Wanted: Writers to Save Christmas!

Why are Christmas movies so jingle-jangle, holly-jolly gosh-awful anymore?

Photo by Kris de Curtis

Seems they're all about "Christmas magic," which leads to

• the Christmas pageant is saved, OR

• two or more bickering family members declare a cease fire for the holidays, OR 

• a string of improbable events brings Daddy home from the war, the far country, or former planet Pluto just in time to hang the star on the tree, OR

• young Jimmy-Bob learns to "believe" in Santa or magic marshmallows or the Puritan work ethic, OR

• the greatest "Christmas miracle" of all, a young couple finds "true love," kissing under the mistletoe.

And then it snows.

I mean, all that is okay, but other than some twinkle lights and elevator-music carols, how does any of this sappy stuff relate in any way to Christmas?

I realize that not every Christmas movie can tell the story of a baby born in Bethlehem, but shouldn't they at least be about real love (as opposed to "true love" or warm fuzzies)--with themes like giving and self-sacrifice and a deeper reflection about the meaning of life? 

Charles Dickens hit the bullseye with his story A Christmas Carol. This is a tale that makes people ponder how transitory this life is and about how we can live so as to make a difference in this world. 

by Robert Doucette

There have been a few good movie versions of A Christmas Carol--and several awful ones. I'll go out on a limb and say that my favorite is the one starring George C. Scott as Scrooge. You probably have a different favorite, but I'll forgive you 'cause it's Christmas!



There are good reasons why this story has achieved classic status:

• Charles Dickens was a good writer.
• And he was obviously inspired to write this story.
• This story shows the supernatural side of life.
• The main character undergoes a big change--for the better.
• It makes readers/viewers stop and think about their own lives
• It brings hope to everyone who is willing to turn away from their selfishness and to think about other people.

And most of the above would also apply to It's a Wonderful Life. (Just substitute Philip Van Doren Stern, who wrote the original story, for Charles Dickens.) There's a reason that movie is played around the world every Christmas.

White Christmas is about a couple of ex-soldiers who sacrifice their own plans to help their former commanding officer --  Major General Thomas F. Waverly -- make a success of his business -- not to mention all that great singing and dancing!

In How the Grinch Stole Christmas (I like the 1966 cartoon version), the Grinch steals all the presents and decorations from Whoville and thinks that's the end of Christmas. But when the Whos down in Whoville break into a Christmas song, he has an epiphany: "What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas ... perhaps ... means a little bit more!"

And I don't think that all Christmas movies have to be serious and philosophical. Fun and entertaining is okay if it's done well, like Home Alone or The Santa Claus. (Feel free to substitute names of other Christmas movies that you like better.)

But in general, we need less sugarplum fluff and more Christmas substance. Less cheesy, more quality. Less cookie cutter, more artistry. I wish Hallmark would quit cranking out Christmas movies on  an assembly line and concentrate on a few good ones.

By Matanya

But let's face it. Hallmark doesn't give a ho-ho-ho. It's up to us. To me and all my wonderful writer friends -- and you are all so talented! Isn't it about time for us to save Christmas from the Grinches, hacks, and money-grubbers? Let's put truth and beauty and meaning back in Christmas stories!

Dr. Seuss, making sketches
 of the Grinch--by Al Ravenna

The Stark Raving Mythopath is curious. What is YOUR favorite Christmas movie? Please let me know in the comments. . . .

Where Books Come From--the Shocking Truth!

Recto. Verso. 

Intro. Extro. 

Front Matter. Back matter. (Gray matter, dark matter?) 

Kerning. Cropping. Half-title. Frontispiece. Colophon. Perfect binding. And my personal favorite, full bleed—which sounds painful and potentially fatal.

In the past few months, I’ve learned more publishing lingo than I actually wanted to know, while editing and designing a book "from scratch," just like Grandma's biscuits. 

You see, all this time, I thought that books just magically appeared on bookstore shelves, the way food magically appeared on the table when I was a child. Another illusion brutally shattered!

Now I know the shocking truth about where books come from--and, like childbirth, it's not pretty, Sister. They come from hard work and lots of it. They come from working day, night, late night, twilight, work days, and holidays--taking time “off” only to work on other urgent projects.

Like all such ACP’s (all-consuming projects), it kept expanding to fill the available space. I signed on to edit and compile the book, with no way of knowing that the professional who was going to do the layout and cover would suddenly become unavailable, leaving me to stumble blindly through the book production process.

If you have ever found yourself engaged in an ACP, you know how it goes. You wake in the morning, ingest large quantities of caffeine, fire up one or more computers, and desperately try to remember under what circumstances you actually agreed to do this.

I’ve got to quit drinking, you think. Or if like me, you don’t drink, you think, today is as good a day as any to start.

Of course, the upside of this particular ACP, was the pleasure of watching a good book take shape before my eyes. 

The book is Writer's Coffee House, and the authors are members of a group called The Writing Academy and a few special guest contributors. In this book, writers share their stories and struggles, their mistakes and successes, their experience and encouragement. 

I love the story Kathy Bolduc tells about a strange dream at a writing retreat and how that weekend turned into a lot less writing and much more retreat. Olga Williams talks about hearing T. S. Eliot speak to a group of English teachers and how this experience shaped her life of teaching and writing. Trust me--it wasn't in any way you could guess! 

And I'm always inspired when I read Patricia Lorenz's account of how her "Baggy Yellow Shirt" story circled the globe and launched her career. The yellow shirt story is so popular that you've probably read it in an email forward (uncredited, of course) and never guessed at the incredible story-behind-the-story.

My great hope is that this book will simply bring encouragement to writers. Encouragement and a sense of community. A reminder that though most of the time we wrestle with words alone, there is a vast fellowship of friends we have never met, yet who understand our struggles and want to cheer us on. 

And that is the concept behind the Writer's Coffee House. If you happen to know a writer who could use a little encouragement today, perhaps you could pass the word along.

Find out more at http://www.writerscoffeehouse.net.

Imagination Soup

For all my fellow-sufferers who are participating in National Novel Writing Month, I offer this recipe.

                  Imagination Soup

Start with two cloves of garlic
and a medium red pepper.
Cut with pinking shears and
sprinkle with tiny snail shells.

Add two eggs, whole—shells and all— 
and open a can of beets—what?
You were going to add the beets?
No, throw away the beets and add the can.
Stir.

And then it gets interesting.
Add a live peacock
and maybe an embroidered couch pillow,
something comfy and familiar,
and the shadows of seven hummingbirds, 
bobbing at the feeder.

A sunset is traditional,
but you might prefer the taste of a foggy creek bank, 
picked fresh from an October morning-- 
with a doe lapping the water.
Simmer slowly over low heat.

You’ll need some talking goldfish, of course, 
at least one, maybe two,
and a bit of shagbark hickory for texture 
and five or six episodes of Perry Mason 
on VHS in black and white.

Then your choice: two of the lesser known moons of Jupiter
or a sinister Hungarian with an alligator attache 
and a serpent tattoo. 
In the steam above the pot, a story should begin to form.
Just season to taste
and stir, stir, stir.

       --Patty Kyrlach

Reality TV - for Writers?

Singers. Dancers. Chefs. Fat guys. Funny guys. Guys who play the harmonica while juggling tangerines. Everybody's got their own reality show.


Everybody except writers. And I say it's high time we correct this situation. 


The standard format for a talent competition should work nicely. Contestants stand up and blah blah. Three judges make snarky comments. And the masses vote, paring down the contestants until we get to this season's Literary Legend.

Let's preview the pilot show, now airing live. . . .


[Cue theme music. Thunderous applause as affable host enters, wearing a tweed jacket and puffing on a pipe. You can tell by looking that his name is Allistair. Or Digory.]

Allistair.   Or Digory.

Host: Good evening, America. THIS. . .is Literary Legend.  Let's welcome our judges. . . .Jim-Bob Boomer, author of several viral tweets about his brother-in-law's moustache; Perky Petula, author of Financial Advice for Writers: Marry Money; and Cool Dog Cool, author of more than a dozen software user agreements in English, French, and Portuguese.

At last! A show for writers like me!

And here's our first contestant, performing a Shakespearean sonnet. Our design consultant has dressed her in jeans and a grubby tee shirt with a mustard stain. She reeks of literary. Also of mustard.


Contestant #1:


When you, my love, are gone, the stars dissolve--
the sky unravels slowly at the seams. . . .


[Fans in the front rows sway their arms as she continues.]


Host: Okay Judges, what think ye?


Judge #1: "Pitchy."


Judge #2: "I think it's the wrong poem for this point in the competition. And did I hear an anacrusis in that closing couplet?"


Host: Ana-who-sis?


Judge #3: I'm not a big fan of the genre, but Girl, you nailed those slant rhymes. And when you got to the enjambment, I saw God.

Contestant #2

Host: And now, Contestant #2, sporting a sou'wester and performing free verse.

Contestant #2: Hey, it's not free. I expect to get paid. 


Host: Just read already.




Contestant #2: 


Pain. Death. Destruction. All that misery just ooz-
ing like hot fudge from a sundae 
left out in the 
rain rain rain rain. . . . 


[Contestant #2 runs across the stage, slapping hands with audience members on the front row.]


Host: Okay, Judges?


Judge #1: "That was dope. He's in it to win it."


Judge #2: "Loved the leitmotif and the pathetic fallacy.Your synecdoche and metonymy are to die for."


Contestant #2: Aw, shucks.


Judge #3: "Wow, I'm suddenly hungry for ice cream."


Host: Thank you, Judges. And now, Contestant #3, dressed in retro mobster attire, performing creative nonfiction on the always scintillating subject of capitalism.

Contestant #3

Contestant #3: Money. You got it--I want it. In fact, I hope you vote for me and make me rich and famous. Especially rich. I don't write so great, but I have an agent. [Pulls out machine gun.]  And a marketing plan. Vote for me. NOW.


Host (hiding behind a pillar): That's a prop, right? Let's ask our judges what they think. . .


Judge #1: Pitchy.


[In a spray of gunfire, Contestant #3 annihilates Judge #1.]


Host: Note to self: not a prop.


Judge #2: "Best performance ever. Really. . . .Really, really.


Judge #3: Huh? Sorry, dozed off. Did I miss anything?


[Contestant #3 shoots Judge #3.]

Host: Okay, America, it's up to you--and our one remaining judge. Who is your Literary Legend? Vote for your favorite by phone or on Facebook or publish your vote in an obscure literary journal. And remember that however you vote, I still get paid.


[Contestant #3 shoots affable host. A free for all ensues.]


Contestant #3: Goodnight Allistair. Or Digory. Goodnight, America. And don't forget to vote for me. NOW.

A free for all ensues.

[Cue theme and fade.]


Okay, so admittedly, there are a few wrinkles to iron out--um, metaphorically speaking--but you've got to admit, it's got a certain appeal for both the literati and the prison-without-parole demographic.


And now, please excuse me. I want to ask Contestant #3 if he will accompany me to the contract negotiations for my next book.  

Your Top Six Guy Writers for Season One

Publishing Put-Downs of Biblical Proportions

Rejection is painful for any writer. But take comfort in knowing that even Bible authors may have faced those dreaded rejection slips.

Dear Solomon: To everything there is a season. Regrettably, this isn’t yours.

Dear Job:  Strong opening and conclusion. Cut the middle and resubmit.

Moses, posing for a book jacket

To David:  Sorry, there’s just no market for poetry—and your stuff doesn’t even rhyme.

Dear Moses: What? You think your words are written in stone? Lighten up.

To Whom It May Concern: Your writing has merit, but we don’t publish books anonymously. No exceptions. And since you failed to enclose an SASE, I will not be returning your parchment of “The Book of Hebrews.”

To Matthew:   Too many begats. We’ll pass.

To Jonah:  Quite a fish tale. Try Field and Stream.

Jonah on a book tour to Ninevah

To St. John the Divine: We can’t sell the “end times” to a contemporary audience. Get with it. . .or be left behind.

Apostle Paul gives a reading

To Solomon:  Your “Song” is too racy for our church-ladies demographic. Shame on you!

Greetings, Paul, Our Dear Brother in The Lord: The epistolary form is dead. Have you thought about doing your “letters” as a graphic novel? 

Dear Daniel: We have published three other dream books in the last year. But if you ever write a Travel Guide for Babylon, send it to us.

Daniel, dealing with rejection

Jerry: Bottom line: The working man won't put his money on the counter for a downer like "Lamentations." Can you rework it as "Ten Easy Steps to Health, Wealth, and Popularity"?

The prophet launches his publicity campaign
with "I Like Jeremiah" buttons,
available on www.not-for-prophet.org

Dear Dr. Luke:  Your book does not meet current editorial needs. Sincerely, Pharisee Press.


Mr. Malachi:  Do the math. If people tithe, they’re going to have less money to spend on books. No sale. 

Dear James: We are rejecting your manuscript. Count it all joy.

Three Guys Walk into a Bar

Three guys walk into a bar.

No, really. 


But not just any guys, not just any bar.

This bar is an English pub, the Eagle and Child in Oxford.

And the guys? None other than J. R. R. Tolkien and the Lewis brothers, Jack and Warnie. They are soon joined by Hugo Dyson and Owen Barfield. Oh, and here comes Charles Williams, late again.

Jack and Warnie Lewis

Pints are ordered, pipes lit, and another meeting of the Inklings literary discussion group is in session.

The barkeep hears only scattered snippets of their conversation.

"So. . .who’s reading today?"

"Well, Jack could read from his Chronicles."

"Oh yes—fauns and talking beasties and Father Christmas. A bit of a mythological mishmash, isn’t it?"

"Actually, I think it’s Tollers’ turn to read."

J. R. R. Tolkien, aka "Tollers"

"Please, no more flippin' elves! How about we hear from Warnie?  Some nice history about real blokes in a real world."

"Oh, come on,  I find Ron’s little story quite engaging."

"Little? Ron's little story? He’s been writing it since the days of Beowulf." 


"I say, Ron--I hope you’re getting paid by the word. Or even by the pound!"

The barkeep motions to a girl to refill the gentlemen’s glasses. He thinks this group likable enough. Good-natured and, all in all, rather harmless. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt the lot of 'em if they had a bit of real work to do. But then again, this is bloomin' Oxford.

Perhaps a few of the onlookers and eavesdroppers longed to be admitted to that elite group of thinkers and writers—mostly because they seemed to be having a great deal of fun in each other’s company. 

And many people in years to come would feel that same sense of longing. Ah, to match verbal wits with those great thinkers, to drink in their wisdom. Perhaps their special brand of creative genius would rub off on us! 

Alas, only in our imaginations can we turn back the clock by half a century and pull up a chair with the Inklings at "The Bird and Baby."

But then again, we have so many opportunities for literary companionship that weren't available to the Inklings. Writers conferences. Online crit groups and communities. Web sites. Chats. Blogs. Facebook. Twitter. 


Still, there's nothing quite like writer friends getting together informally, in person. To talk shop. To share stories. To swap manuscripts. To encourage each other on the writing journey.


The Inklings were great men of destiny. Yet they needed the fellowship and consolation that come from hanging with friends. How much more do I--the not-so-great--need friends and crit partners and people to build me up?


Ask a writer friend to lunch this week. And by the way, my calendar is pretty open. How about Thursday, at our usual place?