This video ought to go before the Shapeshifter one.
The Trickster is a popular archetype in stories, because you want a character that can upset the apple cart in an adventure. They’re interesting, usually. I’ll be finishing the series with the Shadow figure shortly.
I had uploaded this video to YouTube last week, but didn’t link to it here yet.
I still have to upload the Trickster video as well, and then finish the series by doing the Shadow. Figure. Actually, the Trickster was done before this one, so the voices are the “original” voices (Xtranormal changed the voices between my working on them).
Someone in one of my Facebook groups posted a link to this blog about rejection, and any writer, aspiring or otherwise, ought to read it, just for the basics — A really good blog post about being turned down.
Learning to deal with rejection is a very important part of getting ahead as a professional writer. As Chuck says in his post, not all rejections are equal.
How you learn to deal with criticism and rejection is very important. Well before I got serious as a writer, I’d learned to handle criticism.
A violin teacher corrects a student.
I started taking violin when I was in fifth grade. For the next five years, I had private lessons, and once I was in seventh grade, I took part in orchestra. When you play an instrument, there are plenty of times when you are going to get things wrong. Especially on an instrument like the violin, where the correct note is entirely dependent on the placement of your fingers. There are no frets to guide you as there are on guitars. There are no exact keys, like a piano or a valved brass instrument. Either you got it right or you didn’t. When you learn to play the violin, you are in for many sessions that seem to be almost constant correction – finger placement, holding the bow, bow pressure.
An art instructor critiques work.
But in addition to the music lessons, I also took art classes in school. And although I have talent, there were times when I just didn’t “get” the assignment. Sometimes it was because the instructor did not explain the nature of the medium we were working in.
For instance, in eighth grade, one unit in art class was to work in pottery clay. We were to design our sculpture and then make it in clay, shaping and carving, hollow it out and then it would be fired. We had to pound and wedge the clay to make sure all air bubbles were out if it, since it was a rather fine-grained clay.
My initial design for this project was a lively bouncy dog, rather like a Spaniel. But the teacher had me redesign this to something that looks like a stylized terrier. Much, much later, I realized that because of the fineness of the clay, my original design would have been doomed to breakage. There was a reason for the rejection of my initial design – but the teacher didn’t explain it very well at the time.
Fast forward a couple of years to eleventh grade art class. Once again, we were doing a unit involving sculpting in clay. Keeping in mind what I’d learned the previous time, my design this time was of a young woman sitting rather placidly, nothing particularly dramatic. One of my classmates did a design of three boys rough and tumbling in play that was really dramatic. What I did not realize was that clay we were using in this second class was different in nature, more sturdy and able to sustain a broader presentation (it was also a bit more roughly grained).
I got a good enough grade on my sculpture (ie, it was accepted). But afterward, I wished I had had a better understanding of the nature of the medium. If I’d understood that, I might have retried my original design in a medium better able to sustain it. So, sometimes “acceptance” isn’t exactly helpful either.
A “rejection mug.”
By the time I was in college, I was focused on writing. During my undergraduate days, even though I was still learning much about the craft of writing, I was also sending out short stories to fantasy and science fiction magazines. Oh, I didn’t sell anything in this period, but I learned to handle rejections.
I learned that it was not personal, that there could be many reasons why my submission was turned away. One of the things that was a big help in that lesson was the fact that one of the magazines I submitted to had a check list on their rejection form letter. It was a quick way for the editor to let the writer know things like “I can’t read this, get a better printer” (or typewriter ribbon, as it was back in the dark ages), “I like the story, but the prose needs a lot of work”, or simply “This doesn’t fit our needs at this time.” The interesting thing was that as I went along, some of my rejection letters from that magazine began to get a short note scribbled on them as well. Basically, those few notes said I showed a lot of promise, but the craft still needed work.
That encouragement meant a lot to me then, and it helped me understand things from the editor’s side.
When I finished (so I thought) writing The Scribbler’s Guide to the Land of Myth, I submitted the manuscript to a publisher that had put out a book from a friend of mine. The initial editor had really liked the whole book after reading it and had passed it up to the senior editor. But the senior editor had only read through the first section (on the Hero’s Journey), and found it confusing and overly complicated. He also was uncertain about the title, feeling that in this day and age of computers, would people really get the reference to being a “scribbler.”
That second critique I could easily reject, because in the four years of working on the book, when talking with other writers, they had gotten it immediately and smiled at it (which is the exact reaction I wanted). But his first criticism was a blow. Because he was right.
I sat down and reorganized the first section, removing those things which had created the confusion. Cutting and pasting whole passages into new places in the order took a lot of work. But in the end, it was much, much better for the changes.
So then I went back to trying to find a publisher. The second publisher it went to liked it, but it really didn’t fit their catalogue. They wished me well. The third publisher, one well known for books on writing, was a bit interested. I had a couple of phone conversations with that senior editor. But she wanted to break the manuscript into three volumes, and she wanted a massive rewrite to bring it into conformity with their house style (which was rather more A-B-C’s simplicity than what I had written). She didn’t out-and-out reject it. But what she was suggesting I rework my book into being was not what I wanted my work to be. So I let that submission drop — in that case the rejection came from my end of the deal.
The fourth publisher really liked my manuscript. I had a meeting with the editor who read it and the senior editor. And what we talked about was marketing (I’d already started my platform building, which pleased them), and whether or not to publish it as one volume or three. My argument for a single volume was that it was designed to be just one reference book for writers. But I could understand their concerns about trying to market such a large volume from an unknown writer. I was willing to consider breaking it into three units, if they wanted to make a go of it with the text pretty much as it was, which they did. It was exciting! A possible acceptance!
They submitted their slate of intended publications, including my book, to their parent company. Unfortunately, the parent company was restructuring, and so nixed their entire slate.
That was three years of trying to get the book published. It was at that point that I decided to go with print-on-demand, in order to get the thing out. It was always a book intended for use, not to necessarily make me “fame and fortune” (although that would be nice).
I’ve recounted this history as a way of showing that there could be various reasons for rejection. And they’re not all bad ones.
A while back in my little contest for blog topics, the following question was one of the entries: “Is there more to the mythic symbolism of the damsel in distress than just the same poor, scantly-clad beauty trapped in an ivory tower or dungeon by a cruel villain or villainess, waiting for some handsome prince to save her?” (Question posted by Thane Woods, thanks!)
The answer to the question is a resounding “Yes! There certainly is more it it!”
Of course, it needs a little unfolding to explain the persistence of the Damsel in Distress motif.
First off, the motif is an ancient one. One of the most famous versions is the tale of Andromeda and Perseus (source material for both film versions of Clash of the Titans). The short version is that the princess Andromeda was staked out on a rock to placate a monster, and Perseus, after falling in love with her, had to rescue her.
St. George rescues the Maiden
One of the things about the motif that creates the most problems these days is the passive aspect of the Damsel in these stories. She doesn’t get to do much of anything toward achieving her escape. As the twentieth century progressed, this pattern did not fit into the growing empowerment of women in society. The motif seemed loaded with an implied incompetence on the part of the female, that she could not rescue herself, that a female needed a male to rescue her.
In reaction to this understanding of the motif, we began to see many stories of female heroes rescuing themselves (or even rescuing their male counterparts), female characters who did not need the assistance (or worse yet, the guidence) of a male character to achieve their goals. In terms of gender equality, this is a good turn of events, giving growing girls active role-models in stories, encouraging girls to believe they can shape their own fates.
Princess Leia in Star Wars: A New Hope is a representative of this new sort of “rescued damsel.” She may have needed outside help to get out of her prison, but once released she shows herself to be as competent in action (if not more so) as the male heroes.
The problem for storytellers is that there remains an impulse to put a female character into hazard and in need of rescue. Why is that?
Princess Morgana in The Vikings is a feisty character in this classic mode. She is a desirable object to the Viking leader Einar, while for the earnest slave Eric, she becomes a beloved partner.
What is happening here is not an issue of gender equality or politics. When talking about mythic motifs, I usually strive to stay away from psychological interpretation, mainly because mythic symbolism is very adaptable and flexible. Mythic meaning doesn’t always have to relfect the internal, psychological states.
When it comes to issues of archetypes, a lot of people use the term “Jungian archetypes” and what they are actually thinking of are the seven traditional ones (Hero, Mentor, Herald, Threshold Guardian, Trickster, Shapeshifter and Shadow). But in point of fact, Jung’s archetypes are designated “Shadow, Anima, Animus, and Self.” And they are serving somewhat different functions than those of the traditional archetypes. So let’s look a bit closer.
Jung’s Shadow figure does share the same basic qualities as the traditional archetype of the same name. The Shadow represents those aspects of one’s psyche that one rejects, usually the negative qualities we wish to excise. So far so good.
The fourth Jungian archetype is the Self, the integrated identity, and in the psychological approach to storytelling, you could say that the Victorious Hero at the end of stories represents this Jungian figure.
It is with the Anima and Animus that we need to deal when it comes to the Damsel in Distress. For the Damsel in Distress represents a “psychodrama” (an acting out of issues key to one’s psyche) between the Anima and Animus.
One of the reasons why the “Hero’s Journey” seems predominantly a masculine endeavor is not that males are inherently more adventuresome or proactive, but rather that the masculine aspect of the personality (for lack of a “better” term is the active and outward directed element of our make up. Jung termed this the Animus. By contrast, the so-called feminine aspect, or Anima, is inward directed. Many usually characterize it as “passive” but I prefer to designate it as essential. It is about being something, not doing something.
The way I see it, the Animus is the part of us that takes action, reacts to external events. The Anima, in my opinion, represents those essential things that make each of us who we are: our precious dreams, hopes, loves, our emotional life.
If we look at the stories of Damsels in Distress as being a psychodrama of the Animus and Anima and their movement toward integration with each other, we get a new perspective on what is happening in stories about rescuing heroines.
Consider it: the Heroine is trapped and inprisoned by the villain, in great danger of either death or of being bonded to the villain. In terms of the psychodrama, it means that one’s very essence is cut off from the active part of one’s being, in danger of being silenced or misdirected, smothered and eventually turned into something undesirable. The Hero, the active aspect of the psyche, charges in to rescue the Desirable Essence. Battles happen, the Hero is victorious (usually), and the Hero and Heroine are joined together in a Sacred Marriage.
This is one of the functions Mary Jane has in Spider-Man stories. She is an externalization of the hero’s core essence, principles, loves. The world and its villains constantly try to rip those things away from the hero, in order to leave him a more controlable action machine. But the hero desires integration – so … Mary Jane must be rescued.
Again, this is not about gender politics. It is about psycological integration. It is about bonding our inner essence of dreams, principles, loves to our ability to take action, creating a solid partnership which enables us as individuals to be more complete human beings. Instead of being Takers-ofAction with no heart or soul, or Compassionate-Beings with no ability to take effective action based on our inner nature, the individual who has an integrated Animus and Anima becomes an Ideal Hero (regardless of whether they are male or female).
The Rescue of the Damsel in Distress will continue to be a useful story motif because of the underlying psychodrama. You doubt me?
Consider Season 5 of Burn Notice. The underlying issue for this Season has been the threat of the emprisonment of Fiona Glenanne. Over the course of the series we have watched the relationship of Michael and Fiona grow deeper and stronger. Fiona wakens Michael’s compassion for others, she frequently serves as his moral compass. She is a wonderfully constructed character, what with her trigger-happy, gun-running past. But she is also Anima to Michael’s Animus. Together, they represent integration. Of course Michael will work to “Rescue the Maiden.”
We’re not going to wipe out the motif of the Damsel in Distress. Because there is a lot more going on than “Babes in Bondage.”
(You will note that I don’t go into the sadistic bondage turns that some stories take. Sexual sadism is its own realm. But also, after what I’ve said, you can draw your own conclusions on the type of psyche represented by stories that resist and even belittle the integrated partnership of Animus and Anima.)
Pictures used in this post are copyright of their owners, and are used only for educational illustration.
For more on mythic motifs and archetypes, check out The Scribbler’s Guide to the Land of Myth, now available in both hard copy and Kindle e-text.
I’ve had two of the remaining “Introduction to Archetypes” videos for the “Aspiring Writer” series on my computer for a year. I just hadn’t gotten around to uploading them. So I’m finally doing that. I still have to finish the last two, which will take some juggling, since Xtranormal has changed some of their procedures.
Anyway, this video deals with the traditional archetype of the Herald.