Tag: prose

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The Satisfaction Line vs the Finish Line

At the weekend, I was talking with other writers, which led to a discussion about narrative structure.

Unlike a theatre or film script, there is no standard or accepted narrative structure for a short story. While this can be freeing for an author, my experience also tells me it can lead to a disappointing story without a decent resolution. I’ve had some difficulty articulating exactly what makes a satisfying story, but I’m working on a way of explaining it.

Bear in mind that I’m still working out some details of this metaphor, but below are my initial thoughts.

I’ve started thinking of a story as having two endings. The first ending is where the author stops the narrative. The second ending is the point at which the reader feels satisfied; this will vary from person to person, of course. That second ending is the Satisfaction Line.

Ideally, the Satisfaction Line should come before the end of the narrative, as close as possible, but never after it. Note that the two examples I’m about to give both happen to come from The New Yorker, and the website often arbitrarily says you can’t read any more articles without paying.

The first one is The Lottery by Shirley Jackson. For me, the Satisfaction Line comes a few paragraphs before the end. Structurally, it’s one of my favourite short stories.

The second example is the notorious Cat Person by Kristen Roupenian from 2017. The story ends with a string of phone messages, which I found vaguely threatening but hardly a resolution. My own Satisfaction Line might have been crossed if the author had continued to a more dramatic ending.

I’m going to park this thought for the moment with the intention of returning at some point in the future, however distant.

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When Non-Fiction Might be Fiction

When I was growing up, I ploughed most of Roald Dahl’s output and selected titles from Enid Blyton. Additionally, I kept returning to a children’s publisher called Antelope Books – not to be confused with the political publisher Antelope Hill – which would feature works by authors such as Penelope Lively and Anne Fine.

But as much as I enjoyed novels, I definitely spent more time reading factual volumes. On visits to the library, I’d stay around the non-fiction section, finding books about subjects like why the weather acts like it does, how nuclear energy works, what happens at an airport, and so much more.

I owned a lot of books as well. Easily the best one was a thick A4-sized Reader’s Digest collection called How Is It Done? with simple explainers about the logistics of staging an Olympic Games, how a building is demolished with explosives, how and why Christo and Jeanne-Claude would wrap landscapes in material, &c. From what I can gather, no updated version has ever been released.

All the non-fiction books I’ve mentioned so far have one factor in common: they were from reliable sources. They would typically be assembled by established publishers and/or have a bibliography for further reading. Even today, my non-fiction YouTube subscriptions are carefully curated from established channels and/or who link sources in the description.

However, I owned some books that played fast and loose with such standards. The pages would often contain lists of nothing but facts – and I use that word loosely – along the lines of:

  • From 1 June to 30 July 1987, a schoolgirl completely wore out a pair of shoes.
  • In 1970, Clive Bunyan robbed a shop in Scarborough. He hid his face with a motorcycle helmet but was caught because his name was printed in large letters on the front.
  • There is an African village where the women have to catch a once-weekly bus to go shopping, but it stops for only three minutes.

Looking back, I can imagine the authors going to the pub, sinking five beers and writing the most outlandish nonsense they could get away with.

However, while young readers tend not to have the type of critical thinking skills that older ones might, I was always happy to take what I read at face value and be entertained by all these ridiculous nuggets.

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A Weekend of Reading

I’m in a few different literary groups that meet on a monthly or weekly basis. There is also one that’s active only a few times a year, set up by a pal who is a particularly enthusiastic reader. The group has come to be known as the Seasonal Readathon.

From its inception until earlier this year, its format had been largely the same: we would reserve a Saturday or a Sunday and spend time reading between the hours of 8am and 8pm. The leader would also give out optional prompts every hour, ranging from ‘Predict what happens next in your book’ to ‘Don’t forget to eat dinner’.

The most recent event took place on Saturday 24 June, with a radical difference. We would still spend 12 hours reading, but these would be spread over two days without necessarily having prompts every hour. As it was summer and unusually warm, we also arranged a meet-up in a nearby park.

Initial feedback suggests that while members didn’t manage a full 12 hours of reading, it still spurred them on to read more than they otherwise would have. Also, the slower pace seems to have been a hit with those who were working or had other difficulties being present for the usual 8am to 8pm period. For my own part, Saturday was booked solid, so it helped to have the Sunday reserved as well.

Our next readathon will be in autumn. As this is Scotland, an open-air meet-up is unlikely at that point, but there remains the possibility to congregate indoors and carry on our reading.

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Using the Correct Template

Every month, I attend a poetry circle where each member writes a piece to be discussed at the next meeting.

When I submit work, I generally place it on the same template, in Courier New font, leaving room at the top for my name, address and line count. This month, I decided to deviate from the format.

I used the confrontation between Craig Phillips and Nick Bateman in Series 1 of Big Brother as inspiration for the poem in question. As such, the piece needed to be laid out in a way that suggested a relentless pace.

The most obvious step was to write the text in a column with no more than four words per line. I then changed the typeface. Some experimentation found Bahnschrift SemiBold Condensed to be most suitable, as it’s narrow but still chunky enough to read comfortably. I don’t particularly like centred justification as it’s more difficult for the eye to follow it down. As a compromise, I adjusted the left-hand indent to around 85mm from the edge of the page, placing the text roughly down the centre line.

The two templates above are merely examples. There are countless variations available online, each with their own benefits and pitfalls. The most important factor is to decide which one is suitable for your purposes.

When sending work to a publisher, this will be dictated by the submission guidelines. Yes, these can be annoying to follow, but a consistent format ensures the editors know exactly where to look. So pick your template wisely.

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Timing is Everything

Regular readers will know it’s no secret that I don’t make a full-time living from writing. I have an office job as my main income.

When I moved to my current job, I found out there was someone who knows me through one of my writing groups, so we always chat in the canteen. After a while, I realised I only ever saw him in the canteen and never the wider office. I jokingly asked him last week, ‘Do you actually have a desk, or do you just work in here?’

He explained that he uses the Pomodoro method, which involves working on an activity for 25 minutes, then taking a five-minute break. It was developed by Francesco Cirillo, who named it after the Italian word for ‘tomato’ because that was the shape of his timer.

In the case of my colleague, he goes for a cup of tea during each break. It might work well in his role, but I don’t know how I would adapt it to mine.

Outside of the office, though, it’s a technique I use when I want to focus on a piece of writing. It must be stated that 25 minutes isn’t quite long enough for me, so I prefer the double Pomodoro method: 50 minutes of activity and a 10-minute break.

There are also plenty of alternatives to using a kitchen timer, such as a background noise generator that can simulate rainfall for as long as you like.

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Writing Outdoors

I’ve always regarded writing as a strictly indoor activity. On account of the unusually warm weather over the weekend, however, I decided to try it outside again. It did not go well.

Despite being in the shade and having my computer screen brightness set to 100%, it was difficult to see what was on the screen as I finished off a project. When the battery ran low and the screen automatically dimmed, it then became near-impossible to see the mouse and cursor.

At that point, I decided to switch to writing a letter by hand. There have been times when the wind has blown my papers all over the place, rainwater has ruined them, or it was simply been too cold to hold a pen. That said, I had more success there. The only real obstacle was the sun glaring on the white paper, so I had to wear shades.

I don’t foresee too many more sunny days over the coming weeks, but if there is, I think a better solution would be to sit inside, open the door, and let the outdoors come in.

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Janae and Jenny Join a Gym

On this blog, I don’t generally post poems or stories. Instead, I look mainly at what’s behind the writing. There’s a simple reason for this. Once a piece has been published online, most publishers won’t consider it. After all, how would they expect to sell books if the text can be found on a website?

I’m today making an exception because I’m unlikely to send the featured story to any publications. It’s dedicated to a poet pal called Ross McCleary, who – incidentally – has been published by Stewed Rhubarb.

Every day, Ross features running jokes on his Twitter account. These are too numerous and nuanced to discuss in detail, but one of these is a weekly critique of the You Be The Judge section of The Guardian, where readers are invited to voice their opinions on an issue dividing a friendship or relationship.

On Friday, it was a couple who attend the same gym but have very different attitudes to working out. I quipped to Ross that I could write a short story with the title Janae and Jenny Join a Gym. He replied simply that he wouldn’t read that.

So for the benefit of everyone else in the world, here’s that story.

The story

It was straight out of a romcom, the way they met. The short version is that Jenny Aitkin and Janae Atkin both began working at the same time in separate departments of a multinational company. After months of each accidentally receiving emails for the wrong person, they finally met at the Christmas party, had a good old laugh about the situation – and quickly became a couple.

That was a year ago. I discreetly checked the calendar. Whatever had initially attracted them must have long worn off because they’d now spent half their relationship coming to me.

‘Your trouble is,’ said Jenny, interrupting herself to turn to me, ‘her trouble is, every time we go, Janae is constantly scrolling on her phone. We’re there to work out.’

‘I pace myself. What’s the point in burning yourself out on the warm-up?’

‘We were in a high-impact class.’

‘I told you I wasn’t ready for that.’

I raised my hand. ‘Hang on. What did the instructor say about this?’

‘Nothing,’ said Janae, ‘just got on with the class.’

‘But the other people, the other regulars, they’ve all noticed. They’re full of praise about what I’m doing, but she wouldn’t know that because she never pays any attention, too busy taking pictures and… God knows what.’

‘All right,’ I said, ‘let’s not throw around accusations. Let’s drill into this a little further.’

I asked Janae to talk freely without interruption under the pretence of giving her side of the story. In reality, it was a distraction. Over the last six months, I’d made a couple of key observations about the relationship between Jenny and Janae. Firstly, to my mind, they acted like an animated DVD menu. Unless someone actively pushed a button to interrupt it, you would hear the same drivel coming back around every couple of minutes.

I nodded tactically at her version of events. Speaking by herself, she always stuttered quite a bit, as though she was missing the regular counter-argument from Jenny.

‘Go on,’ I encouraged, after a particularly long pause.

‘Wait,’ said Jenny, ‘where the hell is all this coming from? This is all out of the blue.’

‘Let her speak,’ I soothed.

Which brings me to my second key observation. In older couples, it’s common to see a high level of co-dependency. Yet these two were both under 30 and both in the unwavering mindset that a couple must do everything together. Of the many ethical issues associated with being a counsellor, none of my practice colleagues ever discussed the issue of keeping a couple together for the sake of repeat business, even if they were each other’s biggest problem. In fact, it would be out of order for me to suggest splitting up.

So I’d encouraged them to join a gym, suggesting they might benefit from spending 30 minutes – maybe an hour – on different equipment, then exchanging notes later on. I knew full well they couldn’t, although I didn’t predict how wildly different their attitudes would be.

Speaking of partnerships that weren’t working, I’d wanted to break away from this practice for a couple of years now, run things my way instead of gaining approval the other counsellors. I saw an opportunity here. For the last six months, every penny I’d received from these clients was paid into a savings account by standing order.

If they stayed together long enough, they were going to buy me a deposit on my own business premises. I’d already made enquiries about reserving the business name: Russ Norloch: Relationship Counselling.

I noticed we were less than five minutes from the end of the session. It was time to play one of my favourite moves: the holibobs card.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘you’ve been a couple for a year now. It occurs to me you’ve not been away together yet, am I right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘May I suggest a short Christmas break somewhere nice – a long break if you can spare the time. I think you both deserve one.’

‘Oh we do,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ve got trip ideas coming out my ears.’

Janae turned to face her. ‘Really? That’s news to me.’

With six more months of arguments virtually guaranteed, I said, ‘Have a think about where you want to go, and I’ll see you both at the next session.’

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Lights, Camera, Industrial Action

Last week, the Writers Guild of America (WGA) trade union began industrial action, shutting down production on many high-profile TV shows.

The union leaders’ demands are complex, but they revolve around issues such as contract lengths, payments from streaming media, and the use of artificial intelligence software. Here’s a background of what’s happened so far.

This strike is particularly disruptive to talk show hosts like as Jimmy Kimmel, yet it also affects some scripted dramas like Stranger Things, where rewrites are commonly made on the fly.

Of course, this doesn’t imply that writers are the most important members of a film set. Rather, they’re part of the well-oiled machine of production. Take one part out and it begins to fail.

By comparison, a strike by the actors’ union Equity could inflict just as much chaos as the WGA has done. In UK terms, the Bectu trade union represents non-performance roles in broadcasting, so a member walkout could cripple the BBC.

At the time of writing, we don’t know how long this strike might endure. The action taken in 2007 lasted for 14 weeks. This time around, with 97.8% of its 11,500 members voting in favour, we might not be seeing much Saturday Night Live for many weeks to come.

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Rubbish + Time = Cult Classic

Yesterday afternoon, I decided it was time to watch Spice World. It tells a fictional tale of the events leading up to a concert at the Royal Albert Hall, comprising many surreal moments and fantasy sequences, not to mention self-parody by the band members.

Let’s be clear, this is not a great picture if you like a plot. The disjointed story interweaves a crew trying to make a fictional movie about the band, an entirely separate crew trying to make a fly-on-the-wall documentary, and a newspaper mogul trying to usurp their success. It instead helps to think of the film as a series of loosely-related sketches.

That’s before we arrive at the dozen or so celebrity cameos, some slotted clumsily into a screenplay written by Kim Fuller, brother of the band manager Simon Fuller. As such, there is a lot of self-indulgence here.

Despite this, the film has become, according to one source, the highest-grossing musical film of all time. The initial negative reactions from its 1997 release tend now to be coloured by nostalgia. The Odeon even held limited screenings to mark its 20th anniversary.

It’s even been suggested that some studios make intentionally bad films in a go-for-broke fashion. Sometimes it’s to keep the rights to an idea – or sometimes they reckon the gamble can pay off. The 2003 Tommy Wisaeu film The Room is a case study all of its own.

If there’s any sort of lesson to be taken from this, I think it’s that writers sometimes need to worry less about the quality of work and focus on simply producing it. If you want it to exist in the world, sometimes you need to make it yourself. In Spice World, someone took arguably the most famous singers of the era, wrote them into a rather silly script, and we’re still talking about it more than 25 years later.

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Notes of Note

Jack Kerouac wrote his novel On the Road in the era of the typewriter. The trouble was that had a story to tell and didn’t want to be interrupted every five minutes to replace the sheet of paper.

His solution was to buy a roll of teletype paper, giving 120 feet of paper in a continuous scroll. That’s the equivalent length of approximately 123 sheets of A4. The novel was reportedly written in three weeks while his wife supplied him with coffee and Benzedrine.

The entire scroll was displayed at the British Museum in 2012. Had it been written today, he likely would have used a computer, robbing popular culture of this artefact.

I’m reminded of this stream-of-consciousness approach as I look at a Simplenote entry I’ve had for the past two weeks or so. Coming home from a poetry gig, I thought of a few lines of verse, adding a few more lines shortly afterwards. Then yesternight, I added a lot more lines, with only minimal editing.

In terms of plot structure, it’s very disjointed and I don’t intend to resolve this. I’m also satisfied with the opening lines and the closing lines, yet I feel it needs something more in the middle to bulk it up from the 23 lines it currently contains and I can’t tell yet what its final form is likely to be.

While it’s unlikely this short note will end up like On the Road, I do have one precedent for a project that grew out of all recognition. I started off writing a one-line gag about how we fictionally used to order YouTube videos by post. By the time I’d finished editing, it had ended up as a short story with more than 1,700 words.