For the Glory of the Story

When Bad Writers Happen To Good Readers

Ever watch an episode of Seinfeld or Everybody Loves Raymond and wonder what it would be like to be a sitcom writer?

I’m amazed by these two programs; the writing is so sharp and fresh… the characters so loveable and relatable. Once, I saw a documentary on the making of Everybody Loves Raymond. Every morning a group of writers would gather to discuss ideas and share stuff that they had been working on. They’re all drinking six dollar coffees, wearing tennis shoes and Hawaiian shirts… and they spend the whole day laughing their asses of. What a perfect job, right? But really, it’s easy to see (by watching the finished product) that these people have paid their dues, made their chops, and are undeniably the best of the best. Seeing that documentary made me love those two sitcoms a little bit more, because I felt I understood better just how hard it must be to write that way.

Ever see the sitcom, Full House?

Stinky poo poo, right? I mean, terrible acting, stale characters, and each episode ending with a soft 80’s keyboard ballad in the background while Jesse explains to what’s-her-name why it’s wrong to hurt people’s feelings. Their writer's meetings must have only lasted like ten minutes or so:

“Got an idea, Pete?”
“Yeah, I was thinking it would be cool if we opened up on little what’s her name, at school, and her friends are trying to get her to smoke.”
“Talk to me baby! You’ve got my attention now, bro!”
“Yeah? Okay! Well… so little what’s her name – you can use any of the little boogers actually, they’ll all react the same way, right? – she’s all, like, ‘No, I don’t want to smoke a cigarette’, and the episode ends with Uncle Jesse lumbering up to her bedroom to console her after she ends up punished for… whatever.”
“Sounds great man! You ready to hit the greens?”
“You know it, bro!”
“Just drop off your notes to the Kentwood guy and give him twenty bucks. We’ll have the script in the morning.”
“Like clockwork, baby.”
“You know it.”

These guys should be struggling to get their jokes published in Reader’s Digest, but no; they’re living large off syndication rights galore! …Amazing!

What I’m leading into is that you can never account for people’s taste. One man’s garbage is another man’s (or little girl's) entertainment. And that counts for a lot.

Some people in the publishing business never thought that John Grisham had a snowball’s chance of becoming a literary superpower. Every one of his work’s grammatical, syntax, and plot problems were scrutinized to the N’th degree, and these powers-that-be in the book biz held the poor man in derision.

Well, as you may or may not know, he sold the movie rights to his second novel, The Firm, for a cool six-hundred grand and went to the bank laughing. And, of course, that was just the beginning of Mr. Grisham’s career.

I’ve read his work, and it does lack certain elements of elegance and style, but you know what? Readers are more interested in story. The story will always reign supreme over the tools you use to tell it. If you listen to most rock and roll songs, you’ll discover that there’s basically three chords that guitar player’s use… all the time. In music, the song reigns supreme. Who cares how many damned chords are being played, right?

John Grisham told the story of a twelve year old black girl being raped by a couple of red-neck hillbillies. Pretty scandalous territory, huh? Well, the little black girl’s dad goes to the court house and shoots the two red-necks after they’re picked up by the black sheriff, and is eventually defended by the protagonist of the story. Pretty tantalizing stuff, eh? Next, enter the Ku Klux Klan, burning crosses and planting bombs under the protagonist’s house. Woaw! Right? You’ve got a crackling yarn of a page turner here if ever I’ve heard of one! Whether the story teller is a master writer or not becomes a moot point once you get into the fast-paced action.

Sure, you’ve got to be able to write so that people can understand stage direction, dialogue, and so forth; but with a story that hot, who’s gonna’ hold a run-on sentence against the creator of this tale?

Again, the story reigns supreme.

So be encouraged whoever you are out there. Be encouraged because within you there may be a story (or a library van load of stories) that will thrill your audience. Work at telling your stories clearly, for sure, but work harder at creating a whopper of a tale. The telling of it will come.

I’ve read one author recently whose work is superb. I imagine this person sitting in a mahogany encrusted writing nook overlooking a New England shore line, on an antique cherry wood desk, using a quill instead of a computer to write with… in calligraphy. This person’s prose is elegant; style… flawless. But the stories I’ve read are as boring as watching paint dry. It’s a really pretty shade of paint, (and the gallon must have cost close to fifty dollars), but it's still just drying paint. These stories had no “bang!” to make my synapses fire, nobody was in mortal peril. Jane rode a thoroughbred through the woods for the first time; Maurice learned to trust in a dove who was really his reincarnated grandfather… stuff like that. I mean, dress her up how you like, that cow is not going to dance.

It is extremely important to take your writing seriously. That means pay attention to details like grammar, context, plot movement, timing... everything. But instead of imagining that you're writing for your tough-as-nails high school english teacher, imagine that you're telling a really cool story to a group of close friends.

Yes, I do believe that WHAT YOU WRITE is more important than HOW YOU WRITE IT. I'm sure that Doctor Lejuene (MY hard-nosed english teacher) will disagree, but you know what? I'm not writing for her. I'm writing for people out there who want to read a well-thought-out, entertaining bit of fiction.
And I'm writing for me.

Remember... the story will always reign supreme over the tools you use to tell it. And given the choice, I would rather struggle to tell a good story than learn to tell a dull story well.