Riding Waves or Making Them

Brian and I were chatting on the weekend about selling out. No, I don't mean that we have untold amounts of property of great worth we could cash in on so we could retire on a private island. I mean selling out creatively.

He was saying that, despite the fact that he knew that if he had an opportunity he'd sell out in a minute, he was saying how much he wants authors to swing for the fences, that too many series go on too long and lose their luster.

The risk to the artist is stagnation.

On the flip side, I commented about how often I've given my head a shake over the latest TV star who quits an iconic role because they think they can make it big in movies. Why don't they see they have a good thing going and enjoy the moment?

It struck me as odd that I had opposing views for different industries.

I know how some things work in publishing. Years ago, the shocking truth was revealed at a Harrogate panel; publishers don't want something completely original. They want something that is similar to things that are currently successful because they know how to market that type of product.

The question then, is, how do you become the one who's making waves and leading the charge, rather than the one who's simply riding someone else's wave?

I'm not sure I have any easy answers for that question. There's been some chatter, on Facebook and elsewhere lately, about trends. One discussion was about whether there was an emerging trend towards using small towns or remote settings in fiction. I wonder if it's the Fargo effect. Personally, I find just another New York or Los Angeles story a little dull. It's like the only things that happen in the world happen there. Give me someplace different. Breaking Bad did it. Fargo is doing it. Fortitude is about as far off the map as you can get.

Originality isn't just developed through setting, though. I think one has to be willing to set aside conventions and think outside the box, but also be progressive. There are some things that get tiresome in fiction. I was thinking about that with the start of season 3 of Bosch. In season 2 (run now if you haven't caught that season yet and want to avoid a spoiler) Lance Reddick's character's son is killed in the line of duty. His wife blames him for getting their boy killed. I wanted to throw something at the TV. You let your boy enter the police academy. You watched him graduate. You talked to him about his work on the police force. You didn't tell him it was too dangerous to be a cop. Nope. You were good with it, until the unthinkable happened. And at that point you react irrationally and blame Dad and end the marriage.

Because women are pure emotional reaction, right?

Homeland isn't flawless, but one of the things it does do is portray strong women. I think that they rectified this largely in season 4. Carrie's bipolar had exacerbated her emotional components in earlier seasons, but she really matures in her role in season 4 and is capable of making tough decisions, even when potential personal loss is involved. The US Ambassador is a strong compliment to Carrie's role.

I'm not saying you can't have women of all stripes in fiction, but that's the point; your women should play more than one note. So should your men. In today's increasingly complex world, returning to the same stereotypes and tropes is the equivalent of recycling trends, and in some cases this means recycling trends that aren't even fresh.

On the one hand, I realize that some of my fiction may never find a conventional home because of the limited perspective of what's considered marketable. But on the other hand, I know that if I were to ever achieve the next level of success it will be because I've swung for the fences, and stuck the landing. Ask me what I'm looking for with the stories for the Spinetingler issue, and I'm asking myself, "Has this been done before?" Challenge yourself to bring something new to the table, even if you're writing a procedural piece or a PI story or a tale of romantic betrayal.

For right now, I have the luxury of writing what I want to write, and no plans to write anything that I'm not personally interested in. I hope everything I have that gets published will mark some form of growth, whether it's the growth of writing just one POV, or the growth of crossing genre lines. Hopefully, whether it's in two years or twenty, this will help me reach a point where I produce something that makes my husband proud.

When Bad Guys Go Too Bad

by Holly West

Before I begin this week's post, I'd like to announce that Thomas Pluck will be sharing Wednesdays with me starting next week. I always enjoy when Tom writes a guest post, so I think we can all look forward to some insightful and entertaining content from him. Welcome, Tom!

The following post will be a bit spoiler-y, particularly if you haven't watched the last-ish seasons of House of Cards, Nurse Jackie, Breaking Bad, The Sopranos and Orange is the New Black. No plot revelations, but I'll be discussing character development of these shows.

I'm sure I've said this before, but I love a flawed protagonist. They are, in fact, my favorite kind of protagonists. I'm attracted to misfits and characters who walk the thin line between good and bad. Characters who are fundamentally good but for some reason do a lot of bad things--maybe because they can't help themselves or they can't get ahead in life or they don't feel they have a choice. Maybe it's their job. Characters who are somehow able to justify the bad things they do in such a way that the audience is able to root for them in spite of their flaws.

Oh, how I loved Tony Soprano.

Take Tony Soprano. In the beginning, he was the perfect flawed protagonist. Admittedly, he was more bad than good, but that works for me. He did terrible things, but dammit, he really loved those baby ducks. And his struggles with his mother? I'd watched my own father have similar ones with his mother. I could relate. Tony was so simple and yet so complex and I loved him completely.

And while we're talking The Sopranos, what about Nurse Jackie (played brilliantly by Carmela Soprano--er, Edie Falco)? Another superbly flawed character whose drug addiction causes her to lose nearly everything. At first, the awful things she does are balanced out by her brilliance as a nurse but eventually, she hits bottom and we're left to wonder if redemption is possible. Has she pushed us too far, like she pushed away everyone else in her life?

Which brings me to the point of this post: what happens when characters go so bad they're no longer enjoyable to watch/read? I'm not talking about the bad guys--the guys whose job it is to be terrible. I'm talking about the so-called good guys. Flawed or not, the ones we tune in for each week (or turn each page or buy each book in a series) because they're compelling and sympathetic in spite of the bad things the do. In some cases, because of it.

In Tony Soprano's case, it became increasingly harder to empathize with him as the series wore on and that made him less interesting. There was no chance of redemption for him as a character because he'd pushed me to my limit and he wasn't giving enough back. Where are the baby ducks when you need them? I was ready to let him go before the series actually ended (though I loved him so much in the beginning, I still wanted him to live on in some kind of alternate universe, even if I no longer wanted to watch him).

Oh well.

I'm not saying that a character shouldn't, over the course of a series, become unredeemable. Often, that's a compelling arc and I'm into it. But as writers we need to be cognizant of when a character has reached the pinnacle of his/her evil and not let it drag on too long. Know when to cut him off at the knees. He can't go on indefinitely without consequences (and sometimes, the consequences are the end of the series).

A good current example is House of Cards. At the end of season three, I wondered if perhaps the Underwoods had become truly evil and whether I wanted to watch them any further. They no longer seemed to have any moral dilemmas--their only problems were keeping the power they'd gained and not getting caught for their many misdeeds. I'd watched for three seasons thinking they were working for some kind of greater good only to learn that they themselves were the greater good. Womp womp. But then, the season three finale ended with a good cliffhanger so I watched season four. Unfortunately, I think I'm through with the Underwoods--the series should've ended this season (and if you've seen it, you know they had the perfect opportunity).

I also mentioned Orange is the New Black. We're half way into the latest season I'm having trouble with the main character, Piper. Perhaps the goal was to harden her as the series proceeded (because let's face it, she is in jail and even if the inmates are magically able to have sex whenever they want it's still taxing) but she's lost most of the vulnerability that was so appealing at the beginning of the series. She's one-dimensional now. Not complex and not interesting.

Want an example of a show that did it right? Breaking Bad. The series ended at precisely the right time. I could still root for Walter because he was in the end stages of his disease and well, that's got to fuck a person up, but really, he'd turned so bad that having him live on would've been tedious. His story was finished and it was time to kill him off and move on.

I'm aware that I've only discussed television shows here. But these rules apply to books, though maybe not in the same way, unless you're talking about a series. Thinking about these issues reminds me to work harder at character development. Add some subtlety. Maybe a quirk or two. Good fiction demands we magnify some of qualities for effect, but no one is all good or all bad and we need to keep this in mind. We're creating characters here, not caricatures.

The Wire? Breaking Bad? FOOOOOD FIIIIIGHT.

By Jay Stringer

I think it would be entirely fruitless to compare The Wire and Breaking Bad. It's the kind of pointless exercise that bloggers use to fill up their word counts. That said, I shall now be comparing The Wire and Breaking Bad for around 1800 words.

Firstly a quick warning. I've not seen all of Breaking Bad, today's piece will be assuming the show finishes with that final shot of season 3. If you've seen all of both shows, you're good to go. If you've seen anything less than all of The Wire and the the first three seasons of Breaking Bad, then stop now, there be spoilery beasties here.

Secondly, this is written because I read this piece from Chuck Klosterman. I'm writing as much out of reaction to that than I am to the shows themselves. There are times when my blogs come with a required reading list. This is one of those times.

I'll wait right here.

Okay, why did this essay inspire me to write? Well, with all due respect to it's author, I think it's playing  fast and loose. It singles out Wire fans for being obstinate, and effectively turning the subjective into the objective (I like the show, therefore it's the best show ever, and here are the facts why, and I don't care about your facts.) Before pretty much doing the same thing for Breaking Bad. Its also makes some points that I think are gross oversimplifications of both shows.

Can we draw a distinction between the two? Sure. It's one I may well contradict later, but here we go; The Wire is social fiction, Breaking Bad is a morality play. The Wire requires that you see the broad canvas, that you see the characters in context of the large machine. Breaking Bad (at least at the point I'm at) has remained a very tight and focused show, the cast hasn't expanded much past a couple of additions in three seasons, the locations tend to be the same select few on rotation. The Wire presents you with an ever expanding cast of people to follow, and it's down to us to debate if one or two of them represent the heart of the show. Breaking Bad would be just as effective if the morality play was pared down to it's two central characters, Walter and Jesse, in a dark room, debating ethics every week; the other characters are there to reflect changes in the central two, they are extensions of Walter and Jesse.

So there we go. That, I think, is the key difference between the two shows. Which is why my mind started to click and whir when Klosterman started talking about other differences.

His key argument seems to be this; Breaking Bad is the crime show that gives it's characters individual agency. To which I'd say; on the surface, sure. It is a morality play, after all. The appearances are that Breaking Bad is just about the choices these guys make, and the slippery slope that leads from good to bad. But every time people start talking about morality in fiction, they're really giving away more about themselves than the fiction (me included.) And I think simply stating that BB is the "only one where the characters have real control over how they choose to live," is an oversimplification, as well as revealing a set moral world view.

I find BB to be a very religious show. This is me as a total non-believer. I wasn't raised with god, and my views on morality come from human ideas of right and wrong, rather than any inbuilt wiring of commandments, hellfire and heaven. To watch the domino effect that leads from one choice made by a science teacher in the pilot episode, to two passenger planes having a head-on collision in the air space directly above that teachers garden at the end of season 2, is not to watch a show that is all about individual agency.

(Lets not mention the bullet that somehow falls from the hitman's pocket and lands exactly where Hank will need to find it)

You can call it contrived coincidence, call it cosmic coincidence, call it plot device, call it what you will; there is very definitely a god in the Breaking Bad machine. I'd go one further, and say there is something very old testament about the show. It's a show that needs to believe in wrath and punishment. Right from the start we were shown that everybody is a sinner in one way or another, from abusing their authority, to smoking illegal cigars, to infidelity and lying, almost everyone so far has transgressed, and every one of them has been punished. It even has it's biblical figures; the serpent trickster in the form of the very broad Saul Goodman -who pops up every time Walt's conscience is getting in the way to push him further astray- and the cold, calculating devilish Gus -who is waiting to suck you into his game and then destroy you. They are the two characters who seem most out of sync with the rest of the show when first introduced, as if plucked from another show and dropped into the narrative, yet both become important parts of the machine. Is it any coincidence that Saul was the gateway to Gus? I wouldn't be surprised if (in season 4, which I haven't seen yet, or season 5, which nobody has seen yet) we see the progression from old to new, and we begin to see Christ metaphors and symbolism, and if, indeed, one character has to choose to die for the sins of others.

None of that is said as criticism. I don't make these points to lessen the brilliance of the show. I simply make them because I think that to say Breaking Bad is the show about individual agency is to miss the point.

If I were to extend the above argument, I might say we're looking at a show that actually dislikes its people. It's waiting to sit in judgement, waiting to punish. By the same token, I always found The Wire to be a show that loved its characters, and worked to show you that love. It was the system or the game that the show hated, not the people.

For all it's talk of gods, and all David Simon's talk of classical Greek tragedy, the religion of the show was all man made. The system was the god. The game was the god. The drug was the god. Ultimately, the stats were the god. There was no cosmic coincidence, there was no hellfire, and there was no guarantees that doing the wrong thing would lead to punishment.

I find it bizarre that anyone would remove the concept of individual agency from The Wire, when so much of it's drama revolved around the tension between that concept and the game. The two notions were pulling at each other. Sure, the system chewed people up again and again. However, the characters who took the choice to remove themselves from the game, the characters who reached that level of almost spiritual self enlightenment, walked free and clear. I'm thinking of Poot, who chose to get out in time. I'm thinking of Bubbles (my favourite character) who is last seen earning a place at the family table after removing himself from the game. I'm thinking even of McNulty, who's personal demons are so at odds with the system that he realises he needs to engineer a way out of it, and finally looks at ease with himself once he's reached that point in the final episode. Even the most preternatural of the characters, Omar, was given the choice. He was given an out from the drama many times during the shows run, but chose his fate, he could not remove himself from the game because of his ego. Do we want to rob the shows amazing cast of characters of their small incremental choices over 5 seasons by saying that it's the show without individual agency?

Klosterman also argued that your liking of The Wire would come down to how much you agreed with the world view of it's creator. But if that premise is true, then surely it's true of both shows? David Simon has talked often about the messages he wanted to put forth in The Wire, and about his views on the end of empire. Vince Gilligan, creator of Breaking Bad, has also put his arguments forth. Here's an example;

I hate the idea of Idi Amin living in Saudi Arabia for the last 25 years of his life. That galls me to no end. I feel some sort of need for biblical atonement, or justice, or something. I like to believe there is some comeuppance, that karma kicks in at some point, even if it takes years or decades to happen. My girlfriend says this great thing that’s become my philosophy as well. 'I want to believe there's a heaven. But I can't not believe there's a hell.'

(That's from an interview with the New York Times)

So Breaking Bad is just as much an authors statement as The Wire. It's an attempt to put some sense of order onto our world. As much fun as it may be, as much whimsy and invention as it shows along the way, it's very much boiling down to an author saying that, yes, drugs are bad and a fervent prayer that these bad people face some kind of punishment.

Breaking Bad is a morality play with a set moral view. It's a show that needs there to be a sound if there's nobody around when the tree falls in the woods. The Wire, by contrast, is a show with a more fluid moral compass. The sound of the tree falling is dictated by whoever is present to hear it.

I think both shows are fantastic achievements. I could even make the argument that they belong together, as book ends on any shelf full of crime fiction; different takes on similar questions. There's no reason to try to objectively place one above the other.

Subjectively I prefer The Wire. I don't think that comes as a surprise to anyone who reads this site. It ticks a few more of my boxes, and I prefer it for the same reason that I like Dickens (take a drink if you're playing at home) and Steinbeck. But if David Simon wanted to mine pre-Shakespearian drama for his story-telling, then there is definitely something of the bard in Breaking Bad, there are healthy doses of the up close and personal morality tales of Macbeth and Othello, and I love those plays, too.