Flying into Chicago yesterday, I looked out the window and saw the beautiful lakefront, grabbed my cell phone, anchored it to the window, made sure the Hancock Tower was in the frame, and got off one shot. I was pretty happy with it.
Wednesday’s Writing on Writing7. Setting the scene
Because of the proliferation of all sorts of visual media these days, it’s more important than ever that novelists write with the eye in mind. Fortunately, just as in the days of radio, what can be produced in the theater of the mind (in our case, the reader’s mind) is infinitely more creative than what a filmmaker can put on the screen.
Be visual in your approach. People buy tickets to the movies or subscribe to cable channels hoping to see something they’ve never seen before. A good novel can provide the same, only—because of the theater of the mind—millions of readers can see your story a million different ways.
Although I’m encouraging you to be visual, I eschew too much description. I loved it when great potboiler writer John D. MacDonald described a character simply as “knuckly.” A purist might have demanded hair length and color; eye size, shape and color; height; weight; build; gait. Not me. “Knuckly” gave me all I needed to picture the man. And if I saw him thinner, taller, older than you did, so much the better. MacDonald offered a suggestion that allowed his readers to populate their own scenes.
I recall an editor asking me to expound on my “oily geek” computer techie in one of my books in the Left Behind series. I argued: (1) he was an orbital character, and while I didn’t want him to be a cliché from central casting, neither did I feel the need to give him more characteristics than he deserved; and (2) he was there to serve a purpose, not to take over the scene, and certainly not to take over the book.
The editor countered, “But the reader will want to see him, and you haven’t told us enough. Like, I see him in his 20s, plump, pale, with longish, greasy hair and thick glasses.”
What could I say? “Eureka! You just proved my point! All I wrote was that he was an oily geek, and look what you brought to the table.” Every reader has his own personal vision of a computer techie, so why not let each mental creation have its 15 seconds of fame on the theater screen of the mind?
Wednesday’s Writing on Writing
6. Pass on the preachiness
If your whole reason for writing is to pontificate on, for example, the dangers of certain habits or lifestyles, you risk sounding preachy. I see this problem in many manuscripts: all talk, straw men, plots contrived to prove a point but little that grabs and subtly persuades the reader. If your theme is the danger of alcoholism, simply tell a story in which an alcoholic suffers because of his bad decisions and give the reader credit. If your story is powerful enough, your theme will come through.
As you might imagine, preachiness is the bane of too much writing today (especially in the 
inspirational market). We’re trying to make the same kinds of points, naturally, that preachers do. But preachers are supposed to preach. It’s what they do. No one complains that his preacher is too preachy. That would be like saying a ballerina is too dancey.
For some reason, however, preachiness on paper offends the reader’s sensibilities. If you’re like me, you like to be given some credit as a reader and thinker. Even as a child, when I heard the story of the boy who cried wolf, I got it. I didn’t need someone saying, “So you see, Jerry, if you lie often enough, no one will take you seriously when you’re telling the truth.” That’s the beauty of morality tales; they make their own points.
Preachiness doesn’t need to be as obvious as stopping the story to say, “And so, dear reader, as you travel down life’s highway, remember… .” Sometimes obvious point-making comes when the writer of a first-person piece tries to shift gears without engaging the clutch and writes, “That was the day I learned that if that little girl could be so brave in the face of that kind of danger, I could certainly face the uncertainty of… .”
A rule of thumb? The Golden Rule. Put yourself in the skin of your reader. Read your piece to yourself and imagine how you’d feel at the end of it. Does the story or nonfiction article make its own point? Has the writer (in this case, you) added a sermonette to the end? When in doubt, cut it out.
Wednesday’s Writing on Writing
5. Don’t spell it out
One of the clichés of conversation is feeling the need to explain more than once what’s going on, as if the reader can’t figure it out on his own. I actually read a novel in which, when a character said something quirky like “promptly, punctually and prissily” (which was actually funny and fit the personality), the author felt the need to add, “he said alliteratively.” Yeah, we got that.
Other writers have a character respond to a diatribe from another with “Yep,” or “Nope,” or a shrug. Perfect. I love to learn about personalities this way. The character is a man of few words. But too often, the author intrudes, adding, “he said, eschewing small talk.”
If you create a character who backs into a conversation with tentative phrases like, “Oh, I was just wondering,” or, “I don’t know how to say this, but if I, well, let me say it this way,” we get it. We understand this is a timid, nervous person, afraid of saying something wrong, sensitive to others’ feelings. Avoid the temptation to explain. Don’t follow that with, “she began nervously, unsure how to broach the subject.”
Maybe the responder to that speaker says, “Is there a question in there somewhere? What are you saying?” That tells us all we need to know. You don’t have to explain with, “the insensitive jerk said.”
…on the way out of Hartsel, Colorado, this morning.
Is What If… coming to your area?
Jenkins Entertainment’s latest feature film, directed by my son Dallas, is opening around the country in the next several days.
To find out if it will be showing near you, click here: http://thewhatifmovie.com/theaters-3
It’s funny, heartwarming, moving, and we feel our best effort to date. When we want to be heard politically we vote at the polls, but if we want our voices heard in Hollywood, we have to vote at the box office. That’s why I will be buying tickets to my own movie when it opens in Colorado Springs.
What If… stars Kevin Sorbo (Hercules), John Ratzenberger (Cheers, Toy Story), Debby Ryan (Suite Life on Deck), and Kristy Swanson (Buffy the Vampire Slayer).
Trust me, this is a picture you can bring your friends to without reservation or embarrassment. I guarantee it’s not cheesy or typical Christian movie fare.
To see a quick sample, click on the above site and then click on “Downloads” and look for the video trailers.
And here’s the best part: if What If… is not yet scheduled for your area, you can help bring it there. Again, click on the above site, then Click on “Join Our Team” and see the many ways you can help.
What If… is already getting rave reviews, and I’d love to hear from you after you’ve seen it. Most important, let’s let Hollywood know the audience for faith-based films like this is vast and eager for more.
Wednesday’s Writing on Writing
4. Skip the recitals of ordinary life
Mirroring real life without moving the story along is called on-the-nose writing, a term originating in Hollywood regarding scripts.
We all get dressed, walk out to the car, open the door, slide in, turn the key and back out of the driveway. If your character backs into the garbage truck, that’s a story. Just say it:
That morning, as Bill backed out of the driveway [give the reader credit; she will assume he did all that is listed above], his mind was on the tongue-lashing he had endured the day before from his boss. Only when he heard the ugly crunch and scrape and his head snapped back did he realize he had not bothered to check his rearview mirror. He had plowed into a garbage truck that looked half as big as his house.
More than 40 years ago I bought an orange Chevy Camaro with a white stripe and a black top. Today I bought this one. After five years in a nice sedan, this just seemed like a fun move. I’m already getting a kick out of the looks that say, “Look at the old dude borrowing his grandson’s car!”
Dianna, my bride of 39 years, is my everything.