The Gut
Okay, we know we need our intellectual and logical mind to: A) Learn our nuts and bolts writing basics, and to: B) Do our research and exploration of real-life elements that inform our story; no matter how bizarre the content may be, and to: C) Create a plausible “internal logic” for the narrative.
Then we must add the ingredient of creative invention to our storytelling to really put our own stamp on the process. Here is where we get to give our imagination free rein. It may not be possible to harness all of this stuff into the service of any given narrative, but much of it can be used once tempered with some structure.
This is the daydreaming, the flights of fancy that all people experience to one degree or another, and it’s what really sets you apart from other writers. Kirby and Lee were masters of this type of storytelling. In fact, they both functioned better as a team than they did individually. I’m not about to open the debate about who created what, or whatever, but I know this: Kirby, as a writer, was unrestrained imagination, and Lee was able to parse these wonders into a bizarre, but cohesive narrative.
Without Kirby, Lee’s work is predictable and unduly bombastic. Without Lee, Kirby’s writing is episodic, simplistic and even awkward. (I’m sure some people are yelling at me now, but I don’t care! As much as I like both creators, I believe this to be true!)
The point is; we need to temper the imagination with logic and spice the logic with imagination. Alone, neither can fully carry the tale.
As an example consider one of my favorite improv students, one Jan Pajak. He was a wonderful guy, fun loving and game for anything. He was, however, a very brainy fellow. As an electronics engineer and computer programmer he had overdeveloped certain logical areas of his mind. Improv calls for both an intellectual guidance system to bring narrative and cohesion to your scene, and a very spontaneous “in the moment” inventiveness. Jan was great at the former, but had real trouble with the latter.
After a few years as a student, having shown little improvement, Jan said something surprising. “Sam,” he said,“I’m writing a book on improv!” I didn’t know what to make of it. I hated to discourage the guy, but I wondered what sort of book someone like him would write, since he had seldom demonstrated much spontaneous creativity. The resulting“tome” as he called it, was an interesting item. Jan had attempted to codify an intellectual approach to improv. He had listed example after example of possible improv situations, and four possible responses to those situations, ranked by their relative efficacy as comedy. There were literally thousands of examples on hundreds of pages.
I honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Jan had attempted to find a “formula” for improv comedy. An endeavor doomed to failure, because it lacked the cornerstone element of the form: Spontaneity!
Well, Jan and I had a long talk about it, and though he defended his work rigorously, I think he ultimately began to understand that this approach simply didn’t work on stage. It felt forced, and the core of entertaining improv is its easy-going impulsiveness, tempered with a solid understanding of its underlying principals.
But that was Jan.
Rest in peace buddy.
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