Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 version of The Shining is on Netflix now, so my husband and I recently rewatched it. It had been over a decade since I saw it last, and I was a little worried it wouldn’t hold up. (Don’t worry, horror fans; it holds up.) Despite Stephen King expressing dissatisfaction with this movie version of his novel, I think we all know that it’s the best version, plain and simple, and there’s really only one reason for that: Jack Nicholson’s performance as Jack Torrance is stellar. Outstanding. To this day, it remains one of the most chilling roles in cinema history.
When my husband told me about a YouTube video he’d come across showing behind-the-scenes footage of Nicholson pumping himself up for the infamous bathroom scene (aka ‘Here’s Johnny’), I knew I had to find it. The relevant pre-scene footage is only half a minute long, and necessary for the point of my post today, so I hope you’ll go give it a quick watch: “Jack Nicholson Prepping for The Shining.”
My husband’s commentary? Something along the lines of, “He’s acting like an actual lunatic. Can you imagine being on set with him?”
Yeah. That’s what struck me, more than anything else: to get that iconic scene, Nicholson was willing to make an absolute fool of himself in front of his support staff, coworkers, and bosses. He was willing to really go there, because that’s the only way, I’m convinced, we can get to deeply authentic art.
My next thought was: Thank goodness that, as a writer, my art happens alone. Thank goodness I don’t have to embarrass myself in front of other people to really go there.
That thought has been haunting me for a week now, because it’s a lie.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s a very useful lie. Still, it’s one I think we should remember, because lies are sneaky. If we don’t occasionally shine a light on them and call them what they are, they begin to look very much like truth. Writers usually create alone, yes, but we don’t create in a vacuum. The biggest difference between us and Jack Nicholson (besides impressive eyebrow dexterity) isn’t that we write words and he acts out scenes; it’s that his vulnerability comes in the enacting while ours comes in the creating.
If Nicholson worries at all anymore about acting a fool, it’s probably because he’s worried about people judging how he’s doing – not what he’s doing. For writers, I think, the truly crippling fear comes before that. We’re most likely to stop ourselves before an idea ever gets to the page. To fill the analogy out the rest of the way: We’re King, not Kubrick, not Nicholson. We’re the ones telling the story itself. We’re the ones choosing which story to tell.
For writers, that pre-scene pumping up takes place in private, in our heads, and despite the seemingly solitary setting, we absolutely feel the audience hidden behind the camera lens. I do, anyway. Don’t you? Readers can’t see me stalking around my office getting mumbly, but they can sure see which idea I grabbed by the tail. They can sure see which ideas strike home, and probably why. They can see me not just acting a fool, but acting a fool metaphorically naked. If we allow worries about what readers may think (Why would she write this? Did this happen to her? Is this how she sees the world?) to hinder our pre-scene pump up, we won’t get there. We won’t shed our inhibitions and swing that axe, muttering. And if we don’t do that, where will the magic be in the final shot?
Our audience is invisible, but they’re present. There are voices on set with us before we write, even if they’re of our own projection. But to get to the really fantastic art, we can’t let them stop us. We can’t let them hold us back, which brings me to a final useful lie: No one has to read this. If all else fails, when we choose the story to be told, we can comfort ourselves with that lie. No one has to read this. If it crashes and burns, no one has to know we even tried. They don’t, really, but I’ve found that nine times out of ten, the stories I need to tell myself that lie about are my best stories, and they always get read in the end. But, hey, as far as lies go, at least this one works in my favor, because with that lie as my safety net, I can really go there.
We should never be able to write horror without creeping ourselves out. We should never be able to write tragedy without making ourselves cry. No poetry without awe, no literary fiction without profundity, no mystery without curiosity, no thriller without nerves, and we should never, ever, be able to write erotica without turning ourselves on. These are the truths of our craft. To make it, we have to feel it. We have to become it. To reach that level of masterpiece – regardless of whether it’s to be art, entertainment, or some glorious melding of both – we have to really go there, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us.
Scary, isn’t it? It scares me every day.
I have good news though. Let’s watch the video one more time. Just the first 30 seconds of it: “Jack Nicholson Prepping for The Shining.” This time, don’t watch him; watch everyone else. Notice anything new?
No one batts an eye. People look at him, sure, but not a single crew member looks judgmental, disdainful, scornful. The one guy who ducks out of the way a little looks understandably nervous, but no one is making fun. They’re impressed as hell. They see Nicholson gearing himself up for something spectacular, they see great power building, and they get to their marks, because this is a masterpiece in the making and they can feel it, and they want to get the shot. They want to absolutely nail the shot.
And you know what? They did. If ever there were a lesson for not letting that fear of judgement or embarrassment stop us from really going there – no matter how different “there” looks for each of us – I think this footage is it.
Every time I sit down, a new and uncomfortable story idea lurking, I shine a light on the hidden fear of judgement, remember creation privacy as a lie, and decide not to let it stop me. Don’t be afraid. People might be watching, but they aren’t judging. And if they are? Oh well. Everyone else is impressed as hell, simply waiting for that masterpiece. It’s time to get to work.
Do you let fear of judgement stop you from creating the art you really want? Do you worry about how your writing will be perceived before you even write it? How do you handle that pressure?
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About Annie Neugebauer
Annie Neugebauer is a Bram Stoker Award-nominated author with work appearing and forthcoming in more than a hundred publications, including magazines such as Cemetery Dance, Apex, and Black Static, as well as anthologies such as Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Volume 3 and #1 Amazon bestseller Killing It Softly. She’s a member of the Horror Writers Association and a columnist for Writer Unboxed and LitReactor. She's represented by Alec Shane of Writers House. She lives in Texas with two crazy cute cats and a husband who’s exceptionally well-prepared for the zombie apocalypse. You can visit her at www.AnnieNeugebauer.com for news, poems, organizational tools for writers, and more.
I really enjoyed your post, Annie! I may not feel the same way about everything, but lines like: “…lies are sneaky. If we don’t occasionally shine a light on them and call them what they are, they begin to look very much like truth” are so clever and funny that you put a big smile of my face!
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Thank you so much, Lexa! Happy to hear it. :)
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Of course I worry about judgement, especially since my first reader is my wife. Recently, thanks to the Terry Crews videos that have been popping up on Facebook, I started jotting notes for a YA novel about a boy addicted to porn. Since, like too many men, I’m quite familiar with those addictive qualities, I can surely peg the feelings that my character will go through. Probably too well. People I that know me will read this and know that I’m sharing a bit more than what a little research will provide. Even though I’ve buried that bad habit, it existed, and it’s not something you sit around bragging about. Naturally, my dream is that the novel is a roaring success and that millions of teenage boys will understand why porn is so harmful to both them and the women who get lured into the industry, but my nightmare is that millions of people will look at me differently. Even worse, my wife will look at me differently (she knows, but to tell it in a story takes it to a new level). But as writers, we’re supposed to go to those little padlocked closet doors in our brains and spring them wide open for the world to see. We show the ugly side of humanity as well as the beautiful. The ugly is where we connect with readers. The beauty is where we give them hope.
Thanks for the post. Yes, Jack made that movie great. I can’t imagine anyone else pulling that off.
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Hi Ron! Wow, what a comment. I have to tell you; I think you’re incredibly brave. To write about something so real to you takes deep courage. Really, that’s the epitome of “going there.” Even commenting about this is “going there.” I sure hope that you hang on to your conviction and push through the fear and discomfort, because it sounds like important work. “The ugly is where we connect with readers. The beauty is where we give them hope.” Yes. Perfect. Thank you so much for sharing.
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Hello Annie–
In his prose poem “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell,” William Blake describes prudence as a “rich ugly old maid courted by incapacity.” I think he means something close to what you’re saying today: prudence–caution, propriety, looking over your shoulder–is the enemy of freely realized creative acts.
I really like how you’ve used the Nicholson clip to make your point. Like the actor oblivious to others and wholly absorbed in becoming a monster, the writer must do the same in her study. I also like the image of the writer–but not figuratively as you put it–literally naked, nerving herself up to write an action scene. There she is, thrusting with an imagined rapier–or maybe a real one, a useful prop–as she makes ready to sit down at her laptop and pound out an action scene to rival Errol Flynn in “Captain Blood.”
But for me, the film crew in my study numbers in the hundreds. They are characters and scenes that have over the years worked their magic on me, taught and influenced me. And others are people I know whose opinions I respect. I’m pretty sure I follow my own lights as a writer, but it would be lying to say I don’t rely on all those with me in that room.
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What a lovely comment! Thank you, Barry. Funny enough, I just re-read a little Blake this past week, but I didn’t come across “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.” I’ll have to go back and give that one fresh eyes, too; it certainly sounds relevant! My film crew numbers in the hundreds too. :)
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Since seeing The Shining, I have never been able to think of Jack Nicholson as anything but creepy and crazy. Good thing I don’t write horror. But your point is well taken. I write women’s fiction, using emotions revolving around pleasant things like compassion and understanding, or sad things like grief and loneliness. I must not be afraid to show my own vulnerabilities. That is scary, though not Jack scary. My courage will bring my characters to life and allow my stories to touch readers lives.
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He sure captures creepy crazy well! I’m with you; even when he plays comedic roles I tend to see them with a creepy edge. And yes — not Jack scary, but scary nonetheless. Vulnerability takes courage!
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Annie-
It’s a paradox; The more we “go there” on the page, the more readers love what we do.
Call it authentic, call it method acting, call it fearless, call it foolish, call it real…whatever you call it, readers know when you’ve taken them “there” and when you haven’t.
Jack Nicholson and other great actors go there. So do great singers: Janice Joplin, Adele and many others. Architecture goes there sometimes and when it does we’re awed.
Great post, Annie. It shines.
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That’s so very true; we, as readers, know it just like viewers and listeners, etc. The idea of architecture going there–yes! Thank you very much for the kind words, Don. I really appreciate it.
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Thanks for the encouragement.
Unfortunately, across the writing communities of the internet, there are writers and editors who are simply and obviously bullies. Though both men and women, they are like the guys in high school who were out to make you feel bad by letting you know that they were in charge.
These bullies hang their experience out and presume that it gives them license to tell everyone how to act, how to write, how their knowledge and methods are far, far superior to anyone else’s.
The first time I met one of these guys online, I giggled. I responded, letting him know he didn’t scare us.
His response back to me was silly, pompous.
It’s like Little Big Man. When you’ve had enough of Custer’s bullying, insanity, and stupidity, let him ride on to the Little Big Horn.
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Bullies are no good! It’s fairly easy to take away their power, though: ignore them. I just take what works for me and leave the rest.
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One little thought occurs to me out of this very interesting article. Because I’ve been writing fiction since high school, I never felt very self-conscious about writing deep emotions, fear, love, ecstasy, fury…
And as a reader I never for a moment paused to ask how or why the author came up with the emotional drama.
I don’t think the average reader gives it a thought.
I think it’s only writers who ask. In recent years, as I analysed more of what I was doing, I find I now analyse everything. This actually interferes with my enjoyment of reading fiction. So I advise everyone just to read with an open, receptive, non-analytic mind.
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Interesting, Lyn! Maybe because I write so much horror the judgement is more prominent, or more vocal. I can’t tell you how many times people have asked me why I write such scary, terrible things. As a writer, I wish more readers did read with an open mind! But as a reader, I analyze like crazy, and it brings me more enjoyment, not less, so I guess to each her own. :)
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Oh my gosh this is such a great post, Annie. Have I told you lately how much I adore you?
That clip was fun. Shelly Duval deserves at least as much credit as Nicholson (if not more), her dorky limp and total terror is so real feeling: the half-whispered voice she uses to call to her child out the window, and her face when she huddles in the corner watching as the axe comes through the door; her performance actually makes me feel fear.
I totally get and agree with everything you say in this post. The fiction I enjoy most makes me feel the writer has dug deep and gave up something to me that is Real. I can’t stand canned, phoned-in, fake fiction! When we sit down to write we need to tell ourselves that old saying: Feel the fear, and do it anyway.
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Your comment put a huge smile on my face, Cynthia! Thank you!! You know, I used to hate Shelly Duval’s performance in that movie, but when I rewatched it this time I felt more like you did; her fear is so palpable, even if the character is fairly weak. I didn’t give her enough credit back then. Totally with you on real vs. canned. And “Feel the fear and do it anyway.” Wow! How have I never heard that?! I’m adopting that one, for sure.
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Terrific post! So true!
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Thank you! :)
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Love this post, Annie. Not only is The Shining one of my favorite books, it’s also one of my favorite movies. And the two are not quite the same. I recently read Dr. Sleep, King’s sequel. It’s the tale of Danny in his mid-thirties, when he hits the bottom as (understandably) an alcholic, joins AA and slowly rebuilds his life. Great story, and without giving it away, I’ll never look at those retired folks and their RV posses the same way again.
My background is film. When I structure a story I take on the tasks of an entire crew. I’m set designer, lighting, director, actor and screenwriter, producer, as the need arises. Sometimes the scene may may need a little more light and shadow coming into play, and my lighting engineer steps in to design it, or I need an in-depth journey into a character POV so the actor kicks in…you get the picture.
Love your point about the courage it takes to dig deeply, and throw inhibition to the wind.
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Thanks, Bernadette! The Shining is one of my favorite books too (no big surprise there), and I agree that the movie is quite different. I love both. I read Doctor Sleep as well. I really enjoyed it, although it felt quite different than The Shining to me. I really felt I could sense King’s maturity as a writer and person over the years. It was nice. And it’s interesting to hear a filmmaker’s perspective here too. I love the idea of a writer being the whole crew!
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Wonderful post. It’s human nature to want to protect ourselves when writing scenes at the emotional edge, because ‘going there’ asks for additional energy and comes with another layer of risk (having our rawest selves judged by a jury of readers). But when we turn off our ‘play it safe’ filters, that’s when we turn in our most powerful fiction.
Thank you for going there today, Annie. This one’s a keeper.
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Energy + risk = payoff! I like it. Thank you so much, Therese! <3
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Annie, what a wonderful and encouraging post. I’m afraid to write as freely as I wish … and many times, I’ve left a blank in story because the scene is too difficult to write. Later, I’ve come back to it, but in doing so, I’ve discovered the power of understatement. I hold my own tears so that the reader will cry for me. Those blanks have actually come in very handy.
Jack Nicholson is crazy good. We recently watched The Shining with our kids (they’re teenagers now) and I could see their worry over: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. I almost have a mind to leave that in my old typewriter. Maybe I’ll do that for Halloween :)
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Gosh, that’d be a great Halloween prank/decor. Why haven’t I thought of that? :) What an interesting point you make about the power of understatement. Leaving the emotional blanks is such a fine balance: too much and the emotion is missing, too little and the reader is annoyed, just right and you have gold. Thanks, Vijaya!
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I loved your post! I actually noticed the other people ignoring him the first time I watched the clip, and thought at the time “How interesting. They aren’t even batting an eye.” When you made the point that they are all focusing on what they need to do to get the shot, it was an a-ha moment. It’s very true that, while we feel like we’re in a glass bowl when we’re creating, the truth is that most people aren’t even thinking about us. But you’re right that the self-consciousness we feel, the doubt and fears that go along with writing, can be paralyzing. It’s kind of freeing to realize most people are wanting us to be successful – especially readers. Maybe that’s why readers who aren’t writers are more generous with their approval of stories. They aren’t looking for what’s wrong in a story, they’re hoping and searching for what’s right, or what resonates with them.
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Thank you, Lara! I love your thought about readers who aren’t writers being more generous; I really think that’s true. I know that studying story so much has ruined a lot of movies for me, for example, that my husband still loves because he’s not looking for and seeing the mechanisms — just the results. I’m so glad this one resonated with you!
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Just to set this story up. I’m under five feet tall and look like a hobbit matron. Timid children, pets, and lost tourists head right for me because of my friendly vibe.
Anyway, I wrote a character who hates men, kills and sexually abuses them in the line of duty, and is straight up scary.
When readers talk to me about STAR-CROSSED, they are fine until they mention that character, then they start backing away from me.
It’s quite a compliment to my writing that they think I’m like that, and it’s also really, really funny.
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Boy do I relate to that! Haha! I once had a reader finish one of my stories and say, “It must be terrifying to be married to you.” Well, my hubby doesn’t think so. Not most of the time, anyway. ;) But I do take it as you did — quite the compliment!
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Yes. Just, yes.
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<3
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Hi, Annie:
Wonderful — and important — post. It reminded me of something Jon Winokur tweeted recently, a quote from Arhtuir Miller (one of my “mentors”):
“The best work that anybody ever writes is the work that is on the verge of embarrassing him, always.”
I would add: the work that frightens him. I see a number of my students backing away from the truth of their stories because they are afraid, and try to fill the vacuum with more ideas, more complications, more “stuff.”
You can almost always tell the honesty of the writer by the simplicity of their story. As Einstein famously remarked: If you can’t explain it to a six-year-old, you don’t understand it yourself.
It’s a small but important courage — the ability to hang in their with our own feelings and tell the truth — simply, clearly, nakedly.
Thanks for the call to arms.
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I love that Arthur Miller quote! That rings utterly true to me, as does the application of Einstein’s quote to writing. The most powerful truths really are usually the most simple. Thanks, David!
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After working on “The Shining,” Shelley Duvall also counted Stanley Kubrick among her least favorite people. He literally drove her insane, as he hammered her for a more hysterical performance. He got what he wanted. A notorious perfectionist, Kubrick shot and re-shot a number of scenes; accumulating over a million feet of film, which was more in line with documentaries than mainstream movies. Nicholson is also renowned for his intensive role preparations. In his early days, people often thought he was a typical goofy actor. Now he’s considered a genius.
For me the intensity in my writing comes in the form of observation and daydreaming. We writers are a strange lot anyway, but I think I’m one of the most curious. While still in school, teachers always commented to my parents about my tendency towards daydreaming. I never could explain it and endured the embarrassment of my elders’ scorn. Now, I realize I was just bored. The subject matter was often boring, and the instructors were often boring. Creating stories in my head was merely a way to cope with the situation. I also look at things and at people differently. I try to analyze why events happen in a certain way and why people do what they do. I’m no great fan of humanity. What else would I be but a writer?
I’ve learned not to be too concerned about what others think of my stories. If they like them, great; if not, it’s no big deal. We all have the right to enjoy what we want, as long as no one gets hurt. Art is a mostly subjective discipline anyway. The viewer will make of it what they want, and artists just need to keep producing their own work.
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I didn’t know that about Kubrick and Duvall; how interesting. The subjectivity of writing is undeniable; that’s sort of a nice safety net, in many ways, for those of us who do think about reaction. Thanks for your comment!
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I was about to laugh out loud at the erotica turning us on comment, but then I realized I was in a coffee shop, and instead smiled creepily. Ha! What an interesting post. I really enjoyed it. It is so timely too–Writer Unboxed ALWAYS does this to me–when I was just thinking about writing a horror fairytale. But my hesitance was that now that I have children, do people judge me for writing things like that (you know, because bad things always seem to happen to children in fairytales–the REAL fairytales)? I now know that I need to shine the light on my fear and use it to my advantage, and make my fairytale even scarier, more emotional, with even higher stakes. It’s the same with any other genre I write in too though, worrying whether people will read what you have written and think, ‘gee, I wondered what happened to her to make her capable of writing such content!’ It is absolutely necessary to let go.
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Haha, thanks Ashley! :) Your thoughts about the horror fairy tale sound so familiar. You know it, though. The best horror is the horror where the writer’s own fears are on display, fulling plumbed and utilized. I can’t wait to see how that one turns out for you! Be brave, and best of luck with it.
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“Going there” is my biggest challenge as a writer. Interestingly, it’s not fear of judgment that stops me, it’s fears, period. Maybe not surprising, then, that I’ve yet to make it through a full screening of The Shining (well, you know me, are you surprised?). This is an amazing post, Annie — thank you for the push to get to work on this.
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Thank you! Honestly, Julia, I suspect that the writers who struggle with this the most are the ones who are pushing themselves the hardest to really go there. Awareness of our fears is so important to overcoming them. Being too scared to finish The Shining is one thing (hehe), but being too scared to do the work we want is another. I know you’ll push through to that good place of vulnerability. I just have no doubt. <3
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“Going there” is what I have always done intuitively. I’ve never felt particularly sensitive about putting my soul out for the stranger to read: but I HAVE wondered what my friends would think. Because, truly, if you do it well, you lay open your deepest feelings.
Well, my friends are just regular readers. They don’t seem to connect the writing with me, though my name is on the cover.
Strange, but reassuring.
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That’s wonderful, Lyn! Good for you!
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Great post, Annie. It underlines what I heard this weekend at the Words on the Water Festival in Campbell River, British Columbia. Eight writers read from their work and each one showed their vulnerability, writing about what mattered to them. They exposed intimate details, ones that illustrated their fearlessness on the page.
Wayne Grady read from his novel Emancipation Day, that centered on his learning at the age of 50 that his father was black and had been passing. Eve Joseph recited her poetry about the dying, inspired by her work in hospice. Grant Lawrence shared some hilarious excerpts from stories about his childhood and about his parents, not entirely flattering. And Lorimer Shenher talked about his trauma as an undercover detective with the Vancouver Police covering the Robert Picton case, the serial murderer. This led to his writing That Lonely Section of Hell: the botched investigation of a serial killer who almost got away.
Authenticity is gold.
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What a special experience! That’s really cool, and a great illustration of the power of vulnerability.
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Fear frequently prevents me from writing what, and how often, I want. It’s my biggest obstacle and I fight it every day.
I don’t know why. Many of my stories have been bought and published, and I feel I’m getting better all the time.
I think the fear of my own self-judgment holds me back.
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You’re not the only one, Steven! I hope you scrolled through some of these comments and saw how very many other writers struggle with this all the time. I think it’s a natural part of being an artist; most of us have a level of sensitivity that allows us to see the world so powerfully, so of course that same sensitivity makes us worry about judgement. As long as we see it and fight to push through it, it can’t stop us. I really hope you find your way through.
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Definitely scary, but so, so, so, so important (as Robert Frost said it: No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader). I always like I’ve dug most truthfully into my story’s emotional world when I can really FEEL it, whatever ‘it’ is, and like something is wrong when I’m holding the words at a distance. Thanks for putting it so well here, and with this fabulous link to Nicholson’s rehearsal!
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Another great quote! Yes! I’m with you on feeling it to write it. Thanks so much for stopping by.
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Yes to all this. I actually took an acting class once to see if it would help me “go there” so to speak. It helped me see another side of the creative process, the getting into a character, and exposing oneself in front of people. (I also confirmed that I didn’t want to be an actor. At least when someone reads my work, I can be hundreds of miles away.)
Thanks for this. It’s all true.
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I love the idea of taking an acting class to help with writing. That’s really cool. And I laughed at the hundreds of miles away; amen to that! :)
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This was awesome, Annie! Your posts are always well-researched and well thought out.
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Thanks so much, Nina!
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