Don’t just do something, stand there

A new air, a fresh day, the first narcissi and a sense of spring.

The Write with Jericho course no longer occupies these emails – hooray – but it’s still there for Premium Members to enjoy at any time.

And (’pon my word – how we do spoil those fellows) we have a whole new course for Premium Members to feast on: the Crime Writing for Beginners course.

If you’re not a Premium Member, that course is available for a mere £99. But why on earth would you pay that? Become a Premium Member and you can get it for free, tra-la.

But enough of Mere Commerce! The Muse summons us.

Thought One: televising a novel

Now, when my first Fiona novel was adapted for TV, the production company hired a fancy screenwriter to produce a script. In an early draft of that script, there was a direction which ran something like this:

“Fiona remembers her harrowing years in hospital as a teenager.”

To be clear, that wasn’t introducing a kind of flashback moment, where we saw images of the hospital, Fiona as teenager, things that were harrowing, etc. It was just an acting direction. Hey, Sophie Rundle, here’s what we want you to show in your face.

The excellent Ms Rundle was not quite sure how to deliver that moment, and the direction was altered.

Thought Two: novelising a screenplay

OK. Hold that thought, and let’s turn our attention to this (lightly abbreviated) chunk from the script of Casablanca:

Ilsa: But what about us?

Rick: We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have – we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.

Ilsa: When I said I would never leave you.

Rick: And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow […]

[Ilsa lowers her head and begins to cry]

Rick: Now, now…

[Rick gently places his hand under her chin and raises it so their eyes meet]

Rick: Here’s looking at you, kid.

Now, if I’m honest, I’m never sure that Casablanca deserves its haloed status as Greatest Screenplay Ever Written. But it’s clearly a more than decent script and this is THE key moment from that script.

And obviously a novel can in principle handle such moments. But not (I hope) like this:

Ilsa said, ‘But what about us?’

‘We’ll always have Paris,’ he answered. ‘We didn’t have – we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.’

‘When I said I would never leave you.’

‘And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow […]’

Ilsa lowered her head and began to cry.

‘Now, now,’ he said, and raised her chin with his hand until their eyes met. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

That’s the exact same scene, no? Same dialogue, same actions, same content, same everything.

And – the scene is terrible. It’s not moving. It feels perfunctory and limited and mechanical and pointless.

OK, hold that thought too.

(You now have two thoughts in hand, right? One about Sophie Rundle and a difficult-to-execute stage direction. Two about novelising Casablanca. And, OK, you want to go and check out that crime writing course, so you have three thoughts to hold onto. Plus, you’re a writer, so you quite likely also have a cup of tea. Hold steady.)

Thought three: the magic of the reaction shot

Now someone somewhere once said something like this:

The greatest special effect in cinema is the ability to have the star’s face in close-up on a giant screen.

Few of us get to hang out in real life with (say) an Ingrid Bergman at her peak of beauty and acting prowess. But even if we did, normal etiquette would mean we couldn’t just stare. And even if we did, she’d presumably be life-size, not large enough to fill the screen of whatever cinema we might happen to be in.

But screenwriters do get to use Ms Bergman’s face. And that face means that the little screenplay moment works perfectly. Our poor novelist – who had no beautiful giant face to play with – wrote a drab and forgettable version of the same thing.

So what to do?

Well, it all lies in the reaction shot.

On screen, we just need to see a charismatic face doing some Acting. “I’m not just sad, I’m noble and sad. In fact, I’m noble and sad and regretful and loving (and also beautiful and perfectly lit) and you will never forget this moment.”

In the novel, we can’t do that, but we have something more powerful. The interior reaction shot. Cinema can’t handle that Sophie Rundle stage direction – not without some very clunky backstory footage. But a novelist can do so with ease. You want to convey a complex reaction to something? Convey it, buddy. Want to reflect on the past? Go right ahead. Want to tease out the difference between this kind of noble-but-sad feeling and some other sort? You tease away.

And, OK, all this is a long way to say that in a lot of the work I see, writers are too busy rushing forward to deliver a proper reaction shot.

But cinema doesn’t make that mistake: the whole emotional punch of cinema is delivered in two steps:

1. Concoct a plot and characters that result in a character feeling something powerful
2. Show the character having that feeling – up close, on screen.

Your job as a novelist is the same:

1. Concoct a plot and characters that result in a character feeling something powerful
2. Show the character having that feeling – by jumping into their mind and heart and telling us what’s there.

Don’t go to all the hassle of (1) without collecting the revenues that you get from (2). That’s where the gold lies.

A word from our writing guru

I’ll end this cinema-themed email with a quote from that fountain of wise writing advice, Clint Eastwood. He once said:

My old drama coach used to say, ‘Don’t just do something, stand there.’ Gary Cooper wasn’t afraid to do nothing.

That’s my advice to you. Let your novel stand there a moment. Let your camera rest on the character. What are they thinking / feeling?

Tell us and tell us properly.

Only then should you move on.

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FEEDBACK FRIDAY

Nice obvious task for Feedback Friday this week:

• Find a scene from your novel when you deliver a proper reaction shot. Max of 200-250 words. Include just enough that we know what your character is reacting to – then show us the character’s reaction.

Once you’re ready, post yours here.

That’s it. And I bet that some of you realise you often don’t have reaction shots that last more than a sentence or so. If so, try beefing that moment up and seeing if it works better.

***

That’s it from me. Half-term is over: a relief.

The school has given the kids a project to build a model Viking longship in 3-D. My older daughter has built a ship in papier-maché that will be a full three meters long, by the time its dragon figurehead is finished. And when I say that she has built it, I mean of course that I built it with the most minimal assistance from her.

Til soon.

Harry