Writing Right with Dmitri: Getting from Here to There
Created | Updated Apr 1, 2012
Words, words, words. That's what we're made of. Herewith some of my thoughts on what we're doing with them.
Writing Right with Dmitri: Getting from Here to There
I don't know how you feel about Mystery Science Theater 3000, the Minnesota-based television series (now on DVD and Youtube) that mocks bad films. In case you're saying, 'Who? What? Why should I care?', I will explain. In this show, Joel or Mike sits with his robot friends on the Satellite of Love and watches some thrilling film, say, It Came from Beneath the Sofa (1953, starring Boom-Boom LaVey and Laurence Olivier). They talk throughout the film, making sport of the bad acting, terrible script, awful special effects, etc. They point out holes in the plot. I am informed that British audiences 'do not get' this series, so it might be an acquired taste. I mention this show because an episode I saw recently, involving a completely forgettable film which I've now forgotten, inspired what I'm going to talk about today.
Which is how to get your characters from here to there.
Oh, I remember now: the film was called Terror from the Year 5000. The bots kept making remarks about how the Terror was delayed, because a great deal of the film involved people on an island off the coast of Florida. Well, not people, really, just scientists. The old scientist, the young one (complete with Frankenstein syndrome), the old scientist's dishy but clueless daughter (it's the 1950s, when women don't understand Science Stuff like carbon dating), and the interloping outside scientist who's a rival for the affections of the dishy daughter and who points out inconvenient facts such as, 'You don't really have a licence to run a time portal'. Oh, and there's a peeping tom of a grounds keeper to round out the cast. Low-budget film. That's everybody until the Terror shows up with her tight costume and long fingernails.
One of the things the bots hate is wasted space in a story. Largely because all the actors/puppeteers are also writers for the series, and have to make up lots of jokes to cover the boring bits. Be that as it may, Crow T Robot and Tom Servo are scathing when it comes to unnecessary travel footage. When we see the hero driving along in his car, I personally am enjoying the sight of a vintage automobile which I recognise from my childhood, as I am very old now. Crow and Servo are seeing wasted space, and they complain about it.
'Oh, we'd never have known how he got to the marina,' was one quip. Later, they pretended outrage when the director left one of these out. 'Wait, wait, how did they get from the boat to the bar?' they yelled. Okay, wiseacres. But, you know, when you write a story/storyboard/script, somebody, somewhere, is making those comments. So you should probably ask them first, just to get them out of the way.
Transitions
The awkward transitions that we face in our stories fall into different categories, of which this is a partial list off the top of my head:
- Spatial transitions.
- Temporal transitions.
- Character development.
The spatial transitions are fairly obvious. If your character's apartment has a door, let him open it:
I looked upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G–, the Prefect of the Parisian police.
We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had not seen him for several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again without doing so. . . – Edgar Allan Poe, The Purloined Letter.
Notice how P–, er, I mean Mr Poe, master of narrative that he is, manages not to leave us in suspense as to the physical parameters of the characters' environment. Okay, okay, quibble about the door being 'thrown open' – who did this? Was he responsible for the damages? etc. Just notice: there was a door. It is now open. They're sitting in the dark.
If you need an upstairs and a downstairs, mention this. Don't go on and on about it. Just. . . remember to let us know.
How about time? Some people, and I've been guilty of this, rely on the three-dot transition between then and now. There are better ways to do this:
"That flagon last night," thought he, "has addled my poor head sadly!"
It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay – the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed – "My very dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me!" – Washington Irving, Rip van Winkle.
You don't need to know the plot of Rip van Winkle to realise that some time has passed here. One way or another, if your characters skip ahead in time, you've got to indicate the lapse. Remember those old black-and-white films with the calendar montages and the clocks where the hands sped around the dial? Yup, like that.
Character development can give you another kind of shift. Suppose your character has one personality, but a change in the story's circumstances has made her different. How will you indicate this to the reader? You don't have to say much. Nathaniel Hawthorne did this in his little scifi story about the woman who lost her hold on earth when she lost the only physical imperfection she had. When her scientist husband succeeds in getting rid of the birthmark on her face, this happens:
"My poor Aylmer," she repeated, with a more than human tenderness. "You have aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that with so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the best the earth could offer. Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I am dying!"
Alas! it was too true! The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery of life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in union with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark – that sole token of human imperfection – faded from her cheek, the parting breath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere, and her soul, lingering a moment near her husband, took its heavenward flight. – Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Birthmark.
Notice the phrase 'more than human'. Notice how the dialogue presents the moral before it tells us what happened. That's a pretty nifty trick.
I'm sure you can think of more examples of getting from here to there. Maybe you'll share them with the rest of us (room below). But since I've ended where I started – with mad scientists who meant well – I'll stop at this point.
I hope I didn't take too long getting there.
Writing Right with Dmitri Archive
