Lately, I’ve been writing hard, more professionally than years past, which means also a bit more mechanically. Some words are needed, so I crank them out.
GoodWordEditing.com (which I have tabbed as GWE in my browser) is one of my few places where I can still play. Play is so important. Like I’ve said before, this is not a subscribe to me kind of blog. I’ve thought of posts this week, I might write–about the twenty-two-thirty rule of engaging readers that I learned on Tuesday, about the scene and plot things I’m learning in my own writing, about how to carve out writing time when you have a family and a career and a church and dogs that need someone to throw the frisbee, about how to use tools like Plaxo to follow other bloggers, about how to use Twitter as a method of social note taking, even a spiritual analysis of Battlestar Galactica Resistance clips showing where that series does a good job of opening the door to think about faith and religion as something to be taken seriously.
Except for Battlestar Galactica, those things don’t feel much like play to me. Even Battlestar doesn’t feel as playful when I’m analyzing it for scene structure, character motivation, and theme.
But poetry is so useless, it’s only good for play. The movement of a poem isn’t going to take me anywhere in particular. I’m just here swinging with the words. Up and back. Up and back. Or maybe kayaking around Serenity Island at one of our city parks. (Yes, I live in heaven.)
And earlier this morning, I finally found this poem. Or I should say it found me. People kept sending it to me. Quoting it back to me. And I realized it was time to climb on the swing, time to get in the boat again.
Don’t forget to check back in two weeks for Part 2 of the interview! I like the second part even better personally. That’s where he really gets into the nitty gritty of faith and fantasy, stories and adaptations, art and commerce.
In our newest interview at TheHighCalling.org with Micheal Flaherty, we talk about the upcoming Narnia flick, Prince Caspian. How to market to churches–without losing your integrity. Fantasy and imagination and faith. As well as some tidbits about future projects like Dawn Treader and The Screwtape Letters!
GO READ IT! And leave a comment, purty please? If you love me.
Talking with Jeffrey Overstreet this morning about Narnia and Walden in general, I thought I’d post some nostalgia links: Overstreet’s original review of Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe from Christianity Today Movies.
Another Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe review from Steven Greydanus at Decent Films Guide
Now, just for kicks, here is an interactive widget from Walden and Disney:
According to this report, people trust financial analysts more than bloggers. Only 12% of of respondents said they would trust bloggers as a credible source for information about a company.
I have to wonder what this means for our blog networks. Every month, we tell readers take a look at what Zondervan is doing. Or Harvest House. Or NavPress. Or IVP. (Although after IVP’s April Fool’s joke, I’m not sure I trust them anymore!)
And by friend, I don’t mean someone on Facebook who contacted me out of the blue to give them permission to market to me. I mean people I’ve had coffee with. (So if you’re on that list but we haven’t had coffee yet, time’s a-wasting!)
Randy Ingermanson published a good definition of the high stakes, high concept novel over at his site a few days ago. It was an idea that came up several times at a Mount Hermon workshop I took with him a few weeks ago.
In the link above, Randy sez: “The higher the stakes, the higher the concept.” Then follows up with wonderful wonderful examples to demonstrate his point of view. An asteroid threatens the entire planet. An evil emperor threatens the entire galaxy. High stakes.
Then he concedes that good books don’t need a high concept–and he cites Jane Austen. Hmm. Now, I wrote my undergraduate thesis on Jane Austen, so I’m a bit of a raving fan. I know, it’s not particularly manly of me to love Jane. But what can I say, Darcy is my hero. Someday I hope to have just a tiny fraction of his infinite coolness.
(And Pride & Prejudice fans should know my secret fear: I’m more Mr. Collins than Darcy.)
See, I love Jane Austen. Her books have this universal conflict of gender that feels very high concept, high stakes to me. We’re talking about love and personal happiness.
But according to Randy’s definition, high personal stakes are not necessarily high concept. I love a good explosion movie as much as anyone. Especially if there are also flying martial artists. Randy, I’m not disagreeing with you on this, I’m just trying to figure out why the division makes me bristle so much.
Patrick O’Brien blows up ships in Master and Commander–so he’s high concept. Jane Austen blows up cultural gender stereotypes (no helicopters, despite what Camille says)–so she’s not high concept.
Do high stakes always involve death? Do more deaths mean higher stakes?
Maybe Hero is my answer. Jane Austen meets Chinese invasion. Love triangle meets assassination plot. There aren’t many explosions, but people fly a lot. They even walk on water. Just watch:
Now if only Pride and Prejudice had a ninja subplot.
TechCrunch’s Arrington hopes to be a new John D. Rockefeller and
…create something akin to the Standard Oil Trust of bloggers.
“You have to find people who have established audience and are really really good, and you bring them all together,†he said.
ContentNext’s Ali is looking to be a new trade media company that
…offers a much more conventional vision of growth.
“Bulking up for the sake of bulking up doesn’t sound appealing to me,†he said… “We can hire two good journalists, pay them well, and build a vertical,†he said.
I’m not quite sure what it means to build a vertical, but given our own foray into the nonprofit end of the blogosphere, I’m particularly interested in these kinds of models. For example, can we have a tight network of expert bloggers writing about their faith in daily life AND a loose network of rising bloggers who have expressed interest in our mission?
(By the way, my wife started Eifelheim and she said it really is that good. Apparently it just gets under your skin slowly. “It’s all about building mood,” she said. “Whatever. Great dialogue,” I said.)