the hurricane inside my brain

NOTE: This story first appeared on The Good Men Project blog July 8, 2009, shortly after I had begun working on the project.

“So what’s the book about?”

The cold drizzle on Newbury Street was threatening to become a downpour, and I was pretty sure Tom Matlack, whom I had met five minutes ago, was wondering why I wasn’t wearing a coat. “Well, it’s all essays. Haven’t you seen the website? It really explains what we’re trying to do.” I shook my head. “No, sorry, I think your website was down when I tried to get on.” As first impressions with a potential new client go, this was not going to be one of my better ones. We duck into the small restaurant. But by the time the waiter had poured our glasses of water Tom had enthralled me with his vision of the project.

“One essay is about this guy – he was locked up in Sing Sing. You know Julio Medina?” I’m shaking my head “no” again, but by now it didn’t matter. Tom might as well have been in the jail along with Julio at that moment instead of in a French bisto with hard crusty bread. “Julio watched while people got knifed. All the time. And the worst thing you could do when you got knifed was to get blood on your uniform. ‘Cuz then you’d have to either be a witness, and talk, and be killed by another inmate. Or not talk and be put in solitary confinement.”

We order Diet Pepsi’s, take small sips, swallow. “And one day, a guy got knifed right in front of Julio, and he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t. He held the guy until the guards came.” Tom barely takes a breath of air before launching into the next story. “And this other guy, he worked as an architect. His marriage was failing, they had come from India, he had no one to talk to except for the janitors in the building he would ultimately condemn for structural instability. Or take Kamber. A war photograher. The guy’s brilliant. Brilliant photos. And all he knows is the war, and when he tries to come home and live a normal life, it makes no sense to him. I think he’s off in a foxhole in Afghanistan right now.”

“See, it’s all about the defining moment in these mens lives. The first person view, the telling of the story is what’s so powerful. Guys usually don’t talk about this stuff.” He looks away for a moment. “My own story is in there if you want to read about that mess.”

We walk back to his office and Tom hands me a manuscript. Like any other book draft, it’s plain, unadorned, nothing more than black type on white copier paper. Tom and I shake hands. I tell him I’ll get back to him with a proposal to help market the book. I walk to my car, flip through the manuscript, pick a story at random, begin to read: “Everything I know about being a man I learned from women, and especially when we were stoned and in bed, fucking and/or talking.”

I’m in.

As someone who doesn’t own a tv and who, for many years, had more books than friends, I have often said, “I believe even a mediocre book can be redeemed by one great sentence.” But as I read the manuscript in my car that day, I see that it is full of great sentences. Every story pulls me in, drags me under its spell, gives me a little more insight into the distinct world-view of what it means to be a man. My belief in the project and what it stands for is so strong, so profound, I want to get started *that day*.  I read some more. It hits me. I will do something with the sentences. I’ll take the best sentences, 10 of them, no, 100 of them. I’ll make them come to life, these tiny glimpses of defining moments. I’ll create 100 videos, each video a sentence or two. I will help tell the story of the Good Men Project the best I know how. By simply using the words of the men who created it.

Update: The book was published last fall, along with a film and companion DVD, amidst a fanfare of dozens of positive reviews from bloggers, in magazines and newspapers, and on radio and television. A series of live events has been unfolding beginning with Tom Matlack and Julio Medina on a visit to Sing Sing prison.

Since that day I first learned about the project last April, I’ve watched The Good Men Project grow into a true “worldwide discussion” about what it means to be a good man in our society. (The latest movie screening is in the works in Norway, there are groups of supporters in England, Australia, Germany, Canada, others). I’ve watched public conversations unfold that touch on topics as diverse and provocative as divorce, death, parenting, war, prison, losing a job, losing a spouse, homosexuality, racism, religion, rape, sports, pornography, infidelity, politics, raising daughters, raising sons.

I’ve watched men who say “I’m not sure if I can write” become commenters, bloggers, authors. I’ve seen people connect with each other, help each other, solve problems together.

What comes next? Those of us who are already in The Good Men Project are going to keep talking. About issues unique to men. About what it means to be “good”, in a society where the role models served up to us are confusing, at best. And we’ll continue to tell stories that offer insights to others, to give voice to those who have said in the past: “I don’t know how to talk about that”.

Our first next step is to launch an online magazine June 1, 2010. But we’re most excited about watching The Good Men Project unfold as it will – through the collective voices of the men and women – who helped create it.

Want to learn more? Buy the book, become a Facebook fan, visit The Good Men Project website. Please join in the conversation where ever you can.

photo by inmost_light on Flickr

“My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three.”

Vladimir Nabokov wrote those words in 1955, buried in a paragraph somewhere within “Lolita.” I never read the book. Nabokov’s voice is, for the most part, too flowery, his sentence structure too complex for my taste. But in 2000, Billy Collins wrote a poem about the random way that death strikes, and used Nabokov’s words as the spark.

In 2006, I read that poem, and my voice changed.

It struck me (forgive the pun), that those two words: (picnic, lightning) told a complete story and were no more than two nouns held together by a small piece of punctuation. Wow wow and wow. My new goal in life became my desire to do * that*.

But first: Why develop a voice? What’s wrong with the one you have?

Chances are, nothing. If people for the most part understand what you say, if they don’t doze off in the middle of your sentences, if you can make other people smile and laugh – well, then. You’re doing something right.

But…see – embedded in that sentence above is what I try to do better. In every sentence I write, I strive for 1) clarity 2) brevity 3) engagement and humor.

I want a voice that’s strong and clear and distinctive and funny.

Here are some reasons YOU might want to think about your voice, especially if you are doing a lot of writing, or communicating in the online space:

1) It makes what you say more memorable

2) People come to know you more through your writing, and tend to view you as a friend

3) It shows a certain confidence, especially if your voice is distinctive

4) You can use it to topple stereotypes

5) It gives you a framework to evaluate your own writing

A few guidelines:

1) Ask yourself what you want people’s perception to be when they read something you wrote. Go so far as to try to imagine the exact words you want other people to say. Maybe it’s “That Steve, he’s a fount of knowledge. So informative. So helpful.” Maybe it’s “Jill always makes me laugh.” Or maybe it’s “Have you read Chuck? Man, that guy can tell a story.”

2) Work backwards. Now it’s easy, right? You want to be known as an expert – make sure most of what you say is fact-based. You want to be known as a great storyteller? Remember: every story has a beginning, middle and end. Stay present, all the way through that journey.

3) Want to be funny? Hint One: wait until you think or say something that makes you laugh out loud. Quick, write it down. Hint Two: Find a group of people who share some knowledge that not everyone does. Think of an insight only that group would understand. Hint Three: Eggplant is inherently funny.

4) What you say is far more important than how you say it. (This should remind you of rule #1 of branding – how you act is more important than what you say about yourself.)

5) Think about your personality. What do you love best about life? about yourself? Really. Let us hear it in your voice.

6) Whatever else you do, strive for clarity. Copyblogger Brian Clark writes: Want to be clear in your writing? Clarity comes from deeply caring if people truly understand.

So there you have it. Get out there: Experiment. Practice. My goal these days is to combine the brevity of a message on a bottlecap with the cadence of a poem with the clarity of an instruction manual. And if I can’t get you to laugh with the mention of an eggplant, well. I’ll just keep working at it.

Anyone else with hints they can share?