Author: Jon Rubenstein

My Capstone project is about something that most people haven’t necessarily heard of before: Protagonist Disease. Basically, it involves viewing your life as a story in which you function as the central figure, or “main character.” Protagonist thinkers are in the habit of seeing their lives as plot developments, in a story so captivating, that it would surely draw an audience if ever shown in the theaters. Protagonist thinkers might even fantasize that their lives are being projected onto a screen somewhere in real time, and that the audience is rooting for them and sympathizing with them as they move through the various scenes of their lives.

Protagonist thinking can be employed in almost any situation, but it seems that we are the most susceptible to it during times of difficulty. When we’re sad, when we’re angry, or when we’re failing, we can use protagonist thinking as a sort of defense mechanism to justify ourselves. Surely, we tell ourselves, that if the “audience” had seen the entire story’s development, complete with all our struggles, then they would be sympathetic to us. Convincing ourselves (and our imagined “audience”) that we are sympathetic characters is what protagonist thinking as all about.

Anyway, I’m writing about this topic in a sort of abstract way. I feel that I was guilty of protagonist thinking this past summer, so I’m writing a bunch of independent “scenes” from my summer, but I’m writing them as if I was the main character in the movie that I was constructing to be my life. So, needless to say, the scenes are very dramatized – almost satirically so. I’m also writing them in the third person, as if this “character” version of myself is completely different from my actual person.

On its own, my piece is just a bunch of stories. I don’t mention that it’s about Protagonist Disease at all. And I don’t even reveal that the third person “character” that I’m writing about is me from this past summer until the very end. I want to give my audience enough clues as to what the piece is about, so I’m including some research artifacts that speak to Protagonist Disease in between scenes. But I feel like that might not be enough, so in my intro essay, I’m choosing to explain the concept of Protagonist Disease in a similar way to how I did at the beginning of this post.

I feel like providing context is important, but I also don’t know if it’s too much to give away before my audience even begins reading. Is there value in completely keeping them in the dark and having them figure it out as they read? Since Protagonist Disease is not a very well-known phenomenon, I feel that I have to mention it directly at least somewhere. The question that I’m struggling with is where, and to what extent. For now, it’s the intro essay, and it’s a fairly comprehensive description. But we’ll see if it stays that way.

My re-purposing project last year was not nearly as abstract of a piece, but I also had to make some choices about how much to tell the audience, and how much to keep to myself and leave unanswered. The questions that I found myself asking then was ‘is including this necessary to the reader’s understanding of the story?’ and ‘would including it add or subtract to the richness/depth of the story?’ I think that to resolve my current dilemma, asking the same kinds of questions will point me in the right direction.

One of my favorite quotes is by a former businessman and philanthropist named William Davidson. It’s so simple, but strikingly powerful at the same time.

“Just Start.”

I first noticed this quote hanging in the tunnel of Crisler Arena, right where the players have their final gathering before taking the court to face their opponents. Having the quote in that location is strategic. It’s there to mitigate nerves, to quell the paralyzing weight of anticipation, and to reassure the players/coaches that once the game starts, things will fall into place and all the preparation will shine through. In basketball, you can spend so much time strategizing and training that you can overthink the game itself (which is a fairly simple one…just put the ball in the hoop). “Just start” is a way of saying, ‘trust your preparation and abilities, and understand that the first step might be the hardest one you’ll take.’

In the same way that “just start” can be used to inspire a basketball team, it can also be used to inspire us as writers, especially before embarking on a project as sizable as the Capstone. We’ve spent a month (maybe more) brainstorming, searching, envisioning, pitching, planning, and strategizing. At some point – a point that is nearly upon us – you just have to start, and trust that things will fall into place.

Personally, I’ve been struggling with some pre-writing dilemmas that I’ve been unable to settle, but that I’m hoping will work themselves out once I start writing. They all have to do with how to most effectively frame my piece, which is going to be a creative non-fiction story about viewing yourself as the main character of your own movie. This concept, sometimes called “Protagonist Disease,” is a relatively out-there and abstract concept, and I’ve been contemplating how to best capture its essence. My plan is to write a series of independent scenes from my recent summer in San Francisco, when I feel like I fell into this “protagonist” way of thinking, which is very self-important and self-loathing. It was a byproduct of me feeling somewhat lonely/sad/lost and wanting to justify those feelings, but ultimately, I believe that protagonist thinking was counterproductive for my mood and perspective. This will all come through in the writing, but I’ve been debating about what tense to write the scenes in.

Instead of writing it in the first person, I want to write it in either the second or the third person to address myself as the “main character” that I was imagining myself to be. The intent is to provide some distance between who I am now and who I was during the summer, and to show that I was out of touch with myself. But I can’t decide whether 2nd person or 3rd person would be most effective in achieving this. Probably it will end up being a healthy mix of both, but I’m realizing that this problem will be solved during the writing process itself, and that I should let my writing answer the question for me.

Last year, when I wrote my re-purposing project about my experience with the Michigan Basketball team, I struggled with whether to use the present tense or the past tense (i.e. “I walk out of the locker room and into the tunnel” vs. “I walked out of the locker room and into the tunnel”). There is a subtle but distinct difference in how it frames the story. The former puts the reader more in the moment with you, and the ladder is more reflective. I found that certain rhetorical situations were more suited towards the present tense and certain rhetorical situations were more suited towards the past tense. But I was only able to make that discovery during the writing process itself. So again, I think that I should just start.

I’m confident that a couple of my other dilemmas, like deciding how many scenes to write and deciding how to embed my research into the piece, will solve themselves once I begin writing too (but I’m also looking for suggestions so comment below if you feel so inclined).

It’s good to think about the dilemmas now and identify the questions that must eventually be resolved, but there is also value in realizing that the answers don’t have to show themselves right now.

There is a certain amount of weight attached to the word “ritual.” To me, it implies something vastly different from words like “routine” or “habit.” Unlike brushing your teeth or watching TV before bed (activities that I would label as routines/habits), rituals are almost sacred. They require a certain level of mindfulness and focus in order to successfully create their intended effects. Before engaging in Tharp’s discussion on creative rituals, I never thought of writing as an activity that would be accompanied by such a practice. But just like athletes go through pregame rituals to signal that it’s time for competition, I’m now convinced that writers should go through pre-writing rituals to signal that it’s time for creativity. Doing so can serve as a catalyst for tapping into the most creative parts of our thinking.

With that being said, pre-writing rituals will look different for each writer. It’s important to discover the most helpful ritual for you. Identifying what that looks like takes a lot of work. As I read through Tharp’s piece, I wondered what kinds of rituals I could engage in to support my writing process. I tinkered with some ideas pertaining to my setting and to my sensory environment, but then I realized that I’ve been engaging in a writing ritual ever since I started college: listening to music.

I don’t just put my music library on shuffle when I write; I’m actually pretty intentional about the type of music that I listen to as I’m writing. As I’ve done this, I’ve discovered that finding the right music to accompany my writing can be a powerful thing. For example, I’ve done a lot of retrospective writing throughout my college career. I often write about personal stories or past experiences that I find worth revisiting. There have been times, however, when I have a lot of difficulty placing myself back in these moments. To help me overcome this challenge, I play the music that I listened to during that corresponding period of my life, and suddenly, my past feelings and memories become much easier to access. I might write about past experiences in my Capstone project, so keeping this ritual in mind will be helpful as I move forward. I would recommend trying it to anyone who is reaching into their old memories in their writing.

Even when I’m not recalling past experiences, I still find the right music helpful for getting my mind in the right place for creativity. There’s a post-rock band called Explosions In The Sky that never fails to get my creative juices flowing. Their music contains no lyrics – just rhythms and sounds that I can casually listen to without too much effort. For whatever reason, listening to their songs takes the edge off of writing. It becomes less stressful, and writer’s block becomes easier to overcome.

Everyone is intimidated by the “empty white room” that Tharp so artfully brought to life in her writing. For me, finding the right soundtrack, the right aesthetic, and the right musical energy makes the empty white room a little less daunting. As we begin out Capstone Projects, the blank, empty pages are right in front of us. I hope that we can all find the right rituals to aid us in turning them into our best work.