Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow!

The year is going, let him go,

Ring out the false, ring in the true!

– Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Tennyson was right, you know. The year is going, let it go. But what about the rest of it? 'Ring out the false, ring in the true'? Easier said than done.

One of the world's most wearying assumptions is that you can make up an arbitrary holiday – in midwinter, say, or spring, or fall – draw a line under the calendar, and start over. You can't, of course. All you can do is to accept what you can't change, and keep on keeping on. Which is not to say that these periods of reassessment aren't useful. They are. But you can drive yourself crazy with 'to-do' lists and resolutions. Cut it out. Recognise the phenomenon, and move on.

What help can we draw from this for our writing? For one thing, we could try to draw on experience and come up with new strategies for getting at what we want to say, rather than being forced-choiced into the same-old, same-old. Ringing out the false sounds like a really good idea at this point. But how in the world do we do it?

Recently, I've been paying attention to writers – print, online, and drama media alike – who seem to have done this. And I've noticed a trick we might be able to use. It's a matter of thinking one step ahead, and around one more corner. If we can pull it off, we might just get somewhere surprising.

Change the Conversation

I don't know if you follow the US TV series Mad Men. The show creates a sort of ongoing serial novel – rather like what Mr Dickens used to write – about advertising executives in New York City in the 1960s. The story parallels historical events, but concentrates on the work of these ad men, and their often very messy personal lives.

The anti-hero(?) of this story is a man called Don Draper. He's called Don Draper, but that isn't his real name. Back in the Korean War, Dick Whitman took on another man's identity. One doubts whether most of the audience could pronounce 'Martin Guerre', but this character is Martin Guerre. He's taken on a dead comrade's life. He gets some help in this from Draper's widow, increasing the connection to the original story.

Draper is the perfect ad man. He articulates the strategy of the 1960s thus: 'If you don't like what they're saying, change the conversation'. He's got a point, you know. If we aren't getting anywhere with our stories, maybe we're telling the wrong stories. Let's change the conversation.

How do you do that? One way would be to change the focus of your narrative. Can't get people to see both sides of an issue? Change the main character. Shift the focus to another side of the story. Let's take an example from Mr Dickens.

In A Tale of Two Cities, Dickens wanted to get his readers to understand the complexity of the French Revolution. Of course, he knew British readers weren't going to get all excited about a story set entirely in France. So he used a dual focus – the two cities of London and Paris. He compared and contrasted for all he was worth. But he went farther than that.

Dickens changed the conversation. Instead of contrasting British and French attitudes toward government, he moved his characters between the two worlds, and set up a conversation between them. By the time we're finished with that book, we don't know which is more pathetic, the British legal system, or the French. But we do know where we feel safe. (Surprising how little has changed in a couple of centuries, isn't it?) Dickens accomplishes this by giving us readers a unique shift in perspective. Whereas the characters can't always understand each other, we understand everybody, because Dickens is translating.

Madame Defarge's dark eyes followed her through this rapid movement, and rested on her when it was finished. Miss Pross had nothing beautiful about her; years had not tamed the wildness, or softened the grimness, of her appearance; but, she too was a determined woman in her different way, and she measured Madame Defarge with her eyes, every inch.

"You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer," said Miss Pross, in her breathing. "Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman."

Madame Defarge looked at her scornfully, but still with something of Miss Pross's own perception that they two were at bay. She saw a tight, hard, wiry woman before her, as Mr. Lorry had seen in the same figure a woman with a strong hand, in the years gone by. She knew full well that Miss Pross was the family's devoted friend; Miss Pross knew full well that Madame Defarge was the family's malevolent enemy.

"On my way yonder," said Madame Defarge, with a slight movement of her hand towards the fatal spot, "where they reserve my chair and my knitting for me, I am come to make my compliments to her in passing. I wish to see her."

"I know that your intentions are evil," said Miss Pross, "and you may depend upon it, I'll hold my own against them."

– Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

You see? Dickens changed the conversation. It's not about who is right, and who is wrong, in a conventional sense. It's about what you understand of the motivations on both sides. In the novel, we are well aware of Therese Defarge's reasons for wanting revenge. On some level, we can sympathise. Therese was the victim of monstrous injustice. On the other hand, we're also in sympathy with Lucy Manette Darnay. After all, she was also a victim of this same corrupt system. As readers, we don't want Lucy and her young daughter to become further victims of this cycle of violence.

Enter Miss Pross. She could have been a bystander, but she isn't. She works for Lucy, but she thinks of the young mother as her own child. She'll move heaven and earth to save that family. (Read on to see what happens, if you don't already know.) Miss Pross is what changes the conversation. She's refocusing our attention from the French Revolution/British Parliamentary system to a topic of discussion both more immediate and personal and, at the same time, more universal: the human cost of historical developments.

Which, by the way, is what Dickens has been hammering on about for hundreds of pages now. Get it? He's changed the conversation. Remember how he started the book? 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…' Yadda yadda. History. How does he end? ''Tis a far, far better thing I do…' From the global to the personal. He's changed the conversation.

Working Around the Problem

Another long TV serial novel I'm currently studying is called The West Wing. It's a delightful story. Personally, I wish I lived in that parallel universe, the one in which Jed Barlet is President of the US. He's got the best qualities of every US president in history, and an irrepressible sense of humour. I love the guy.

The great thing about The West Wing, though, is not the way actor Martin Sheen 'acts presidential'. It's the way the writers have found clever strategies that demonstrate ways in which we could unlock the log jams of our legistlative system. For example, in the episode I watched last night, a group of Congressmen hid out in the Vice President's office all night, just to show up for an important vote – thus foiling the scheme of the House Speaker. It was elegant, and made us think about what we're really trying to accomplish in this rattletrap republic.

Dickens did that, too. One of the first major storylines in A Tale of Two Cities concerns the unfair trial of a French immigrant, Charles Evremonde. The man is obviously being railroaded by the Regency version of Homeland Security. What does Dickens do? He hands Sydney Carton a clever courtroom strategy for getting his client off.

Later, of course, Carton finds an even cleverer strategy for saving Evremonde's life yet again. This time, it requires a much larger sacrifice. Dickens has our attention. Once he's changed the conversation, he leads us to expect new ideas. And he never disappoints. That's why that book is on the Classics shelf, folks. It's also why, if there's a Classics shelf for TV shows, The West Wing and Mad Men will be on it, too.

Can we do this? Sure we can. It will take some lateral thinking on our part. Remember the old saying? If the only tool you have is a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail. Remember that you have other tools. Shift your focus. Change the conversation. And try new strategies to get your message across.

Thanks for listening. I hope the new year brings you joy, and many, many new ideas.

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

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