Chuck Q & A - Feb 2004
1. From Kent D.:
You seem to suggest that you know the theme before writing the story which seems ideal yet unlikely. Is that always the case for you?
Chuck Responds:
Beginning each book, I always know one theme – the main theme or issue I’m grappling with, personally -- but that’s really all you need. In most of my books, the theme is some form of power. In Invisible Monsters, it’s the idea of youth and beauty as power. In Lullaby, it’s domination – arguably, power, again. Because at the time I was writing, a noisy neighbor wouldn’t turn down her stereo and writing a story was my way to tolerate a situation I couldn’t resolve. A theme or “horse” as general as “power” lets you develop a lot of different ways to present it. From family dynamics, to gender roles, to mental environmentalism, to magic, to invasive plants, to animal abuse – all just different versions of the same theme: Domination… in Lullaby. But again, just me exhausting my rage about the noise that was dominating me.
So, beginning each book, I know the main theme. I just don’t know the specific ways that theme will occur throughout the story. Talking to people helps me discover as many ways as possible to portray the theme.
2. From thedude75:
In "Postcards From The Future" you responded to a "writer's block" question with "do you sit on the toilet if you don't have to shit?" In regards to themes and purposes, when thinking about new story, is it best to sit and say "this piece is going to be about (insert topic here)" or do themes sometimes appear by themselves as you write?
Chuck Responds:
Again, like taking a dump… what do YOU need to express? What is the issue that is eating you up? What is the personal fear that you can’t resolve and you can’t tolerate? Are you getting old with fucking NOTHING to show for it? Then, write Invisible Monsters. Are you worried that your brain or talent isn’t capable of creating anything interesting or unique, and you’ll die and rot and be forgotten – failing everyone you love? Well, then write Diary. My point is, use the story to explore and exhaust an issue of your own. Otherwise, you’re just dicking around, playing “let’s pretend.” If you can be ruthless and honest about your own fear, you express something that other people can’t express. You can resolve your own anxiety – through research, discussion, experiment – and that freedom is what brings you back to writing.
What could you never talk about in a million years? Then, write about that.
3. From Paul The Whip Guy:
Hi Chuck,
In the February Essay, you talked about going out into the world and out to parties, talking to as many people as possible to find patterns in themes. Are you meaning using details and certain things from other peoples’ stories to get rid of un-needed details, and to weed out things in your own list - how strictly do you stick with what actually happened?
Chuck Responds:
Hey, are you the whip guy who made the whips for the movie? I remember, you.
When gathering anecdotes, I fuzz the details so that no single story will draw too much attention. Keep the supporting stories general, that’s my rule. Often, I won’t even give names to the people involved. Remember the laundry list of sexual experimenters in Choke? None of the people referred to got full names. Only a couple even got first names. And the laundry list of cleaning hints in Survivor, again, they’re described in the most general way so they don’t detract from the book’s main plot. In a way, they establish “head” authority, making the narrator look smart. It’s what the narrator does that establishes “heart” authority, making you trust and feel for them.
Next month, I’ll dissect the “Guts” short story, now in Playboy magazine. But the first two thirds of that story are about nameless kids. Only the last third, about the narrator, really catches and holds the reader’s heart.
4. From Brian:
I was wondering if you have any guidelines or rules of thumb concerning the development of your themes being too on the nose or blatant. Have you ever written something that you deemed too shallow or "easy" and if so, where do you draw the line between too simple and suitably layered?
Chuck Responds:
In Portland, Oregon, there used to be this chain of dime stores called “J.J.Newberry’s.” The display windows were always crammed with stuff, usually one of every single item the store stocked, with a price beside it. The windows were chaos. Soap next to pot holders next to Easter eggs next to candles next to pregnancy tests…. And the local joke about Newberry’s was: “If the window doesn’t look right, put more in.” With Fight Club and Invisible Monsters, I put too much in. The blarney stone scene should’ve never been in Fight Club, but I wanted to include it to make a friend happy. In Monsters, the first drafts included some incest stuff that went too far – but I got to re-write that book before it was published. Since then, I tend to write as short as possible, only adding stuff if it’s truly needed for pacing, or to make a point stronger.
5. From Ran Flasterstein:
Is choosing one theme something you do before you begin your story and then seek a plot that will emphasize those ideas, or do the themes spring to life out of the characters and situations as you write?
Chuck Responds:
See question number two. Again, find a lot of metaphors that allow you to experiment with and exhaust your emotions around a personal issue. The characters in my books all find a covert way to get their emotional needs met. A scam, but not for money. In this same way, the book itself is my scam for resolving my reaction to an issue or situation. This can be as simple as one character asking another: “I want you to hit me as hard as you can…” Make the characters do what you can’t. They are your slaves.
6. From enigmaboy:
In the beginning of The Cemetary Where Al Jolson is Buried, Hempel uses a beautiful line to introduce the story. "Tell me things I won't mind forgetting." An instruction to the narrator, and this completely motivates the listing of trivial facts throughout the story. When you dive into your theme, and begin listing things throughout your story that are related to it, how subtle of an approach do you recommend?
Chuck Responds:
That’s what I love most about Amy’s work. She doesn’t waste time, getting her themes going. And that’s my goal: Get the theme going in the first paragraph. Leave the (yawn) scene setting for the second or third paragraph. Skip the (super yawn) description of the narrator, entirely. No… Amy NEVER says: “…the hospital room was cream-colored with a tiled ceiling, and I felt hot and sweaty, wearing a nice blue sun dress…” Nope. She only talks about the elements that fit her themes. That way, nothing dilutes or detracts from the overwhelming sense of doom and sorrow.
7. From angusbeef123:
What if your theme is uplifting and optimistic, will this inherently make your story boring? How do you keep it from turning into something out of Oprah’s Book Club?
Chuck Responds:
Yes… unless you arrive at the optimism after a dramatic story arch. Think of the Resurrection of Christ. It goes like this: pain, pain, humiliation, pain, rage, pain, death, eternal life in Heaven. Nothing you arrive at too easily will feel like it’s worth anything.
And if it’s not going to test you – the writer – then why waste your time doing it?
8. From nfink:
There have been stories that I've lost patience for because all they seem to focus on is theme and description. I've noticed it even in my work, because I was raised on Stephen King. Anyway, I had read that you prefer verbs because they tend to make the story progress at a faster pace; so you don't bore the audience into a coma...so-to-speak. How do you know when it is time to slow a story's spine-tingling action down (granted, that it is there) and hammer out the theme?
Chuck Responds:
Here’s a little secret, a “borrow” from screenwriting -- start the story late. Start each scene at a midway point, after the action is well underway. Then, once the reader is hooked with the compelling action, you can risk dropping into flashback and describing how we arrived at this moment. Then, once past and present are established, move into the future. Think about Chapter Six from Fight Club. You meet a man holding blood in his mouth, sitting in a boring office meeting. Then you find out why. Then, you see a glimpse of the implied future. By starting in the “second act,” you can use flashback scenes to control the pacing – thus creating dramatic tension and providing character development without boring description.
9. From Russell Richardson:
Dear Chuck,
Years ago, I learned about the cut-up technique that William S. Burroughs applied to his writing, which, in a sense, takes the concept you've introduced to the extreme: cutting and pasting separate words or phrases together in order to spark a new thought, idea, direction, etc. Have you ever tried this?
Chuck Responds:
Hah! I’ve never heard of Burroughs doing this, but I do it by not sleeping for days and days. When I’m exhausted, my mind perceives the world in a more odd, interesting way. This past weekend, I was in Las Vegas after signing books until 12:30 AM, and I saw an all-you-can-eat buffet. I was so tired, I thought: Why is it that public bathrooms are never advertised as “All-you-can-shit”? Why is that?
Meeting people is also great for breaking up your thought patterns. Again, this weekend in Vegas, a woman told me about her sister, and how she got her first period while submerged in their church’s baptismal tank… Imagine the folks who had to wade in, after her? That – I would’ve never imagined.
10. From nothingisdear2me:
In your newest novel Diary, you speak a lot about pain and its influence on the artist. You make a note that most of the great artist in history all end up as invalids, geriatrics, insane, disease ridden. Do you, as an artist; a writer, do you feel the inspiring affects of pain, and how strong is it towards your work and the work of others?
Chuck Responds:
See question nine. I think artists discover their art as a way to cope with some issue: insanity, pain, disease, abuse, boredom… If you can do that well, being published is beside the point. And if you get published – or hung in a gallery or played in concert – your honesty is a gift to people who can’t face that same issue in their own lives. People don’t respond to a story just because it’s “entertaining,” they respond because it’s saying something they can’t say. But if you can be honest AND entertaining, well, that’s the big-BIG goal. That way, you can help people resolve that issue in their own lives.
