Author - Artist - Voice Over Actor

Tag: Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Hitchhiking across the Galaxy to find your Writer’s Voice

What am I going to write about today? I have no idea.

Or rather, I had no idea until about three minutes ago, at which point I checked facebook to discover one of my friends had posted a news article stating that the UK’s television network BBC4 would be airing an adaptation of Douglas Adam’s science fiction comedy novel Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency.

So why does this warrant a mention in a blog about writing? Because it reminded me of reading the original novel, and Adam’s magnum opus The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

The question I would like to pose to you this week is this: As a writer have you ever found yourself writing in another author’s voice? Was it intentional, or purely by accident?

Years ago while in a college creative writing course I was assigned to write a comedic short story as part of my final.

During that same semester, a friend of mine loaned me his copies of the original Hitchhiker’s trilogy (I have never read the books that followed). As an avid fan of Doctor Who (at that time I was really into the Tom Baker years), I really enjoyed the Douglas Adam episodes. (If you like the Matt Smith run, go check these out). So I really got into his novels.

Hitchhiker was slowly seeping into my unconsciousness as I read the novels that semester. So that when given an assignment to write this short story I found myself writing with Mr. Adam’s voice. Even my teacher noticed it.

Got a pretty good grade on it too.

That wasn’t the only time I ended up writing in another author’s voice. After I read a Sherlock Holmes story, I end up writing certain scenes with Arthur Conan Doyle’s voice. And because I read tons of Ray Bradbury, I can come up sounding like him as well.

That works for some things, and Adam’s voice works for others, but you know what voice really works best for my stories?

My own voice.

Sometimes I think it would be a whole lot better if I could write that that author, or that scriptwriter, but in truth it really wouldn’t be. More likely it’s going to come across as a poor imitation.

I may not be the greatest writer in the world, but I’d far rather not try to imitate the greatest writers in the world. Learn from them, absolutely, but not copy them.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my writing voice has picked up mannerisms from Adams, Doyle, Bradbury, and others, but I sound like myself. Whether I’m writing a short story, novel, script, or comic book, or even my little old blogs here, it’s going to be in my own voice?

Learn the from the voices of the author’s you greatly respect, then go an find your own voice.

Okay, that was nice and short. Actually had a point to it.

Thanks for reading.

Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

Four Names of Professional Creativity

A Story – That Grew from Fallen Fruit.

It’s been a week since my last blog, and I’ve promised myself to write more often. So here’s the next one. Kinda.

If you read my previous blog, I gave an example of how stories just come from the most mundane things in life. Like fruit falling from a tree outside my office. The example was a few lines of a story that came to me from that thought (go back and read the blog “Growing the Fruit of a Story” if you don’t know what I’m talking about.)

Not knowing if there was really a story in those lines and in that fruit, yesterday I began to see where it took me. What follows is a short story entitled “Falling Apples.” It could probably use two or three rewrites, but I want to show you what can result from just writing about anything.

– = –

“Falling Apples”

by Kevin Paul Shaw Broden (c) 2010

Sharon Little lay back in her bed to rest and think. Actually she didn’t want to think. She wanted to put the world away from her and not have to think about the events of the day. Today she had officially broken up with her boyfriend, and had the restraining order to prove it.

Jack had been wonderful on the first few dates they went out on. His only flaw was that he tended to drink a little too much. But then in later dates he began to expect more from her. She wasn’t ready to have sex, but he was insistent. It was okay, but nothing earth shattering like she expected it should have been. Then when he drank he all but raped her.

The hitting began when she refused his advances. Sharon wanted to believe that it was the alcohol that acting and not Jack. But in the morning he was just as mad at her, this time claiming that she had embarrassed him in front of his friends at the bar.

She put up with it for another month, but she was determined not to be one of those women that always went back to their man no matter how dangerous it was. It was after a black eye and broken tooth that Sharon went to the police.

It took another week before the courts would give her the restraining order, and she wondered if there was anything this piece of paper could really restrain. While she was leaving the courts, Jack shouted at her that she was his, and that he’d have her or no one would.
There were many lawyers and police officers that had heard him shout the threat but there wasn’t anything they could do. He’d have to break the restraining order for it to actually do any good.

Now evening had come and she was lying atop her bed. Not ready for sleep yet, but she was exhausted all the same.

As Sharon closed her eyes there was a sudden ‘thump’ on the roof of the house, directly over her bedroom. It was followed by a whisper like rumble and then a ‘thud’ just outside her window.
She jumped at the sound, but quickly relaxed knowing what it was. Just outside the house was a large old apple tree. There was good crop of bright red fruit. Every so often an apple would drop from the higher branches and strike the roof of the house and then roll down over the tapered rafters.

It was almost a relaxing sound, so familiar and safe. Almost a funny sound and she smile at it. Sharon closed her eyes once more.

A few minutes went by and another apple hit the roof and rolled down and struck front lawn with a wet thud. Most of the apples in the tree were over ripe, she had already harvested far more then she could eat. A third hit the ground seconds later, and she was certain some animal was up in the tree getting a late dinner.

Then another struck the roof, then another, and another. A minute late it sounded like a hale storm hitting the house. Sitting up, she could see them falling past her window, like meteors falling toward earth.

With a sense of fear Sharon wondered what could possibly be shaking the tree so hard. She got out of bed, slipped on a pair of sandals and found the flashlight that was plugged into the kitchen outlet.

Flipping on the back porch light she slid open the glass door and stepped outside. With the beam of light ahead of her she cautiously made were way around to the side of the house. It was much darker. She could hear the rustle of the tree up ahead, and more apples hitting the ground.

Nervous to even contemplate the though, she had to speak the words, “Jack, is that you? You’re not allowed to come around here any more.”

There was no response, except that the tree shook once more and apples fell.

“Don’t make me call the cops on you.”

More apples fell.

Getting closer, Sharon raised the light upward into the tree and saw movement.

A family of raccoons was running around the branches of the tree. They were playing and eating apples. They may have also been a little drunk on the fermented fruit.

A smile came to Sharon’s lips and she let out a breath of air.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as she feared.

“Don’t eat too much,” she playfully scolded the little animals, and turned to go back inside.

As she turned, her sandal covered foot struck one of the rotting apples on the ground. It squished and her foot slid forward. The flashlight flew through the air as Sharon fell backwards.

Sharon’s head struck the corner of a brick planter, cracking her skull open.

Apples fell upon her body.

It was the next afternoon when Sharon’s ex-boyfriend Jack was arrested for her murder.
After all, there were more than a dozen witnesses to his threat.

THE END

– = –

Well, if you’ve read this far it must not be all that bad, so thank you for sticking with me.
When I wrote the original lines last week I knew this was going to be a suspense story, but knew nothing more about it. So the story was as surprising to me as I wrote it as I hope it was while you read it.

Now the suspense continues, as I have to figure out what to write for next week’s blog.
Thanks for reading and for all your support.

Growing the Fruit of A Story.

A couple of people on Twitter recently suggested I blog more often. I would, really, but I don’t know what I have to say.

So what should I write about?

I got another reject this morning.

There, I said it. Someone doesn’t want me. They don’t want my script writing, and that publisher back in New York doesn’t want my novel either. So clearly, they don’t want me.

Okay, I’ve spit out that little bit of bile. And yes, I have had that thought. I’ve had it each time I get a rejection; each time I don’t get a job I apply for.

But I do not hold on to such thought for more then a few seconds. I can’t hold on to them. They are garbage; they are disease, they are rot. An infection that if it is not cut out of the body at the very start will grow and fester and destroy you from your very heart outward.

Yes, I know you’ve had that thought as well. We all have had it. But to survive we must never let those thoughts take root (I know I switched metaphors, go with me).

Some people will submit one story, one script, one set of art samples to a comic publisher, animation house, or what have you. And when that letter arrives (letter, e-mail, phone call, heaven forbid text message) they quit and give up never to ever try again.

I know that feeling as well, and the thought that follows; “I’ve got nothing else to write. Might as well give up now.”

Well if you do then you really have given up. You’ve quit, and you’re dead.

But sometimes, even if you think you’ve given up and quit, the writer deep down inside isn’t ready to let go. New ideas are being seeded in to your subconscious all the time, and when they start to make themselves known you’re going to have be ready to nurture them, and ignore the weeds of doubt and fear that have been growing in your field up till then. (Told you that metaphor switch would work. Didn’t know it then, but do now.)

If you try too hard to write a certain type of story, that genre you like, or that one that’s popular right now, you’re probably not going to get very far. But if you just start writing with certain themes and emotions behind it, then your stories will come and they’ll keep coming.

While I began to write this blog, I looked out the window at the apricot tree, and a spark of a memory came to me. We had a bumper crop of fruit this year (and they were really tasty), but they’re all gone now. After we had harvested as many apricots as we could (I had to climb on the roof to get most of them.) There are still a lot of them that become food for birds and the squirrels. Then there are the fruit that just falls to the ground and are lost. Sometimes these fruit fall and hit the roof over my office. ‘Thud’ and then a rolling sound before it falls off and hits the ground and starts to rot.

So, just now, my memory of this falling fruit became the first line of a new story:

She way laying in bed when she heard the sound of the apple hitting the roof overhead and then rolling along the slanted shingles before falling to the grass outside. It was a gentle noise, almost funny. Then another struck the roof and rolled, followed by another. Suddenly the apples began to strike the roof like a hale storm. Sitting up she could see them falling past her window. With a sense of fear she wondered what shaking the apple tree so hard.

That’s all I’ve got right now. Just one single image of falling fruit, and I suddenly have a possible suspense story. Is there an animal in the tree shaking the apples down? If so, how big could it possibly be? Or is it something or someone else?

I don’t know yet, but a story is growing out of the seeds of those falling fruit.

My point is that look around you at the most inconsequential things and you might well find the little acorn that can grown into a mighty oak of story.

But don’t let those falling fruit begin to rot inside you, because as I said they will if you don’t do something with them. If you give up, then everything rots.

So don’t let the rot start, don’t let the weeds have time to grow. No matter how you feel after getting that rejection; it’s not the end of the world. People don’t hate you. You’ve got a field full of more fruit ready to be harvested and turned into the greatest stories in the world.

What are you waiting for? Start harvesting, and don’t let it rot!

As to those rejection letters; Turn them into mulch to feed your fruit and keep writing. Just like I did here.

There, happy now. I wrote another blog. I had no idea what I was going to start writing when I began this. Now I feel like I’ve accomplished something.

What’s next?

Thanks for reading.

Kevin Paul Shaw Broden

The Waiting

The Waiting.

Well, surprise, surprise, you didn’t have to WAIT long for me to post another blog. But this one is more personal than previous ones.

Anyone who know me, read a few of my blogs, or my brief grumbles on Twitter, will tell you that I have been WAITING for a job for a very long time.

People say I have the “patience of Job.” I would never wish to have to go through what Job did. I’ve told people never to pray for more patience, because God will provide it and provide more reasons to need patience.

So I joke that I’ve been playing the “waiting game,” as I wait to hear back from producers, publishers, and job’s I’ve applied for.

For this past week, I and many other members of my family have had to WAIT on something no on really wants to arrive. Death.

Earlier this year, one of my aunts died after many years of suffering from a terrible illness, she had it nearly as long as I have been alive. She lived a good life through out the pain, but then finally it was over.

Now, this week, we lost another aunt. In comparison to her sister-in-law, she was suffering from cancer for a very short while.

She had already lost her husband a few years ago, and her son was killed in Vietnam, so for her the WAITING on the approach of death was also the reunion with her family members in Heaven with the Lord.

The cancer was quickly taking over and winning, but her Faith made her strong and she was content in her Wait because she knew the rewards that were to follow.

This past Sunday, she closed her eyes and went to sleep. A peaceful sleep that even our visits to her room could not waken.

Now came the hardest of the WAITING, and that was for us; her family and friends.

Over the next several days, she remained in that peaceful sleep. Her breathing continued as the rest of her body failed. Each moment we thought would be her last, and yet her body held on.

Our WAITING finally came to an end this Wednesday evening.

Though the waiting is over, our pain is not gone. Whether it be loss or guilt, we hurt that our family member is not with any longer. Yet we know we are only WAITING for the time when we will join them in eternity.

Selfishly I think of all the things in my life that my aunts, uncles, grandparents, or another good friend that passed in the last two years, won’t get to see whether it be my career in animation, or published editions of my comic book writing. Most of all I feel bad that they won’t be there for my wedding.

And there is more WAITING, as my fiancée waits on me. Maybe I’m wrong, but I’m waiting on getting married until I’ve got a regular job to build up on. How she puts up with the waiting, and with me, only the Lord knows.

…they that WAIT upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. (Isaiah 40:31 KJV)

Neither rain nor… from animation.

From facebook:

Shannon Muir wrote on your wall.
“Hey, you need to update your blog!
(Hey for that matter I need to update mine. 😉 Seem to have reduced my life to Facebook updates.)
We’re writers, we should be WRITING,…”

She’s absolutely right, I need to be writing more here on my blog, but I find writing a blog, or journal to be harder then writing anything else, would like to hear what your thoughts are on that.

That said, I’ll give it a shot.

A few years ago, during one of those rare moments that it rains in Southern California, I was heading towards a job. As when it does rain here, it was coming down hard, flooding streets and houses were sliding down hills (we’re thinking of making it an Olympic sport, House Sliding), and I was caught in the middle of it.

I had been called by my temp agency to head up to one of the studios to sit at someone’s desk. I’d prefer being hired on permanently, but I can’t turn down even the smallest job if it will get me closer to working in animation. So happy to have even a one day job, I jumped into the car and headed North towards the valley of the studios.

Heading up the 5 FWY, the rain was getting heavier, but that didn’t stop everyone in the cars around me to try and keep as close to the speed limit as possible. Moving at a “safe” speed I came to a place in the FWY where it drops down under a railroad bridge.

That’s when everything went crazy. The water was building up in the lower area of the road, and I hit it and began to hydroplane.

I lost control of the car and it flew across the road and spun around and came to a stop in the fast lane facing backwards. Realizing I had come to a stop I was able to take a breath and look over to see my passenger door only inches from the wall that supported to bridge above. Then I looked around to discover that there wasn’t one care on the road, when there had been many only moments earlier.

I began to thank God for protecting me, from hitting the wall, and for having cleared the raod so that no one else was caught in the accident.

The road remained clear long enough for me to turn the car around and get moving again, but it wasn’t long before others were traveling along side me once more. It was as if they had vanished from the road and now reappeared.

I remember pulling off the road into a parking lot to let my heart slow down, but once settled I started moving again and headed for the job.

A job, like I said, was a temp for only one day; but it was in or related to the animation industry that I kept going even after a near crash.

Though it has been a real struggle for e to find employment, especially in animation, I am so dedicated to it that nothing is going to stop me from working in it.

Now to get a long term job in animation, no car accident will keep me from it. I just need to find it.

Kevin

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