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Elmore Leonard, Dorothy Sayers and the art of invisible writing

by Deborah Hyatt on February 9, 2013

I came across a quote from Elmore Leonard today that really struck a chord with me:

“If it sounds like writing, I re-write it.”

I’m not 100% in agreement because I think there’s a time for writing that sounds like writing, that makes itself known. Fiction can engage the reader not only through the storyline and characters, but also through the writing itself. Rich, ripe, textured, complex writing that uses all the tools in the writer’s arsenal — vocabulary, structure, structure, metaphor, foreshadowing, etc. — can heighten the reader’s experience while raising the quality of work to a whole new level.

But I also believe there are times when the words need to almost disappear into the story, carrying the reader on through the experience without ever making them think, “Wow, that’s a great sentence!”

(Most readers, anyway. I’m pretty sure any writer worth his/her salt is always aware of the writing, and pretty steadily analyzing and judging it even while fully engaged in the story.)

There’s writing that calls attention to itself …

Generally speaking, genre fiction seems to call for invisible writing while literary fiction is more likely to call attention to the writing itself. This isn’t a hard and fast rule by any means, but the need for genre fiction to cover a lot of ground, to get through a complex plot and keep the reader turning pages, leaves little time for linguistic niceties. Literary fiction, however, may be traveling at a slower pace, circling the same tight little spot over and over again, or covering a vast amount of territory. It may be pushing through boundaries (or at least nudging them) in terms of the writing itself. It’s often more character-focused than plot-driven, more inwardly directed and psychological in its approach. The writer may be asking the reader to dig deep rather than speeding along.

This doesn’t mean that literary/mainstream fiction can’t be just as much of a page turner as … well, the latest Elmore Leonard novel, Raylan.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, Bel Canto by Ann Patchett, and Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird all come to mind as books I simply couldn’t put down. But they also take a good dealer longer to get started than your average whodunnit, and the style and power of the writing itself is of paramount importance. And, in the best tradition of literary fiction, they stand alone, each one unique and, once read, nearly impossible to imagine having been written any other way. (Can you imagine anyone but the grown-up Scout telling you all about Jem and Atticus and Boo Radley? I know I can’t.)

… and writing that doesn’t.

Murder mysteries, thrillers, horror, fantasy, science fiction, westerns, and other works of popular fiction seldom strut their stuff to such a degree. But that doesn’t mean genre fiction is necessarily less well written than its fancier cousins. It takes chops to master a genre that’s been around seemingly forever, its fundamental geometry long since defined, its character arcs and plot lines nearly petrified by long-standing traditions. The writer has to deal with pre-existing constraints and conventions while telling a new story — has to write in a way that feels both familiar enough to attract fans, and fresh enough to keep them begging for more. That requires some pretty mad skills.

One of my favorite genre writers is Dorothy L. Sayers, whose beautifully crafted Lord Peter Wimsey books will never be missing from my bookcase. It’s just about impossible to not read one of these novels at a clip — and at the same time one is never lost, confused or bored. What that woman could do with a single line of dialogue is really rather extraordinary. I encourage anyone wanting to see what can be done in genre fiction (not just mysteries) to study these 11 books. From the first, and weakest, book in the series, The Body in the Bath, to the glorious final two, Gaudy Night and Busman’s Honeymoon, the Wimsey novels not only show a writer coming into her power and repeatedly challenging herself — but also teach a great deal about how to craft a work that’s beautifully written without ever “sounding” like it.

I suspect even Elmore Leonard is a fan.

What’s your take on this? When writing, do you like to call attention to the work itself, or make it disappear? As a reader, do you prefer to be dazzled or just get on with the story?

Categories: Fiction, The Writing Life, Tips and How-Tos - Tags: Dorothy L. Sayers, Elmore Leonard, fiction, invisible writing, Lord Peter Wimsey, quotation, quote, words worth repeating

Act Two is just … Hell?

by Deborah Hyatt on October 24, 2012

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The ‘fires’ of Act Two ‘burn’ away the impurities of a Protagonist’s Old Self allowing the character to see clearly, realize and embrace their Core Essence.

Death. Fire. An interesting way to think of the ordeals which a Protagonist must endure in Act Two, and from a writing experience inspire us to make their life a Living Hell.”

Scott Myers at Go Into the Story has written a series of posts showing how screenwriters can metaphorically apply theological ideas including Hell to raise their work to the next level.

His Hell post, which wisks its way swiftly from tortured souls trapped in hellfire to the molten metal created in a refiner’s fire is several degrees more elegant than the usual writerly advice to chase your character up a tree, surround the tree with alligators, and chuck rocks at the poor sap.

Kudos for a thought-provoking series.

In the meantime, Scott asked for examples of movies that sent their characters to a metaphorical Hell.

Here’s mine: Groundhog Day.

Think about it. Was there ever a character more condemned to eternal torment? He kept getting the girl but couldn’t keep her, kept leaving town but couldn’t stay gone, and keep killing himself and retuning to life in the morning. The fact that the movie is enormous fun and rather touching, and the character’s arc is beautifully drawn, goes to prove Scott Myer’s point. Sending a character to hell — even a simple, short and private one that no one else in the movie experiences — can work wonders.

Obviously, there’s no reason at all why the same advice wouldn’t work audio theater, short fiction and novels. The next time I’m spinning my wheels and struggling with a muddle in the middle of some story, I’m going to give serious thought to Hell and crucibles — and give the refiner’s fire a shot at burning away the dross.

How about you? Are you down with putting characters through Hell — or do you prefer the tree-and-alligators analogy?

Categories: Fiction, Scriptwriting, Tips and How-Tos - Tags: audio theater, fiction, how-to, screenplays, short stories, stage plays

Florence King, Tom Clancy and the art of exposition

by Deborah Hyatt on October 19, 2012

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Jon Winokur at Advice to Writers posted this statement from Florence King today:

A cardinal rule of writing is never interrupt yourself to explain something. If you must bring up an obscure topic, drop informative hints about it as you go along so that you don’t end up with the entire explanation all in one place. This keeps you from skidding to a stop and sounding teacherish. Otherwise it’s better to omit the obscure topic altogether, or as mothers might put it: If you can’t say it interestingly, don’t say it at all.”

I hadn’t thought of exposition so much as the process of interrupting myself as of interrupting the writing — although that might be a bit of nitpicking distinction, since the result for the reader is one and the same. Poorly handled exposition interrupts the flow of the narrative, pulls the reader out of the story and makes him aware of the writing. There goes suspension of disbelief and, frequently, the reader’s desire to keep turning those pages.

Even when well managed and necessary, layering in a lot of technical detail can feel burdensome for readers. I still recall skimming several long expository passages in Tom Clancy’s in the The Hunt for Red October — not that I let that stop me from reading on. Clancy is about as much in love with technical exposition as a writer can be and still manage to tell a kick-ass story. It also amuses me that I still know the term “cavitation” 20 years after Tom explained it most, most thoroughly.

I try to approach exposition in the same way a baker works bits of butter into pie crust dough. Many small pieces, lots of rubbing and working. The dough should end up more more smooth than lumpy — and any visible butter bits can taken not as defects but as creamy promises of deliciousness to come.

What’s your approach to exposition? How do you fit all those necessary, and often lumpy, facts into your fiction?

Categories: Fiction, The Writing Life, Tips and How-Tos - Tags: exposition, Florence King, Tom Clancy

Writing the TV Spec Script, Part Three: A case study

by Deborah Hyatt on April 30, 2012

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Back when I thought I wanted to break into TV writing, I wrote a couple of spec scripts, only one of which I tried to shop to agents. I failed rather dismally at that, due largely to the mistakes noted below — but I also wrote a pretty good script in terms of matching the show’s style, dialogue, characters, structure, etc. For all those reasons, I think it makes a good case study.

Download Quantum Leap: It’s a Dog’s Life spec script.

How did I shoot myself in the foot with this script?

I messed with the show’s mythology.

The script was for Quantum Leap, which had a time-traveling Sam Beckett “leaping” into a different person’s life each episode. Might be a man, might be a woman, but it was never an animal. I leaped him into a dog. Now, I did a really good job with it, and made the darned concept fit the show like a glove, so I might have gotten away with it — except for mistake #2.

I not only messed with the mythology, I did it right after the show did.

Talk about lousy timing. The one and only episode in which Sam leaped into an animal (a chimp) aired in season four juuuust about the time I was shopping my script. That sort of problem makes agents ask “What else you got?” Which led to mistake #3.

I only wrote one spec script.

When I had an interested agent on the phone ask me what else could I send him, I had to admit that I had nothing. Ouch. The exchange took seconds, and that’s all the time you will have to answer the same question. Always, always, always have more than one spec script to present — and be prepared to pitch it on the spot.

So what did I manage to do right?

I balanced the characters correctly.

The main characters — Sam and Al — take center stage as always. But the secondary/guest characters are deftly handled. They’re appealing, well differentiated, and have just enough problems that need resolving to fit into the standard Quantum Leap story structure. Great guest roles are the key to a good stand-alone spec script.

The structure matches the show.

You’ll notice that the script is divided into a teaser and three acts, with no tag. Whatever show you’re writing will have its own structure, possibly with a separate tag at the end — and, very probably, four or five acts. (Shows have more commercial breaks than they used to. Shows, and scripts are shorter as a result. Doh!)

I will note that it was probably too long. 61 pages?!

The plot works — and would probably have worked for Lassie, too.

With Sam jumping into a dog, there are only so many things he can do to save the day. I had a lot of fun figuring out how he could be both himself and act like a big yellow dog named Bucket.

The comedy and emotional arc are spot-on.

Any fan of the show loved seeing Sam leap into some crazy situation and have to deal with one difficulty after another — while uncovering the guest character’s secret lives and silent pains and finding a way to resolve them. It made for a beautiful story arc each episode, and I’m pleased that I managed to create that same arc, from Sam’s opening “Oh, boy” to Al’s final wave goodbye.

Have I mentioned Bucket? What could possibly be wrong with a Labrador retriever named Bucket? Nothing, that’s what I’m telling you. To this day, I adore the “real” dog Bucket. And I’m tickled that Sam got to be him for a while

Previously in this series:

Part One: Why write for free? What spec work can do — and can’t do — for you.

Part Two: Choosing a show. Why it’s not the one you want to write for — and it’s definitely not Fringe.

Still to come:

Part Four: Formatting your script. One-hour drama versus half-hour comedy show. Freebie download to help you do it right.

Categories: Scriptwriting, Tips and How-Tos - Tags: case study, episodic television, getting an agent, spec work, TV writing

Writing the TV Spec Script, Part Two: Choosing a show

by Deborah Hyatt on April 5, 2012

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Carefully choosing the shows you want to spec will help you make the most of the process. Bottom line, you need to spec shows that are current (still on air) and in the right category (one-hour drama or half-hour comedy).

Beyond that, here are some key considerations.

Goldilocks decisions: Finding shows that are juuuust right!

What category is that again?

Let’s say you decide to write for one-hour drama shows. Series on air include The Vampire Diaries, Smash, Game of Thrones, The Good Wife, Walking Dead, In Plain Sight …Not a lot in common, is there? You need to narrow your focus to shows in a given genre within your chosen category.

Let’s say police procedurals. Now we’re looking at NCIS, CSI, Blue Bloods, Criminal Minds, The Mentalist, Castle … Those are all cop shows, but there’s a lot of drift there, with shows ranging from decidedly dark to rom-com-dramedy.

Let’s say you’re into romantic/comedic cops. Okay, enough. I could keep going with this overly detailed example, but you get the point. Narrow down the shows you could spec down by category, genre and style/tone until you have a short list of series that mirror the kind of TV writing you want to do.

Once you pick some shows, look closely at each and ask yourself …

How long has it been on air?

A popular, long-running show will be familiar to agents and showrunners, but your spec script will be a long, long way from their first bite of that particular apple.

A newer series could help your spec script stand out — 1,000 others won’t already have written for it — but agents and showrunners may not be familiar enough with the series’ characters, style, etc. to fairly judge your script.

Traditional rule of thumb: Give any series at least one season before putting it on your short list.

What about the season’s hottest, newest show?

Yes, it’s a big hit — or will be after it premieres next month — and you’re dying to be the first person ever to spec it. But you won’t be the first person to think of that. And shows take a while to settle in.

You’re going to put a lot of time and energy into writing your script and don’t need to waste that effort on characters that disappeared three shows in or locations that have apparently fallen off the map.

Revised rule of thumb: For your own sake, at least let the show find its legs. Watching six eps before going forward with a spec script won’t kill you.

Do you love it? Do others?

Pick a show you love and know well. Your script has to capture the feeling of the show, the style of the action, each characters’ unique mind-set and speaking style. You’re going to spend a lot of time with your head in the show and the show in your head. You’d better like the scenery or you, and the script, will suffer.

Pick a show that other people know and follow. It won’t help to write for a show the showrunner has never seen watched because he/she won’t be able to judge your spec work properly. Increase the odds in your favor by picking a show that showrunners will already know.

Dying to write for a particular show? Do not spec it. Here’s why.

Showrunners typically don’t read spec scripts for their own series.

Doing so can put them at risk of nuisance lawsuits. Plus they have big egos, generally speaking, and don’t believe anyone outside of their chosen writing team can really capture their show correctly.

Even if they did, the chances of impressing them are way small.

Showrunners know every everything about their series. Every character nuance, every road not taken, every past creative decision. Planned story arcs, upcoming twists, crazy-ass season finales no one saw coming. etc. The odds of you managing to write a script that is both perfectly aligned with the showrunner’s vision and fresh/new enough to capture his/her attention are astronomically low.

The way to impress a showrunner is to write a fantastic script for someone else’s show.

A show they like and respect. That’s in the same category and genre as theirs. One that’s similar enough to show you’ve got the chops to write for their series.

And finally … Lessons from the Fringe.

Know when to let a show go.

Fringe is on the bubble. It might be granted one more season, or half a season, or no season at all after it wraps up Season Four on May 11. Whatever happens, it’s too late to spec it.

Know the mythology. And leave it the hell alone.

Fringe is highly mythologized with a long, involved narrative arc. Even though most of the first-season episodes appeared to be monster-of-the-week standalones, the writers were setting up the characters and laying the groundwork for future events. Plus, while there have been seasonal reboots, the overall mythology is essentially one long storyline.

When writing a spec script for any show with a dense mythology and/or long-running story lines, focus on creating a one-off/standalone episode. Do not attempt to write changes, developments, twists or revelations of the mythology. Never mess with the mythology. Even if you’re absolutely convinced that Nina is Olivia’s real birthmother and you’ve kept a detailed log of 109 secret messages embedded in the show that prove it, just don’t go there. That’s fanfic territory, not spec writing.

(But you’re not writing a Fringe spec script anyway, are you? Of course you’re not. Because it’s too damned late.)

Know the characters. Don’t mess with them, either.

In your spec script, be sure to keep the focus on the main characters — and introduce a one-time guest character along a really interesting plot. Do not attempt to introduce a new main character. Do not attempt to introduce a long-running side character. Remember: Your job is to prove that you can write for an existing show. So do that, and only that. Trying to shake things up because you’re a fan and you’d like the see the show shaken up — or because you fall in love with your guest character and can’t keep him/her under control — will do you no good.

(So, that Fringe spec script that you’re not writing will not have Olivia hooking up with Lincoln, or Nina moving to Paris, or Walter taking up the banjo … Okay, maybe there could a little banjo, but only if it helps the plot. And Walter’s high. Got it? Good.)