[POTC meta] - A note on Mary Sues and the tragedy of the Suethor's craft.
There’s been some talk of Mary Sues at
pirategasm- what makes a Sue, how to tell if one’s written a Sue, and all sorts of Sue-related debate. Good stuff. While I’m not necessarily interested in defining the much-loathed Mary Sue, I am quite interested in speaking about writing as an art form - the sort of writing that Suethors attempt and inevitably botch. Mary Sues and their ilk represent poor craft at its most heartbreaking because, in most cases, Suethorsyearn to write well but lack the tools and/or discipline to succeed.
Every day, in every facet of our lives, the written word bombards us. Emails. Text messages. Manuals and billboards and menus. In grade school we learn how to form letters and imbue them with meaning, and from there, we are immersed in the necessity of reading and writing. When my boss sends me an email requesting information, I read that request and respond with words on a virtual page. Because of this proximity to language, and because of the banal execution of said language, there exists a mentality in much of society that writing - in a very literal sense - is a lesser skill, and a lesser art, than mediums not so readily employed.
Consider, for example, the visual artist. Unless employed in an art-related field, most people have little occasion to pick up a paintbrush and dabble at a canvas. Those who do decide to try their hand at painting generally do so without any specific instructions. They may have taken an art class or two as children, but the skills they attained were highly perishable because everyday life did not demand painting. Few of these amateur artists expect their first works to be on par with Van Gogh - or even Bob Ross, for that matter. Perhaps, after completing said art project, these aspiring artists will pass a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Cornfield with Cypresses in an office and will think, with some envy, “What a genius. I wish I had talent like that.”
Or, shift perspective for a moment and consider the qualifications of a respected civil engineer. Very few people would meet said engineer and imagine that he or she automatically possessed the skills required to erect a suspension bridge without years of job-specific training, intense study, and meticulous practice. The engineer may be naturally inclined to divide objects spatially, and he or she may have displayed an innate aptitude for math at an early age, but no reasonable adult would look at an engineer’s work and think, “Well, anyone can do that. Maybe I’ll give it a whirl.”
Neither model fits the majority perception of writing and writers.
Anyone can write, it would seem - and everyone does. This idea that writing is somehow more available and less rigorous than painting or engineering is the single greatest reason that so many people cannot write well. The concept of writing as a serious art form, one that requires study and practice and dedication, is often swallowed by the beast that is propinquity.
Allow me to provide an example. At my office, no one can write a sentence that follows the rules of grammar for standard, professional English. No one. Not my boss, not my boss’s boss, and I have a niggling suspicion that the CEO, were he to type his own documents, would fall by the wayside as well. To prove my point, take a look at the exchange below - between my boss, a store manager, the Vice President of Sales, and the Beaufort Retail employees.
VP: I need #s for allstores on the promo and make sure they are in spreadsheet format
Boss: K. You need tabs to?
VP: Yes
Boss: Lisa can you get those run today? Andrea can help.
Manager: i need to put something out to the CSR for Beaufort for how many phones they cell today.
VP: Get it done.
To all Beaufort employees: Make sure yall keep track of promos sold today. i need numbers for todd today so please put your sales on my desk before COB.
The above is an example of a common e-conversation at my workplace, copied and pasted verbatim. Syntax doctors, I need a heartbeat here. (And in case you’re wondering if I work at the local Burger King, I do not. I am employed by a multi-million dollar telecommunications company that has been rated the most progressive locally-based service provider in the United States. Twice.) The problem, in the case of my coworkers, is manifold. Foremost, there exists the inherent laziness that so often accompanies electronic communication. One feels pressed for time, and thus one assumes that the general message being imparted comes across passably enough to get the requested work done. The concept that grammar exists to clarify communication is lost, shoved by the wayside in lieu of expediency. Forget the lack of professionalism exhibited by writing in such a manner. Time is money, and no one cares, right? Who gives a damn that the message being relayed is garbled so long as it reaches its recipients quickly?
Sadly, very few people are concerned. Those that notice the deficiencies in such communication are generally dismissed as “nit-pickers”, “unfocused”, and “unable to prioritize.” Unsurprisingly, two of the three individuals in the example exchange claim to be writing novels.
Of course.
Because writing is easy, and anyone can do it.
This same lack of rigor in the creation of written art extends to younger generations. Mommy and Daddy needn’t write meticulously, so why should their children? Well-meaning, underpaid teachers struggle to coax appreciation for literature from the children of parents that barely read anything beyond email (while claiming to write the Great American Novel nonetheless). Those same teachers, desperate to illicit some any marginal response from kids who “don’t need to know this stuff anyways”, focus on trying to gentle said children into developing creative imaginations by encouraging “self-expression” of the least meaningful sort. Write a story. Create some characters. Pen a poem to help deal with the stresses of youth.
See, this is fun.
Never mind the execution. At least they wrote something.
Such is the cultural atmosphere that nurtures Suethors. Young writers - desperate for attention, over-stimulated by electronic media and confused by mixed messages from their parents - turn to the dreaded Sue as a means of escape and ego-building. Without constructive criticism (and often unwilling to acknowledge the wisdom of experience), these would-be novelists and poets unleash their replacement fantasies on an unsuspecting readership.
And sadly, in the next room, Mom, Dad, and even Grandma are penning their own fantastic versions of themselves, eyes sparkling and swords drawn. They imagine the people they want to be, and they write. And write.
And write.
One click of the mouse later and, voila!, the fandom receives another poorly crafted offering. The kiddies are thrilled because any writing is great writing. Mommy and Daddy (and Grandma, too), squeal with glee because they are published, and, gee, wasn’t it easy?
But shouldn’t we encourage our children to write (?), you ask. Shouldn’t we be happy that our coworkers are spending time thinking creatively rather than watching television? Aren’t Mom and Dad and the wee ones keeping the lively art of writing alive by practicing what has been suggested is a dying art form?
Yes and no.
While I maintain that writing is an infinitely more fulfilling - and ultimately more useful - pastime than watching a Survivor marathon, I also assert that writing without attention to craft is tantamount to a bridge without proper supports. Looks good. Great effort. But beyond the act of trying looms imminent disaster. And like Van Gogh, true art requires more than a passing nod at style.
Does this mean that every writer must acquire a string of degrees in the field before practicing? No. Absolutely not. However, in order to write well, the following is required: A) familiarity (arguably diverse familiarity) with the works of published authors, B) an understanding of basic grammar, C) the desire to improve one’s writing, and D) practice, practice, practice. In order to be a brilliant writer, a little something else is needed - a certain mysterious quality that some refer to as talent and that I refer to as “the ear”.
That is not to say that a brilliant writer cannot cultivate said ear with painstaking study. On the contrary, I know many fabulous writers that had to learn to build their ears through years and years of exhaustive analysis. They read until their eyesight blurred. They squeezed the juice from every poem and story they came across, notating the margins of their books as they journeyed. Every critique of their work was taken to heart, examined for validity, and mistakes were rarely made a second time.
Sounds like work, doesn’t it?
It should. When I was a little girl, I often complained about my lack of athletic ability, and after a particularly long session of whining, my father explained a simple truth to me. Here is what he said: “You’ve got a choice to be great or to not be great. Some people are born with 90% talent, and those people only need to apply 10% effort in order to succeed. Other people might be born with 10% talent, and if they want to become successful, they have to put forth 90% effort. You decide how great an athlete you want to be - and react accordingly.”
Therein lies the inherent challenge that many Suethors face: they want to write, but they don’t want to work. And though you may think I’m generalizing, the truth is, every Suethor is a lazy writer. Even those rare Suethors that write syntactically sound, evocative sentences still miss the mark in some sense, whether in characterization, plot crafting, or accuracy of the setting. Most truly awful Sue-stories possess a nugget of potential that a meticulous writer can expose. Even the most nauseating clichés in character, diction, and plot can be rendered palatable with some effort.
Those of you familiar with my writing (everyone, I’m assuming, as I’m posting this at my fic journal) know that I am no authorial genius. However, I write well enough, and with the exception of a few typos, my work tends to be grammatically sound. I may not be Salman Rushdie, but I am fairly well-read - and I’ve been studying literature and writing since I learned how to recite the alphabet. Let it suffice to say that I have more experience writing than many Suethors, and therefore, I am inspired to conduct a little experiment to prove my point. I’m taking on Mary Sues - and bad craft in general. The examples below were harvested from
heave_ho, a hilarious community devoted to exposing Suethors. In each example I have taken a sentence (or two) and rewritten it to show that there is a grain of hope for these aspiring authors - if only they chose to accept that writing is work.
Excerpt from http://community.livejournal.com/heave_ho/54417.html#cutid1:
“Jack watched her over hours into the night, sighing, Jack made himself comfortable in his chair and went to sleep. He'd been sleeping in his chair for the past five days. So tonight would be no different, in that he would hardly get any sleep. Jack would sleep for a couple of hours but then become uncomfortable and wake up. But he couldn't just not sleep, he was captain of the Black Pearl after all.”
Analysis: This is a classic example of “telling” versus “showing”. Instead of giving the audience a scene to depict Jack’s discomfort, exhaustion, and (reluctant) sense of duty to his captaincy, the author pummels her readers with blunt facts. “Jack is tired. Jack slept in a chair. Jack needs his sleep.” The issue is not only laziness and inexperience, it is also distrust of the audience’s ability to infer those facts from a real scene. The following revision was written in the space of five or so minutes and proves that, with attention to detail, this scene can be salvaged.
Rewrite:
“Jack fidgeted, the chairback’s slats jabbing his ribs for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. Tipping back, he tested the chair’s stability, fingertips poised at the table’s rim. The spokes wobbled, clacking against the deck, but after several breaths he felt secure enough to release the table and prop his feet.
Bad idea.
Terrible idea.
Jack clattered to the floor - braids jingling, hands flailing, his hat skittering larboard.
Cursing, he righted himself, kicking the splintered timbers for good measure.
“So bloody much for comfort. Damnable-” another kick, “- rotting, Devil-wood. I’ll have you bloody keelhauled, you malevolent throne of -” Jack paused, his eyes darting to the figure wriggling restlessly in his bed - his exquisitely, blissfully, superlatively comfortable bed.
Well then. Sleep.
Five evenings of huddling at the table - his back bruised and his legs crumpled beneath him - had taken their toll. He massaged his neck, the vertebrae aligning with a pop. Studying the splintered husk of discomfort that was his current bed, Jack scowled, opting to sprawl on the floor instead.
Moonlight skulked across the deck in gray lengths, the slim ribbons of light a constant reminder that dawn prowled closer and closer. The fingernail moon squinted at him beyond the windowpanes, a slender curl of light floating high in the pitch.
Jack sighed, crossing his ankles. The next bell would be soon in coming.
Too soon.
Tugging his bandana over his eyes, he began counting sheep.”
Excerpt from http://community.livejournal.com/heave_ho/53029.html#cutid1:
“Elizabeth was at home with her father. She had wanted to visit Will today, but the rain postponed that. She was so bored not knowing what to do in a huge mansion alone with her father. All her father did was over look documents and letters from the king.”
Analysis: Say it with me, Suethors of the world - “Show. Don’t tell.” An apparent lack of exposure to language cripples these writers. Open any book and see if it reads like this. Live, learn and study, kids.
Rewrite:
“Rain dashed the windows in furious gusts, the shutters beating a staccato rhythm against the stone. Elizabeth’s hopes of visiting the smithy were drenched for the second day in a row, and her frustration rose with each plunk of water against glass. She stared at the rainwater pooling in the front garden. Tea-brown puddles mottled the drive, further proof that another day of pacing loomed before her. From his perch at the back of the parlor, her father cleared his throat, papers rustling.”
Excerpt from http://community.livejournal.com/heave_ho/52550.html#cutid2:
“It’s Captain Jack and yes, actually I’ve been trying to believe that you were still alive sweetheart because I know what he would’ve done,” he said as he took a piece of her that was in her face and moved it behind her ear. Talyn looked at him so innocently that he couldn’t help it. He kissed her. Jack wrapped his arms around her and Talyn stupidly put her arms over his neck. After a minute they stopped.”
Analysis: Oh boy, mastering dialogue is tricky, and attempting Jack-speak poses double the challenge. First of all, punctuation in dialogue can be key. If a reader’s eyes don’t recognize the pauses, patterns, and pronunciations, you’ve got a mangled mess. In the case of POTC, this is especially difficult as words such as “ye” tend to be misread, so tone must be carefully modulated. I find Jack-speak challenging as well, and I’m fairly well versed in writing sound-true dialogue. Also, God save those writers who can’t at least proofread their work for glaring errors. “…he took a piece of her that was in her face and moved it behind her ear.” Was she dismembered? And once again, showing trumps telling every time. (Don’t even start me on the name choice, by-the-way.)
*Unfortunately, I’ve got to skip the rewrite for now, as it is officially the Witching Hour and I’ve got a presentation to spruce up for my morning meeting. No worries, though. I will return.
Oh, and some advice to Suethors everywhere:
- As Reginald McKnight once told me, sometimes it’s best to “kill your darlings.” Cut some adjectives and adverbs, and read your work aloud. If you stumble through a sentence, go back and rewrite it.
- Think like a poet - in other words, pay attention to language. Challenge yourself to describe people, places, and emotions with words that are evocative and original-feeling. Did Jack walk away sadly, or did he skulk?
- Edit out your passive voice. What do I mean? Well, I mean avoid infinitives and auxilliary verbs as much as possible. “Active” verbs work best. Which reads better: “The rum was near Jack’s hand.”/ “Jack’s hand hovered near the rum.”
- Show me the emotion! If you tell me, “Jack loves Elizabeth,” I feel nothing. Show it to me in the nuances of his actions and I’ll connect.
- Perfect sucks. Really. Your readers are not prefect, and therefore they cannot relate to characters that are presented as being flawless. If the audience doesn’t relate, they also don’t care.
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