what this journal is; also, keep those expectations low
Just a quick note of clarification, because, as they say: e-mail, I get e-mail.
This is not a journal that's all-House, all the time. My last post, although it references two scenes with Wilson, among several book and TV sources, is not All About House.
When I write about "difficult characters," I am not writing an apologia for House. I'm writing about characters in general.
When I write about ambiguity in television and books, I'm talking about ambiguity in television and books, and not any particular aspect of House, unless I've specifically referenced it.
When I say, "If you ever get your own TV show, don't worry about the viewers who don't like ambiguity," it means just that; those viewers will not watch your show from Episode One on, they'll watch something else; so there's no point in writing to an audience who is not your target audience. This is elementary television programming. My sentence is not code for "and anybody who doesn't like House is duuuumb and doesn't understand ambiguity."
I'm not writing in code of any kind. Honestly. I don't know how to say that more plainly.
I appreciate and love that people who enjoy a show I'm currently on are reading this. I'm glad, and as a fan myself -- all writers are fans of other people's work, and I believe the great wall between pro and fan is an artificial construct -- I'm excited. But the danger here is that communication gets skewed, because I'm continuing to approach this journal as I always have, and as I've approached other journals and websites. I had a life before House. I enjoy writing essays about aspects of writing that intrigue me. I've written quite a few such essays before, and hope to write more in the future, when time permits. I write books. I write short stories. I write pilots. And I write essays, most of them about aspects of craft that have arisen while writing all the previous things, or while being an audience to the work of others. I've also posted general think-pieces elsewhere, about anything that struck my fancy.
I love House, but statistically, it represents only a small slice of the years I've spent writing. Although I'm focused on it creatively and spend the vast part of every day working on it, I'm not focusing on it here. For good or bad, this journal is not about defending House, pushing House, criticizing House, or, frankly, much of anything House, except to say, "Hey, I wrote an episode, here are a few of my thoughts" from time to time. Occasionally, if I'm writing about some other topic, I may bring up something from some book I've written, or some show I've been on, to illustrate.
I have zero interest in changing anybody's mind about whether they like or don't like any particular character or storyline in House, or indeed, the show itself. Art is not politics; a story of any kind speaks for itself or it doesn't, and the reader or viewer will take from it what they will. You don't follow all of them home from the library with post-it notes that say, "Yeah, but what I meant to do here is..." It's hard to think of anything more pointless than arguing about something you've written after the fact. Analysis? DVD commentary? That sort of thing is great, and I love reading and watching it; I love hearing about what someone was thinking when they made a certain choice, since art is all about choices. But changing people's minds about what they like? Is that even possible?
(By the way, I can glumly foresee posting this entire essay again, two years from now, with the name of the show changed to whatever I'm working on then.)
Lately I've been thinking that I'd like to open this journal up a little more. My schedule is so all-consuming, I barely have time to update it except for the occasional, aforementioned "Hey, I wrote an episode" post. That depresses me a little, and it only adds to the skewing, because fans of the show who begin by reading those posts think this is all the journal's about, and interpret anything else I write through that lens. As I said, I've done a lot of nonfiction writing in other on- and off-line venues, and I've begun to see that scattershot approach as wasteful. I've been thinking I should consolidate more. Since my time is so limited, I've thought: why leave my work all over the place? Wouldn't it make sense to put more of my writerly essays here, and perhaps more general pieces as well? After all, god knows when I'll be able to write a book again, and it's good to have a prose outlet. Maybe my readers won't forget me entirely. And then, this journal was begun as an "advice to writers" journal; do you want that to fall by the wayside?
I spoke of this just a couple of weeks ago to three novelists I knew, who all told me I'd be crazy to do such a thing in a journal that attracts viewers of any particular show; the overlap with my other work would be too slight to interest them, and besides, television fans are notorious for their single-minded focus. (As a television fan myself, I prefer to see it as a survival characteristic. But -- "No," pronounced one of the novelists, ending the discussion; "why are you even considering this?")
It's academic to an extent, since in the last few years I hardly ever get time to post. But if and when I do, here's what you need to know: you may very well be bored stiff by this journal. That's the beauty of blogdom; you don't have to feel guilty about imposing your own interests, since people have to make an effort to come. And what interests me? Writing, writing, writing; photography; more writing; social psychology; writing; children's fantasy books; modern mythology; all things genre; whether emoticons are a good idea; how do you decorate your house when you have forty billion books; does politics lend itself to narrative, and should screenwriters create campaign commercials; the latest on YouTube; the interface between love and commerce when it comes to creativity; the results of critical feedback during creativity versus after something is made, and how differently this plays out in writers, actors, and artists; the effect of geography on, oh yeah, writing...
When I began this journal, I warned people that I was a process nerd. I give out that warning again, for the good of humanity.
You may feel that being force-fed unflavored tofu for the rest of your life would be preferable to reading that Egan chick. Or you may disagree strongly with my take on any of these topics. If I go through with this silly idea, I may even decide to write any foolish thing that comes into my head, from the perils of publishing through agents, pets, floor wax, and dessert toppings.
But whatever happens, there will be no coded messages.
This is not a journal that's all-House, all the time. My last post, although it references two scenes with Wilson, among several book and TV sources, is not All About House.
When I write about "difficult characters," I am not writing an apologia for House. I'm writing about characters in general.
When I write about ambiguity in television and books, I'm talking about ambiguity in television and books, and not any particular aspect of House, unless I've specifically referenced it.
When I say, "If you ever get your own TV show, don't worry about the viewers who don't like ambiguity," it means just that; those viewers will not watch your show from Episode One on, they'll watch something else; so there's no point in writing to an audience who is not your target audience. This is elementary television programming. My sentence is not code for "and anybody who doesn't like House is duuuumb and doesn't understand ambiguity."
I'm not writing in code of any kind. Honestly. I don't know how to say that more plainly.
I appreciate and love that people who enjoy a show I'm currently on are reading this. I'm glad, and as a fan myself -- all writers are fans of other people's work, and I believe the great wall between pro and fan is an artificial construct -- I'm excited. But the danger here is that communication gets skewed, because I'm continuing to approach this journal as I always have, and as I've approached other journals and websites. I had a life before House. I enjoy writing essays about aspects of writing that intrigue me. I've written quite a few such essays before, and hope to write more in the future, when time permits. I write books. I write short stories. I write pilots. And I write essays, most of them about aspects of craft that have arisen while writing all the previous things, or while being an audience to the work of others. I've also posted general think-pieces elsewhere, about anything that struck my fancy.
I love House, but statistically, it represents only a small slice of the years I've spent writing. Although I'm focused on it creatively and spend the vast part of every day working on it, I'm not focusing on it here. For good or bad, this journal is not about defending House, pushing House, criticizing House, or, frankly, much of anything House, except to say, "Hey, I wrote an episode, here are a few of my thoughts" from time to time. Occasionally, if I'm writing about some other topic, I may bring up something from some book I've written, or some show I've been on, to illustrate.
I have zero interest in changing anybody's mind about whether they like or don't like any particular character or storyline in House, or indeed, the show itself. Art is not politics; a story of any kind speaks for itself or it doesn't, and the reader or viewer will take from it what they will. You don't follow all of them home from the library with post-it notes that say, "Yeah, but what I meant to do here is..." It's hard to think of anything more pointless than arguing about something you've written after the fact. Analysis? DVD commentary? That sort of thing is great, and I love reading and watching it; I love hearing about what someone was thinking when they made a certain choice, since art is all about choices. But changing people's minds about what they like? Is that even possible?
(By the way, I can glumly foresee posting this entire essay again, two years from now, with the name of the show changed to whatever I'm working on then.)
Lately I've been thinking that I'd like to open this journal up a little more. My schedule is so all-consuming, I barely have time to update it except for the occasional, aforementioned "Hey, I wrote an episode" post. That depresses me a little, and it only adds to the skewing, because fans of the show who begin by reading those posts think this is all the journal's about, and interpret anything else I write through that lens. As I said, I've done a lot of nonfiction writing in other on- and off-line venues, and I've begun to see that scattershot approach as wasteful. I've been thinking I should consolidate more. Since my time is so limited, I've thought: why leave my work all over the place? Wouldn't it make sense to put more of my writerly essays here, and perhaps more general pieces as well? After all, god knows when I'll be able to write a book again, and it's good to have a prose outlet. Maybe my readers won't forget me entirely. And then, this journal was begun as an "advice to writers" journal; do you want that to fall by the wayside?
I spoke of this just a couple of weeks ago to three novelists I knew, who all told me I'd be crazy to do such a thing in a journal that attracts viewers of any particular show; the overlap with my other work would be too slight to interest them, and besides, television fans are notorious for their single-minded focus. (As a television fan myself, I prefer to see it as a survival characteristic. But -- "No," pronounced one of the novelists, ending the discussion; "why are you even considering this?")
It's academic to an extent, since in the last few years I hardly ever get time to post. But if and when I do, here's what you need to know: you may very well be bored stiff by this journal. That's the beauty of blogdom; you don't have to feel guilty about imposing your own interests, since people have to make an effort to come. And what interests me? Writing, writing, writing; photography; more writing; social psychology; writing; children's fantasy books; modern mythology; all things genre; whether emoticons are a good idea; how do you decorate your house when you have forty billion books; does politics lend itself to narrative, and should screenwriters create campaign commercials; the latest on YouTube; the interface between love and commerce when it comes to creativity; the results of critical feedback during creativity versus after something is made, and how differently this plays out in writers, actors, and artists; the effect of geography on, oh yeah, writing...
When I began this journal, I warned people that I was a process nerd. I give out that warning again, for the good of humanity.
You may feel that being force-fed unflavored tofu for the rest of your life would be preferable to reading that Egan chick. Or you may disagree strongly with my take on any of these topics. If I go through with this silly idea, I may even decide to write any foolish thing that comes into my head, from the perils of publishing through agents, pets, floor wax, and dessert toppings.
But whatever happens, there will be no coded messages.