"Never bring a cannon on stage in Act I unless you intend to fire it by the last act." ~ Anton Chekhov
A little foreshadowing, anyone?
What I wouldn't give to be able to have a tete-a-tete with Hawthorne about foreshadowing. I mean, c'mon. The Scarlet Letter's first scaffold scene? He quite literally wrote the book on this particular literary technique. And he did it with such subtlety, such finesse. Reverend Wilson's and the Governor's exhortation to Dimmesdale? His subsequent appeal to Hester? Her dark prison meeting with Chillingworth? Hawthorne needs no other eulogy.
And therein lies the gauntlet. It looks too weighty by far to pick up, much less wield. Yet I'm irresistibly compelled to make the attempt, to paint the picture you see above: a lush setting--vibrant with a forecast of mystery--and intriguingly captivating characters--ones who stand out clearly, intriguingly drawn with flair and a flourish that lures the reader with the promise of more ... just around the corner of the next page.
Look again at the shadowed figures above. They're poised precisely at the threshold of revelation. The light is such that you can almost see them. The cut of the suit and gown speak to personality, the hair styles and postures reveal age and deportment, and the umbrella says volumes--we're just not sure what. And it's exactly that "almost" that catches the mind, that makes you keep looking back, trying harder to see what else is there. Are you sure of what you saw the first time? There are definite lines to the profile, but could other interpretations be just as valid? The point is not that you don't know, but that you want to.
I have no desire to frustrate my audience with Chekhov's latent cannons. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm much in danger of doing so. My flawed bent is in the other direction. I have the tendency to pull onto the stage only those cannons which I mean to fire immediately and obviously. And the task of figuring out which cannons to set in the corner, and which to fire no sooner than they're rolled on stage, and which to make the pink elephants in the room makes this whole beginning stage feel like the pink elephant is sitting on my shoulders and it invited friends to share the view.
Despite the weight of personal expectations and Hawthorne's ridiculously high standards by example, I know that I must set down these elephants and roll out these cannons and fire some and save some. And maybe some I'll eventually have to go back and pull off the stage entirely. This is the process.
And now that I've picked up Chekhov's words of wisdom, I'm going to go build some cannons. ... Most of which I hope to use someday!
A little foreshadowing, anyone?
What I wouldn't give to be able to have a tete-a-tete with Hawthorne about foreshadowing. I mean, c'mon. The Scarlet Letter's first scaffold scene? He quite literally wrote the book on this particular literary technique. And he did it with such subtlety, such finesse. Reverend Wilson's and the Governor's exhortation to Dimmesdale? His subsequent appeal to Hester? Her dark prison meeting with Chillingworth? Hawthorne needs no other eulogy.
And therein lies the gauntlet. It looks too weighty by far to pick up, much less wield. Yet I'm irresistibly compelled to make the attempt, to paint the picture you see above: a lush setting--vibrant with a forecast of mystery--and intriguingly captivating characters--ones who stand out clearly, intriguingly drawn with flair and a flourish that lures the reader with the promise of more ... just around the corner of the next page.
Look again at the shadowed figures above. They're poised precisely at the threshold of revelation. The light is such that you can almost see them. The cut of the suit and gown speak to personality, the hair styles and postures reveal age and deportment, and the umbrella says volumes--we're just not sure what. And it's exactly that "almost" that catches the mind, that makes you keep looking back, trying harder to see what else is there. Are you sure of what you saw the first time? There are definite lines to the profile, but could other interpretations be just as valid? The point is not that you don't know, but that you want to.
I have no desire to frustrate my audience with Chekhov's latent cannons. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm much in danger of doing so. My flawed bent is in the other direction. I have the tendency to pull onto the stage only those cannons which I mean to fire immediately and obviously. And the task of figuring out which cannons to set in the corner, and which to fire no sooner than they're rolled on stage, and which to make the pink elephants in the room makes this whole beginning stage feel like the pink elephant is sitting on my shoulders and it invited friends to share the view.
Despite the weight of personal expectations and Hawthorne's ridiculously high standards by example, I know that I must set down these elephants and roll out these cannons and fire some and save some. And maybe some I'll eventually have to go back and pull off the stage entirely. This is the process.
And now that I've picked up Chekhov's words of wisdom, I'm going to go build some cannons. ... Most of which I hope to use someday!
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