On the Many Violent and Vicious Deaths of Experimentation (or, Why I May Find Myself Writing Anti-Clop One Day) · 11:16pm Apr 2nd, 2021
So, fun fact, I've watched Nomadland recently.
Okay, I lied, it's not really fun. Still a fact that I've watched it though, so that's not a complete lie. I don't think I could lie to anyone completely if I tried, and believe me, I tried.
It's actually what makes me a great liar, in fact—you slip in just the tiniest bit of the truth, your verisimilitudinous OxyContin, then everyone will believe everything you say, hook, line and sinker.
See, that's how the best lies in the world are told. Like this one time, I told this one classmate in a heart-to-heart that they themselves should be the one to come to understand their mistakes, and that them realising that they have made that mistake would only make it more worthwhile? I only told that to them because I wasn't exactly looking forward into outlining why everyone else in the class prefers keeping them at a certain distance. I have selective mutism, dear classmate who will never read this post for as long as they live. Don't tread on me.
But no, back to what I was saying, I've watched Nomadland recently. For those who don't know what it is, it's a film. One of those hoity-toity ones that goes around the world, winning awards left and right. Funnily enough, this film has been doing just that the past year. Go figure.
Back to the important part, I've watched it. And it made me do one of the worst things that I believe a movie could ever compel anyone to do.
It made me think.
Cue video.
Okay, actual fun fact: the singer is singing about his infant daughter. So when he says 'baby' in the song, he means his actual baby.
I've been a thinking a lot these past two weeks? Like, A LOT a lot.
Now, this is coming from someone who overthinks things. And all that bit of endless thinking culminated to this blog post you're reading currently because I can only store it in my head for so long without going criminally insane. Also, that one new story I published, that's a part of this mental locomotive too. I'll bring it up at some point.
Okay, let's start from the beginning: what exactly did Nomadland made me think about?
Well. Exactly what the title of this blog post implies.
The idea of what being experimental is, and what constitutes a work as being 'experimental' when it comes to horsewords. You know, the stuff that actually matters.
Keep in mind, a lot of the shit I'm about to wade in here really stems from my own uneducated opinion. Means I should preface all this by saying even as we reach the other side, there's never going to be a clear answer as to what any of this is even about. Personally, I don't think there even is an answer to my question. Still, I think a lot of the fun comes from trying to make sense of this whole Snapple cap in the first place. It's a self-defeating endeavour, but that's why it's all the more interesting.
Now, let's take a step back and consider: what does it mean when we hear someone say a piece of literary work is experimental?
Almost immediately, a lot of things come to mind. It's different. It's innovative. It doesn't follow the mainstream. It's not meant for light-reading. It challenges tropes and expectations, maybe even subvert them. It plays with prose, with language, with the medium of storytelling, maybe even the play with the idea of it being aware that it is a story itself.
All the stuff I've posited above could easily be whisked into a boring old category that many would identify as 'breaking the conventions'. Or, what I think to be a more provocative, certainly unnecessary phrase, 'challenging the status quo'.
Which leads to the question: is that all the word 'experimental' means?
Alright, time for Question 1:
Suppose you have a very well-established author with a very distinct style, let's say Jane Austen of Pride and Prejudice fame. Suppose you have commissioned her to write a piece of fiction. Could be about anything or anybody, as long as it is something that she wishes to write. She takes her time with it, but eventually, she finishes and hands it to you.
The story is about how the world is ending in ninety-nine days thanks to an alien invasion, and how a brutish young man named Trevor Trevorton, with the help of a ragtag team of his fellow chimney sweepers, steps in to save the day. It still has her distinct prose and narration, everything that makes Jane Austen Jane Austen. It is only the contents that are a little, shall we say, unexpected.
Will you, in good faith, classify this story as experimental?
Question 2.
Yes, there's a Question 2. For this one, I'm going to incorporate a real-life, on-site example to help with framing this next idea.
Suppose a story adopts the aforementioned idea of 'challenging the status quo'. Suppose we have a story on FiMFic that does exactly all of that, in that it does not follow the mainstream, it actively seeks to reject all expectations, it plays with prose and language in a manner that pokes fun at the established trends that had occurred throughout the history of the ponyfic medium.
Suppose the story I'm talking about is none other than Detective jakkid166 in everything.
Will you, in good faith, classify this story as experimental?
Conventionally (heh), when people think of the word 'experimental' as it pertains to art, we think first of the technique that brought about the art. With paintings, the usage of colours. With sculpture, the idea of form. With music, the classical theory of rhythm and harmony. With theatre, film, and writing itself, the conceptual narrative. How the usage of the language is integrated into a piece of literature to properly evocate the themes and ideas it is trying to impart upon the viewer. Obviously there's a lot more than just those, but the idea is that when we say something is experimental' we usually refer to the technical aspects.
With Q1, what I'm asking is this: is it possible to be experimental in terms of content and content alone? When something is 'experimental', is it only restricted to refer to the technique used by the story to achieve its narrative purpose? Can the central narrative of the story be the one that makes the story experimental?
This then leads to Q2. Tangentially, but still.
When a story that one personally considers to be experimental fails to be noticed by the rest as such—a failed experiment, if you will—can it still be classified underneath the umbrella of experimental? Disregarding all other factors, should we consider comparing the differing sizes of the opinionated and divided audiences when deciding whether or not a work is experimental?
Now, let's be honest here, there is no one good answer for these questions. Not to mention there's obviously a lot of holes that this train of thought conveniently chugs over. For one, the idea of what's experimental alone is subjective to opinion. What may seem experimental to one may not be experimental to another.
So what's the point of me asking them?
It is because of exactly that.
The idea of what one considers to be experimental is subjective to one's own opinion.
In other words, what matters most is what you believe to be experimental. As long as you're acutely aware that you or someone else is experimenting with something when it comes to a particular piece of work, that alone is worthy of the title 'experimental'.
And that's been me for the longest time.
When I started writing for this site nearly ten years ago, I wrote my stories with a singular and clear purpose in mind. "I want to read this story, and I want others to be able to read it as well."
My first ever story stands to be my longest completed work. 348,000 words, dished out in a span of six months. That's not to mention the couple of other stories written in between, which were marginally a lot more popular than it could ever hope to be. In spite of all that, I remember being immensely proud of it when I finished it, so much so that I immediately started work on the sequel. Part 2 of what I hoped to be a trilogy series when it is all completed.
Yeah, turns out that didn't happen.
It becomes a recurring pattern of mine. I start on a story that I really, really want to get out there, just because I love everything about it. I pulled out all the stops. Work on a couple of drafts, make character sheets, did the research, outlined each and every one of them from start to finish.
Then, halfway while working on them, kaput.
It took me a long time to realise why that was the case.
With everything I've been doing up to a certain point, it feels as though I wasn't doing anything different from what I had done with my first story. Obviously, looking at it now, I feel like my past self had written a hole-ridden disaster. Still, I recall very vividly how eager I was with going about it. Honestly, I don't think I could ever replicate that.
So I made a decision: I need to write something that challenges my personal likes and dislikes. I need to write something that goes beyond what I am comfortable with.
And so, I did.
I've watched Nomadland recently. The day after that, I've watched Minari. Both films are nominated at this year's Oscars. The 93rd Academy Awards.
(Yes, I'm a film snob. I read the screenplays and everything, fight me.)
What really drawn me in with those two films was how intimate and empathetic you feel with the respective characters onscreen, yet there was no need for the story to go into the details of their life. There was no need to know how they got there or what they were going to do next. You're just there with them, discovering their journey alongside them.
I found it to be captivating. To be able to do some engaging storytelling without really telling a story.
A week later, during Undome Tinwe's Dramatic Contest in the Quills and Sofas Speedwriting Group, I wrote the first draft. It received the reaction I had expected. It placed third too, which was pretty cool. I personally didn't think it would place that high, actually. Accessibility wasn't exactly what I had planned for going into this.
So, I spend the next few days building upon what I had. Brushing it up to give it a little more bite. Then I published it.
And now, it's here.
The subject of my deep, personal dive in experimentation, fully realised.
I hear you, I hear you. What's the grand statement here? Was it all just to self-promote this one story, nothing else?
Well, yes, but no.
Reading the feedback of my fellow users in the contest got me to thinking: what constitutes as experimental on FiMFiction?
Obviously, there are a few notable standouts many would cite as an example. I have a bunch as well, though the one I wish to point your way is Meridian Prime's In Your Quietest Voice, mostly because I think it is supremely underrated and is a story that I think showcases the perfect middle ground of what everyone considers experimental.
So, that one ticks the technical innovation box.
What about Q1? The question that asks whether or not the story's subject at its core could define its experimental nature.
I'd say a lot of really popular stories on this site actually fall perfectly underneath this banner. In fact, I notice that this feature is something that is very exclusive to our fandom. It's rare to find icons when you swim into the larger territories of the general fanfiction crowd. You could take a story that was massively popular at any point throughout our fandom's period, say ROBCakeran53's My Little Dashie, and argue that it was actually ahead of its time when it came out. The same thing goes for so many other stories on here, so many that did not pertain to the many formulae that pervades much of the general fanfiction sphere.
As for Q2, I think my example above with jakkid166 truly illustrates what I mean. That just because something fails the litmus test doesn't mean it is any less experimental. I still remember the scandal it caused when it was added into the Royal Canterlot Library. It's extremely hilarious, looking back at it
Personally, I don't like the story. I don't much care for it. But I cannot deny from the work alone that the author is fully aware of what they're trying to achieve with their story. The attempt has been made. That alone is what matters.
So, where does that leave us off with?
Well, herein lies Question 3.
You thought we were done, didn't you? Well, not quite yet.
Question 3 is a simple one.
Consider the former questions above. Consider everything that I've hypothesised to you who read this.
Now, with that context in mind, I leave you with this.
How have you been experimenting lately?
Some friendly advice: take your time with it. Took me years to figure out that question is something I needed to hear in my life. It's not an easy question to answer.
"But Spirit!" I hear you cry a little too late. "It's just horse stories! No one cares about horse stories!"
To which I ponder: so what if they're just horse stories? If they could have the potential to be something more, why not?
"But what I just want to write about Lyra and Bon Bon kissing?"
Then you're free to write that! You can write whatever you wish to write. Just know that there's a thousand ways to write about Lyra and Bon Bon kissing that I can think of, which makes me wonder how you intend to approach yours?
"You seem to know a great deal about this whole experimentation shenaniganation. What will you recommend to a newbie like me who wants to start?"
Real talk? Keep writing. Hone your skills, know the rules of the game, write until they're carved into the back of your head. When you're confident about them, check out Bernadette Mayer's List of Journal Ideas and Writing Experiments. Try some of them out! You'd be surprise what you can come up with.
Also, open yourself to more stories, both on this site and in other mediums as well. Be it literature, music, theatre, film, give everything a fair chance. Quoth the asshole that keeps staring at me whenever the screen of my phones goes black, one should give a piece of work the same amount of attention that they wish for their own work to have. Inspiration has always been key to creating, and for all its faults, the Internet is your best friend.
"Last question, what is Anti-Clop?"
I have no idea. Didn't really think about it beyond its name and how it would make the title of this post all fancy-schmancy like. I'm just coining the term for now. Maybe one day it'll be of use to me.
And now, to wrap it all up with one last personal anecdote.
Nomadland was the third most-recently-watched film on my list.
Minari, of course, is in second place.
Neither of those two made me squeal with glee as much as Godzilla vs. Kong did.
Dunno if I might read the screenplay for that, however.
That's it from me. WritingSpirit, signing out!
darnit, I wanted to know what anti-clop was :C
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All I had on me was: it's clop without the sexually explicit parts, i.e. the main reason everyone wants to read it in the first place.
I mulled over it earlier in the afternoon, and while I'm still not exactly sure what it is, if I structured it as a writing exercise, it'll probably be something like this:
I don't know if the end result could be considered 'anti-clop' but I think it might be a good place to start. Now, all we need is someone crazy enough to try it out.
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Okay, that's fascinating. :O
I must say that the whole idea of anti-clop was intriguing, and I was a bit disappointed that it wasn't addressed. (the best definition I can think of is porn without 'porn logic', though it can certainly manifest itself in other ways). As to the reflections on the creative process, oh my...how does one address that? I have no idea where to start. You've got me stumped here.