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Making Changes

9/18/2017

Pity poor Nicky --- Nicholas II of the House of Romanov, that is. He’s the Tsar of All the Russias, Supreme Autocrat with absolute power, including high and low justice… and yet, at the same time, powerless to do what really needs doing. This is a brilliant scene (writers, study the utterly convincing way dialogue is structured – emotion notes are mine) from a brilliant, star-studded film (1971’s Nicholas and Alexandra, about the downfall of Russia’s last Tsar). At this point in the film, it’s late 1916 and the First World War is in full swing. Russia is awash in the blood of millions of casualties and the devastation of the western part of the country, while the capital, St. Petersburg, is engulfed with, as Nicky’s mom says, riots, scandals and starvation… and Nicholas impotently sits at army headquarters, doing nothing about it. Mama has come to take him to task and try talking sense into him… which does not go well. Take a look:

Marie: (coldly) I came to congratulate you, Nicky.
Nicholas: (uncertainly) What for?
Marie: (sarcastically) For finding, from all Russia's countless cretins, idiots and incompetents, the men least qualified to run your government.
Nicholas: (taken aback) Would you like some tea?
Marie: (refusing to be put off) I’ve taken tea. I’ve tried to understand you, but I can’t.
Nicholas: (appeasingly) I sometimes fail to judge men well.
Marie: Sometimes? How can one man make so many mistakes? Why did you stop our Austrian campaign?
Nicholas: Our casualties were terrible.
Marie: Surely you knew they would be before you started. Theirs were larger.
Nicholas: (amused at last) Mother, what do you know about strategy?
Marie: (coldly amused in turn) What do you? What are you doing here, anyway? There isn’t a battlefield within 500 miles.
Nicholas: (quietly) It’s important that I’m here.
Marie: Your place is in Petersburg. Don’t you know about the riots and scandals and starvation? They hate your wife. They think she’s a German spy. How can you let that foolish woman ruin your country?
Nicholas: (intensely) Leave Sunny out of this.
Marie: Someone has to make you see sense about this. Can’t you think of anyone else? Can’t you think of the rest of your family? Can’t you think of Russia? I wish your father were alive.
Nicholas: Don't throw him at me.
Marie: He knew how to be a Tsar. He'd have burned Vienna down, stamped on the Germans, shot the strikers, anything to give Russia peace. And he’d certainly have known how to deal with Rasputin.
Nicholas: (stoutly) He is a man of God.
Marie: (incredulous) Do you believe that?
Nicholas: (doggedly) He works miracles. He keeps my son alive.
Marie: (persisting) Do you believe that, Nicky?
Nicholas: (defensively) Sunny does. She needs him.
Marie: Hang him. I don’t wish any man harm, but so many Russians will die.
Nicholas: I can’t!
Marie: At least send him to Siberia.
Nicholas: I can’t!
Marie: (out of patience) He’s going to destroy us! Millions will suffer, and all because you can’t say no to your wife!
Nicholas: It’s in God’s hands.
Marie: (outraged) That’s no answer!
Nicholas: (finally snapping) Don’t you think I see what’s happening?
Marie: (furious) Then act! Come back home, hang this man, send Alexandra to Livadia, and deal with the real problem!
Nicholas: I can’t!
Marie: (disbelievingly) In Heaven’s name, Nicholas, what can you do?
Nicholas: (resignedly) Just what I’m doing, Mama. There’s nothing else that can be done.

The dialogue is crisp, incisive and believable, the situation critical: it’s about the last opportunity to change anything. Nicholas’ intransigence, and Mommy’s increasing incredulity, is the stuff of great writing. And it’s that situation I want to focus on, because despite the fact you may come away thinking what a hopeless dolt Nicky is, it’s all too believable and commonplace. Here’s the crux of what we can take away from their exchange:

We often know exactly what needs to be done to effect major positive change in our lives (not always, of course… sometimes people are hopelessly oblivious) and yet we are often totally unable to enact it.

Why?

Ah, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? There’s several reasons, applicable in life and stories:
1)      Fear: even if life headed for a spectacular train wreck, the known is at least the known. The unknown brought on by change is often more terrifying. We cling to the known, even when it’s not working, because at least it’s familiar. Irrational, but true.
2)      Inertia: it takes much energy to change course, to make meaningful change, even if done incrementally --- perhaps especially incrementally. We’re terrible at keeping change going.
3)      Denial: “I don’t really need to implement painful, profound change. Things will improve on their own.” (Cripes, are you kidding me? This is major. If there’s one characteristic humanity excels at, it’s the ability to rationalize away the need to confront painful decisions.)
4)      Selfishness: changes can be unpleasant, particularly if we’re talking about things like lowering standards of living to make the planet more livable.
5)      Inability: sometimes we really do lack skills or resources to make change work. Yeah, it’s possible. But of the reasons I’ve mentioned, it’s the least valid. I’m reminded of Miss Piggy’s response to Kermit the Frog saying he doesn’t have time to do something for her. Her threatening response? “Make time.”

What it really boils down to is: what are we (or story characters) prepared to do to bring about fundamentally needed change? Unfortunately, with most people, things must degenerate into crisis before anything is attempted --- by which time it may be too late. And as we saw above, some can’t bring themselves to implement change even then, meaning they get caught in the approaching holocaust.

Now, this is great news for writers. The more reluctant characters are to make major positive changes in their lives, the juicier the situations we get to write for them. But for real people in real situations… well, not so much.

It’s partly why our planet is in the mess it is.

(Oh, by the way… this is my 100th blog post! Happy anniversary to me!)

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Say What?

9/11/2017

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Back in 2013, a news story both bizarre and pathetic surfaced (actually, I occasionally wonder if there is any other kind): a Belgian woman living near Brussels set off to drive 38 miles into the city to pick up a friend from the train station. But, reliant on what turned out to be a faulty GPS system, she wound up driving 1800 miles and reaching the city of Zagreb in Croatia before she seemed to cotton on to the fact that, to paraphrase Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, she wasn’t in Belgium anymore. The woman confessed to being a bit “distracted,” which is, frankly, rather like saying the Pacific Ocean contains some water, and like the quote at the head of today’s epistle, you have to wonder what kind of person would: (a) do this kind of thing, and then (b) confess to doing it before a worldwide audience. The depressing but honest answer is… well, anyone. Everyone. All. Of. Us.

We have all done absolutely bone-headed things that make those around us --- friend and foe alike --- query not only our intelligence, but also, at times, our sanity. Teenagers, in particular, do these kinds of things constantly --- one of the most common parental refrains out there, I think, has to be the plaintively despairing cry of, “why ever would you do such a thing?” and its close twin, “what were you thinking?” And I vividly recall reading an article by a psychologist who referred to adolescence as ‘a time of transitory psychosis.’ (More transitory for some than others, I think.) But before this becomes simply a trashing of hormonal adolescents, let us assure teenagers that by no means do they have a lock on All Things Stupid. Adults… oy. (Heavy sigh.)

So, as human beings… homo sapiens… we shake our heads in despair at our own and other people’s foibles. But… as writers, though… we cackle madly with delight at these same foibles, because the Stupidity of Humanity actually makes things unbelievably easier when we write stories. The Arrogant Worms, a Canadian musical group, wrote a hilariously accurate song called History is Made by Stupid People, and never were truer words spoken (or sung). Without stupid people, we really don’t have stories. Or perhaps it would be kinder to say that without otherwise intelligent people doing stupid things, we really don’t have stories. Although the end result is the same, either way.

Cases in point: if Isildur had destroyed the Ring as soon as he got it, rather than hoard it for a family heirloom, we wouldn’t have had a story for The Lord of the Rings. If Captain Ahab hadn’t decided to go up against the massive (and deceptively cunning) white whale which dined on his leg, we wouldn’t have Moby Dick. If Voldemort had been just a little more diligent in doing his research about killing off troublesome malcontents who resisted his drive to power, we wouldn’t have the Harry Potter books. If Jadis the White Witch had killed Edmund immediately on his entrance into Narnia, the prophecy might have been confounded and she wouldn’t have had to worry about being supplanted by a bunch of teenage kings and queens. If someone had murdered Cersei Lannister… hmm, well, no, Game of Thrones would probably have occurred anyway, given the surfeit of resident psychotics and assorted murderous rabble there who all manage to make Machiavelli look like a rank beginner. (is it just me, or does it seem to anyone else that the kingdom of Westeros is largely --- mostly --- populated by sociopaths, psychopaths, and just good old-fashioned butchers? Here’s an idea that may not be as out there as you might at first think: maybe Westeros is Hell. Or at least Purgatory. And the few decent people there are doing atonement for all the bad --- and stupid --- things they did in life. Hey, stranger things have happened.) Anyway, you get the drift of my examples.

Actually, long ago, the Roman Catholic Church very helpfully categorized the major stupidities we fall into over and over again --- although they call them sins, not stupidities (you say po tay to, I say po tah to; but again, the end result is the same, either way). In fact, the church refers to them as the Seven Deadly Sins (which has rather a nice dramatic ring to it): lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and the biggy, pride. (And perhaps there should be another one added to cover the case of the Belgian woman: carelessness.) Now, personally, I think they’re all merely subsets of egocentrism, which I would characterize as the prime motivating force of just about every evil and/or stupid thing we do. Egocentrism --- and every sin, deadly or otherwise, can really be boiled down to one mantra: I want --- frequently with the added corollary of and my wants are infinitely more important than yours. Therefore, goes the reasoning with this mantra, I will (place your chosen evil or stupidity here) because I want your home/wealth/lifestyle/whatever or want to impose on you my social/economic/political/whatever beliefs because you’re too stupid and I know better.

Funny thing about stupidity in our stories, though: you’ve gotta be careful with just letting go too much. Readers/viewers are prepared to see characters become ensnared in webs generated by their own stupidities… but not to an unlimited degree. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, we often encounter literary and film situations where we exclaim, “No way! Nobody could be that stupid!”

Sigh. Yes, Virginia, they can. Oh, yes, indeed, they can.

And frequently are. Oh, the humanity.

(Heavy sigh.)

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Hey Buddy, Can You Spare A Little Redemption?

9/4/2017

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Vladimir and Estragon may have been waiting for Godot, but most people --- real life and literary --- seem to be waiting for redemption… but you’d never know it by looking at our collective lives and stories.

What is redemption? Google dictionary defines it as ‘the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil,’ which seems a pretty fair assessment… and serves to underscore the irony of the opening quote: we want redemption for ourselves, but not for that terrible person over there. In fact, your Honour, throw the book at that terrible other person. Absolutely. They deserve everything they get. We want to see them suffer.

Now, I hope that’s an exaggeration. I really do. I’d like to think the vast majority of people are compassionate, wanting to extend mercy and grace to their fellows, even when those fellows have wronged said human beings. But… the mindless howling Roman mobs who watched the slaughter of innumerable humans and animals and called it entertainment do not appear, unfortunately, too different from the mindless howling mobs on our newsfeeds today. (I was going to say especially today because my gosh, our newsfeed is terrifying with the lack of redemption presented, but then I got to thinking of… oh, I don’t know… Nazi rallies at Nuremburg and things like that, and, well, guess I’m not going to say especially today. It’s just a continuation of a long and dismal, dishonourable chronicle. Sigh.)

Many of our stories nowadays seem to contain a lot less in the way of redemption than stories of yore. Why is that? Are we ever more jaded, needing a lot more in the way of displays of shocking behaviour to maintain our interest? Is it because storytellers are nothing more than a reflection of the society in which they live? Hard to say, and I have no glib answer. But let me give a couple of examples about today’s stories:

Game of Thrones As I’ve said before, with GOT, I’m guilty of Cardinal Sin #1, because I haven’t read the books, just watched the series. (Up to season seven, that is, because the Blu-Ray hasn’t been released yet and I’m too cheap to get HBO. Besides, patience is a fast disappearing virtue. Or something.) So my observations for GOT are, perforce, based on the series, which I’m told diverge markedly from the books. Yes, I’ll probably remedy that in the future, although the TBR piles (To Be Read) beside my bed are each already over a metre/yard tall, and a serious toppling hazard every time my wife opens her closet.

GOT is a tale with very little redemption. The good characters (what few there are) seem to get killed off at the same rate, and with the same degree of savagery, as the bad ones. Only there are way more baddies, who all seem to expend enormous creative energy developing unspeakably evil plans to unleash on ordinary folk.

The Walking Dead (I don’t feel the need to make the same confession about Cardinal Sin #1 with TWD, because its written form is --- and here I offend the graphic novel crowd --- only a ‘graphic novel,’ which is, frankly, just a pretentious name for what is essentially a comic book. And yes, I read comics… when I was a kid. Graphic novels are not the same as novels, any more than Green Eggs and Ham is the same as War and Peace. Sorry, graphic novel aficionados. You’re entitled to your opinion. So am I. And yes, by the way, I have looked at the first TWD graphic novel.)

TWD likewise displays little redemption. Seven seasons in, and most of what I seem able to take away from it is that a post-apocalyptic world will be filled with really, really nasty survivors who just want to commit all sorts of atrocities on fellow survivors.

So why watch, hypocrite? you ask smugly. Well, largely because they’re guilty pleasures --- TWD more so than GOT, which I admit is (mostly) fairly intelligently written. Most of us do like watching a metaphorical train wreck, especially in slow motion. (Which certainly says something about us as a species.) As long as it’s not us in the path of the wreck, that is. But I don’t watch either series expecting to feel uplifted by the noble nature of the human spirit.

Now, as writers, I understand we need a certain level of ‘un-redemption’ in stories, because if we don’t, we don’t have stories. Or at least not very good ones. Stories where everything is all sweetness and light tend to be, at their core, just not very interesting. (Which also says something about us.) But I think stories need to move towards redemption (unless you’re writing a Shakespearian tragedy, but most of us aren’t, and even in those, there’s a certain level of redemption). Maybe Rick, his crew and his adversaries in TWD will reconcile to found a utopian society by series’ end. And maybe Dany, Cersei, Jon and the Night King in GOT will all join hands and sing a few rounds of Kumbaya together. But I rather doubt it.

So what does literary redemption look like? Well, Star Trek is a good example. Gene Roddenberry said “Star Trek is successful because it’s one of the few science fiction stories done which has a happy ending. We also had real heroes, almost old-fashioned heroes, people who believed in their work, believed in honour, who believed that things must be done at the cost of great danger and sometimes, your life. It’s an optimistic series that not only says the human race is going to make it, but that we’re going to make it in a very civilized way.”

Yeah. Maybe that’s something we could do with a little more of.

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D.R. RANSHAW

Making Changes

Say What?

Hey Buddy, Can You Spare A Little Redemption?

D.R. Ranshaw's Blog

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