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Michael Kimball
Michael Kimball is the author of four novels, Firewater Pond, Green Girls, Mouth to Mouth, and Undone, which received the Fresh Talent Award in the U.K. and remained on the London Times' top ten bestseller list for two months in 1996. Stage plays include Ghosts of Ocean House, nominated for the 2007 Edgar Award by the Mystery Writers of America, Best Enemies, and Santa Come Home, all staged in 2006, and The Secret of Comedy, to be produced in the fall of 2007. He has had original screenplays and novels optioned by movie companies and written episodes for the TV series Monsters. Selected Publications: Novels Green Girls (2002, Morrow) Also published in England and Germany Mouth to Mouth (2000, Avon Books) Also published in England, Germany, and Spain, 3 US book clubs, 2 UK Book clubs; Recorded Books Undone (1996, Avon Books) 13 other publishers worldwide; bestseller in England and Ireland; 3 US book clubs, 2 UK book clubs, French book club; movie options: Crossroads Films Firewater Pond (1985, Putnam’s Sons) Also published in Sweden; Film options: Charles Matthau, NBC Stage Plays The Secret of Comedy (full-length) for seven actors; Players’ Ring, Portsmouth. NH, Sept 07
Best Enemies (full-length) for four actors; Players’ Ring, Portsmouth, NH, Oct 06; Nominated for 2007 Spotlight Award, Best Play Script Ghosts of Ocean House (full length) for five actors; Players Ring, Portsmouth, NH, May-June 2006; Winner, F. Gary Newton Memorial Playwriting Competition; Nominated by The Mystery Writers of America for their 2007 Edgar Award Santa Come Home (full length) for seven actors; produced in York, Maine, December 2004; and November 2006 by Two Chairs Theatre Company, Grand Junction, CO Actual Glass (30-min monologue) for one woman; Maine Short Play Festival, Portland, ME, April 2007
The Dresden Defense (10-min) for three actors; Turtle Shell Productions, NYC, 10/06; Cedar Lane Stage, Chevy Chase, MD, July 2007
Good Golly Miss Molly at Recess (20-min) for four actors; Selected for performance in the New Works Festival, Newburyport, Massachusetts, September 2005 Say No More (10-min) for four actors, 2005; Selected for finalist reading, Sept 2005, Emerging Artists Theatre EATFest, NYC; Selected for multiple performances, MadLab Theatre, Columbus, Ohio, May-June 2006; The Insurrection Theater Company, Phoenix, Arizona, Feb 2007; Boston Theatre Marathon, May 2007; Players’ Ring, Portsmouth, NH, July 07; Merely Players, Inc, Owensboro, KY, July 07 Screenplays Violet World (feature length) Original screenplay optioned by Republic Pictures, 1993 Tweedledum and Tweedledee (feature length) Rewrite of Alec Coppel script for The Matthau Company, 1991-92
Hush! (feature length) Adaptation of Zena Henderson story for Laurel Films, Inc., 1990-91 Monsters (television series) Three episodes for Laurel Productions, 1989-91 Teaching Philosophy: “One good thing after another.” That’s what writing should be, according to novelist James Salter, and it’s my goal in anything I write. For better or worse, my literary education was on-the-job training. Twenty-five years ago, when I decided to try writing, I read two books: The Elements of Style and The Art of Readable Writing. Then I wrote my first novel. When it found a publisher, I left a weary music-teaching career and have making my living as a writer ever since. While I don’t advocate this approach, it was the path I took. Many roads lead to a writer’s life. I have freelanced as a magazine journalist, written for state agencies, co-published a satirical newspaper, written three nonfiction books, four novels, sold movie scripts and television episodes to the screen industry, and lately I’ve fallen in love with playwriting. In all these endeavors I continue learning the craft by doing it, by making mistakes and working through them, often with help from the most unlikely of friends. From a milkman, I learned storytelling. From a carpenter, I learned to cut fearlessly. From movie producers, I learned that the best dialogue illuminates what’s not being said; from engineers, that sometimes you need to work backwards; from play directors, that once your character moves forward, s/he can never go back; from visual artists, that a part is the whole; from my remote control, that one should never linger. From musicians, I absorbed the aesthetics of form, rhythm, harmony, and dissonance; from a publicist, the value of the hook; from a high school teacher, the importance of always validating a student’s strengths; from a jazz instructor, “When in doubt, leave it out,” and from my agent, “Pacing, pacing, pacing!” From all creative endeavors, I have learned that we must nurture our full imaginations. From Stonecoast, I’ve learned the value of giving and receiving criticism in a spirit of generosity and trust. Good criticism is a writer’s life blood. I couldn’t do without it. Assuming that our work is as good as we can make it when we finally offer it for consumption, then rigorous, honest appraisal from careful readers cannot help but move us to make our work better. I’d never suggest that taking criticism is easy. The best criticism leaves me confused and sometimes depressed for days. But such frustration is part of the job, necessary for my particular process of breaking through the logjam–and I always do. To write well, you need persistence, confidence, humility and, especially, the willingness to jettison your most wonderful words if they don’t serve the whole. After all, the goal is to make your work better, and you do that by accentuating the positive and eliminating the negative, until you’re left with . . . one good thing after another. Practically speaking, when I read your manuscripts, I’ll do the same kind of line-editing as I do on my own pages, with two important differences: 1) I’ll note things I like; 2) I’ll write margin notes explaining my edits. I may question a word choice or suggest juxtaposing elements; I’ll always look for things that can be cut. Structurally, if I sense a writer repeating, lingering, or avoiding crisis points, I’ll point it out, as I will point out other tendencies that may be problematic. Are the stakes high enough so your hero cannot simply walk away from a conflict? Indeed, do we care enough for your hero so that we don’t walk away? Is your story credible within the parameters of the world you’ve created? Maybe your premise simply needs more fuel. Are you going deep enough into your imagination? If I read your manuscript twice, I’ll use different-colored ink the second time around so you can see how your work was received once I had a better idea of your intentions. However, in the same way that directors avoid giving actors line readings, I will try to avoid imposing my solutions on your problems. The joy of creation comes from discovering our own way. What I can do best is clear the brush away and maybe tell you where the tigers lurk. Annotations. Of course it’s important for writers to read good writing, but I’m not as interested in your annotating a particular book as I am in your working through some element of your own writing that you might be wrestling with–character, dialogue, exposition, pacing, setting, credibility, etc. Consulting other writers, whether through their books or conversation, is obviously excellent strategy, but inspiration can come from so many places. What matters most is that you learn to recognize a problem when it arises, work to overcome it, and appreciate the process, because it will probably come up again. And that’s what I would like you to write. So, in addition to your manuscript packet, I would expect a minimum of three double-spaced pages that discusses some problematic aspect(s) of your current or recent work (with reference to other writers’ works) and how you are managing to master that particular element. Once I’ve digested and applauded and critiqued your work, I will e-mail a few pages about my reaction and enclose the same, along with your marked-up pages, via postal mail. I will encourage an ongoing conversation, either by phone or e-mail. Because I enjoy the creative process, I enjoy watching other writers create. I enjoy taking part. In some ways, it’s like having grandchildren. I get to play with the them and watch them grow, and encourage the parents by sharing things I learned along the way. I’ll even change diapers. In the end, though, you’ll have to get them through adolescence. Links: ^top |
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