Under the Influence of: Mediated Love Songs

Here's Where to Go When You're Stuck

Whenever You’re Stuck Writing Something, Ask Yourself the Following:

• Who is telling the story? Who’s the point-of-view?

• How are they telling it? Meaning, via a diary? Letters? What medium?

• Why are they telling the story?

• Who is the teller telling the story to?

As Tom Put It ...

Per Tom Spanbauer, his teacher Gordon Lish wanted to know the context of a good story. Per Tom the modern reader knows that every story is told with an agenda. At the very least, you must provide an arbitrary reason why the story exists. And since you’re compelled to add that layer, why not make the best of it?

I’m always going to harp on the idea that a story should distort language. A good song distorts language. We don’t sing the way we talk, so why must a story adhere to some writerly voice and structure?

Which Brings Us to Music Videos!

Let’s look at what I’ll call “mediated” love songs. By this, I mean love songs sung to a third-party. Sung to a telephone operator or a letter carrier.

Let’s start with Johnny Rivers.

Oh, geez, I love The Marvelettes.

And who can forget Jim Croce.

And just because telephone booths are almost extinct, Kon Kan. Sorry, the extended dance mix is all I could find. A good story should be like any good mix, jump to 1:10 if you’re short on time. But note how just telling the story into a phone gives it enough context to seem more “real.” The point is, a story should be told to someone, not just told.

Why Bother?

Because plot and voice aren’t enough. Both get tedious if you rely on them too much, and a cut to context provides a respite. Context will answer the lingering questions about the storyteller’s agenda. Context helps buttress the “reality” of the story. Think of The Blair Witch Project and all the other “found footage” devices in films like Paranormal Activity.

The perennial added benefit of context is that it can dictate your transitions. Think of the in-flight recorder I used in Survivor, and how it broke the story into four organic parts as the four jetliner engines flame out. Note how in old-school telegrams the sender inserted the word (stop) between sentences. Just by dropping in (stop) you’ll set a story in the past. Any defunct technology—smoke signals, semaphore flags, Friendster—will set your story in a distinct past. Morse Code, for example, worked for me in the story Inclinations.

“His prayers consisted of a click and a double-click, a triple-click, a repeated click-click-clicking.  At the same time, a tiny red light flashed, and he pointed it into the darkness where he hoped the Rock Hudsons would be lurking.  He flashed them long and short strobes of red laser light.  Dot, dash, double-dot, triple-dash, dibble, drabble, dribble, dot, dash, dot, double-dash.”

Not in a dogmatic, literal dot-and-dash translated way, but in a glancing Dot-Dot-Dibble-Dash-onomatopoeic way. It’s just a suggestion of the tech, to give the characters the authority of knowing Morse Code. And to add the texture of Dot-Dash nonsense that would break up the plot.

Context also suggests a third, not-personally involved character. The telephone operator. The florist. The letter carrier. This third party adds stress—think of the person waiting to use the phone booth in Rosemary’s Baby, and how that upped the tension. The third party can also be a foil. A stand-in for the reader.

Also, the telephone booth scene in The Hunger. Or, the telephone booth scene from Duel. A little bit of context—told to a phone operator, to a bartender—allows you to drop in some expository information. Yes, you still have to dramatize it—depict it via action in a scene—but just for the slow learners, you can confirm suspicions by stating the situation baldly to a third party. Say, a priest in Confession.

Regarding the scene in Duel, always remember, “If you want to build tension instantly, put an animal in peril.” We might not care about Dennis Weaver, but our heart goes out to the chained-up coyote.

This Will Always Save Your Work

No shit. When you’re moving too fast and get ahead of yourself, break to context. Give the story, your reader, and yourself some room to breathe. Again, don’t overuse context—think of the lady telling the story in Titanic—but a little suggestion of the medium and/or technology will pace you and your work better. And give you authority. And give your reader a different texture of information in the flow.

And in closing, there’s this. And for a treat, this. Enjoy.

When you get stuck, ask yourself the four questions above.