Writing is Not Words: Dispatch from Robert McKee’s Story Seminar

McKee

In this time of transition from one kind of cultural story to another, we need all the great storytellers we can get. To that end, I just spent four solid days in lectures given by the inimitable Robert McKee. He’s a master teacher of the craft of screenwriting, which, fortunately, translates well to other forms of storytelling.

“A culture cannot evolve without honest, powerful storytelling.” ~ Robert McKee

Story Seminar is thirty-two hours of McKee’s wit, wisdom, stories, jokes, opinions, psychology and spicy language. I highly recommend a) reading his 1997 book; and b) experiencing a Story Seminar for yourself. If you do, you will find it to be the best education on the craft of telling a great story, coupled with deep philosophy on a well-lived life and improved ability to recognize (and enjoy) great storytelling.

I can’t presume to distill his teaching into a “best of” list, but I am moved to share some revelations that will help bring my writing closer to the vision I have for it, and also inspire me to live a life of meaning.

  • Writing is not words, any more than the stuff of music is sound. Language is the surface, the medium. Every art has its own form that guides the artist to express great truths.
  • The writers’ job is to give an exceptional insight into life, with freshness and originality. There are few pleasures in life greater than a good story, well told.
  • If the unexamined life is not worth living, the unlived life is not worth examining.
  • Concepts are the easy part. A concept is like standing on the steps of Carnegie Hall humming, wondering why the people streaming past you don’t recognize your talent. You have to turn your humming into a symphony.
  • To be a great storyteller, you must know the rules of classical storytelling. So if you choose to break those rules, you’re doing it intentionally, not out of ignorance. This is exactly parallel with architecture. The great early modernists – Le Corbusier, August Perret, Henri Labrouste – were all classically trained.
  • Life is improvisational, always. You take an action, get a reaction, have to adjust, try again. Every conversation is an improv scene. You can never predict how someone will react to you, either what you are saying or how you say it.
  • To that end, every encounter has a text and a subtext. That is, what is visible and being said, on the surface, is only a small fraction of what’s actually being conveyed. Often, we aren’t even conscious of our own subtexts, let alone those of others.
  • This is why literal performances and interpretations in all the arts fall so flat. In great film and theater, actors are acting the subtext, not the text.
  • The source of all art is the human psyche’s primal need for the resolution of stress and discord through beauty and harmony. When emotion is made aesthetic, an idea wraps itself around you with an emotional charge – unlike in “real” life, when ideas come separately from emotions.

This is only the tip of the iceberg. I may just have to do more posts on the gems from this man. The how and why of structure, style and principle are enough for a lifetime of dedication to the craft of telling a good story.

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Bridging the Gulf from Other to Brother

Milwaukee-art-museumMy  friend, Laurel Peltier, sent me an essay by West Virginia anti-fracking activist S. Tom Bond, published 2.12.14, called “The Wide Divide: Financial Interests vs. Local Adverse Impacts.” He opens with a statement and a provocative question: “One of the things I have been thinking about lately is the division between those who recognize the damage done by shale drilling (and by extension other extreme hydrocarbon extraction, particularly mountain top removal) and those who ignore it.  What is the psychology involved?”

As a possible explanation, he cites the “dark triad,” a potent mix of narcissism, Machiavellianism and sub-clinical psychopathy, throwing in detachment and rationalization for good measure. No one is spared: not the industry executives, the self-serving politicians, workers caught between the rock and hard place of the Great Recession, the landmen who pitch leases to property owners, the media bosses, not even “innocent” individuals who swallow propaganda without so much as a burp.

He was so persuasive, the despair that I can usually keep at bay raised its gnarly head. With so many folks on that side of the divide, so many in the “other” category, who is left to bring down shale gas drilling? I always wonder, after reading something like this, now what? Sure, there are plenty of bad actors out there pushing this evil stuff on the unsuspecting, brainwashed masses. And — ?

I don’t mean to be ornery. This sort of truth-telling is critically important. Donella Meadows, in her brilliant piece, “Leverage Points: Places to Intervene in a System,” gives a concise recipe:

“So how do you change paradigms? Thomas Kuhn, who wrote the seminal book about the great paradigm shifts of science, has a lot to say about that. In a nutshell, you keep pointing at the anomalies and failures in the old paradigm, you keep speaking louder and with assurance from the new one, you insert people with the new paradigm in places of public visibility and power.  You don’t waste time with reactionaries; rather you work with active change agents and with the vast middle ground of people who are open-minded.”

Or, as Gandhi put it even more succinctly: “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.”

It leaves me wondering about this word, “they”. Doesn’t dividing the world into good guys and bad guys perpetuate the mindset that got us into this mess in the first place? When we unconsciously think of ourselves as isolated individuals, it’s natural to “other” people whose behavior appears to us as destructive and self-serving. Yet, that keeps us stuck in an adversarial relationship, one that insists on winners and losers. One that divides us up into powerful and powerless, exploiters and exploited, evil and good.

I’m becoming more and more convinced that this project of building a future that’s fair to all and honors the living world requires us to think differently about who we are and why we’re here. We’re on the threshold between stories – the old, crumbling story of domination and control, scarcity, and fear, and the emerging awareness of our interconnection with the whole web of life. That “interbeing” comes with very different ways of relating to ourselves, each other, and the natural world.

While we are on this threshold, things all around us may look crazy. We know the old ways are insane and damaging. We feel the tremendous precariousness and danger of lingering on the threshold itself, a place where anything can (and does) happen. We catch glimpses of the emerging story, but they seem either too good to be possible on a grand scale or teasing mirages, tricks played on our tired minds.

There are endless possibilities for where and how to cultivate the emerging story. One is to imagine that there’s really a bridge over that chasm where “they” stand on the other side. If I can see my dog, a stately cedar tree or a mountain stream as my sister or brother, instead of a separate, alien “other,” why not a gas industry executive or a roughneck? When we have the courage to examine, honestly, the stories we live by, it opens up a creative space of possibility where anything is possible.

Monumental Irony

Monuments_Men_Places-068a3My 12-year-old son and I recently saw George Clooney’s film, “The Monuments Men.” What’s not to like about a gang of aging art curators and conservators snatching Europe’s cultural treasures from the evil Nazis? It’s based on Robert Edsel’s 2009 book of the same name.

Edsel’s research and writing project was a labor of love, funded by a $37 million nest egg from selling his Texas-based oil-and-gas exploration business in 1997.  He became fascinated with the story of the men and women from thirteen nations who stopped Hitler and his cronies from pillaging cultural capital at the expense of present and future generations. Ironically, Edsel’s work in the fossil fuel industry was similar: pillaging natural capital at the expense of present and future generations, human and otherwise.

It’s a potent illustration of how anthropocentric we are. We think the human story is all there is. World War 2 is a great illustration of our myopia. War is an enactment on a grand scale of the Story of Separation, the belief that we are the Chosen, the superior, the more deserving. Who “we” are depends on your perspective. For the Nazis, it was the Aryan race, but the Allies saw it differently, and thankfully, our side won.

Winning the war didn’t change our unconscious allegiance to the Story of Separation. Industries quickly retooled from bomb-making to pumping out fertilizer and pesticides using the same ingredients. An undeclared war was waged on the natural fertility of the land during the so-called “green revolution” that boosted agricultural productivity at the expense of soil, water, and the small family farmer.

The Story of Separation also drives our use of fossil fuels, starting with how they are found and extracted. Our belief that humans are the superior animal in the great web of life allows us to justify our actions, no matter the cost to the living planet or to present and future generations.

Wouldn’t it be something if we had a posse of Monuments Men working on behalf of natural capital? The heroes of Edsel’s story knew that winning the war would be diminished by every piece of art and sculpture lost, every church destroyed by bombing. These treasures stood for something far greater than their physical, material reality. Our planetary Monuments Men would have the same passion and zeal, the knowledge of true connoisseurs. Even the backing of their countries’ leaders, who, while admittedly focused on human lives, sense there is an even greater purpose at stake.

Can’t you just see George Clooney and Matt Damon, riding herd on the Koch Brothers, seizing their propaganda and influence promoting oil and gas drilling and spreading lies about renewable energy? What’s the equivalent of Michaelangelo’s “Bruges Madonna” or the Ghent Altarpiece? The Great Barrier Reef? The Chesapeake Bay? The receding glaciers of Mt. Kilimanjaro? There are too many to contemplate.

mount-kilimanjaro-21

 

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Down to the Wire

Down to the Wire: Confronting Climate CollapseDown to the Wire: Confronting Climate Collapse by David W. Orr

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a must-read for anyone who cares (or worries) about our future and those who seek a) a clear-eyed history of where we are and how we got here, and b) inspiration to fuel the work ahead. Orr spares nothing yet he comes out cautiously optimistic that humanity (and especially our political structures) will rise to the great challenges ahead. Chapter 5 is luminous.

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Honey, I Changed the Climate

Eaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New PlanetEaarth: Making a Life on a Tough New Planet by Bill McKibben

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

My comments on David Orr’s book apply here. McKibben is unsparing in giving it to us straight in the first half. Despite my long work history in sustainability, I was still stuck in prevention mode. It was very hard for me to face the facts: climate change is not just real, it’s here and it’s time for us to rethink how we live and get ready for some big adjustments. I found his history of the last 20 years to be fascinating and have a much better understanding of how we went so quickly from “might be of concern in 50 to 100 years” straight to “honey, I changed the climate.” The second half of the book is full of great examples of good people rolling up their sleeves and doing the work of shifting to small, decentralized, local, practical, cooperative and aligned with nature. I wish everyone would just stop arguing and shopping at WalMart and read this book.

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What is Restorying?

Restorying blog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.”  ~ Albert Einstein

After over 15 years teaching and practicing green architecture and sustainability, I had to ask: why haven’t things gotten better? Why are we still on a collision course with the climate, poverty, suffering, inequity, violence, war, and mental illness? We have the technology and the know-how to be far more efficient, so why aren’t we? How did we let it get to be too late for the climate?

I started wondering if all the emphasis on “what to do” was distracting us from the real work, which is to consider “who we are.”

I realized that, being part of this culture I wished to change, I was falling under its spell of separation. Restorying is not about saving the earth or being less bad. It’s about waking up to who we really are and why we are here. Which, at its core, is a mystery and always has been.

Our culture has trained us to believe that we are separate from and superior to the rest of the community of life.

. . . and, by extension, each other. We may agree and embrace this way of thinking, or we may be unaware that it is part of our operating system. Either way, until we discard that inaccurate and damaging notion, we can never heal ourselves, each other, or our world. We will remain stuck.

Throughout our history, humans have always lived by stories that told us how we got here, why we are here, and what God and the Universe were up to. The great playwright David Mamet says that drama comes from “our impulse to structure cause and effect in order to increase our store of practical knowledge about the universe.”

Our modern-day stories rely on abstractions like Growth and Progress, Family Values, Technology, and Change. Abstractions paint an incomplete and inaccurate picture of who we are in the world. We are taught that, unless you can measure, analyze or describe a phenomenon rationally, it doesn’t exist. Intuition, emotion, myth and the imagination have been treated as inferior, the realm of children best discarded once we reach adulthood.

In a Restorying retreat, we open ourselves to new messages that are germinating deep in our individual and collective consciousness.

Story-based practices draw from a deep well of imagination to receive the guidance and encouragement available to all of us. Exercises may bring numinous experiences of the joy of connection and welcome.  We explore practices like:

  • Letting go of old stories that no longer serve us
  • Tell and listen to stories – memoir, fable, myth, parable, hero’s journey
  • Imaginative journaling
  • Music, art and movement
  • Letting the body and senses listen and converse with our brothers and sisters, the trees, mountains, animals, meadows and streams

While a single unifying story is unlikely, a new way of being is taking shape that calls upon connection and belonging and is profoundly creative. Rather than struggle against what we don’t want, we can instead turn towards what energizes and inspires us. It is our birthright to live this way, to turn towards what is calling, what we love and long for. What are these emerging new stories?

For a current list of upcoming Restorying Retreats, check this page

“Children jump around at the end of the day, to expend the last of that day’s energy. The adult equivalent, when the sun goes down, is to create or witness drama – which is to say, to order the universe into a comprehensive form. Our sundown play/film/gossip is the day’s last exercise of that survival mechanism. In it we attempt to discharge any residual perceptive energies in order to sleep. We will have drama in that spot, and if it’s not forthcoming we will cobble it together out of nothing.”  ~ David Mamet, “Three Uses of the Knife,” pg. 8

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