Many years ago when I was a university undergraduate, one of my roommates happened to be an art student. Living in an apartment littered with paintbrushes, canvasses and other paraphenalia gave me an up-close appreciation of how an artist actually works, that was miles apart from the detached overview of humanity’s long progression through the visual arts that I learned from my art history classes.
One important, foundational idea that I soon recognized as relevant to my creative writing, was that not all of an artist’s subjects require the same approach and tools, but are dependent upon what meaning she is trying to communicate. Sometimes she uses oils, sometimes acrylics or chalk or charcoal. A complex subject might require a lot of detail and color, while something simple can be depicted with a few judiciously applied strokes. The artist’s creative vision, what he intends to convey to the viewer, and how effectively that is achieved, are subject to the style he uses and the tools he implements.
Fiction is like that, too. Just as all stories are different — some are innately novels, others short stories or novellas, still others screenplays — their successful executions require techniques specifically tailored to their uniquely individual natures.
For example, my novel about Joan of Arc, An Army of Angels, is a vast, sweeping epic filled with color and elaborate detail, a real cast-of-thousands historical novel on the scale of a vintage Cecil B. deMille movie. The subject required nothing less, so that was the approach I took. On the other hand, V-Squad, a character-driven vampire adventure set during World War II, is lighter in tone, evocative rather than painstakingly detailed, and much, much shorter. Given its setting in the recent past and the relative familiarity of that time to the contemporary reader, it wasn’t necessary for me to apply a lot of text toward immersing my audience in that world.
So, using the visual arts analogy, if An Army of Angels is comparable in size and tone to one of those busy, wall-sized 19th century paintings that you might find in the Louvre or Washington DC’s National Gallery of Art — say, something like this —V-Squad‘s narrative is simpler, more stylized, and employs cleaner lines, like this.
As a novelist, I always try to stretch myself and write something unlike anything I’ve attempted before. Currently in front of me are six short stories related to and featuring characters from V-Squad. Their common source notwithstanding, every one is different from both the novel and each other.
The story I’ve been working on for about four months now consists of a spare narrative that suggests physical context without a reliance on extended description. There’s very little internal monologue on the part of the protagonist; his psyche and emotional reactions to the world around him are reflected via his experiences and interactions with others, and not the other way around. If this were visual art, it would be done in charcoal using simple line drawings.
Each of the other stories is equally unique and written according to its individual character. One is broad farce; another, somber and emotionally moving; yet another, erotic. And for the first time (which is saying something, given that I’ve been writing on and off for almost fifty years), I’m trying my hand at an out-and-out horror story reminiscent of a tale from The Twilight Zone.
As I have found over time, every story worth telling has its own color, tone, and style. So when I dip into my metaphorical toolbox, I always look forward to learning something new about the writer’s craft. For me, there’s nothing more rewarding than painting with words.
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words and images 