Writing

Craft and Cash

by

(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

I’m all for people doing what they like as a job.  It’s usually not what they think, and it is a job, but it’s nice to see.  I even write about do-what-you like, and every now and then, I note that it’s not for everyone.

This is one of those times thanks to Serdar and a discussion on how education for creatives assumes the goal is “make money at it” way too often.  I realized there’s a parallel – books and training that assumes your interest is absolute perfection of your craft, even if your thought is just “I want a job.”

We need to ask what fits our audience.

Being good at your creative path is about craft.  It’s knowing the right words, it’s learning how to do shading, it’s getting that stitch in a costume just right.  Your chosen creative path may be about being good at getting to a result that fits your creative goals.

The money may not matter.  Or, perhaps, it shouldn’t, and you’d be happier if you just did your craft.

Being good at making money at your creative path is about more than craft.  It’s marketing and advertising, job hunting and writing to market.  In some cases, the craft of “doing it as well as possible” is secondary to barely a concern.

Making money at something may not require the highest craft, and it may even be a barrier.  I can point you at many a greasy spoon that may not provide haute cuisine, but they’re delicious.

Think about crappy novels you’ve mocked, TV shows that made you wonder, “how did this go five seasons?” and so on.  How come these things sold?  How come they’re not good yet they make bank?  Couldn’t anyone churn out that bad light novel?

The answer is no because craft and making money at it aren’t the same thing.  Sure, they intersect, but not in ways that may immediately make sense.  A well-written novel may languish, but a simple potboiler with simple language can be a bestseller as the author’s craft was write what will sell before writing “well.”

This is where I’d like to see classes, advice books, etc. make distinctions – if only to be clearer who their market is.  Sometimes you want to be good at your craft, sometimes you want to make money, and sometimes you want to explore that borderland.  Those giving advice will be better at it if they consider the many motivations that lead people to their door.

This is where I’m glad for my Way With Worlds series.  There’s no focus on monetization or careers, just on asking world-building questions.  People are free to pick and choose what advice they need, and I’m not interested in “what worlds sell.”  Maybe that’s why they feel so liberating to write – they’re all about craft after I’ve done many career books.

Any of us sharing creative advice need to ask where our works stand on the craft and monetization scale.  The creative world would be a better place for it.

Steven Savage

The Seventy/Thirty Question

by

(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

There’s a book called DIY MFA which argues you don’t need an MFA to be a writer.  Instead one needs to a roadmap to developing skills, analyzing writing, and networking.  A lofty promise, but one I felt the book fulfilled, though some of it seemed very “standard” to me.

After some thought I realized of course some of the book seemed simple and standard – those were the parts I already knew.  Perhaps seventy percent of the book was things I knew (if not always did), but the other thirty percent was invaluable.  I had to wade through seventy percent to get the thirty I never thought of.

It was totally worth it.

I think this seventy/thirty rule is why writing conferences, guides, and meetups can seem repetitive to many.  Must we have another discussion of grammar, of romance tropes, of cover design?  Why must we hear something that I or we already know?

I myself have had these experiences.  I was wrong.

Writer events and groups cover seemingly repetitive subjects because we all have different seventy percent (do know) and thirty percent (don’t know).  Some of us are operating at fifty-fifty, and others are at ninety-ten and unable to fill in that last ten percent.

As we share with our fellow writers, let’s have some compassion and remember we all know things – and we all have gaps.

That means if you do know something, then share it.  There will be people who want to learn from you, even on subjects you consider pedestrian or repetitive.  Your seventy percent is their thirty percent – and you might just be the person that explains the lessons to them in a way that sticks.

This also means neither you nor anyone else should feel guilty requesting or attending classes on subjects that seem basic or cover the same ground.  You have your thirty percent of ignorance and for others, there’s probably overlap.  Stand up and ask to learn because I guarantee you’re not alone.

Let me close with a suggestion.  Create a list of things you’re competent at as a writer and things you could do better at.  Ask what you can share with your fellow creatives – and where you can boldly ask for help.

Your fellows might not just help you and be helped, but learn about their seventy and thirty as well.

Steven Savage

The Good and the Real

by

(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

I adore a local family burrito place, and my love of their food provides a good lesson in media. Trust me here as I discuss the Good and the Real.

The first time I went there, I had a vegetable burrito. The burrito’s home-cooked taste was so intimate I, a cook, could taste the personal touch. It used pre-cut frozen vegetables, so I wouldn’t say it was that Good, because fresh vegetables would have added something. Yet I adored it because the home-cooked taste connected me to the cook there was a passionately Real experience eating it.

I connected to the cook just eating that burrito.

Later I tried the restaurant’s breakfast burrito, and it was a glorious taste experience I called ” an Egg McMuffin with self-esteem.”  It was the perfect balance of fresh eggs, the right sausage, beans, and cheese. This burrito had the homemade Real taste of the vegetable burrito and a choice of ingredients that made it just plain Good.

Sorry to make you hungry, but I found this a great metaphor for how we understand creative works.

Some works are Good. There is an unmistakable quality of work there, from well-shot scenes to brutally simple prose. There is craftsmanship there.

Some works are Real. There’s something that connects with you. It may trigger an emotion, it may help you relate to the creator. It’s not verisimilitude, it’s a sense of touching something connected and meaningful.

Not every media that is Good feels Real – and not everything that feels Real is Good. This division may explain why we have trouble debating quality works.

Some works that are Good don’t have the depth, the personal connection that makes something Real. They are well-polished, well done, and enjoyable, but they may not focus on deep connections. In my current anime viewing, I’d cite the supervillain office comedy Miss Kuroitsu from the Monster Development Department, which focuses on its target-rich environment of superhero tropes. “Miss Kuroitsu” focuses on mockery and doesn’t really want or need to focus on depth.

On the other hand, works can be Real, connected, but you may not call them “Good.”  The above burrito is an example. Sogo Ishii, the brilliant filmmaker, brings a punkishly edgy and passionate reality to all his works. Some of his films may not be “good” in the sense of craft or polished because he wants to pour passion onto the screen (Crash City being an example)

Sometimes you want to be Good. Sometimes you want to be Real. Sometimes you’re fortunate and get both.

The Good and the Real works have quality, polish, and deep personal connection. When you read Lord of the Rings, you don’t just have a fantastic adventure, Tolkein’s love of language drips off the page. When you watch Steven Universe, you have both well-crafted rapid storytelling and experience the passion of the series creatures. These are the works that echo throughout time.

The Good and the Real may not be obvious. I would put the Fast and the Furious series in both the Good and the Real. The films are Real in that everyone knows the goal is to be as crazy as possible, and we’re all along for the ride. But they are Good in that they pull off the increasingly wild ideas. When you see a Fast and the Furious movie, it’s both being in on the fun and marveling at how they pulled it off.

For you, is your goal to make a work that’s both Good and Real?   Or would you be best served by focusing on one over the other? What is it you want to do?

In fact, let me challenge you. Ask if your current work is trying to be Good, Real, or Both – and why might you want to change focus?

(Also, if you’re near me, I’ll tell you which restaurant to get those burritos at.)

Steven Savage