How do you know?
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
It’s not like you have a grid where you simply guide your finger up the longitudinal line of plot, then run it across the latitude line of sentence and grammatical structure, and voila! Good story.
I’ve written things where I’ve said, Wait a minute, this is lousy. But how do I know it’s lousy? And, conversely, when I’m jazzed about some story or novel I’ve just finished, and I’m visualizing myself on NPR, or Book Notes, answering questions like, So tell me Mr. Keck, how do you feel about that statue the Pulitzer people are having built in your likeness because of your novel? How do I know it’s good? I read it, right? And I say, Yeah. It’s good. But am I right? Am I wrong? If I’m right, why? If I’m wrong, again, why?
I read an article recently on writing where an instructor for a writing class read one of his student’s stories about serial murders in a small town in Kentucky. When he got to the end of the story, it turns out that the murderers happen to be leprechauns. When he asked his student how it was that leprechauns came to be in Kentucky, the young writer responded with, “I dunno’ they just are.”
Can we actually point to good writing? Can we with confidence say that so and so is good, and such and such is bad? Oh, we can say it, sure, but can we back it up with something other than an amorphous, Well, read it…you can just tell. And even if we can ‘just tell,’ can we tell with or own work?
What writer has ever said, Oh yeah, I’m terrible and my work sucks.
We all think our stuff is the best. We all think our own work is so much better than that guy who actually won the contest. I mean, after all, his story wasn’t even good, for heaven’s sake!
I’ve had people read my work and say it’s absolutely wonderful. I’ve also has others say they didn’t like it. So am I wonderful or not? That’s the big question.
Well, for clarity, I am wonderful. But that’s beside the point.
I want to know how to tell if someone is good or if they are bad. I want a formula, a mathematical equation that when you add all the elements together, you can say, ‘Nope. Bad story. See, you forgot to carry the metaphor and multiply the premise. Here, use my calculator, and be sure to move the plot-point when you add the fourth character.’
But we’re talking art here, and as Tony Soprano would say, “It aint’ dat’ easy.”
And, on top of everything, there are those who say that when it’s bad, that’s when it’s good. Case in point, Moby Dick. Herman Melville should be harpooned. You ever read that thing? If you decide to tackle that one you might think about paying someone to make you read it at gunpoint. It’s long, quite boring for the most part, and at times, written on an adolescent level. Now don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t total trash. Some parts are pretty good, but overall, it looks better closed on a bookshelf than open under a reading lamp. But what do I know? Many, many people loved it. Go figure.
Who knows, maybe some day they will get to the point where they will be able to scan a book and say, Oh, I’m sorry, the bar code says this one is stupid. Try the blue one, it scanned an 8.2 the other day.
Until we get there, I guess we’ll have to keep fighting over what is artistically sound, and what just sounds artistic.
As for me, I know I’ll always be able to rely on my loved ones to keep giving me words of encouragement like, “When are you going to get a real job?”
Keck
