Just watched Black Swan this weekend, starring Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis. The movie is about the character’s psychological breakdown, which parallels Swan Lake’s story between the dark and light side of the Swan Queen (and no, I’m not familiar with the story). A subplot in the movie is Portman’s character’s struggle of technical perfection in ballet versus artistic expression.

Good Girl

When I started to write consistently, I had struggled with wanting to be the good girl versus the bad girl (not sure I’m doing myself any favors here). The good girl is being technically good at writing, and the bad girl is allowing myself to suck and the freedom to just write whatever comes out.

Which is better?

Bad Girl

So I started with the bad girl (yes!). I started to write Nightfall, and allowed whatever to come out, come out. I wrote sixty pages worth of material.

Then I talked to my friend who’s constantly working on being a technically perfect writer. He turned me to books and seminars that taught me how to be a good girl, how to write well technically. They focused on structure, emotional techniques, how to build depth in character, scenes, overall story, and provided a mechanic’s dream full of tools. More than what any writer would use in any single work.

But deep in my heart, I felt the bad girl pounding, wanting to get out and expose herself.

I’d talked to a friend recently, and she told me she wrote a book with her eyes closed. As far as I could tell, she’d done little research on writing technique or structure but was inspired to write. I haven’t read it so I’m not sure of the quality. However, when I was listening to her talk, the good girl inside shook me and said, “She’s crazy!”

Was my friend unconsciously incompetent (the individual neither understands nor knows how to do something, nor recognizes the deficit, nor has a desire to address it)? Google the four stages of competence and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

To be fair, my technically induced friend does allow for inspiration, and my crazy friend could be a great writer. But these two people showed up in my life as symbols of two extremes because I asked the question:

Which is better?

Choose me. No! Choose me.

In life, too much of anything isn’t good.

Humans can’t live more than a few days without water. But drink too much of it and people can die of water intoxication. Take in what you need. Leave the rest.

Today, I’ve used very little of what I had written during my purely bad girl days. But I learned what not to do, and in the process of my redemption, I had taken the time to learn. In doing so, I found out something interesting about myself that is the fundamental philosophy behind Bruce Lee: When one has reached maturity in the art, one will have a formless form. It is like ice dissolving in water. When one has no form, one can be all forms; when one has not style, he can fit in with any style.

What?

Learn what you need to learn. Leave the rest. You don’t and can’t know everything. Just make sure what you’ve learned doesn’t imprison your soul, that you can still express yourself wholly. Another words, forget what you’ve learned and just go with it.

As renowned photographer, Rodney Lough has said, “Art is the language of the soul.”

One of the coolest things about all art is the interpretation. Debates go endlessly about movies, books, paintings, poems, sculptures. And who’s to say who’s right and who’s not when we can’t even agree what’s art and what isn’t.

In trying to get feedback on my book, I’ve been giving out copies to my friends and family to get initial reactions, both kneejerk and constructive. I had readers who are fans and non-fans of fantasy, which is my genre.

One of my readers stated that my main character was highly sexual and emotional. I wanted honest opinions and here we are!

My kneejerk reaction was of course to defend.

But I’m here to learn so I asked her question after question, trying to keep an open mind.

None of my other readers had mentioned any of this. And just in case they missed something my friend hadn’t, I asked one of them specifically about the above points.

Highly sexual was something that really surprised me. I asked her what made her think this. She said that my hero thought about his wife’s scent, was enamored by her silky hair, and in a key scene couldn’t sleep due to the absence of her breathing next to him. I asked another female reader what she thought about this without mentioning what my friend thought. She said my hero was in love with his wife that it was about love.

Who’s correct?

Both.

There’s a saying. What you hate in others is what you hate in yourself. When I look at the lives of these two women, I can see why both thought the way they did.

I’m not saying they hated my book, but often what we see in art is often a reflection of us, an aspect anyway. I mean, haven’t you listened to music that reflects how you feel in the moment? We listen to love songs, or angry alternative, when we’ve broken up with someone. Or listen to ambient music when we want to be calm. Or listen to heavy metal or techno when we’re working out.

And knowing how 50% of sold books are romance novels tells you what women are feeling or needing.

My friend’s second point, complaint really, about my hero being emotional was also interesting.  For one, he is.  It being a complaint is a judgement on the character. Kinda like saying someone being short is not good. It’s not their fault.  My hero just turned out that way.

This brings us to the definition of art. First off, I don’t think it can be defined. It’s like defining the soul. Or God. You can’t. But a famed photographer once said that art is the language of the soul. Isn’t that where inspiration comes from?

But if you want to see a cool and heated debate of what art is, check out an articleRober Ebertwrote about how video games aren’t art.

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Onions.  They give you bad breath but adds flavor to the food we eat.  Have you ever peeled one?  Peel the rough skin and reveal a fresh moist layer.  Peel that and there’s another silky layer.  On and on.

In writing my book, I purposefully laid in layers to give it a sense of depth.  On the surface, it’s a fast-paced, action packed, page turner (damn, I’m conceited).  There’s sex.  There’s mayhem.  Want betrayal?  You got it.  Want love?  You got it.

Slice under that superficial layer and you’ll find a deeper understanding of the story.  Billowing clouds may reflect a character’s painful conflict within.  Heat from a fire reflecting off someone’s clothes may echo the character’s anger.  Wind may symbolize a character’s dominance over their lands.

In 1954 a renowned filmmaker released what’s considered one of the best films ever made:  Seven Samurai.  It’s about a Japanese farming village, constantly beseiged and pillaged by an army of bandits, recruits seven independent samurai to defend it.

Akira Kurosawa’s films have influenced great directors such as Steven Spielberg and George Lucas.  In fact, Star Wars was heavily influenced by The Hidden Fortress, a Kurosawa film.

I have to admit, when I watched Seven Samurai, I was like, “What da hell?”

I was caught off guard by the soundtrack, pacing and language (despite my slanty eyes, I don’t speak Japanese).  I did drag myself through the length of the film, all three hours and forty-five minutes.

Luckily, I had bought The Criterion Collection of the film.  There are tons of lectures on the DVD discs, and I listened to all of them, wanting to learn everything I could.  What I learned had a profound effect on me and my writing.  Or is it my writing and I?

Consolidating Kurosawa’s genius would be difficult and insulting.  But here I go.  He controlled everything because everything in his films had a purpose, a reason.  Every word, action, shadow, even the swipe or fading to the next scene meant something.  If someone broke wind, there was a purpose.  Unless it was silent but deadly.

The most interesting character is Kikuchiyo, played by Toshiro Mifune.  He doesn’t exactly look like a samurai, nor does he walk like one.  So is he a samurai?  He lugs his extra long sword on his shoulder instead of holstering it around his waist like the other six.  What does this say about Kikuchiyo?  Is he compensating for something?  Or is there a deeper story within the character?

In his dramatic scene, Kikuchiyo admits he was once a villager and somehow found his way to samuraism. (Is that even a word?)  This didn’t happen in those days of Japan.  It was difficult enough to move up the ranks of the samurai.  And admitting you were once a villager was like admitting you’re a woman, when you’re really a man, but without the operation.

The lectures in the special features stated Kikuchiyo symbolized the filmmaker, Kurosawa.  His views were somehow reminiscent of Kikuchiyo and his rise in society and that Japan had moved into the modern era.  This is further symbolized when each samurai is killed by a modern weapon:  the gun.  Once the villagers were saved, they continued their lives giving any thought to their saviors.  We see the surviving samurai walk from the cemetery where their comrades were buried and out to the horizon, never to return.

I rewatched the film many times, and I grew to love it. The story density is amazing.

It’s interesting to see how we clamor to the magazine stands to find out the latest on celebrities.  What atrocities have they committed?  But if we were truly curious about who they were, all we’d have to do is turn to their art.

For art is the language of the soul.

Netflix.  It’s totally revolutionizing how people rent movies.  And it’s economical.  But this post isn’t about that.  It’s about The Road to Stripped.

Netflix offers a free two-week trial, and I thought I’d explore that.  Moving into my own place requires that I explore entertainment choices other than paying for cable.  And what was the first movie I watched?

Stripped

Jill Morley made a documentary about the lives of strippers, being one herself.  She’s not anymore but you can check her out at www.jillmorley.com.  Her new documentary Fighting It, follows the lives of five female fighters.  That should be interesting.

So you may be asking why I chose to watch Stripped. I’d like to say that I was doing some research for a new book or character.

No.

Plainly, I wanted to watch something naughty.

Then why didn’t I go to the millions of sites that hosts saltier types of media.  Been there, done that.  I also have a soft spot for strippers.  During my acting days in the city, I’d come to know and befriend a few strippers who took acting classes who wanted to break into mainstream entertainment.  And I became close to one in particular.

In talking to them, their perspective on men, strip clubs, work, children, and life is echoed in Stripped.  And unlike watching saltier types of videos, I didn’t find myself fast forwarding to the good parts.  The whole documentary was interesting.

But the thing that stuck out in my mind was how each stripper felt trapped.  The money they earned seemed to outweigh the toll it was taking on their soul.  Because it was the club owners who truly benefited from the clientele, the labor of these beautiful women, and the intense hard work, both emotionally and physically, they put in.

Aside from the tragic circumstances some of these women were in, what struck me was their view of men.  Everything a stereotypical male chauvinist pig represents is what their view of men is.  I saw how desolate they felt when talking about men.

And for some reason it reminded me of the book The Road.

No, the book didn’t contain any strippers.  Despite that essential element, wink wink, I loved the book.  The desolation described was incredible.  Incredible that I saw real images as I read.  Incredible that it’s one of the few books to affect me, to help me realize the abundance that I have, to remind me of the unending strength of the human soul, to show me what people could and would do when dignity is gone.

There was a scene in the book where a group of cannibals had chained about a dozen prisoners, and they were herding them back to their dwelling.  This coincided with a passage McCarthy wrote about cattle.  How we use cattle as beasts of burden, then slaughter them for food.  No one is ever shocked that we do this to cattle or any other animal.  But we’re totally shocked when we see people do this to other people.

Is there a difference?

Look at the owners of strip clubs.   Earning their meals on the labor of women.  Preying on men’s desire for sex.

Is there a difference?

Yeah, Jimmy.  Club owners aren’t eating these women.  Literally.

What about the soul?  Is that not as important?

I deeply explore the soul in my book.  I’ve thought about it a great deal.  I know I have one.  Art is an expression of the soul.  And because life mimics art, or art mimics life, I chose to make it important both in art and life.

In saying that, pieces of strippers’ souls are being taken away each night they dance.  Each lap dance they give, a part of their soul is lost.  Each dollar they earn, they give up a part of what makes them a human being.  This is what I felt when watching Stripped, or whenever I talked to my friend who worked in that industry, or when reading about the cannibals in The Road.

Now here’s a question for you.  When you work in your day job, as I do, do you feel a part of you is torn away?  At the end of the day, what is your life about?  At the end of your life was working all those extra hours worth it?

Or are you the fortunate few who’ve discovered your passions, your life’s purpose, and truthfully love what you do?

I’ve read a lot of books regarding success and personal growth.  There are three main things they focus on.  The way you think, the way you feel, and the way you act.

One of the biggest publishing successes for personal growth was The Secret.  I have a copy of it.  It’s main focus is thought.  Think it, dream it, and voila, it appears.

One  main thing it skims over is action.  The book refers to Jack Canfield.  It’s actually my favorite part of the book.  One of the things he did was write a check out for $100,000 dollars and every morning he looked at it.  Then he got an idea, an inspiration to write a book.  He sold the book for .25 cents each.  He followed the golden nuggets of inspiration, advertised in the National Inquirer, and sold close to 400,000 copies.  Not only did he basically reach his envisioned goal, he celebrated.  Then he got another idea to write something called Chicken Soup for the Soul.  It was a bit successful.  If you call a major hit a bit.

What’s the moral of the story?  Know where you are.  Know where you want to be.  Act on it.  Do something about it.  Just do it.  Sound familiar?  A small shoe company uses that slogan.

Years ago, my best friend and I were debating about what was more important.  Positive thought or Action thought.  What do you think?

You can wish to win the lottery, but until you buy a ticket, it’s unlikely you’re going to win.

Personally, positive thought is overrated.  Progressive thought, on the other hand, is awesome.  You want something?  Go for it.  Take the first step toward it.  Too many people want the success without putting the work behind it.  Think what you need to do to get what it is you want.

My friend coined the term progressive thought.  Thought that moves you toward your goal.  You want to be a great sprinter?  Sprint.  Want to be a great snowboarder?  Snowboard.  Want to write the great American novel?  Write.

And a small word on positive thinking.  It’s not about thinking positively, but ignoring the crap that doesn’t help you.  If a friend came up to you and said, “I wanna be an actor.”  Most people would be like, “Good luck, dude.  It’s like totally hard, man, and it’s so not practical.”  DON’T LISTEN TO THAT CRAP!  Let it roll off your back, have a progressive thought like, “I’m going to take acting classes.”  You are now one step closer toward your dream.  Isn’t that what Tom Hanks did?  Read his story.  It’s amazing.

Just do it.