Writing Themes-Slicker than Slick

As we continue the topic of using universal themes in writing, here's another movie just chock full of 'em. Not many comedy movies do such a brilliant job of juxtaposing humor with heavy issues, but City Slickers is a gem of an example. Half the time you don't know whether to laugh or cry--if you're paying attention.

There are two big themes happening in this movie. The most obvious is related to Mitch, Phil, and Ed and their midlife crises. They go off on adventures and try to find thrills to offset the growing truth that they are not getting any younger and maybe the best of life has passed them by. Mitch voices the problem when he says, "what if this is the best I'll ever look, the best I'll ever be, the best I'll ever do--and it's not very good?" The theme, then, is: how do we find true meaning and happiness in life--is it something we need to look for outside...or inside ourselves? Can true happiness be found, or do we just have to settle for a mediocre life and learn to live with it? This major theme is closely tied up with the second one, and by answering the latter, the former is solved.

The second theme is presented by Curly, the trail boss. In his enigmatic way, he looks hard at Mitch and says, "do you want to know what the secret of happiness is?" Mitch says yes and Curly holds up his finger. "It's this," Curly says. "One thing." "What? Your finger?" Mitch says. Curly explains the secret of happiness is different for each person--you have to go figure what it is, but when you do, you'll know it--and you'll be happy.

It may sound trite and simple, but when the three friends run into real danger and have to make tough choices, they find that being true to who they are and what they believe in is what leads them to their "one thing." For Mitch, it's risking his life to save Norman, the calf, as he's swept downriver. Yet, it's bigger than that. Mitch is suffering from feeling unimportant, that his life is meaningless, makes no difference to anyone, doesn't matter. But when he saves Norman, his act mattered--maybe just to a cow, but the symbolism to Mitch is huge. He made a decision and gave it all he had because he believed it was the right thing to do. He wasn't standing on the sidelines anymore but engaging in life.

Ed deals with his anger at his delinquent father, and Phil deals with his compromised and squelched life. Their problems aren't miraculously solved by going on a cattle drive, but they do learn the true secret of happiness--and it had nothing to do with seeking out the greatest adventure or challenge "out there." They discovered, to their surprise, that happiness was in the last place they would ever imagine--inside them. Rather than look outside to find happiness, Mitch learns that he needed to change his attitude. "I'm just going to do everything better," he tells his wife when he gets home. There's a bit of Zen philosophy here--the collect water, chop wood realization that joy can be found in simple unimportant tasks, because even those kinds of tasks have value. This reminds me of the Scripture: "Therefore, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God" (1 Cor. 10:31).

There's an interesting little bit at the end, when the three friends bring in the herd, to the surprise of the cattle ranchers. When Mitch, Ed, and Phil are told the cows are going to market to be butchered and wrapped in plastic, they get upset. But they're told, "it's not like those cows have anything to live for. This is what they're bred for; they're not an endangered species." Mitch jokes: 'well, Phil doesn't have anything to live for either, but we're not going to kill him." This is a nice subtle tie-in with the movie's theme, implying that we humans do have purpose--we're meant for more than mindless wandering from one place to another. And just as those cows have their place in the universe, so we too have a place--we just need to look inward and find out what it is. And, for a follower of Jesus, it means we entrust our lives to him and ask him to show us that purpose, the higher purpose and path our lives are meant to take. Thankfully, he's not like Curly, leaving us puzzling and confused. He himself charts our path and leads the way. And as I traverse this inhospitable desert of life without a map, that thought comforts me. For me, that's what Curly's pointing finger is all about--pointing up to the only one who knows the way. That may be my personal interpretation, but, that's what a well-written movie does--lay out the theme so you can apply it to your life. City Slickers does just that.

More on Writing with Themes-A Little Pig Goes a Long Way

Who would have thought such a simple, small children's book would have become such a blockbuster movie? A lot of children's movies are entertaining and funny for all ages, but Babe excels in a number of ways--not just in the quality of the animation and acting, but because there are some great themes going on here.The most obvious one has to do with one's "purpose" in life.

Babe, spared by fate, finds himself confused and alone at Farmer Hoggett's farm. But he soon learns that every animal on the farm has a purpose--and so he goes about trying to discover what that might be. The theme is woven throughout the many characters--Rex the dog is in charge and has a noble purpose, but he feels ashamed that, because of a tragic occurrence, he cannot fulfill his purpose as well as he used to. The duck, on the other hand, is desperately seeking purpose, because, as the mean old cat cruelly informs Babe: those without a purpose end up like Roxanne--a duck cooked and steaming hot on the Thanksgiving table. But, by the time Babe learns he has "no purpose," he has already demonstrated to Farmer Hoggett his wonderful sheep doggie skills.

Babe experiences a saving twist of fate, for Farmer Hoggett is a keen believer in divine purpose. His character is concerned with everything having a place, everything functioning efficiently. The symbol that ties in with this theme of purpose is "the gate." Using this subtle but powerful element, the writer of this story keeps us coming back to Hoggett tweaking his gate. His aim is to have the gate close with a gentle touch and lock with the least amount of extra effort. Likewise, he wants his farm to run smoothly, and part of that involves his dogs herding the sheep into their pens for various reasons. When he sees how Babe has acquired a knack for herding these sheep effortlessly, his attention rivets on Babe. Here is a pig with a destiny--with a purpose. Perhaps it is an unusual one, a strange and aberrant one. But Hoggett is not one to give a hoot what anyone else thinks--even when hundreds of people are laughing at him as he strides out into the arena with Babe as his "sheep herding dog" to compete in the time trials. He doesn't enter Babe so he can get attention or laughs, or to become famous or notorious. He enters Babe because it makes perfect sense. Babe is an excellent sheep dog, despite his porcine nature, and it is only logical for him to compete and earn the recognition deserved for his skills.

Hoggett is a man of few words, but we do get a sense of the affection he has developed for Babe when the pig appears sick and won't eat. Hoggett lapses into a sweet song and dance to cheer Babe up, which is just what Babe needs to fight off his depression and meet his destiny. Hoggett and Babe bond in purpose, and there is nothing so powerful as two linked together in such a manner. By the end of the movie, Hoggett's gate closes perfectly, and Babe ends his sheep dog trial--to the astonishment of the now-silent audience--with Hoggett only making one simple move: lifting his hand to close the gate behind the sheep Babe has properly herded into the pen.

The audience in the stands jumps to their feet and cheers--and those watching the movie feel the same exhilaration. Babe and Hoggett have faced all odds and humiliating jeers and the weight of others' disbelief in them. But they shine victoriously because they proved faithful to their calling. They found their purpose in life and grabbed it by both hands, despite every possible obstacle and discouragement. This theme is huge when you realize the movie is not about a pig that just happens to have some special skills--that's not the theme at all. Because Babe explores a universal theme that each one of us struggles with daily--how to find our purpose in life and fulfill it--this movie met with enormous success. Once you realize there are two kinds of stories--stories "with a purpose" and stories "without a purpose" you will understand what you need to make your novel a breakout success. Take a lesson from Babe--in your own life and in your writing--and look for the universal theme that needs to be expressed, however masked, in your story.

Continuing on Writing Themes: Nell

Here's an amazing movie. Brilliant on so many levels. The plot itself is wonderful and enough to drive the story. But we see again another story where there is a theme underlying the plot. It's not just about a girl who has spent most of her life in isolation. In Nell, we are put face-to-face with the question about our place in the world--what is considered normal and sane in the way we live our lives. Two forces fight over Nell--those who want to let her keep her freedom, intent on proving that she can not just survive but thrive without society. And the others, those in "authority," who insist Nell cannot care for herself, that she has to have others tell her what to think, eat, dress, how to act, and how to live that is not just acceptable, but healthy.

If you haven't seen the movie, Nell is a young woman raised in the back country, who had never encountered or interacted with any people other than her family (don't want to do a spoiler here). A delivery boy discovers her right after her mother has died, leaving Nell bereaved and alone. A doctor is asked to go talk with her, and thus begins the story of how Jerry, and then Paula, live on the property and study Nell, trying to communicate with her and assess her mental and emotional state. Does Nell need to be put in a State home? Or can she live on her own. Who has the right to decide?

Nell threatens the established norms, and as Jerry and Paula take her to court, in despair over her fate, Nell actually speaks up--in her strange manner of talking (because her mother, who had a stroke that impaired her speech, raised her with a warped version of English). To everyone's shock, Nell presents herself, with the help of Jerry's translating, as an intelligent, intuitive person. But, most importantly, she understands the heart of life--what scares us, what moves us. Nell tells us that she knows small things--her world is small. And that her listeners know big things, there in the city, in the big world. Yet, she sees how no one will look each other in the eye. She sees everyone's hunger for connection, for love, and asks why their world hasn't given them either hope, love, or answers. She tells them she knows what it's like to love and to lose those she loves. She makes it clear she is no different than anyone else. But she can accept that those things are part and parcel of life.

In this beautiful haunting speech, she reveals she knows far more than most of her listeners. She has a wisdom that comes from reflection and true living. She doesn't just live in her world, she embodies it. She puts her opposers to shame with her honesty and compassion--something starkly lacking in those seeking to constrain her "for her own good."

One of the minor characters, a deputy, has a troubled, depressed wife. He is racked with pain, unable to find a way to help her, to show her how to find joy and peace in her life. Yet, when this woman meets Nell, she finds the help she seeks. Just watching Nell, talking to her, and being comforted by this young woman, is the cure she needs. And there's a poignant moment in the movie where this woman looks at Paula, the State psychologist sent to assess Nell, and she says "you were the first one to need her."

Nell brings out many things in the people around her. They think they are there to help her, but the opposite is true. They each need to learn something about their fears and hangups, and Nell mirrors them innocently back to them. Everyone who gets around Nell is changed, just by virtue of her genuineness.

So, what theme is going on here? I see it as this: Nell is considered helpless and unfit. Society is needed to tell us how to live and function, and we must be a compliant participant in order to not just survive, but to enjoy life. Life has rules and we're meant to follow them. Rules=happiness. The theme is that these are falsehoods. That sanity, happiness, functionality have nothing to do with society, but have to do with your heart. That you can throw out every rule that doesn't speak to your heart, because, in the end, those rules will not serve you or anyone else. That you have to face your fear and your pain to get to the raw truth of who you are. And that's too scary for most people, yet Nell, of all people, is there. She embraces her pain and loss in a beautiful acknowledgment that this is life--in all its beauty and despair. She challenges each one of us--can we live so honestly? How's that for a BIG theme?

Continuing on with themes in writing: Strictly Ballroom

I can't resist talking about my favorite movie--well, my entire family's favorite movie. We have to get our fix, watching Strictly Ballroom, nearly every time we're all home for a weekend. Although we can mouth and act out every line (can't quite master all the dance steps yet!), we never tire of this movie. We sit, absolutely transfixed, as we watch Francesca and Scott dance the Paso Doble. There are a few movies that hold the same fascination for me--and they all have one thing in common. A few are City Slickers, The Three Amigos, Signs, Nell, and one I've already discussed--K-Pax.

Despite the variety of genre, style, writing, and tone, these movies have one very clear thing in common--a recurring universal theme that drives and weaves through the movie. Authors can learn a lot from movies, but it's important to look beyond the spoken word--the dialogue presented--to see what's really going on. And that's what happens in a great book. The universal themes waver just below the surface, occasionally rearing their heads when a character voices a question or makes a choice. Admittedly, The Three Amigos falls short when it comes to building and weaving a theme, as the "El Guapo" speech given by Steve Martin at the end of the movie really serves as a rallying cry to embrace a theme in a last moment's spark of inspiration. But it deserves mention. How can you easily forget his brilliant words:

"In a way, all of us have an El Guapo to face someday. For some, shyness might be their El Guapo. For others, a lack of education might be their El Guapo. For us . . . El Guapo is a big dangerous guy who wants to kill us. But as sure as my name is Lucky Day, the people of Santa Poco can conquer their own personal El Guapo . . . who also happens to be the actual El Guapo."

You could get expansive and talk about how, throughout the movie, The Three Amigos really did have to face their "various" El Guapos--literal and emotional, since they lost their nice gig at the Hollywood studio. Hey, they did get to make off with their dazzling costumes. But enough of our friendly Amigos.

I often ponder why Strictly Ballroom holds so much sway over our hearts and attention. Why can't we get enough of this movie, even after having seen it dozens of times? Back to the Future is like that too. When you walk by the TV and it's on, it drags you over and forces you to sit down, mesmerized by every word. It's not just fun entertainment and snappy dialogue. Strictly Ballroom is rife with theme. Sure, it's a fairy tale--the ugly duckling makes off with the handsome prince, despite all odds. But it's so much more than that.

Francesca, in a fit of frustration, mouths off a string of Spanish words, leaving Scott Hastings befuddled. She wants to dance with him in the Pan-Pacific competition, breaking the rules and dancing their own original steps, which is blatantly sacrilegious inthe world of professional ballroom dancing. She translates the phrase: "A life lived in fear is a life half-lived." This theme becomes Scott's awakening, his challenge, and ultimately his victory. It is the nectar the two drink, and the hope they embrace. It is the magical phrase that frees Scott's father from his "prison" and mends his parents' long-damaged relationship. It is the glue that binds, and the icing on the cake. Nearly every character in this movie experiences both what it's like to live a life in fear, and how empowered they are when they take a stand and face down that fear. This movie's brilliance is perhaps lost under all the makeup, costumes, and the histrionics of Shirley Hastings, but it's more than just the riveting music played during the Latin dance final that makes you want to jump to your feet and stomp your way around the living room. Your heart is soaring because the movie's theme successfully reached its target.

We'll delve more into universal themes in my next blog entry. But think about the movies you love and why they touch you. See if you can find a universal theme that has been silently guiding the movie along. Then see how you can uncover the themes of what you are writing, and find ways to thread them through your story. You just might make someone jump out of their chair and dance around the room!

Being Born Upside Down

[NOTE: this was posted a while back, but I wanted to revisit it]
The first time I read the last few pages of G. K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy, my heart pounded in awe. If you haven't gone out and bought a copy after reading the last two posts, I hope you will after reading this one.

Most of us are born upside down. I propose God planned that huge metaphor, wondering if some of us would "get"it. Some of us are born breech, but we'll excuse that small exception to the rule. Chesterton wrote: "All the real argument about religion turns on the question of whether a man who was born upside down can tell when he comes right way up. The paradox of Christianity is that the ordinary condition of man is not his sane or sensible condition; that the normal itself is an abnormality."

He sums up his book focusing on the ultimate idea of joy. Once again, he presents a thought I had never considered, but once I read it, made me say yes! He compares the joy of a pagan--or let's call him an unbeliever or one who doesn't know Christ--to the Christian in the matter of joy. "To the pagan," he says, "the small things are as sweet as the small brooks breaking out of the mountain; but the broad things are as bitter than the sea. When the pagan looks at the very core of the cosmos he is struck cold . . . . The mass of men have been forced to be gay about the little things, but sad about the big ones." What is he saying? That for the agnostic, joy is confined to small, fleeting moments of time: the birth of a child, a wedding, graduation day. The rest of a pagan's life is a great sadness and grief; its "desolation is spread through an unthinkable eternity." I lived most of my life that way: waiting for those small, isolated instances of joy, working hard toward some nebulous day in the future when I would be truly happy--when I won the lottery, or made a killing on my first bestselling novel, or married the perfect man, fill in the blanks, add your own wishes to the list. This is the way of most people in the world. Wanting, hoping, wishing, and maybe, at the end of life, looking back on a few treasured memories, little tiny pockets of isolated joys.

Conversely, for a Christian, grief and sorrow are small pockets in the big scheme of things. Melancholy "should be an innocent interlude." He says man is more himself when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial. This is what he means by being born topsy-turvy. "Christianity satisfies suddenly and perfectly man's ancestral instinct for being the right way up; satisfies it supremely in this: that by its creed, joy becomes something gigantic and sadness something special and small. The silence [above us] is not the heartless silence of an endless and aimless world. Rather the silence is a small and pitiful stillness like the prompt stillness in a sick-room." He emphasizes this: "Joy . . . is the gigantic secret of the Christian."

Sure, we suffer small moments of pain in this very brief, futile life we live. The Apostle Paul says the creation was subjected to futility by God for one reason--to learn hope. He calls this life a slight affliction that is momentary and light. Even the most horrific things we can think of--losing a loved one, suffering a debilitating injury or illness--in the light of eternity with God in a perfect world, reduce down to a small, little sadness. Can you imagine having to live your short life with the pain of losing a child in an accident? How will you reflect on that life, six billion years from now, when pain, mourning, death are all memories like the wisp of a dream upon awakening?

I heard a pastor once describe our lives here on earth as a kind of pregnancy. Like being in the womb, we spend a short time in the dark, completely clueless, preparing for the life--the real life--to come, where we will see truly, experience the bigger world. So it is with us now, here on earth. We are preparing to strip off mortality for immortality, corruption for incorruption, to be born into real life, something we, in our blind, dark wombs, cannot barely fathom. We are not just biding our time, but God is teaching, training, and molding us into the image of His son. That way, when we enter the kingdom, we won't suffer shock.

Chesterton writes: "We are perhaps permitted tragedy as a sort of merciful comedy: because the frantic energy of divine things would knock us down like a drunken farce. We can take our own tears more lightly than we could take the tremendous levities of the angels . . . perhaps the laughter of the heavens is too loud for us to hear."

History as Mystery

As I stare down the imposing novel I am attempting to write, Conundrum, I wield my vorpal sword in hand. Snicker-snack it goes, one two!...oh wait, that's used to fight the Jabberwock, my son... Jabberwocky and many other poems are finding their home in my new novel, an unravelling mystery based upon the bizarre tailings of my father's death in 1961. Usually I have no problem plowing through my index cards of scenes, progressing steadily to the finish. But this work is an unruly child, full of deceit and intent on pain.

So, I'm taking it slowly. My past response to trauma and conflict in my family has always been stupor. After a big fight, all I could do was curl up in a small dark space and sleep. My mind would go numb and I found it difficult to think of anything at all. So, I encounter this strange haze I must fight to write this book. Not only is it huge in scope, theme, and plot, but my heart goal is to explore betrayal, of which I am the foremost expert (I say with undaunted confidence), and somehow make this story resound in grace and redemption.

I think I've grown beyond anger and the desire to retaliate. I think I've been blessed with a forgiving spirit, in answer to my prayers. I didn't choose to write this book--God woke me up at 3 a.m. a month ago (after praying for days about what to write next. I really wanted to get back to talking pigs and hoptoads, but God knows the plans he has for me.) When I woke, I saw clearly my first chapter--everything in it--the themes, the subthemes, the setting, the protagonist (me, mostly), and the title of the book.

Conundrums are brain teasers, puzzles. My brothers and I spent years quizzing and challenging each other to solve these strange scenarios that made no sense. Clearly, I couldn't have picked a more apropos title (thank you, Father!) for the insoluble mystery surrounding my father's death. For how can someone just decide one day to die, and give himself leukemia? But that is one of the stories I was told after my father died at age 33, leaving my mother to raise three small children. I was later told he--a mathematician at Lockheed--had for some reason volunteered for a dangerous experiment. Supposedly others in his department had volunteered and they all died shortly thereafter of leukemia.

It wasn't until this year that I started questioning and researching. Which led me to reconnect with my uncle--my father's only blood brother--to learn more. He never heard of such an experiment, and was close to my father. He sent me an enigmatic letter my dad had written before he died, revealing that the fairy tale marriage between my parents was a sham and a cause of great pain for him. Of course, Lockheed and the government tell me no such experiments took place. But as I prepare to fly out to NY this month to see my uncle and cousin and learn all I can about my father (of whom I know almost nothing), I've turned this personal history into a mystery that will find no clear solution, because real life is like that. Everyone in this book either lies or has been lied to. And although my protagonist wants to save her suicidal brother with truth from their past, she finds she can only save herself, and by the skin of her teeth.

So, this inner and outer journey blurs the line of truth for me as I weave fact into fiction. On this side of Paradise, I doubt I will ever know the truth. I hope someday I will be reunited with the father I never knew--and then I will hear his story. For now, my hope is that I will produce a book that will help others who have been betrayed by their family, reveal something about bipolar depression, and pray that something redemptive will rise from the ashes of my own pain.

Sometimes I wonder why God moves us to write certain stories. I've talked with others who have found healing and peace through the exploration of putting their story into words. My books have always taught me many important things, and often serve a s a mirror to my viewpoint and imperfections. When writing The Map Across Time, I was startled when I realized Adin and Aletha, twins, together made up my whole personality, but apart reflected the disjointedness I often suffered. The eyes of my heart are often enlightened. My prayer is for all writers to experience such growth and insight as they tell their stories.

More on K-Pax-Exploring Themes in Writing

I'm organizing ideas for my new novel, and up until now, felt a little lost, undertaking such a big idea. I received a handout in Davis Bunn's fiction workshop and one sentence really struck me. That we have to know our theme before tackling our work. That was easy with Someone to Blame (bet you can't guess the theme!). I'm big on themes--every movie I love has an underlying theme, be it Strictly Ballroom, The Three Amigos (remember the El Guapo speech Steve Martin gives at the end!), or Ever After.

But some themes don't come clear until you search for them. What's the theme in K-Pax? It's not about whether Prot comes from another planet or not. The protagonist of this film is Dr. Mark Powell, and his problem is his disconnect to his family. Throughout the movie, we explore the dynamics of his family--his alienation from his son, his distance from his wife, even his disconnect from his "family" of patients. As he uncovers the truth about Prot and the story behind Robert Porter and the horrific loss of family he underwent, we watch Mark come to the shocking realization that family is more precious than anything. He knows that Prot chose him, and wonders why. But we, the audience, know exactly why.

Dr. Powell undergoes a tremendous transformation and we cheer him on. Of course, there are other beautiful themes in the movie. My heart aches just thinking about Bess and how Prot noticed this invisible woman in the nut ward. There is so much about Jesus in this movie in metaphor. He tells Ernie to watch for the bluebird of happiness--that is his task--which Dr. Powell scoffs at. Yet, the actual physical bluebird shows up outside the window. To Howie, this is all he needs. It may only be a bird to Dr. Powell, but to Howie, it is a confirmation of his faith and a gift to his integrity. Big themes.

I thought my new book, Conundrum, would be about betrayal. For it will be gruellingly filled with lies and treachery. But the moment I sat down to brainstorm this theme, I filled a whole page with this: truth and lies. Searching for truth: it might not be found--is that okay? Truths differ from person to person. The need for truth differs from person to person. Sometimes it's better NOT to search for truth--who gets hurt in the process? What if you can't tell the truth from lies--does it matter? To whom? Do you have to get to the truth to find peace--or is there something more important? Does confessing truth bring more liberation than finding it? If you are truthful to yourself, does it matter if everyone you love lies? Or that your life is founded on a lie?

Where'd all that come from? I find exploring theme when starting a book opens magical doors. It seeps into character and plot and twists motives. Sure, there will be subthemes that play along, but when you know your theme and you feel its truth validated in your heart as you begin your story, you have your foundation. I was reminded of Vida Winter, the old author character in The Thirteenth Tale. She had told lies her whole life, but needed to tell the truth before she died. It was her greatest feat of accomplishment--getting deep and honest with herself, a place that terrified her. A beautiful book.

Next time you watch a great movie, think about the theme. It may not be obvious, but once you figure it out, it will glare at you like a blinking neon sign. But my recommendation to writers is this: search deep in your heart, if you want to tell a powerful story, and find the themes that resonate. Don't tell a story that means nothing to you--the reader will sense it and it will meaning nothing to her. In the movie Rich and Famous (if memory serves me) the lead character says, "If your writing doesn't keep you up nights, it won't keep anyone else up, either. That has stuck with me for decades in my writing journey. The more heart you put into your story, the more you will touch hearts. The more wrenched yours is as you write, the more likely you will wrench some of your readers' hearts. Even my fantasy books make me weep. I don't know how to write anything that doesn't tear me apart at some point. Yet, the process is very healing. My goal: to break hearts and heal them, all in one fell swoop. I hope God will give me the gift to do this for others through my writing.