What Does The Guy Habitually Do?
The playwright and filmmaker David Mamet was asked how his research process changes, if at all, when developing a biographical script about a real person versus developing a fictional script about an invented character. Regardless of the genre, Mamet said, “the question is always, ‘What do you throw away? What do you keep? I’m always working with this question. I’m always thinking that a good writer is going to keep what others throw away, but they also are going to throw away what others keep.” When working on a biographical project, he said, “it’s more difficult because you have to deal with people—family members, friends, former collaborators or colleagues of the person—who don’t want to throw anything away. But I have to say, ‘What’s the actual story?’” “And when you say ‘story,’” Mamet was asked, do you mean ‘the essence of the person and their character?’” “There isn’t any essence of the person,” Mamet said. “There’s no such thing as character. Character is just habitual action. That’s all we know about anybody. Anything other than that is just narration. What does the guy habitually do?—that’s who he is. That’s his character.”
Habitual action—that’s the theme of this SIX at 6…
Where’s Your Follow-Up?
In the 1970s, the comedian Chris Rock grew up in a Brooklyn neighborhood surrounded by gangs, violence, and crime. He was asked how he avoided falling in with a bad crowd—”how did you avoid the trapping of gangs and gang activity?” “I don’t think it’s about ‘avoiding,’” Rock said. “It’s about, where’s your follow-up? I mean, yeah, I walked through the gauntlet and got beat up and then was told I was in the gang, but I wasn’t a gang follow-up guy. A gang is like anything else—you have to follow up. You have to be at the meetings, you have to read the pamphlets, you have to watch all the episodes, you have to get the clothes—whatever the follow-up may be. My follow-up wasn’t there. It’s like, ‘We’re going to go downtown and steal chains’—I’m late to those meetings. I just wasn’t with the follow-up. So it was never really an option.” When he discovered comedy, on the other hand, Rock habitually followed up. He watched comedians on The Tonight Show night after night. He went to open mics night after night. He worked on material day after day. “That was my follow-up,” he said. “My follow-up was comedy.” He’s a comedian not because of his “essence”—some comedic gene he was born with—but because of his follow-up.
One’s Best Defense
The novelist Louisa May Alcott habitually put people from her life into her novels, “for I find it impossible,” she wrote, “to invent anything half so true or touching as the simple facts with which every day life supplies me.” But, she never used their real names. The boy who befriends the sisters in Little Women, for instance, was based on a guy named Alfred Whitman—“I put you into my story,” she once wrote to Alf, “as one of the best & dearest lads I ever knew!”—but she changed his name to “Laurie Laurence.” While writing Eight Cousins, Alcott needed a name for a minor character disliked by the heroine and recalled one she once heard when she was a little girl: Ariande Blish. “Because of its peculiarity,” Alcott wrote, “I have remembered it ever since” she first heard the name when she was 7, thirty-five years earlier. Soon after Eight Cousins was published, Alcott received a letter from a woman named…Ariande Blish, “very very much hurt” that a dislikable character in the book was, seemingly, named after her. Too late to change the name, Alcott wrote to Blish, “as the only atonement now in my power, I hasten to assure you that it was done in entire ignorance of your existence.” Then, a writer friend wrote to Alcott, offering to publish a piece in which she would publicly vouch for her. “Having explained the matter to Miss Blish herself,” Alcott replied to the writer friend, “and as I intended no unkindness or disrespect, I consider I have amended my carelessness.” She thanked the friend for offering to defend her in print, “but one’s best defense is one’s life,” what one habitually does. And since Alcott didn’t habitually name characters after real people, she wrote, “I do not think it necessary to do anything more” about this one-off mixup. (P.S. After the first print run, Alcott changed the character’s name to Annabel Bliss).
Getting At The Elephant
In his essay, What’s going on here, with this human?, Graham Duncan, known as “the talent whisperer,” details his process for finding and hiring or partnering with talent. At its core, Duncan’s process is about trying “to see people more clearly.” It’s about uncovering the “elephant in the room.” When interviewing someone, the “elephant in the room” is all the things they don’t tell you about themselves—strengths, weaknesses, contradictions, insecurities, good and bad qualities they either deliberately withhold or simply aren’t fully aware of. “How,” Duncan was asked, “do you get at the elephant?” “You get at the elephant,” he said, “by doing references”—talking to people who know the candidate well. “Over time,” he said, “you start to hear multiple people in different contexts mention versions of the same behavior repeated in similar contexts, and you go, ‘Oh, that’s a pattern. That’s a pattern of behavior.’” That’s getting at the elephant, because “past behaviors are indicative of future behaviors.” What does the guy habitually do?—that’s who he is. That’s his elephant.
Have A Good Past
In 1993, Jensen Huang pitched a startup idea to his former boss, Wilf Corrigan. After Jensen’s pitch, Wilf said, “I have no idea what you just said. That was one of the worst pitches I’ve ever heard.” Wilf then called the renowned venture capitalist Don Valentine, and said, “Don, I’m going to send a kid over to you. He’s one of the best employees I’ve ever had. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I think you should give him money.” As the founder of Sequoia Capital, Valentine—the so-called “grandfather of Silicon Valley venture capital”—had made early investments in companies like Apple, Atari, Oracle, and Wilf Corrigan’s LSI Logic. Walking in to pitch the most sought-after investor in Silicon Valley, Jensen (29 years old, at the time) was nervous and intimidated, and therefore, “I did a horrible job with the pitch.” “Against my best judgment,” Valentine said, “I’m going to give you money because Wilf says to give you money.” With funding from Sequoia, Jensen and his co-founders, Curtis Priem and Chris Malachowsky, started Nvidia—initially, a company focused on improving the quality and efficiency of computer graphics. It would go on to become a force in the technology industry, revolutionizing not only computer graphics but also pioneering advancements in artificial intelligence, data centers, autonomous vehicles, and more. At the time of this writing, Nvidia is the 3rd most valuable company in the world, worth a little over $3 trillion. Asked about Valentine giving him money despite the terrible pitch, Jensen said, “The thing I learned from that is your past is more important than your ability to pitch, interview, or anything like that. You can’t run away from your past.” You can’t run away from your elephant. “So have a good past,” Jensen continued. “Try to have a good past.”
A Grand Unified Theory
In her book Rapt: Attention and the Focused Life, Winifred Gallagher calls it her grand unified theory: “your life—who you are, what you think, feel, and do, what you love—is the sum of what you focus on.” Where’s your follow-up?—there’s your life. What do you habitually do?—that’s who you are. That’s your character, your best defense, your elephant, your past, your life. That’s what’s going on here, with this human. Everything else is just narration.