Interesting...

I've mentioned before how adaptations fascinate me. I just read this blog entry today that offered some insight into the book-to-screen adaptation of Up In The Air. I haven't had the chance to see the movie yet, but the blog entry implies that the screenwriters explored the world the novel set up, rather than transcribe the story beat for beat. That kind of adaptation is more interesting to me, because if I wanted to know the exact plot of the book... I'd just read it. Instead, I'd rather observe how the story can transform through the collaborative process of film making. Judging from the early Oscar buzz I've been hearing for the movie the past few months, it sounds like it paid off in this case.

Does anyone know how much of a part author Walter Kirn, who wrote the novel the film is based on, had in the adaptation?

In Vain

This post is dedicated to someone whose name rhymes with feather.

---

When I was home for Thanksgiving, my cousin, the co-author of "The Pairing List" shot me a look that indicated he had a story to tell. The look did not lie.

Him: So... did Grandma call you about our short story?

Me: What? No.

Him: She hasn't said anything about it to you?

Me: Nope.

Him: Well, she called me about it.

Me: Really? This ought to be interesting. Did she like it?

Him: Didn't say. Mainly she just scolded me for using the Lord's name in vain.

Me: (bursts into laughter) THAT'S THE GREATEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD!

Later, upon telling someone whose opinion I highly regard about it over dinner, she inquired as to exactly how I had broken the third commandment.

"I think we used the words 'Jesus Christ' as a curse, but I'm not sure," I answered. (I later did a word search of the document, and found that we used "Jesus", but not "Jesus Christ" in its entirety.)

She pulled her hands up to her face and gasped as if she had been slapped, exclaiming: "COREY! That's the worst one!"

When I laughed at this, she told me she hoped my Grandma kicked my ass for what I wrote. Upon picturing this particular event occurring, I cracked up even more. Little did I know that even though my Grandma wouldn't beat me up over the ordeal, my ass would be handed to me regardless.

The next day at work, I was still amused by the whole situation and too busy clapping myself on the back for being a jackass to notice that powerful forces were preparing to teach me a lesson. Not two hours later, a terrible allergy attack descended upon me with terrible fury. My eyes burned and watered, my voice nearly disappeared completely, and I gained the specific and not-so-pleasant sensation of ants crawling under the flesh of my face.

When one of my coworkers walked into my office to tell me something, he nearly dropped the files he was carrying. "OH MY GOD!" he almost screamed. "What happened to you?"

I was too preoccupied with my own misery to appreciate the irony of this.

For the next few days, anyone I encountered avoided me as if I were a leper or plague victim, despite my insisting that allergies are not contagious. I looked awful, though. I was a watery, itchy, sneezy, voiceless mess.

"Dude, you seriously need to medicate. Like, now. Go and take drugs," a friend ordered me one night.

A few days later, I asked the girl who thought my grandmother should kick my ass if she thought The Powers That Be were punishing me for my writerly sin.

"Oh definitely," she said without hesitation.

"Awesome," I managed to croak out, immediately brightening. I was thrilled that forces beyond my understanding thought the issue important enough to weigh in and deliver judgement. When you're a fledgling writer, you'll take any feedback you can get your hands on, even if it's from a wrathful deity bent on teaching you a lesson.

Apparently it was decided that the lesson hadn't been ground into my psyche enough, because the next day I suffered, on top of my allergies, a pretty hefty migraine. My coordination and vision were shot, and my shaking hands made even a task like tying my shoes into an epic process. It stayed with me through the day, and I still feel echoes of it even as I type this.

So did I learn my lesson? Would I, if given the chance to go back in time, write the Lord's name in vain again in that story?

... You bet your ass I would.

While I may now know the cost of doing so, the characters I write have not shared my experiences with me. They'll think, look, sound, and talk differently than I do. Who am I to edit what comes out of their mouths, to pare down what they think and color it with my own thoughts and beliefs? I believe my cousin responded to my grandma with a response similar to this.

To all the aspiring authors out there: don't suffocate your characters with... well... you. Give them the freedom to breathe and talk the way they want to. Trust their voices, and let them be heard. Who knows? Maybe one day it'll mean the difference between a published manuscript and something you file away in a dusty drawer.

Just... y'know... be prepared to defend and explain your characters' thoughts and actions with the dignity and maturity my cousin used when responding to my grandma's complaints, rather than the jackass methods I utilized in response to inquiring minds. Believe me on that one.

What I've been up to

I've been cussed at several times for my lack of updating the past month. "What've you been up to?" is the most common question I get.

Writing, man. I've been damn near writing my nuts off.

On top of chugging along on Magic in Dogtown, I completed another short story the other week, and will most likely do another one before Christmas.

I'm trying to maintain my Christmas deadline for finishing Dogtown, but that's looking more and more impossible the more I write of it. Time is flying by too quickly. I feel it weighing down on me, and each day I look in the mirror, I notice how shockingly white my hair is getting.

Still, I'll try. I'm writing as fast as I can. It's definitely been one hell of a ride so far. Thanks go to those who have stuck with me through the entire thing. You know who you are. I appreciate it.

-Corey-