Engineering and Writing

I’m an engineer.

You may not have known that, perhaps you missed the part where I talked about why math isn’t awful, or perhaps you missed my “about the forge” page, where I talk about that a little bit.

Today, however, I’d like to draw a line between two things that are rarely connected in people’s minds: the telling of stories through novels, and the art of engineering.

Wonderful Design

The best stories are the ones that matter. When we tell stories, we aim for the stories that matter the most to us and to others because we know those are the stories people will love to hear. Sure, there’s more to it than that, but the underlying goal of our storytelling choices is to tell stories that matter.

When we tell a story that doesn’t matter, no one remembers it. No one pays it any mind, and no one falls in love with it. It sits forgotten on a dusty bookshelf in the clearance section of a thrift store.

Instead of telling those stories, we design better ones: stories that engage the reader and make them care deeply about the characters and the plot and the setting and make us yearn for more of this story and its people and places and emotions.

The best engineering feats are the ones that matter. They’re the types of inventions and designs that make a difference. An engineer isn’t remembered for his long list of mistakes and “nope that won’t work”s, he’s remembered for when his design finally does work.

When an engineer creates something that doesn’t matter, no one takes notice. Instead, the design sits forgotten in the bottom of a desk, slowly chewed away by those two mice that the cat just can’t seem to catch no matter how hard he tries.

Instead of creating those things, engineers design better creations and innovations: ones that engage with our world and the people in it. We strive to flourish the natural world and to understand its workings.

The common thread between storytelling and engineering is design. It’s the art of creating something new and unexpected and exciting and powerful and real.

The Collision of Two Worlds

When people hear me, an engineering student, say “yeah, I write novels”, I get one of two reactions: the first comes from the friends who know me well, and understand that I’m more than just an engineering student. They say “really? How many?” or “cool, what are they about?”. The second comes from people who know very little about me, but enough to respond: “engineering and creative writing? What a combination!”

I, however, don’t find this “combination” strange or weird or exceptional at all. My studies in math and science and engineering don’t point away from creative writing, but toward it. There is creation and beauty in both. There is strength in both.

When I write, I create. Worlds and people flow from my fingertips and onto the page. When I write, I create. Emotion and conflict and thought merge into flashes of color and imagination.

When I engineer, I create. Designs and processes and ideas flow form my fingertips onto the page. When I engineer, I create. Emotion and desire and want and need and thoughts merge into flashes of color and imagination.

As it turns out, the two are very similar. They aren’t a pair of separate entities that somehow managed to come to a compromise about which portions of my brain each gets to use. No.

They’re the same entity; me, working to put my whole brain to work on some creation. Sure, it’s a different creation in each case, but it’s still creation.

Your Application

Now, obviously, not all of you are engineer. In fact, it’s quite possible that none of you are engineers. Instead, you’re writers wondering how this opinion piece is supposed to apply to you.

Well, here’s the application: you can create more than just one type of art. We’re not constrained to creating just one type of thing. You don’t have to just write stories or paint landscapes or play one instrument.

Art is meant to be explored and invested in and enjoyed and created. You aren’t mean to dedicate your whole life to just one form of art. Instead, invest yourself in many. I don’t mean you have to bury yourself in art and become so overwhelmed that you never accomplish anything, but I mean that having more than one art in our lives makes us better people.

Art brings our emotions and thoughts to life. It awakens us to the beauty and the darkness around us, in us, in others.

Engineering is one of my arts. Writing is one of my arts. Theater is one of my arts.

What are yours?

Someone to Look Up To – Reversed Clichés

Last week, I discussed the importance of mentors, and what makes them different from other characters. Today, I’d like to further discuss such characters, but this time look at the cloud of stereotypes and clichés that follow these vital fellows.

Old-Man Wisdom

One of the most common clichés, the one that follows from some of the greatest sagas of our time, is that mentors have to be aged. More specifically, they have to be old white men with some sort of facial hair and a deep, voice and slow speech pattern.

While I have nothing against white males (I mean… I am one, so there’s that), this is a common stereotype that I feel stories suffer from. Here’s the deal: look at the mentors in your own life. How many of them are old men with large beards and a love of monologues? Myself, I can think of one mentor in my life (of dozens) that fits about half of that bill.

Here’s the deal: mentors don’t have to be old to be wise. You don’t need a hermit or an ancient wizard to find wisdom.

This idea can work, of course, as it’s been done in some of the best (arguably) stories in the history of writing. Look at Gandalf, at Dumbledore, at Obi-wan, at so many others who fit the “old man with a white beard” cliché. They work powerfully for their story because they started the cliché. They’re the reason the rest of us want to have that kind of mentor in our story and feel like it’s necessary for everything to work out.

Turns out, that’s not necessary at all.

The Normal Mentor – Humanness

Whatever you may think of The Hunger Games, Haymitch is one of the best mentors out there. Sure, he’s a white male, but he’s also human.

See, Haymitch has been through life. He’s experienced the things that the main character is about to go through. His unique experience as a human has equipped him to be a natural mentor to Katniss.

But it also turned him into a broken human being. A terribly, terribly human character.

To me, Haymitch expresses the true form of a mentor: mentors are humans who’ve made all the mistakes the main character tends to make. They’ve already messed up, so they know how to advise those about to make those same messes. They’re not super-human perfections who sit on a plane above the rest of us, they’re human.

Another good example of a human mentor is Alfred, Bruce Wayne’s butler (from a variety of Batman-related things). This is a man who’s seen a lot, and been through most of it. He knows how being human works, even when his employer does not. This insight allows him to give Bruce advice that saves him, many times.

Once again, however, mentors don’t have to follow the cliché of elderly men. Take George Macdonald’s The Wise Woman, for instance. In this short book, the mentor is a woman who has a great deal of advice and knowledge, for she’s lived a life of humanness. It gives her a power, and reveals a wonderful mentor.

We might also consider Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, where we find three mentors in the form of the Mrs. Whatsit, Which, and Who.

Looking At Reality

Consider the immense variety of your life. Look at how many mentors you have. Right now, I can pull out a dozen names without having to pause for more than a few seconds. Easily. I know I can think of more given time and a piece of paper to write down names so I don’t repeat myself by accident. I’m sure you can, too.

Mentors are all around us. Everywhere we go, every sphere of our lives, we have mentors. Those who have gone before us (sometimes they’re younger than we are, which may feel weird, but it’s true). What about characters? When you develop your characters, how many mentors do you give them?

A lot of the time, it seems like we give them one. One mentor, who can fulfill all their needs.

That, however, is not good at all. It’s not realistic, and it puts too much burden on one character. When Obi-wan is given all the responsibility to teach Luke and be his mentor in all areas of his life, it results in an all-powerful mentor who knows everything and a rather flat main character who only has dimension in areas where Obi-wan also has dimension.

Characters need more than one mentor. They need to be like Harry, who has Dumbledore for certain, but also Lupin and Hagrid and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley and so many others. Each character has many, many mentors. Sometimes, people are mentors to each other. Those relationships occasionally go both directions, and rarely does a relationship just go one way. The mentee has to have something to offer the mentor as well.

Clichés: A Short List

Before I end this, I’d like to offer a short list of clichés that reveal themselves in our writing quite often, and potentials for something different:

The old man. I’ve already beaten this one repeatedly, and I think it’s fairly obvious how to reverse this one: make the mentor not an old man. Simple enough. I mean, he can even still be a man.

Conveniently strong in all the ways the hero needs. I mentioned this last week, but a lot of mentors somehow happen to have talents that match the hero’s quest exactly. But what about all the other talents that mentors can have that aren’t exactly what the hero needs? We can find powerful contrast in stories where the hero has to come up with an original solution to a common problem because their mentor taught them something that’s hard to use to solve that problem.

Killed in the darkest moment by the villain. Not to spoil anything, but the three I used yesterday all fit this, and everyone seems to have decided that this needs to be a thing in every novel. The main problem is this: the mentor is supposedly the most masterful person your character knows, and they’re taken out. There’s nothing wrong with showing how the villain is more powerful than the main character through a defeat of the mentor, but why are mentors the easiest kills in novels? They should be the hardest for the villain, even if they’re the first.

But… what if we didn’t kill them at all? What if instead we show them defeated in some other way? Show their spirit broken in some other way.

Grumpy, belligerent drunkards. I realize I just used one of these exact clichés to talk about a fantastic mentor, but this is a cliché that worked for that situation, but not for many that people try. Haymitch was grumpy, belligerent, and drunk a lot. For his character, background, and situation, it totally makes sense and we pity him for it.

All those other drunk mentors who have no reason to be grumpy? I don’t understand them. I realize we want our mentors to be humans, but why does their one flaw always have to be a bottle of bourbon and a scowl? There are so many other possible flaws out there that make them more human than pulling at a cigar while swirling brandy.

I feel like mentors are beaten only by villains in the area of stereotypical, cliché actions. At least the hero has some variety. Mentors currently have two basic varieties, which is a real shame.

Let’s work to make that different. Will you join me?

Music is an Art – Part 2

Last week, I introduced this trilogy of posts about music and the art therein, and today I’d like to continue that trilogy. It’s going to be a short post, because studying for finals is important and so forth.

Meanwhile:

Last week, my post talked about the art found in music, and I mentioned how all genres of music are art. Well, today I’d like to talk about a few ways in which those genres can create poor art and strong art. Again, I’m going to avoid bashing or praising certain genres (although I’m certain to be praising some for some things, and others for other things), since some portions of music taste are, in fact, relative.

The Two Parts of Music

While music can be incredibly complex (to the point where I would be completely lost because I’m not a musician myself and more of a mixer/producer), it can be boiled down to two basic part: lyrics and instrumentals. Obviously, classical and neo-classical music tends to lack the former part [with some exceptions of course], so we’ll turn our attention to music that contains both.

Music must be creative. This is why you might be able to consider songs with different lyrics and the same instrumental parts as art (such as parodies… at least the serious ones that mean something rather than simply creating nonsense… anyway). Music has to create something new and insightful in at least one of the two parts that make it up.

That’s harder than you think. Most instruments can only hit a certain number and combination of notes, and those notes can only be arranged in so many unique ways that also sound pleasing to human ears. We’re surprisingly picky (which is why so many genres exist… for instance, my dad can’t stand Country/Bluegrass [nothing against those genres, he just doesn’t like the twang/drawl in music] and I can’t stand most screamo/heavy metal).

What makes the instrumental part of music creative and unique and… artistic? While I’m not the genius in this area of the art of music, I’d like to offer what I’ve realized when conversing with all of my musically inclined friends: creative instrumental music involves either taking a risk or invoking emotion, often both. There are certain parts of music (notes, progressions, riffs, etc.) that aren’t usually used, because they can be risky. I can’t tell you what exactly those are, because I’m not the expert in this area, but I can tell you they exist. When an artist takes that risk and it works, they create something new and exciting and worthwhile. Art.

Sometimes, however, that risk isn’t worth it. It won’t fit the song. Instead, the music has to evoke emotion. Whether that means making the listener tap their foot to the beat or stop and smile or close their eyes or exhale loudly. Maybe it means flailing arms or graceful steps. It’s creation of emotion.

Lyrics: Flash Fiction

If I told you to write a story in 200-500 words, you’d tell me I was crazy. Or you’d set about writing what fiction writers call “flash fiction”. This sort of fiction is always under 500 words (sometimes under 100 words if you’re that type of person) and tends to rely completely on the emotion of complex words and succinct descriptions. Lots of action and meaning packed into every word.

As it turns out, the average wordcount of a song is 200-400 words. Or less.

That’s not very many words. So what does that mean for the songwriter? Packing as much emotion and meaning into as few words as possible. It means succinct and powerful word choices. You don’t have a novel to make people think about your theme. Four hundred words. Four. Hundred. Words.

That, I think, is where the power of music lies. It takes three minutes for a song to tell a story, to create emotion, to invoke thought. It takes a novel hours.

Now. Not every song has to tell a literal story. For instance, “Centuries” by Fall Out Boy doesn’t tell very much of a story. Instead, it creates the concepts that allow for a story to weave its way through the listener’s head as they come up with one in their imagination. “Gun Song” by the Lumineers, on the other hand, tells a very short and concise and powerful story steeped in allegory. Both are excellent songs, and both are very different genres.

Now, “Gun Song” tells a very specific story and is an allegory for very specific things. But not all songs need tell a story that specifically. Instead, they can create a vague and general story that people can then apply to their own selves. Good examples include “Screen” by Twenty One Pilots, “I will Wait” by Mumford and Sons, and “This is Gospel” by Panic! At the Disco.

Now, from those two paragraphs, you probably picked up on my general taste in music: alternative; rock; folk. While those are my taste, I also enjoy absorbing other mediums of music and you can apply these same ideas to other genres.

Where do many songs go wrong when it comes to lyrics? They tell the same story over and over and over. Listen to the radio sometime. Really LISTEN. Ponder the story the lyrics are telling. Not just how catchy the tune is or how “clever” the rhyme scheme is. What is the song saying?

You’ll find a lot of popular songs nowadays are telling the same story over and over.

Does that make them bad?

Not necessarily. They have every right to tell that story, because it’s still a story. One might argue that they’re still art, even when they’re unoriginal.

Good art, however, quality music, needs more. It needs to tell a story that makes you stop and appreciate it, wonder at it, ponder over it. Not all of those at once, necessarily, but at least once. That’s when music becomes powerful. How so? I’ll share that in two weeks, because I’ve already spent too long on this and not enough time studying.