Washington goes to San Francisco

This is awkward.  I'm not in my usual seat.  Or even close to my usual seat.  For some reason the train is especially crowded this morning.  I'm now on the East side facing North which is the total opposite of how it should be.  My elbow keeps hitting the side of the car.  I feel like I need to iron something.

Let me see what Washington Orville Hampton has to say about the need for same.

June 11, 2006 -- San Francisco, CA

I've had about enough of SF for this trip.  I remember when this was a respectable town.  This afternoon, however, was horrible.  I was dropped very unceremoniously at the front door of the wrong hotel.  Inside I discovered that the desk manager had been murdered and instead of getting a hotel room, I got an interview room.  Apparently people of diminutive stature are considered prime suspects when someone twice their height has an ice pick through the ear.

I complained, of course, about the ridiculousness of the whole thing but Detective Randy suggested that was my alibi.  I asked what his alibi was and he said he didn't have one.  That really threw him off and a Captain by the name of Stottlemeyer came in from the next room and took him out.

Then I got to meet a charming young woman, Natalie, and her boss, Mr. "oh-my-goodness-can-anyone-really-be-so-annoying?"  She called him Mr. Monk.  He spent the next half hour interviewing me.  Which was to say that he puttered around the room getting everything situated just-so before sitting down across from me.  Then he leaped back up and wiped everything down with a tissue.  It was mesmerizing in the same way as watching snails melt when you put salt on them.

Then Mr. Monk, without asking a single question, said, "He's not the guy."  The Captain didn't like that answer and argued.  Mr. Monk said, "He's not the guy.  Look at his bags.  He wasn't even supposed to be at that hotel."  The Captain said, "Right, he's told us it was a mistake."  Mr. Monk smiled and said, "It wasn't a mistake, Captain."  I, of course, was furious.  It was absolutely a mistake.  Coming to San Francisco was a mistake.  Miss Natalie said, "Mr. Monk, get to the point."

Mr. Monk tried to straighten my bow tie and I'm embarrassed to say that I tried to bite him.  I'd have punched him if I was handcuffed to the table.  He backed off at once and said, "Mr. Hampton didn't plan to go to the hotel, but his taxi driver took him there on purpose."

The Captain clapped his hands.  "Of course.  It was a set up."  The Captain turned back to me and said, "What can you tell us about the driver?"  I shook my hands to remind them I was cuffed.  Then I coughed to remind them I was thirsty.  Then I said, "Boy am I hungry" so they'd know I was hungry.  Then I told them all about my wild ride in the cab and the stories that the driver, Jame Gumb, had told me on the way.

"Not six, Seven!"

I've read a few articles over the last year that all speak to the importance of knowing the ending of your story before you start to write.  I read them, nodded sagely, and moved on.  Then I read a quote from an interview this week.

“I always write the last scene first.”

The very successful author went on to say, “Then I work my way backward from how I want the audience to feel when they get there.  But I always know my ending.”

Micheal Arndt wasn’t talking about “knowing where you’re going.”  He was talking about literally writing the last scene before anything else.  I don’t read the last page of a book unit I get to it.  This is not something I’m especially comfortable with.

But when I told my wife about it, she immediately said, “Yes!  That’s brilliant.”  (Actually, she didn’t use the word brilliant, but it’s what she meant.)  (Okay, that’s only sort of what she meant.)  What my wife really said was, “Yes!  That’s exactly you’re problem.  You get going just fine, stories that I want to hear, but then you sort of wander off and just stop.”

 

This is photo-shopped.  Mr. Monk would never have 11 utensils.

I am now trying to deal with the finality of working from my last scene.  Where do I want the audience to be?  Which of my characters will get them there?  It’s harder than it sounds.  Imagine Mr. Monk getting a ‘9’ tattooed on his body.  Or better yet, a ‘9.5’

"There's an old saying: Don't... change... anything... ever."

I'm finding that routine is becoming a bigger part of my life.  I used to fight it.  Now I only fight it on days like today when I have to take a different train.  It's not a comfortable experience.  The cars are a different style, the seats are weird, and it's really, really crowded.  I know one fictitious former San Francisco homicide detective who would have an absolute fit.  But not me, I'm content to just whine a little.

Today, on Must See TV Thursday, I bring you, "Mr. Monk Writes a Blog".  If you're a fan of the show then that's really funny.  If you've never seen it or don't like Mr. Monk, then you will think that's dumb and probably not bother to read the rest of my post.  Unless you are like Mr. Monk - in which case you will be forced suffer onward, despite your feelings, because you just HAVE TO.  

If you don't care for Monk I suspect it's because you started with the very first episode or only catch occasional bits and pieces on cable.  I'll admit it's an acquired taste that may take time to develop - sort of like an appreciation for soft, runny fromage - but, again like the fromage, it's worthwhile.  Especially if you write.

Mr. Monk is one of the most complex (and consistent) characters to ever be on television.  There have been complex or consistent, sure, but not both at the same time on this scale with such attention to detail applied to the supporting cast.  You can't get that from a single episode or sporadic moments.  You can only think OCD is funny for so long - if you miss the character then you've missed the point of the show.

Some significant points that you can learn from in your own story telling:

1)  The show is not about OCD.  It's a huge part of what controls the titular character, but his quirky behavior is never random.  Every issue he has relates directly to a story element. 

2) The show started as an offbeat, comical detective series.  It ended as a serious detective drama that had a couple of funny moments.  This transition was gradual and logical, the core audience didn't need to adjust (like Copperfield's disappearing Statue of Liberty) but taken at random, the shows seem a bit disconnected. 

3) The entire series is a love story.  This is not a show about murder.  It's about love.  Mr. Monk is haunted by his love for deceased wife Trudy, the only woman for him - someone who totally got him and still thought he was the greatest man in the world.  This is a hurt that permeates him, always there.  But it's also about the people that love Mr. Monk and while he needs them desperately, he is unable to reciprocate.  He is surrounded by friends that want to see him succeed.  I think it is absolutely amazing that they could run a show for 125 episodes, across 8 seasons with male and female leads who were devoted to each other.  Hardly ever a hint of romance between them, but the relationship that was constructed?  Amazing.  By keeping the mainline arc clean like that, they were able to introduce all sorts of crazy romantic installments without having to actually change the show.

4) Every character mattered.  Even the extras in the police station.  They all had depth and we found out about them - organically.  Randy had a band, man.  With an album.  Do you know what Tom Bosley's character from "Murder She Wrote" did in his spare time?

So I'm really slow.  I only just put together that "Castle" is a reboot of "Murder She Wrote".

“Monk” gets points because, as you watch, when one of the newbies (characters just meeting him) does something, you can't help but say, "He's not going to like that." or "Here come the wipes - yup!"  He's like that guy on the school bus that would put all of his buggers in a row on the seat in front of him.  You know exactly what he's going to do but still watch and still laugh - or cry - because that's someone's life.

"I'm not hugging you, Mr. Monk. I'm hugging the little boy."

I over-slept this morning so today's post is post morning chores.  I'm not sure which is making me feel older, having to zoom in to 120% on my browser to be able to write this, or meeting a TEACHER that was born after I graduated from high school.  No matter, today isn't about complaining, it's about finding inspiration.

You need to have more than one passion in life - whether you're a writer or a golfer.  When King David lost his first son by Bath-Sheba, he picked up the pieces of his life and pressed on.  His servants wondered why he was so calm.  David replied, "I cannot raise the dead.  He is gone.  I will go to him, but he will never come back to me."  David recognized a very inconvenient truth that we like to ignore - we will all pass along and, once we do, we can't come back.

"That's the saddest movie I've ever seen." - Natalie

So live a full life.  Things happen to pull you down, to break your heart and crush your spirit.  Be gorged on life so that when something loses its savor you have a plate full of something else.  Spend time with children.  They are fascinating.  Not just your children, all of the children around you.  Don't treat them poorly, with contemptuous arrogance.  Do not condescend to them.  They are wiser than you think, the wounds you create greater than you can imagine.  Each child is a unique person with a personality forming.  You have an opportunity to be a meaningful person in their lives, even just in passing.  That's not something that's going to happen by writing a best-seller or hitting 20 under par.

Think about it.  Who actually wanted to read the books in school?  Who believes (or cares) about your amazing golf score?

Children will believe in you if you believe in them.  They don't know all of the "why's" that will keep you from succeeding, no matter that goal.  When you believe in them, it encourages them to actually pursue greatness rather than settle for humdrum and ordinary.

Both my wife and I were recipients of spontaneous hugs from children that were not ours this weekend.  I know how it made me feel, and I saw what it meant to my wife because her entire countenance changed.  Emily Dickinson may have preferred the life of a hermit, but do you really want to be famous for being alone?

I know they are scary in groups, but individually?  Children are amazing.  Just don't be creepy.  Nobody likes that creepy guy.  Don't know the one I mean?  Then stay away from my kids...