Category Archives: Inspiration
That’s a Wrap! Finding Closure with Characters
Last day in character, on set. Final revision on a novel. Screenplay’s bought and produced.
It’s done.
We finish creative work all the time, but we don’t always give ourselves the grace of actually closing our relationships with our characters. Most of us have projects lined up, already started or waiting in queue. And we tend to move mentally toward them as we finish up a current one. We’re busy, we don’t have time.
But rushing forward without taking time to find closure can be risky to our well-being and our new work. Why? Because we spend considerable amounts of time emotionally and physically invested in characters and we need to be emotionally available for the next one.
Tough emotions are part of the work
I’m currently finishing up Restoration*, a script that dives deep into the emotional interior of three scarred war veterans who must navigate the unfamiliarity of life after war and each other while trying to save their condemned house from being destroyed. The fabric of their story is steeped in tough terrain – from torture, from guilt, from being left helpless to make a difference and save others. And they’re asking relevant questions that we are all facing about the rationale behind going to war to impose democracy.
I know these characters well, they trust me fully as the First Trustee of their Story – but it hasn’t been an easy journey for me emotionally to work with them. It won’t be easy for the actors who will embody and carry their weight. And as I finish this up, there’s another Story, another set of powerful characters waiting for my attention, again, a Story that will be tough to carry.
Tough emotions are part of the fabric of stories that resonate deeply with the human spirit. They have the ability to touch places in us that we prefer not to go – unless a Story takes us there. As artists, we accept that the challenging emotions of our characters are part of our work.
Our experiences of characters are real
When it’s time to say goodbye, our logical minds argue that characters aren’t “real” so we minimize our departure. But our experiences of characters are real. And these experiences are what linger in us when the work is done. When you embody a character you think, see and feel that character’s emotions, you carry the weight of their pain, their struggles, their crimes, their pasts, their decisions. You get to know them better than anyone else knows them and they learn to trust you.
That last day can be very tough.
You may feel a sense of loss head on, but you may also go through grief, anger, depression, sadness and a sense of being emotionally overwhelmed and drained. You may feel adrift, unable to focus, sense a rush of exhaustion flood through you. Deflation is common.
All of this can hit you at once, or it can seep into the days and weeks following the last day. You may start to wonder what’s going on and stress over having to be ready and emotionally available for the next character and story that’s waiting for you.
So how do we say goodbye?
How do we close these emotional ties that have lived, breathed, felt, feared, loved, hated, risked, killed, received wounds, forgived, triumphed, in us and through us for weeks or months on end?
- Recognize that you need to create closure. You do this by being aware of what it means to end the relationship with the character.
- Accept that you are going to feel a sense of loss. Allow yourself the emotions of missing a character, of not being part of their fabric 24/7 anymore.
- Find some time to be alone to formally say goodbye to your characters. Thank them for what they have blessed and burdened you with, for the experiences they have opened your life up to, for their trust in your artistic ability to embody and share their story with the world.
- Separate out the emotions that belong to them from the emotions that are truly your own. You’ve been in their head and heart for intense periods of time, it can be hard to decipher what actually belongs to you. But it’s essential to make the distinction.
- Let go of their journey. They have to live now without you. They have to go on being present in the world without your daily presence. Trust that you have given them everything they need to thrive.
- Rest. You may not have much time between projects, but you are spiritually exhausted. You need time to re-center, to ground yourself again in your own being. You need time to let go of the motions of work. Physical activities – even mundane household chores- can be therapeutic – as they bring you out of the creative emotive state and sink you back into earthy presence.
- Celebrate what you’ve achieved.It is something major in any artist’s life to bring a project to a full close. No matter what level of success you’ve had in the past, each project takes all of you and creates new spaces within your spirit for what will come in the future. Having completed a project is an end and a beginning and you need to honor your spirit for that. Don’t just toss it off as “what you do.” Take a moment and feel a sense of achievement, accomplishment. You have done this. You are living a creative life. This is why you’re here.
In our work, we delve into tough, tough emotions of characters and live and experience pain that often would never be ours in our private lives. We do this as part of sharing Story, of furthering our human existence through Story. And because it’s part of what we do in our everyday work, we may not take what that pain can do to us seriously enough. We need to be conscious of the boundaries, of what belongs to us emotionally and what doesn’t. We are not our characters, they are not us. Yet, we will always be part of our characters and they will forever be part of us. Part of the magic and wonder of this amazing creative work is that we allow them to change us, we make ourselves vulnerable to them and in return, they give us the stories that become the fabric of our creative lives.
Close your projects with a sense of wonder and thankfulness. Bless your characters as you say goodbye.
Because no matter what happens when the work is done, they’ve blessed you.
*Restoration: When former Iraq P.O.W. and seasoned special operative Kyle Sandberg faces being institutionalized because he refuses to speak, war-weary psychologist Alicia Meier takes him home to her family’s abandoned farm in North Dakota’s booming oil fields—only to discover that her house has been condemned and will be destroyed, unless she can repair it in time. Battling insurmountable odds, threats from anti-fracking environmentalists and a neighbor desperate to see her off her land, Alicia, her Iraq war vet brother Daniel, and Kyle fight to rebuild the house and their lives, while grappling with the ultimate question: how do you know what’s worth saving?
Writers: Are You Giving Your Work Everything it Needs to Survive?
“I like to say that I write poems for a stranger who will be born in some distant country hundreds of years from now. This is a useful notion, especially during revision. It reminds me, forcefully, that everything necessary must be on the page.
I must make a complete poem – a river-swimming poem, a mountain-climbing poem. Not ‘my’ poem, if it’s well done, but a deeply breathing, bounding, self-sufficient poem. Like a traveler in an uncertain land, it needs to carry with it all that it must have to sustain its own life—and not a lot of extra weight, either.” Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook, pg 110.
For those who are not familiar with Mary Oliver, she is one of the most prolific and enduring nature poets in America. Her writing connects the human spirit to the lessons and inspiration of the natural world in an easily accessible way. She also writes in A Poetry Handbook that each of her poems goes through 50 – 60 revisions before it’s ready to stand on its own.
Wow, are you that dedicated to your creative work?
It got me thinking about what our work needs from us to survive on its own. Particularly for screenwriters who are the First Trustee of the Story and must give that initial script everything it needs to sustain its own life in an uncertain land of development and production. But Oliver’s words also inspired me to think about how committed (or not) we are to our projects. Fifty revisions on a poem. That’s a lot of time, but even more so, a lot of focus and commitment to ensuring that each word, each placement of each word, is at its strongest, most efficient location and thrumming with power. Fifty revisions explains why Oliver’s writing simply sings off the page, why you never stumble over it, why it seems to sink straight down into your soul. It connects.
I revise a lot. I can’t imagine writing without revision. I do believe that you have to trust your first instinct in a first draft and let the story pour itself out – but then you bring the craft of writing into play. You take on the executive role of making decisions that will shape and anchor your story into a well-polished piece. You move things around, question the intent behind dialogue, get your characters to explain to you what they mean emotionally and what they aren’t telling you, and you choose the most effective way to retell their story. And once you have revised it through several drafts, you get a second-set-of-eyes to have a look and bring fresh insight into it. You take what agrees with the story’s purpose and you revise, revise, revise.
I used to wonder how I would know when a story was finished. I’ve found that the Story will tell you when it’s finished. You’ll sense it. You’ll know that it’s right, it’s ready, it has everything it needs. You’ll know when you’ve come up against all that you have to give it. You’ve done your very best. But that knowledge ONLY comes from having revised, revised, revised.From having the patience and the tenacity to take the time to give the story what it needs.
What do stories need from us to sustain their own life?
As Oliver so eloquently said: “everything necessary must be on the page.”
If someone in a foreign land in a few hundred years reads your story, will they ‘get it’? Scripts don’t need to be bogged down with minute detail (unless it furthers the story), but I do believe what Oliver is referring to here is the essence of the meaning of the story. Will a reader connect to the human emotion of the story, even if they can’t understand the jargon or cultural references? They should be able to.
Another way to check if your story can stand on its own is to “turn off” all the dialogue and see if you can still follow the storyline. You should be able to “view” it and get it. When I first lived in Sarajevo, I was in a small studio apartment and would watch French dramas with Bosnian subtitles. I didn’t understand either language. There were films that I could follow quite well and others that were impossible to follow without the dialogue.
Actions speaks louder than words and should be able to carry a script’s story. That’s not to say that dialogue isn’t vital and important, but the actions should back up the dialogue well enough to let the story stand on its own.
Giving your story everything necessary means ensuring the core story is present so that if and when the dialogue and actions are changed, the core story can still be expressed and understood. Remember, there is always more than one way to tell a story and get the same message across. The core story is the message. That’s what you need to nurture. That’s what needs everything necessary.
Take some time to ponder what “everything necessary” is for your story, your work. How can you ensure your story will survive without you?
Are You (Secretly) Happy? Stop Hiding! Happiness Drives Success
What would happen if we all started spending more time discussing just how happy we are as artists?
I know, sounds kind of odd, doesn’t it?
That’s because we are so accustomed to thinking about the work, learning about the work, doing the work – work, work, work – that we forget that this is really, all-out, truly, you have to admit it – fun. And it is, isn’t it? Don’t you enjoy the process of creating? Even when it’s stretching you to grow and learn and become more of who you truly are?
I do. And I make happiness a priority in my life. I firmly believe that the purpose of life is joy. And, yes, you can choose to be happy. And no, this isn’t just about “feely-goody” emotion. Happiness is an authentic driver of success. It’s not something you should just wish for, it’s something you should experience regularly.
So what would happen if we spent more time talking about the amazing happiness that springs from our creative lives?
I think we’d have more energy, a different quality of energy, one that springs from contentment in the midst of continually pursuing what’s next, one that makes us see opportunities and open our eyes to what really matters to us. Happiness grounds you in the present and lets you experience your life as it is, right now. And right now is all we actually have. Now upon now.
You can’t hinge happiness on what’s next. You have to experience it now. Find that joy and create more of it in your life. That’s how happiness grows.
Unfortunately, it’s not popular to be happy. Or at least, to admit that you’re happy. And if you’re an artist, it’s even more expected of you that you will talk about how “hard” art is, how many challenges you face, how difficult the industry, agents, producers, executives (no offense agents, producers, execs – I love you!) are and every other thing that gets at our artistic nerves.
I say we should stop. Stop complaining. Stop seeing it as hard. Stop focusing on the challenges. Declare a no-complaint zone about our art. And admit just how happy we really are to be making a living (or pursuing making a living) from creative expression. We’re a privileged lot, we are.
Take some time today to think about how happy you are.
And really feel that joy well in your being.
On Craft, Fear, Discipline and Trusting Your Own Opinions
Is it possible to spend too much time studying craft?
Information on how to improve your craft is everywhere. And there’s some solid, very useful stuff out there. But I believe you can fall into a trap where you spend more time reading/discussing/learning/talking about your craft than actually doing it. It can be a form of avoidance. Learning from credible sources is valuable, yes. And you need to take the lead and find out what you need to know. But after you’ve gleaned that info, you have to act. There is no other way to learn the physical and emotional aspects of your work than by doing it yourself. And it’s the only way you will grow into yourself and learn to trust your own opinions.
Why do we avoid actually doing the work? Is it some kind of block?
Fear, mostly. I run into it all the time. Often when stepping back from a revised draft and needing to come back to it. It isn’t always fear, but hesitation to confront the heavy subject matter of the characters and content. I’m not always ready to be in the character’s space, to dwell in their conflicts and pain. Or to feel it. What do I do? I put on some inspirational music, sit down with the writing and characters, and do it anyway. I’ve never come away from an experience like that wishing that I had done something else.
Writers run into “writer’s block” which can stem from fear, unprocessed rejection or simply from the story/characters not being ready yet. There’s a fine balance you have to walk between leading the forward progress of a story and listening, waiting and being patient for the story/characters to reveal themselves. If you’re avoiding your work, step back and have a good look at what it is you’re not wanting to face. Is it you or is it the story/characters?
So is it a question of discipline then?
Discipline has such a negative connotation to it. It’s so associated with punishment that I don’t know anyone who really responds well to that word. But we talk a lot about it in the creative professions. I think this discussion is actually about whether or not you will create consistently and complete projects. If you’re a professional, you will. And if you are committed to your project, you will.
Sometimes it really isn’t a matter of discipline, but of making a decision. Too often, for various reasons, we give ourselves room to hedge, options to turn back, and dwell in a place where we haven’t fully made a conscious decision to do something. When we haven’t fully committed it leaves a nagging sense of hesitation. Should I or shouldn’t I? Will I or won’t I? I don’t really have to because I’m not sure if I really want to be doing this, etc. It gives us an excuse not to succeed.
I get that this struggle is complicated if you’re not a full-time creative professional. But I think you can still make the decision to be the artist you want to be, regardless of your current circumstances. And doing so, can change your life in amazing ways.
One of the benefits of being a full-time writer is that it’s a guaranteed fact that I will be writing. It’s what I do. This is who I am. Whether or not I write on a particular day is always girded by the fact that I will be writing in the days to come. I don’t give myself the option of not returning to a project, not writing, not finishing it. If you’re not full-time and you have a day job to manage, you can still make a commitment to your creative work, just as you would if you were going back to college and pursuing more education. When you do that, you decide that you’re going to be a student. You can do the same thing with your creative life. Decide who are you going to be.
We don’t commit: is it fear of failure or success?
People assume they’re afraid of failure, but more often than not, it’s success and achieving a dream that scares us the most. Why? It may be unfamiliar territory, we may not have evolved our inner beliefs about success and what it will mean to us yet, and we may just be scared because we can’t see what will come next. Here’s something to remember: once you achieve one dream, another will take its place. Something new will evolve for you, new desires, new wishes, new creative goals. You expand in spirit as your learn to live in your power. You take on bigger dreams and understand that you can have a bigger impact. You won’t be bored.
But isn’t it because the creative life is hard?
It’s popular to tell ourselves and everyone else we know that creative life/work is hard. I’ve never gotten this one. When you are doing something you love, it doesn’t feel like work at all. Time ceases to exist. Hours, days fly by as you’re lost in creating. It is one of the most joy-filled, most satisfying activities one can do. So why do we keep telling ourselves that it’s hard? As in, you shouldn’t expect too much of your work, yourself, the industry because your chances are so little of “making it” that it’s just pointless.
No one who ever achieved success believed this.
Does creative work, take work? Yes. Does it takes time? Yes. Effort? Yes. Does it take being willing to keep at it until your work (and you) grows into its strongest, most powerful form? Yes. But hard? No. Don’t tell yourself that. It’s not hard. You can do this. “Do” is the key word here.
How do you get to a place where you trust your own opinion?
You have to grow into it. By practicing your craft, knowing what you want to create and measuring your work against professional standards and your own. It does not mean not asking for credible feedback or being unwilling to change your work if it strengthens and empowers it. It means having the confidence based on experience to know when and when not to change your work. The more experience you have, the more you know how to separate the chaff from the grain. You take feedback and filter it through a deep trust in yourself and trust in your art.
You know what matters most in your work, and know that only you can determine if you’ve expressed it. You understand that you have to be in command of your work and take responsibility for the executive-style decisions that have to be made about it.
This comes with experience. And the only way to gain experience is to be doing the work.
Healing the Wounds of Creative Success: Rejection
Rejection is talked about so often in creative circles that one may not take the wounds it can cause seriously enough. Even creative professionals who know that it’s just part of the journey tend to minimize the impact it has when discussing it. We’re brave (or try to be) and since it’s simply a fact of creative life, we often just try to shrug it off.
But is that healthy? And are we really healing from it? Do we even know we need to heal from it?
Rejection comes when we pin our hopes and aspirations on someone elses’ decision to represent or buy our work. Someone passes on our work and says no. If they are gracious enough they might tell us why, but for the most part, we are left guessing.
And what do we guess? You got it. The worst. Fear, doubt and insecurity come crashing in. We feel like failures. We second-guess our ability and our purpose.We wonder if it’s worth it. We blame the person who said no. We come up with excuses, rationales, reasons that make them the bad guy and us the good guy. We feel shattered and down and hit the ground with a thud.
When you’ve been through it a few times, you know despite what you’re feeling right now that eventually (sooner is better) you have to pick yourself off the ground and get back in the game. And you do.
But this process of being wounded by rejection and having to dig deeper roots and decide to keep going takes its toll on the spirit. And it can change who you are if you let it go unexamined for too long.
What are we telling ourselves?
I’ve said this before, rejection is 97% perception and only 3% fact.
Someone said no. It wasn’t right for them. They weren’t interested. They have their own opinions, their own preferences, their own pressure to perform. Imagine being in their place. How excited would you be if a genre or the subject matter just didn’t interest you or you simply couldn’t stand it (for me = horror films)? Why would you want to force yourself to try to feel enthusiastic about it and sell it?
I’m of the opinion that when you find the right representation or buyer, you do so because you find a fit between interests, beliefs, passions and visions. And that’s what you want. No representation is better than poor, unenthusiastic representation or representation that represents you wrong.
But back to my point. What are we telling ourselves when we feel rejected?
1. This person had the power to decide my fate.
Is that true? Your overall fate is in your decision to keep trying, keep practicing your craft, keep knocking on the doors that are right for you and your work. Fate is a heavy word. The weight of it belongs to you.
2. I’m not good enough.
Did they actually tell you that? If they did, did they specify why they think so? We jump to this conclusion only because we give the other person the right to decide who and what we are. Chances are, the person who rejected you had other reasons – multiple reasons – that went into the decision. You may need to improve your craft, true (we all do), but being or not being good enough is a perception. Your craft may not be up to professional standards yet – does that mean you’re not a good enough person? No. It just means you’re not ready yet, you need more time to grow and develop. There’s nothing wrong with being in that place.
3. I’ll never succeed.
That’s true. But only if you make that decision. You decide.
4. I’m a failure at this.
Only if you quit. But even then, is that really a failure? Failure has such a permanent ring to it. And so little in life is actually permanent. Not even quitting. You can start again. Failure is a term of measurement we use when we’re living according to what we think other people expect of us. I’m not sure anyone actually, really cares that much what we do with our creative lives, do you? Do what makes you happy. Ban failure from your thinking. It’s not a concept that applies to you. If you’ve already quit, you can start again. If you’re happy that you quit, there’s nothing wrong with that. Be happy. This is your life. You decide if you’re enjoying it.
5. I don’t know what to do next.
Take some time. Feel your pain. Let it flow out of you. Then ask for guidance. You will receive it. And trust. Trust, trust, trust the process. Trust yourself, trust your opinion, trust the Universe. Take the next step. Try another avenue. Keep going. Remember, it’s easier for the Universe to guide a moving object than a still one. So find a way to move and trust, trust, trust that you will be led.
What do you do if you’ve been burned one too many times?
Burns leave scars. Reminders that something overwhelmed you, damaged you and that you healed.
You survived the pain, the regrowth, the process of overcoming it and evolved from it.You are different today because of it. And the scar serves to remind you.
If rejection has come in the form where it’s caused you to lose your sense of identity, or if you face it from sources that seemingly have no reason to reject you (like fame), these scars may have altered who you feel yourself to be. You’ve adapted and changed. But you may have also become less daring, less willing to be near the fire, less able to feel the potential warmth out of fear of the potential pain.
Repeated rejection changes how you relate to yourself, your work and your world. And so much of the deeper aspects connect intimately to how you accept or reject yourself in relation to what others are telling you and their reaction to you. This is where connecting to Source is healing. Disconnecting your sense of value as an individual and human being from your place in the world and focusing on the innately beautiful spirit that you are is essential. Nurturing your spirit is essential.
Stop Believing It
One of the biggest things you can do for your spirit is to own your thoughts. How you think about your experiences, the Story you wrap around what people say and do and mean, is ultimately responsible for how much joy or pain you experience. We give meaning to other’s actions and words based on what we believe most deeply about ourselves. We interpret their intentions through the filter of our harsh inner critic. One of the most valuable pieces of insight I received years ago was this:
“Stop believing it. You wouldn’t react so strongly if you didn’t believe it yourself.”
And isn’t that true? When we don’t believe something is true about us, millions of people can say it about us and it won’t affect us at all.
When we believe it, just one word from someone will tip us into a downward spiral of self-judgement.
Our beliefs are the underlying source of the sensation of rejection. And a belief is just a thought that you keep thinking.
You can change your thoughts. And you can insulate yourself from rejection by changing how you interpret what a “no” means.
Think about what you tell yourself, think about what you believe.
Where can you experience healing by changing what you think?
creative inside out 