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Leave it to my friend Michael to show up with such a one-of-a-kind gift. Only a fellow writer understands the treasure of a 70-year-old magazine:

These are such fun to page through. And so eerily current: Be clear, clean and vivid. Put your heart on the page. Please the reader. Treat writing as your profession. Make time to write. God is in the details. It’s the bottom line in almost every article. And the ads are a hoot!

strengthen your premise; check this out.
Premise in fiction. Your undergrad English professor probably taught you a fancy definition for this concept, but every novelist will tell you this: The premise is the cool thing your book is about.
Simple, right? Like, a crazed fan holds an author hostage and forces him to write a novel (Misery by Stephen King). The lives and loves of best friends through the years (Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy). A forbidden love that lasts a lifetime (The Thornbirds by Colleen McCullough). A Navy wife whose marriage is in crisis learns her husband is missing at sea (The Ocean Between Us by my favorite author).
In The Art of Dramatic Writing (1977), Lajos Egri (who seems to have been obsessed with the concept of premise) states:
“Everything has a purpose, or premise. Every second of our life has its own premise, whether or not we are conscious of it at the time. That premise may be as simple as breathing or as complex as a vital emotional decision, but it is always there…Every good play must have a well-formulated premise…No idea, and no situation, was ever strong enough to carry you through to its logical conclusion without a clear-cut premise.”
I envy the writer who comes up with fantastic ideas again and again, using the same method–listening to music, going for a drive, staring out the window, reading the paper, brainstorming with a friend.
For me, coming up with a premise is like going shopping without knowing what you’re looking for. “I’ll know it when I find it,” you tell yourself. Figuring out exactly what “it” is can be all-consuming. All I know is that “it” will be the driving force that sends me on the longest walk in the world, every day for the next six months to a year–that deathly commute from the couch to the blank page. So “it” had better be good.
The funny thing is, the harder I try, the more elusive “it” becomes. I think myself into a dither. I fiddle with things. I “what-if” myself into a state of confusion. I go on personal quests in search of the Cool Thing.
Sometimes I get lucky. I might discover it as I take my dog for a walk on the beach. Suddenly, I might think, “a child with Aspergers.” And I’ll think about a writer friend of mine and his sweet son, who has this condition, and its curiously gentling effect on the father. Or I’ll be digging in the garden or Windexing the kitchen, two activities that any writer will tell you have enormous appeal when confronted with a blank page. Maybe “it” will smack me upside the head as I stand at the refrigerator with the door propped open, contemplating the merits of leftover mac-and-cheese for breakfast.
Then I’ll have to test the idea in a thousand ways, figuring out what the most compelling elements are. Where will the tension come from? What will the reader see on the page and how will I make myself–and then the reader–happy to be reading it?
For most books, my story premise is cobbled together the way a magpie gathers things for its nest, with a shiny object here, a twisty thread there. At some point, maybe while making a story collage, these seemingly disparate pieces will coalesce into the Great Thing I’ve been seeking, the thing that will consume me through the next year: IT.
How serious am I about nailing the premise of my next book? So serious, we’re having a meeting about it. I’m not kidding. I have a brain trust coming to my house today and we’re going to brainstorm our book premises all day long.
What’s a brain trust? Well, it’s my writers’ group plus the world’s best story consultant, Michael Hauge. Some of you might remember he has a lifelong connection to the place where I live–and I have a rockin’ private guest house. He’s ours for the day. We’re rolling up our sleeves…I’ll report in on our progress. Stay tuned….

nice view, but whats the real story?

nice view, but what's the real story?

Premise in fiction. Your undergrad English professor probably taught you a fancy definition for this concept, but every novelist will tell you this: The premise is the cool thing your book is about.

Simple, right? Like, a crazed fan holds an author hostage and forces him to write a novel (Misery by Stephen King). The lives and loves of best friends through the years (Light a Penny Candle by Maeve Binchy). A forbidden love that lasts a lifetime (The Thornbirds by Colleen McCullough). A Navy wife whose marriage is in crisis learns her husband is missing at sea (The Ocean Between Us by my favorite author).

In The Art of Dramatic Writing (1977), Lajos Egri (who seems to have been obsessed with the concept of premise) states:

“Everything has a purpose, or premise. Every second of our life has its own premise, whether or not we are conscious of it at the time. That premise may be as simple as breathing or as complex as a vital emotional decision, but it is always there…Every good play must have a well-formulated premise…No idea, and no situation, was ever strong enough to carry you through to its logical conclusion without a clear-cut premise.”

I envy the writer who comes up with fantastic ideas again and again, using the same method–listening to music, going for a drive, staring out the window, reading the paper, brainstorming with a friend.

For me, coming up with a premise is like going shopping without knowing what you’re looking for. “I’ll know it when I find it,” you tell yourself. Figuring out exactly what “it” is can be all-consuming. All I know is that “it” will be the driving force that sends me on the longest walk in the world, every day for the next six months to a year–that deathly commute from the couch to the blank page. So “it” had better be good.

The funny thing is, the harder I try, the more elusive “it” becomes. I think myself into a dither. I fiddle with things. I “what-if” myself into a state of confusion. I go on personal quests in search of the Cool Thing.

Sometimes I get lucky. I might discover it as I take my dog for a walk on the beach. Suddenly, I might think, “a child with Aspergers.” And I’ll think about a writer friend of mine and his sweet son, who has this condition, and its curiously gentling effect on the father. Or I’ll be digging in the garden or Windexing the kitchen, two activities that any writer will tell you have enormous appeal when confronted with a blank page. Maybe “it” will smack me upside the head as I stand at the refrigerator with the door propped open, contemplating the merits of leftover mac-and-cheese for breakfast.

Then I’ll have to test the idea in a thousand ways, figuring out what the most compelling elements are. Where will the tension come from? What will the reader see on the page and how will I make myself–and then the reader–happy to be reading it?

For most books, my story premise is cobbled together the way a magpie gathers things for its nest, with a shiny object here, a twisty thread there. At some point, maybe while making a story collage, these seemingly disparate pieces will coalesce into the Great Thing I’ve been seeking, the thing that will consume me through the next year: IT.

How serious am I about nailing the premise of my next book? So serious, we’re having a meeting about it. I’m not kidding. I have a brain trust coming to my house today and we’re going to brainstorm our book premises all day long.

What’s a brain trust? Well, it’s my writers’ group plus the world’s best story consultant, Michael Hauge. Some of you might remember he has a lifelong connection to the place where I live–and I have a rockin’ private guest house. He’s ours for the day. We’re rolling up our sleeves…I’ll report in on our progress. Stay tuned….

My neighbors sent their house away on a barge. Theres a metaphor for risk in here somewhere.

My neighbors sent their house away on a barge. There's a metaphor for risk in here somewhere.

What would you risk in order to get the one thing you truly desire? Seriously, what would you risk? When I was an emerging writer in my 20s, trying to sell my first book, I risked a lot. I had a great life–wonderful teaching career, adorable baby, loving husband, cute dogs, nice house in the ‘burbs, good family and friends. Why would I take on the stress and struggle and uncertainty of a career as a novelist? It was a massive risk on lots of levels.

The emotional risk is huge in writing–even in fiction you’re showing people your hidden self. I was also subjecting my family to financial risk, because writing is about as stable as betting on horses. I gave up social time with friends. I had to forego my book-a-day reading habit, entire series on TV (okay, not a huge sacrifice there) and forget sleep. There was at least one night when I stayed up all night working on my novel. I looked out to see the sun coming up, so I combed my hair, put on my lipstick, and staggered off to work that day. (You can do stuff like this when you’re in your 20s.)

The workshop ended with a challenge to writers. FILL IN THIS STATEMENT FOR YOURSELF:

“I’ll do whatever it takes to be a successful writer;

just don’t ask me to ___________________,

because that’s just not me.”  

Common responses to “…just don’t ask me to…” might be:

 

  • -quit my day job
  • -refuse a bad deal from a publisher
  • -tell my family to give me space
  • -follow somebody’s writing formula
  • -take a writing class
  • -reveal my innermost thoughts on paper
  • -write about deeply personal matters
  • -write about people who might recognize themselves in my book
  • -subject myself to criticism and rejection
  • -learn to type

(Are we having fun yet?)

Your answer here will reveal what you’re avoiding in order to protect yourself.

Michael’s end-of-the-day pep talk: 

Don’t look for ways to avoid the fear. Be willing to be afraid.

Make yourself the hero of your own story.

Make your goal specific and visible.

Bring reflection characters into your life; surround yourself with people who will encourage you.

Get rid or your nemesis, whatever or whoever that may be.

We got so much good feedback on the workshop–”Fantastic” “life-changing” “aimed at people who really want to write.” You totally owe it to yourself to meet Michael one day. Take a seminar with him! Call him for a consultation. He’s Mr. Inspiration!

[NOTE: Here are the Hauge posts in order, if you want to read them in sequence:

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/15/mr-inspiration/

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/16/visible-desire/

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/17/the-outer-journey/

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/19/the-hole-in-her-soul/

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/21/emotional-safety-emotional-risk/

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/22/donkey-hote/

http://susanwiggs.wordpress.com/2008/10/25/what-would-you-risk/ ]

In the Michael Hauge lecture, he touched on two key types of secondary characters and several types of stories. My further notes:

Other characters in your story:

  1. The nemesis. This is the character who most stands in the way of the hero as he sets out to achieve his outer goal. The nemesis is at cross purposes with the hero, yet he embodies the hero’s inner conflict. The hero might discover how unlike the nemesis he is, or he might realize he needs to become more like the nemesis. (Maureen’s inner journey is to learn what a real leap of faith is, not just give lip service to it.) The nemesis stands up for the essence of the hero’s character.
  2. The reflection. This is the sidekick character. Don Quixote’s Sancho. Donkey in Shrek. He is defined by the hero’s outer motivation. He is there to help and encourage the hero to achieve his goal. He tries to get the hero to go after his goal. He reveals the hero’s inner conflict: “What are you doing? Why? This is not who you are…” He holds the hero’s feet to the fire.

Types of love stories:

  • 1. Romance is defined by pursuit. The hero can’t get the girl unless he reaches his goal, or abandons or changes his goal (a la Rain Man).
  • In a romance, there needs to be a clear, logical reason for the characters to be together. They can’t just be in love because they’re in the same story together.
  • The romantic interest character is the one who sees beneath the hero’s identity and connects at the level of essence. There is a deep connection; the love interest sees her naked (intimacy) and makes her risk being vulnerable and exposed even if it feels dangerous. The love interest must embody the hero’s essence. [Core conflict for Maureen & Eddie–she is too afraid/repressed to leave her family. He is afraid of showing how truly good he is at music because it exposes his vulnerability. She has what he secretly yearns for–a close family, a home. He has what she yearns for–a rambling footloose life of adventure. ]
  • If there’s a love story without a character arc, that’s probably porn. :-)
  • 2. A romantic comedy almost always involves deception. Deception is a powerful way of creating conflict. The character might practice a deception in order to achieve a visible goal. Maybe she pretends to be someone she’s not (Working Girl. Aladdin). During the pretense, she meets someone who believes she’s not who she’s pretending to be. The love interest falls in love with the pretend-person.
  • If revealed, the deception could destroy the romance.
  • Deception symbolizes the deeper deception of the heros struggle between false identity and true essence.
  • A romantic comedy demands a happy ending.

General comments -

  • Show the love interests meeting on the page, not in the past. FALLING in love is the whole reason for the story’s existence. The reader wants to see this and experience it moment by moment.
  • Show the reader the new life the hero achieves. Let the reader absorb the peak emotion of the climax.
  • It’s possible to write a story of an outer journey only, but you can create more emotion if you combine an inner and outer journey.
  • Everything has been done before. Great stories are consistent in their basic foundation, but unique in the particulars. Don’t worry about being original, just don’t copy the particulars of a story. Work harder to make your story seem unique and new. Find a new way to use the principles of a classic story.
  • Montage and flashback are the lazy way out, in general. They can be hackneyed. More effective in real time. Try dialogue.
  • Ayn Rand heros don’t have arcs. Adrenalin-powered thrillers might not have an arc.

A few of the films cited in the lecture:

  • Wedding Crashers
  • Shrek
  • Titanic
  • Good Will Hunting
  • I am Legend
  • Rain Man
  • Stand by Me
  • Titanic
  • Tootsie
  • Pretty Woman

Treat yourself to a movie tonight! And tomorrow, look for the conclusion and the most important statement a writer needs to make for herself.

What would you risk in order to get the one thing you truly desire? Seriously, what would you risk? (I’ll post my personal answer to this at the end of this series.) Today, let’s talk about it in terms of your character.

life shrinks or expands according to one's courage

life shrinks or expands according to one's courage

According to story expert Michael Hauge, the inner conflict is the struggle between identity and essence. (See yesterday’s post.) The character arc is the character’s departure from her identity and her journey to live in her essence.

Clinging to her identity–who she thinks she is, the way she wants the word to see her–keeps her emotionally safe. She believes her identity is who she is. Scarlett O’Hara is a great example of this. She believes she’s a Southern belle, destined to have a society marriage and a conventional life. You don’t need to read too far into the book to realize she’s deceiving herself.

Pencils out! Complete this KEY STATEMENT for your character. Imagine her speaking the words–how would she fill in the blank?:

“I’ll do whatever it takes to achieve my goal.
Just don’t ask me to __________________,
because that’s just not me.”
As the writer in charge of her destiny, you need to reply, “You can achieve your goal, but in order to do it, you’re going to have to kill your identity and live in your essence.” Each scene you write should address this transformation, even in a small way.
(Example–in Lakeshore Christmas, Maureen, the town librarian, is surrounded by books, so when I show her at work, I can have fun with the books she handles. While shelving a book, she comes across this statement from Anais Nin:

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”

…which is pretty on-the-nose, but librarians notice things like that.)

Your character has a choice–she can be safe and unfulfilled or she can be fulfilled, her true unvarnished self, but scared and vulnerable.

The inner journey is structured the same as the outer journey (see earlier post):

  • In Stage1, the character is living fully in her identity, hiding her essence.
  • In Stage 2, she is still fully in her identity but she gets a glimpse of what living in her essence might be like. (In Lakeshore Christmas, Maureen sees Eddie, the love interest, flirting with women, and imagines what it might be like to be in love.)
  • In Stage 3, turning point #2, the hero moves into her essence but it gets so scary that she retreats into her identity. This can happen repeatedly, until she reaches the Point of No Return. She retreats in an attempt to go back to her identity, but discovers she cannot retreat.
  • In Stage 4, she finally leaves her identity behind and is fully in her essence. The outside world starts closing in. This tests her commitment to her essence. Here, some characters might go back even if it means she’ll die trying.
  • In Stage 5, she defends her right to be in her essence, probably facing resistance from friends, family and enemies alike. The arc is completed right before the climax. The hero has earned the right to attain her goal.
  • In Stage 6, she gets her resolution–maybe she’s rewarded for embracing her essence. Maybe it’s a failed journey and she dies, leaving the reader with a larger appreciation. Or maybe she abandons what she thought she wanted. Just make sure the aftermath is true to the story you’ve told.

The aftermath (Stage 6) is a glimpse of what it’s like, living in her essence. Stories rarely fall apart due to a flawed aftermath, but you still want the reader to say, ahhhh….

Sometimes the hero doesn’t achieve the goal. He might find the courage to attain it, but is fulfilled on a different level. In Stand by Me, the hero finds the body, which he set out to do so his parents will notice him, but he chooses to report it anonymously rather than grabbing all the glory. This is one reason both the movie and novella (“The Body” by Stephen King) are so terrific–that arc of learning what’s really important, the character becoming the person he’s meant to be, is powerful.

  • In a sad story (like Titanic), the goal is achieved (Rose gets her life of passion and freedom) but at a huge cost (Jack).
  • In a happily-ever-after, the goal is achieved and all the hard work of growth pays off. (Pretty Woman, Beauty and the Beast, etc.)
  • In a tragedy, the hero lacks the courage to stay in his essence. (Brokeback Mountain)
  • In a love story, there is a shared goal–the characters want to win each other’s love.
  • In a buddy story, characters might be on 2 journeys but they share a common goal.
  • In a group or ensemble story, characters are on different journeys but they are together for a common purpose (funeral, reunion, knitting class, book club…)

What kind of story are you writing? How does the plot mesh with the struggle between the character’s identity and essence?

Tomorrow, there will be a brief rundown of other characters and story elements.

a glimpse inside

a glimpse inside

Note: The Michael Hauge workshop notes begin here and continue here and here. This is the 4th installment. Happy plotting!

The INNER JOURNEY is the story told on another level. Stories that are told only on the outer surface, sticking strictly to the visible facts, tend to lack depth, drama and meaning. (Note from SW–this is why the daily news so often fails to satisfy.) Here are some questions to help you discover the key aspects of your character.

1. What is her longing? What is her deeply held desire? This is something she probably pays lip service to, but lacks the courage to pursue. She is enslaved by her own fears and inhibitions.

Some characters are so emotionally shut down that they can’t even express what it is they long for. (Rose in Titanic) It’s a need they don’t know they have–yet, maybe ever.

Show the hole in her soul. A need. A missing piece.

A longing is something the character can express. A need is unexpressed but there can be metaphors to show it–the “Keep Out” sign and fence in Shrek. (Maureen has a tattoo that expresses her unrepressed self, but she keeps it hidden and nobody knows she has it.) What is your character’s metaphorical fence?

2. What is her wound? What is the unhealed source of her continuing pain? What happened to her in the past that is unhealed but suppressed? This is something in the background, leaking through. (Maureen had a disastrous love affair while studying abroad, and came scurrying home to the safety of her family and home town.)

3. What belief has the character formed, based on her experience of the wound above? (Maureen believes passion is dangerous and fraught with deception, destined to fail and leave her hurting.)

[Note to self: This is something that really resonates with me. We all know people whose entire lives are built around avoiding pain. My recent arm mishap is a graphic reminder. In the ambulance, I was trying to make myself pass out just to escape the pain. The thing is now every color of the rainbow and I will do anything to keep from hurting it again. I’m fairly athletic, yet with this arm, I find myself tiptoeing around, afraid to bump into something. The doc said the risk of dislocating it again is high, which makes me horribly cautious. So that’s my story of avoiding physical pain. A person who has been hurt emotionally will show this kind of caution in her relationships, right?]

4. What is her emotional fear? (That the wound will happen again.) This is a belief that is logical, based on her experience, but inaccurate. <–note this; it’s important

5. THE KEY QUESTION: What is the character’s identity? Her ID is the false self she presents to the world–her emotional armor. It what she puts in front of her essence in order to protect her true self from that which she fears most deeply.

6. What is the character’s essence? If you strip away everything the character is attached to, what is left? Peel away the layers of her identity. Who does she have the potential to become? In a love story like the one in Good Will Hunting, he would rather break up with the love of his life than show who he truly is, because in the past, his father beat him and the belief he formed is that those we love and trust the most hurt us. In LC, Maureen would rather let go of Eddie than risk letting him hurt her.

So the character’s emotional arc is her transformation from her identity to her essence. In her essence, she is still fearful and vulnerable, but she is true.
 
Tomorrow I’ll post more about this, because it’s the key to everything in character development. For now, try to explore the contrasts between your character’s identity and his essence.

A plot can be divided into 3 acts, and narrowed down to 6 story stages.

Stage 1

is the setup, the first 10% of a story (in a screenplay, the percentages are fairly rigid, less so in a novel). We introduce the hero in her everyday life. It’s the starting point. The “before” picture.

ready for the outer journey

ready for the outer journey

Here, you want to create empathy for that character, establishing an emotional connection between the reader and the character. Some ways to create empathy:

Generate sympathy. Make her the victim of an undeserved misfortune. A poster child. 

Put her in jeopardy. She is in danger of losing something important–her life, fortune, job, etc.

Make her likeable. Make her kind, good-hearted, loving. Show her as well-liked by others. Movie example–this is Tom Hanks’s trademark, even in Road to Perdition in which he plays a ruthless assassin. We first meet him coming home to his loving family.

Make her funny. People like being with those who make them laugh. Also, funny people say things that are politically correct, the sort of thing “proper” people would never say aloud.

Make her powerful. Good at what she does, like an action hero or crack lawyer.

 

In Lakeshore Christmas, Maureen generates sympathy by being the geeky librarian girl forced to work with the hot guy on the Christmas program.

Stage 2

is the initial glimpse of the hero’s desire. It occurs at the 10% point. Character is forced or tempted into some new situation. There might be a change of geography–she goes somewhere. The goal is to get acclimated.

At the 25% mark, something happens in the new situation that forces her to declare a clear, visible goal. Turning Point #2. It might mean a change of plans: “Now I have to achieve this goal.” It needs to be very specific. (Maureen: Now I have to save the library by making nice with the owner of the land on which the library sits, so he won’t sell out to a developer.)

Here, the outer motivation is established. It’s the most important turning point in the story. If this goal is revealed too soon, the story could fizzle. Or if it’s established too late, we’re past caring.

Stage 3

is the plan in motion to achieve this new specific goal, and the plan seems to be working. (Maureen knows if she casts the benefactor’s grandson in the lead role of the pageant, the owner will reconsider selling the land to a developer.)

At the midpoint of the story, we reach Turning Point #3. The hero passes the Point of No Return. She is fully committed, bridges burned, there can be no retreat. She can never go back to the person she was in Stage 1. In Shrek, the bridge literally burns behind Shrek and Donkey. There might be a verbal declaration. (Maureen hears Jabez sing and takes a leap of faith, casting him in the lead even if it means burning the bridge with the land owner.)

Stage 4

introducing increasingly difficult complications. The stakes get higher. It’s becoming more difficult to achieve the goal. The outside world is closing in, and failure will cause her to lose her destiny.

At the 3/4 point, we have Turning Point #4, a major setback. Something happens, a crisis that makes it feels as though all is lost. The plan is out the window, there’s a symbolic (or literal) death and they’ve given up. (Maureen learns the plan to save the library has failed because the funds aren’t there; now the library is doomed to close forever on the last day of the year.)

 

 

Stage 5

is the final push. The hero tries to get back to the ordinary world. But it doesn’t work, because she burned her bridges. Here, she makes a decision or is forced into it–she must make one last attempt. Every ounce of strength is poured into this attempt, it’s the resurrection stage. Turning Point #5

is the climax–the moment which must resolve what we’re rooting for. The reader needs to see success or failure with no ambiguity. We need to know once and for all what the outcome is. (On Christmas Day, everyone in town contributes to save the library.)

Stage 6

is the Aftermath–a glimpse of the new life ahead. This can and should be brief. Riding off into the sunset, final kiss, etc. I use a lot of symbolism here. In Just Breathe it was actually a comic strip. :-)

Tomorrow, I’ll post the notes about the Inner Journey. This was my favorite part of the workshop.

I just love this shot of Michael Hauge. With the light streaming down on him, he looks like Moses! This was taken in my yard this morning. Last Saturday, he was the Bard of Bainbridge as he lectured to a packed house on uniting story structure and character arc. It was such a fine lecture that I will be posting my notes and asides over the next few days. I’ll post the first batch tomorrow. Prepare to roll up your sleeves and get to work on that writing project. 

Michael Hauge, the Bard of Bainbridge

Michael Hauge, the Bard of Bainbridge

If you are ANYWHERE CLOSE to Bainbridge Island, Washington tomorrow, you totally have to come to the Michael Hauge workshop. No excuses–they will take your money (cash or check) at the door. He’s the kind of speaker who will bring out the storyteller in you, even if you don’t think you’re a writer. If you ARE a writer, he will inspire you to push your stories to a new level. I’m not kidding. I’ve written like 30something books, and I plan to eagerly attend, busted arm and all.

October 11 (Saturday)

Special Event. “Uniting Story Structure and Character Arc” with Michael Hauge.
This is a special event for writers of all kinds – authors of fiction, narrative nonfiction, memoir – anyone who has a story to tell. In the best novels, movies and short stories, the heroes must achieve two compelling goals: an outer journey of accomplishment; and a deeper, inner journey of transformation and fulfillment. In this special, all day seminar, Hollywood script and story consultant Michael Hauge, best-selling author of Writing Screenplays That Sell and Selling Your Story in 60 Seconds: The Guaranteed Way to Get Your Screenplay or Novel Read, presents his unique approach to mastering these two essential components of your story. Topics include: the primary goal of all stories; the single key to creating character arc and theme; creating believable and fulfilling love stories; the essential conflict all characters must face; and turning plot structure into a simple, powerful tool you can apply to every story.

MICHAEL HAUGE is a story consultant, author and lecturer who works with writers on their novels, movies, screenplays, and television projects. He has coached writers, producers, stars and directors on projects for Will Smith, Julia Roberts, Jennifer Lopez, Kirsten Dunst, Charlize Theron and Morgan Freeman, as well as for every major studio and network. More than 40,000 writers and filmmakers have attended his writing seminars and lectures throughout the world.
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Bainbridge Pavilion Cinemas, 403 N. Madison, Bainbridge Island
10:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., Lunch break from 12:00 noon to 1:30 p.m.

Parking
Two local restaurants have offered us the use of their parking lots should the cinema lot be full. These are Four Swallows, directly to the north of the cinema lot, and San Carlos to the south. Please honor their generosity by being sure your car is moved by the evening hours when these restaurants open for business.

Fee: $75 – September 1 – October 9
Groups of 5 or more registering together: $60
Cancellations: Registrations are refundable up to and including September 12, 2008. After this date, refunds will only be made if the event is sold out and your place can be filled from a waiting list. All refunds are subject to a $10 administration charge.

While pre-registration is preferable, you can register at the door on the day of the event. Please note we can accept cash (exact amount will help) or checks only.

 

Michael Hauge saw his first showing of “Gone With the Wind” just down the road at the old Lynwood Theatre. The acclaimed author and lecturer is quick to point out that it was a revival showing, not the original release. Afterward, there were treats at the adjacent ice cream parlor.

author & lecturer Michael HaugeHauge’s grandparents lived in a rustic log house on the island’s north end, and as a boy, he spent many a summer on there, combing the beach and digging clams at the State Park. “The island has always been a place I’ve loved,” he says. “I’m looking forward to seeing it again.” He remembers a bucolic, rural place that was a wonderland to a young boy, and there was the occasional trip to the city, to view the mummy at Ye Olde Curiosity Shop and to pick up souvenirs and penny candy.

Growing up in Salem, Oregon, Michael remembers the public library as a special place, hushed and musty with old books and a massive card catalog. He was an avid fan of Landmark Books, a series of non-fiction books published by Random House in the fifties and early sixties. The books were wildly popular, thanks to good writers like Armstrong Sperry and Jim Kjelgaard, and appealing, heroic subjects that fed the imagination.

At the library, he discovered the magic of series books, beginning with a story called The Three-Two Pitch by Wilfred McCormick, featuring a character named Bronc Burnett. As an adult, Hauge was a fan of big, rich novels like Sometimes a Great Notion by Ken Kesey–set on the Oregon coast, and even Moby Dick, the bane of high school English students everywhere. “I never wanted to read this big book,” he confesses, “but once I did, I discovered it was just enthralling. Revelatory. It’s become one of the things I talk about in my lectures–the ability to tell a story that’s really involving. It’s such a great example of a book that turned out to be so much fun and still have all those layers of meaning.”

One of the more important books for Michael, professionally, is Hitchcock’s Films by Robin Wood, an in-depth analysis of the director’s most influential work. The book was “about a director I loved, and it influenced my teaching and the way I talk about the movies.” Hauge believes “great movies are not great because they’re about a great subject, but because they’re entertaining and layered with underlying meaning.” Other books he cites as particularly instructive include The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler, The Screenwriter’s Bible by David Trottier, The TV Writer’s Workbook by Ellen Sandler, and Linda Seger’s recent …And the Best Screenplay Goes To…, an analysis of Oscar-winning screenplays.

Michael Hauge’s own books belong in the library of any working writer–screenwriters, novelists, authors of narrative nonfiction–anyone who has a story to tell. In Selling Your Story in Sixty Seconds, Writing Screenplays That Sell and The Hero’s 2 Journeys, Hauge illuminates the core principles of his teaching. “I focus on everything that will give the story commercial potential while retaining the writer’s passion and vision for the story.” He addresses key questions, like “What is each character desperate to achieve? What makes that goal seem impossible? What terrifies each character? “Writers willing to dig deep enough to answer these questions are well on their way,” he says.

If you’re a writer, and you’re up for the challenge, you’ll have a chance to do that on Saturday, October 11, Michael Hauge will present a special event for Field’s End. Join him for the intensive workshop, “Uniting Story Structure and Character Arc.” You can find details online at http://www.fieldsend.org/events.html. Hurry and save $10 if you register by midnight, August 31.

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