Bonneville with an overachieving check engine light, oil smoke emitting from the tail pipe when it shouldn't be, and a weird wobble in the front when I brake. As I write, the center cubby holds a black ink pen, a yellow packet of sweetener, and a discarded tissue.
Our brains are constantly recording sights, smells, tastes, touch sensations, and sounds--each of which comes to us in High Definition.
So, whether we are conscious of it or not, a work of fiction with the appropriate amount of concrete detail strikes us as more believable.
You see this in the world of Law: "Where were you on the night of August 14th, 2007?"
"Uh...I was...shopping. Yeah. Shopping."
"Can you tell the court where, specifically?"
"Uh...I...bookstore. I was at a bookstore."
"Which bookstore, please?"
"Uh..."
Do you believe this guy?
Parents: You've experienced this too, right? Your kids tell you a story, but it sounds a little vague, and the Parental Suspicion Meter pegs out. Crafty little sprogs learn to invent concrete details to bolster credibility.
Well chosen, vivid details help create the illusion of reality.
That's why a really good liar can fool us.
You've heard news stories about those master imposters, right? People who fake their way through a series of jobs, like airline pilot, lawyer, and even brain surgeon...and they accomplish this deception because they sound like they know what they're doing...By sprinkling their conversation with specific detail, they convince everyone around them.
Since the "real world" flows by us in High Definition detail, then a word, a sentence, a paragraph that lacks specificity may, by comparison, seem contrived. Flat or lifeless. Phony.
Obviously, balance is critical...I'm not suggesting you slap a Brand Name on every product a character touches...nor am I suggesting you take three paragraphs to describe the envelope your character receives. Rip it open and get on with your plot.
But look for small ways to convince your reader: This is a real world. This actually happened.
Next time, thoughts on how to apply this...
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