A NEW CD-Rom called the New Novelist is making waves these days in most parts of the world. “Releasing the creative genius in us all,” goes the subtitle. “Choose a name for your novel,” prompts the screen the moment it has been slipped into the computer. The next three steps, defining the concept, category and story type, are not too hard.
A drop-down tutorial tells the user that before entering a 12-step story plan, they should know that if the hero had a complete spiritual transformation, the novel would be in the Internal Transformation category, but if he didn’t quite make it, it would be the Coming of Age type.
Down in the Tips file, Tip 5 appears to be the favourite: “Wherever possible, look for variety in your scenes. Don’t get monotonous.” How did Jane Austen ever get by without a CD-Rom to tell her not to get monotonous? This is a CD-Rom created by an Australian businessman who has never written a book in his life, but reckons he can make a bit of money by recycling the most reductive abuses of American screenwriting teaching.
Sadly, there is a strong market for any product which promises help with the aspect of fiction which most people find most difficult — storytelling. Story-telling, as genuine guru Robert McKee says, is a precious, rare and much-misunderstood gift. It is a gift which can occur in the absence of any other literary talent, but it can make its owner rich and famous. This has, of course, assured its intellectual damnation.
In Britain, storytelling is also despised by a literary cartel who disapprove of arousing emotions, entertaining people and evoking child-like states of wonder.
“Where do you get your ideas from?” is probably the most irritatingly ignorant question a writer gets asked, as Daniel Blythe observes in a recent issue of The Author magazine. For a storyteller, having ideas is just the human condition. Storytellers, like skateboraders, think everyone can do it. Not so. Grass is just grass to some children and only a few of those who see fairy armies learn to turn their imaginings into stories.
Telling stories then becomes a compulsion. J.K. Rowling, whose writing is also infused with the sheer joy of construction, remembers telling tales to amuse her school friends. Harry Potter manifested himself a few years later, on a train from Manchester to London. “A boy appeared in my brain,” she says. Simple as that.
A COLLEGE professor who was previously a sailor was aware that ships are addressed as ‘she‘ and ‘her‘. He wondered to which gender computers should belong. To answer that question, he set up two groups of computer experts.
The first group had women, and the second men. Each group was asked to recommend whether computers should be referred to in the feminine gender, or the masculine gender. They were asked to give four reasons for their recommendation.
The group of women reported that the computers should be referred to in the masculine gender because:
* In order to get their attention, you have to turn them on.
* They have a lot of data, but are still clueless.
* They are supposed to help you solve problems, but half the time they are the problem.
* As soon as you commit to one, you realize that, if you had waited a little longer you could have had a better model.
The men on the other hand concluded that computers should be referred to in the feminine gender because:
* No one but the Creator understands their internal logic.
* The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else.
* Even your smallest mistakes are stored in long-term memory for later retrieval.
* As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it. — Dawn\Syndication Services
A NEW CD-Rom called the New Novelist is making waves these days in most parts of the world. “Releasing the creative genius in us all,” goes the subtitle. “Choose a name for your novel,” prompts the screen the moment it has been slipped into the computer. The next three steps, defining the concept, category and story type, are not too hard.
