It’s only easy when you know how

Do you remember the Seinfeld episode called ‘The Hamptons’? The central characters are visiting friends that have recently had a baby and also at the get-together is Ben, a handsome paediatrician who describes Elaine as “breathtaking” – a compliment that utterly delights her.

Later, the guests meet their hosts’ baby and are horrified to find that the infant is remarkably ugly. Ben emphatically declares that the baby is also “breathtaking”, causing Elaine to wonder if he just applies the adjective to everyone, or whether his version of breathtaking is, in fact, a little off.

One constructive compliment I often give the writers I work with is that they are “a natural storyteller.” But occasionally, as I’m enthusiastically typing up those words into an editorial letter, that scene from Seinfeld comes back to me.

Am I like Ben the paediatrician? Am I overusing a compliment that should only be given sparingly?

I’ve decided: no. Neither am I overusing it, nor is it a compliment that should be used sparingly because storytelling isn’t something that come naturally to everyone. It’s only easy when you know how.

A man walks into a bar

Here’s an example: I’m a writer yet I’m terrible at telling anecdotes. Without fail, I lose my audience within the first few words. And this isn’t false modestly – I can literally see them, in real time, losing interest and glazing over.

These are reactions that someone who writes and edits for a living shouldn’t be causing!

I’m so bad at telling anecdotes that – being a good student – I’ve started editing myself. I no longer begin them with “I remember…” or “A friend said…” or “This one time…” I go in for the kill quicker. I start with a scene, in media res, set up a question to be answered, a hero’s quest, whatever it takes – I’m trying everything!

Allow me to point out here that, given time to craft the same anecdote on the page, I can definitely make it land, I just can’t do it live.

Because I’m not a storyteller by nature.

So, when I say it to the writers I work with, I really do mean it. I know from (embarrassing) experience that it isn’t as easy – or as natural – as it looks.

The difference between performing a story and writing a story

I have taken part in readings, as well as attending readings by other people, and in general, these are great opportunities to see how your work lands. You can see where you hook people, where you lose them, where the rhythm might be off, where a sentence can be cut – it’s a goldmine for writers who are still working on perfecting a piece.

Yet it is worth remembering that performing and writing are very different skills.

A piece of writing could be as close to perfect as anything can get, but if the delivery is off, no one will notice that. My advice is to make sure it works on the page first before worrying about how it will land with a live audience.

Building blocks

Being a good writer and being a natural storyteller aren’t mutually exclusive; both are skills that can be honed.

If you are fairly new to writing – and even if you’re not – there is always something to learn about craft. My belief, as a writer and an editor, is that there are building blocks, ingredients, or even formulas we can use to give our work direction and structure.

It’s worth investing time is knowing about these building blocks because, once they are in place, the story or piece of writing will have strong foundations, and your reader will trust you.

From there you can then roam free within those boundaries and give the writing what no other writer can: yourself.

What are some of these building blocks? Allow me to share with you my two essential touchstones for both my own writing and my editing work.

Number 1: The two plots

Every story has two structures, shoring it up.

Firstly, we have the action plot, the story’s journey, the sequence of events that moves the narrative from point A to point B.

And secondly, we have the emotion plot: the motivations behind the action, often expressed through character and theme.

Here’s an example from the film Priscilla:

Action plot only: Girl meets boy. Boy and girl fall in love. They get married, have a baby, then later break up.

There’s a clear journey there, but it isn’t enough to make a well-rounded story. So let’s see what happens when we add emotion to the action.

Action plot plus emotion plot: Girl idolises boy, who is a popstar. She has his poster on her wall, then meets him by chance and they fall in love. She is very young and he is older, famous and powerful. She becomes controlled by him, made in his image. She begins to question her choices – or lack of choices – breaks up with him, takes baby, finds herself.

Can you see the difference?

With the two building blocks of emotion and action in place, the narrative has real shape. More importantly, it becomes a story we want to read – a story in which we might find something of ourselves reflected.

Number 2: The useful and the beautiful

A second, related building block is one I call “the useful and the beautiful”. This applies more at a line level although it also dovetails neatly into the two plots as well:

Remove anything from the page that is neither useful nor beautiful.

This concept originally comes from the furniture designer William Morris. Although he was a craftsman, he was also a poet, and I first heard the quote below from him in a creative writing class:

 “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”

The teacher followed up by saying we should apply the same principle to our work, removing anything that is neither useful to the story and its forward motion (action) nor beautiful to read (emotion).

As a writer, this idea has always helped keep me on track when I get lost in the word soup. And as an editor too: that rhythm, that balance, is something I’m always on the lookout for – helping writers calibrate where necessary.

So, for those of you, like me, who don’t feel like natural storytellers, remember: there are building blocks that can help us manoeuvre the right structure into place.

How can I help?

Perhaps you have tons of ideas but are struggling with execution. If that’s the case, don’t lose heart – remember me and my anecdotes?!

That’s where an editor can help: guiding you and your story towards the shape and structure that best suits it, while helping you develop the confidence to make the writing your own.

If you are ready to go on that journey, please contact me.