Before going further, however, I wish to add a disclaimer. In discussing the craft of writing which I know to be absolutely necessary — even though not everything — I will be laying down rules of story structure and the like in the upcoming chapters. These rules have proved helpful to me and to my students and clients over the years. However — and this is the point — where there are rules, there will be exceptions. Beckettesque Oscar winner Lost in Translation, about two lost souls who meet in a Tokyo four-star hotel, is such an exception.
Creativity knows no boundaries. The seed of your story may come to you in different ways. For instance, playwright Arthur Miller usually begins with a theme, as did Henrik Ibsen. Hence, Miller’s plays are strongly thematic (All My Sons, Death of a Salesman, or The Crucible). Tennessee Williams, on the other hand, usually begins with a character — for example, Amanda in A Glass Menagerie, his most autobiographical play. English playwright Tom Stoppard (Jumpers, Invention of Love) begins with dialogue he hears in his head. To another writer, sometimes the plot may appear whole — then the writer must add the characters and theme. It matters little where you start, as long as you get where you’re going. So there is little point in trying to fit the writing process into some neat formula. There is none. Read this book and others, learn whatever you can, but, in the end, you must find your own way home.
There is never one single road to Rome. Imagine someone pitching the film, My Dinner with Andre, at a studio today. The story? Well, these two intellectuals have dinner in New York City. What happens? Well, they just sit at this restaurant and talk and talk and talk. Had My Dinner with Andre not been an independently produced film, I doubt it would have ever been made. The result is glorious, as many exceptions are. Never forget that to write expe- rientially, not cerebrally, is the way of story. You may never know where your story will lead. Yet, if you feel passionately about a story, follow it, and it will take you home. Then, if you work hard enough and the gods smile, you may experience the deep pleasure of reading your own work as if for the first time, wondering where it came from!
Imagination is more important than knowledge.
— Albert Einstein
Inventor George Washington Carver, born a slave and later becoming one of the great chemists of American history, discovered multiple hitherto unknown uses for the common peanut. His words tell us, “Whatever you love opens its secrets to you.” So find what you love.
As an actress and playwright, my passion was for strong character-driven dramas. My first film, The Christmas Wife, starring Jason Robards and Julie Harris, proved an exception to the current Hollywood success formula of sex and violence. No car chases or special effects tempted this writer, only what might take place in an intimate room between two lonely people. Well-meaning friends advised that a simple story of two senior citizens who spend the weekend together, without sex or violence, could never be sold as a Hollywood movie. Fate intervened. It is my belief and personal experience that whenever you follow that inner guide, the world will respond, often magically.
I had just written The Christmas Wife when I was invited to fly to Hollywood to receive the Julie Harris Award for my Texas play, The Women of Cedar Creek. The award was sponsored by the Beverly Hills Theatre Guild, and Ms. Harris — whom I had never before met — would be presenting the award to me at a posh banquet in Beverly Hills. So I packed the new screenplay and flew to Hollywood. At the ceremony, I met the legendary Julie Harris and mentioned that I had just written my first screenplay, and that she would be perfect in the title role. Might she read it? (I just happened to have a copy of the script in my car!) She read the script that very evening and called me the next morning to say that she would love to do it. I had been in Hollywood for twenty- four hours and the only person I knew was Julie Harris.
The next day I flew back to New York and attended a revival of Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh on Broadway starring Jason Robards. I had met Jason in the course of my acting days, so, script in hand, I went backstage to greet him and hand him the script. Within a week, Jason called and said that he would love to do the role, and to work with Miss Harris. A few months later, we were filming in Toronto. And, as I had cast the movie, I was given credit as co-producer. In a short time, I was now a produced screenwriter and a producer.
Truly, a Cinderella story of launching a career in Hollywood. The HBO film went on to be nominated for the Cable Ace Awards for Best Movie, Best Writing, Best Actor, and Best Actress. It received over two hundred unanimous rave reviews, confirming to me that people do want something different — even on television! All I did was follow the themes I felt strongly about: loneliness and how it is never possible to recreate the past. That’s all I did … besides sitting down and writing the story, of course.
The hardest part is sitting down. I write this on the board the first day of every class. And then add that there is no guarantee that you will write a great story, book, play or screenplay. But one thing is certain. As Shakespeare’s King Lear says, “Nothing will come of nothing.” You can never write a great story until you sit down and write a story. And this takes a certain amount of courage. In my own experience, I have learned that courage is needed whether writing your very first effort or your fiftieth! Writing is not about overcoming fear, but keeping on in spite of the fear! In fact, fear provides tension, essential in any creative process. So trust the fear. It means you’re in the mix.
The first purpose of writing is to clarify and reveal something in yourself, but the only way to do this is to get it out of yourself. The second purpose of writing is to share it with others, providing a mirror for humanity at large, as a modern day shaman.
First, you must discover meaning for yourself in the story you have chosen and then find the necessary form that can be meaningful for others. Notice, too, that every story you write will be a totally different experience, both in origin and in process. This is why I am dead set against any pat formulas for writing anything. Just create the space within and listen to your story. It will guide you. One story might be served best as a short story or a novel, another as a play or film. Remember though, passion first, then craft. The essence of Art is to use the outer form to convey an inner experience. This sacred thread, your innermost being or Soul, binds you emotionally to what you write, and if given respect, will lead you on to the desired end. Stories written from this center will move mountains — and even create livelihoods. Years ago, when interviewed by the New York Times about my approach to teaching, I was quoted as saying, “We’ve become lopsided living only in our heads. Writing, in order to serve the soul, must integrate outer craft with the inner world of intuition and feeling.”
Here’s a visualization exercise that can begin to tap hidden resources. And never forget that your most valuable resource is yourself. If you are a professional writer already, I ask you to do the following exercises as though you have never written anything before today. Approach the blank page as if for the first time. You might choose to play some sacred or soothing music as you do the following exercise. This exercise serves as an invocation and ritual to summon the Muse.
EXERCISE: SOUL DIALOGUE
Close your eyes. Trust the space made sacred by our intention. Now take three deep breaths. Inhale and exhale. As you exhale, take the thought “I release all fear of this inner journey.” Repeat this thought on the next two exhalations. Breathe in … breathe out. “I release all fear of this inner journey.” And so, the journey begins.
I’d like you to visualize a long path which stretches before you. It may be a place known to you or it may be a new terrain. It may pass through a dark wood or across high mountains. At some point, you see before you an ancient iron gate. The gate is locked and vines cover it. You reach deep into your pocket and find a key. The key is large and rather heavy. Place the key into the lock, turning it in a complete circle so that the gate swings open. Now take another deep breath, releasing any residue of fear, and walk through the open gate.
You find yourself now in a garden. It might be an English garden or perhaps a Japanese Zen garden with stone lanterns and tranquil pools of water with white lotus and gentle koi fish. Or any garden of your choice. See it. The flowers are in bloom. The