Amazon Prime is currently touting its epic adaptation of Philip K Dick's The Man in the High Castle. Apparently, the filmmakers and viewers believe the main point of Dick's Hugo Award-winning alternate history novel was the same as that of the movie It Happened Here, in other words, a cautionary tale about how easily fascism could have won. (Me, I thought it was about other things, such as the nature of reality, but hey, I could be wrong.)

Modern audiences are abuzz about the upcoming series, we gather, but younger people are puzzled by some of the history. A Youtube contributor provided a helpful synopsis of the historical changes involved in this alternate timeline, in which the Axis Powers take over the planet in the 1940s. One commenter said, 'Well, it all sort of made sense until the Germans drained the Mediterranean.'

Er, yeah. PK Dick is like that. Doesn't know when to quit.

PK Dick had a runaway imagination sometimes. Okay, all the time. Do you? Were you mad at novelist Thomas Harris for letting Hannibal Lecter lobotomise one of the Bad Guys at the dinner table…or did you think it was a cool plot twist? Have you read all fourteen Oz books? (The rainbow has a daughter, Polychrome, and there's a magic cookie pan and all sorts of wonders. Just the thing when you've seen all the Hobbit movies too many times.) How many Doctor Who novelisations do you own?

Writing fiction involves creating parallel universes – the ones that exist on the page, and in writers' and readers' brains. It's important to create parallel realities that make some sort of sense, and have enough detail to generate space for the story. That's only fair. But how much is enough? Is it possible to create too much detail, to become so background-obsessed that you're in danger of attempting to construct a map on a scale of one-to-one? I would argue that not only is this possible, but it's in serious danger of happening with modern TV and movie franchises. Not merely because there's a huge market for this sort of thing, but also because, let's face it, the creators of such drivel…er, delightful fantasy…are fans themselves. They really get into the trivia.

I'm not immune. At my house last night, we rewatched the Doctor Who episodes about the Family of Blood. I remembered reading that novel (blush) when it was written about the Seventh Doctor, and this morning, I actually looked up a review of the episode that compared the two. How geeky is that? And I found out that in that episode, the Doctor left a video message for Martha Jones, asking her not to let him eat pears while he had amnesia. Because he didn't like them. But this information is only available in the supplementary material, because in the scene, the video was speeded up. And then in the episode itself, the amnesiac Doctor is seen eating a pear…which is very droll as an inside joke…

So I'm not pointing fingers. I indulge, like the rest of you. But how much is too much? How far into your alternate reality do you go before you're really over the line into obsessive detail? I would argue that you've gone too far when the detail swamps the message of the story. Or when you're making the reader/audience do too much work before they understand your tale.

Rule of thumb: If you're using the first two pages of a story, or the first chapter of a book, to do the set-up, you're taking too long. Work more subtly. Use that set-up time to sneak in hints of the story to come. And yes, I've got an example from Doctor Who.

Earlier in the same season I was watching, the storytellers introduce Martha Jones, an awesomely intelligent medical student. When we first see Martha, she's walking to work at a brisk pace, while receiving call after call on her mobile. The short walk to her hospital establishes the following: Martha lives in London, her parents are well-to-do and divorced, her father has taken up with a blonde bimbo, her sister is a young professional and her brother a 21-year-old student, Martha's hospital is a high-rise building close to the Wheel, there's something creepy going on involving men in motorcycle helmets¹, and she's about to encounter the Doctor. Wow. Packing a lot into about two minutes. That's how to do it.

NEVER demand of your audience, 'Here. Memorise the rules of my personal invented universe. Then I'll tell you a story.' Don't explain the fictional world and then start the action. Unfold both sets of information at once. This is a basic technique, and it's not optional. It separates serious writing from fanfic. Believe me.

Does any of this apply to factual writing? Oh, lord, yes. Just think about it. What makes you read some Guide Entries while leaving others alone? It isn't ONLY length, number of tables, or frequency of references to Pittsburgh/the Isle of Wight/bondage ponies. Oh, no. It's how far you have to wade through the set-up to get to the story. Making sure the audience stays awake while you set the scene in your saga of anti-nuclear activism/battleship sinking/amazing bread baking is just as tricky sometimes as getting Martha Jones to meet the Doctor. Both operations require finesse.

What's a good way to improve your technique? Re-reading. Or re-watching your favourite well-written material. After you've enjoyed the book or show, go back and read/watch again. This time, analyse the opening scenes to see how a professional did it. This kind of instruction is useful, and you can have it for the price of admission. I'm fond of low-cost tutoring like that, myself.

Once you've got the technique down, you'll enjoy introducing your readers to new elements, and you'll find that the readers actually enjoy it when you throw in new details to add to the picture of your universe.

I'm not sure about draining the Mediterranean, though. That seems a bit excessive, even for Hitler and Philip Dick…

Writing Right with Dmitri Archive

Dmitri Gheorgheni

28.09.15 Front Page

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