Stephen King weighs in ...

... sort of. Buffy and Jen led a group discussion Aug. 1 on King's book, "On Writing." A couple of highlights they pulled from King's combination of technical advice and inspiration (well worth the read even for non-fiction writers):

• "I want to suggest that to write to your best abilities, it behooves you to construct your own toolbox and then build up enough muscle so you can carry it with you. Then, instead of looking at a hard job and getting discouraged, you will perhaps seize the correct tool and get immediately to work." Some things King suggests you carry: Vocabulary; grammar; Strunk and White's 'Elements of Style.'
• "I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops."

I have copies of both Buffy's and Jen's handouts, which are basically quotes pulled from King's book, if you'd like a copy.

Narrative handout

If you missed the July 11 writing seminar and want the handout, there are some available in the big conference room, or see me and I'll print one out for you. It contains quotes about good narrative writing and examples too. Samples:

• Ask yourself, "What's the satisfying resolution to this story that will make readers glad they read to the end?" -- Mike Wilson, St. Petersburg Times
• "Nothing is too insignificant to ask about." -- Diane Tennant, Norfolk Virginian-Pilot
• "In interviews, the object is not to get quotes but to get action and build a situation." -- Jon Franklin, University of Maryland

And there are many more ....

Writer's insight on the 'Grizzly attack' story

If you haven't read the grizzly attack story , it's worth your time. It fascinated me, so I e-mailed the L.A. Times' Tom Curwen with a couple of questions. He provided some great insight into how he put the story together, from how he got the access to how he focused to the story to a lot of great stuff in between.

One interesting note: He is an editor, not a staff writer there, so he used time here and there to work on the story until he gained enough momentum that he got cut loose for about a week to finish it off.

One more note: He's jazzed by our focus on writing, saying he thinks it's critical whenever we can "to think away from the inverted pyramid and to reimagine story-telling as a vital, energetic and surprising expression that taps into readers' curiosities, interests and needs."

Here are his thoughts on the grizzly story:

How did you decide when in the story to weave in background, and how much time away from the storyline was just right?

As the question implies, backsteps are always a gamble. In the case of this story, I was lucky to have a compelling narrative -- and a simple chronology -- that could tolerate any momentary breaks in the action. I'm a big believer in delayed gratification and wanted to tease out the drama of the attack as long as I possibly could. No detail was too small to include. Each allowed me to create a crescendo in each paragraph, in each small scene, before stepping away (I think readers appreciated this too; a number wrote to comment on how it allowed them to catch their breath).
But that said, I never take readers for granted, and for better or worse, I believe they have an extremely short attention spans. Therefore, any step back has to be written like haiku, no single word wasted.

When did you decide to try to do a story like this?

I first read about the attack in an AP story that ran after Johan was discharged from Harborview Hospital in Seattle. It was a well-reported piece but just the bare-bones. At the time, I was editing the paper's Outdoors section and had just written a re-creation of another bear attack that had taken place that summer up on Alaska's North Slope, and I knew from reader response that bear stories never fail. Then, within weeks -- and rather coincidentally -- I was visiting a family member at Scripps Memorial Hospital, and I noticed a man in a halo walking down the corridor. It had to be Johan, and I knew this was my chance (a sign?).
In the beginning, I had no idea the story would have so many fascinating components. I just thought it was a bear attack, but as I got into the reporting and learned about the helicopter rescue, for instance, and the scalp surgery, I knew I had a narrative that could go the distance.

When (in the timeline of the attack/recovery) did you secure the access?

Rather than approaching Johan first, I went to the nurse in charge of his recovery. I wanted to give the family space; clearly his treatment was far more important than anything I needed. She put me in touch with the hospital's public relations manager, and after I explained how I wanted to write this story -- with an emphasis on the recovery -- she spoke with Johan and passed his phone number onto me.
Winning the trust of a stranger is a tricky business, but I was helped by the fact that other media (newspapers and television) had so inundated Johan with interview requests that he appreciated someone willing to take a slow, calm and methodical approach. As I explained how I work and how I imagined telling this story -- getting into the psychological angle of his recovery, sending him a tape recorder to capture moments and feelings when I wasn't around -- the more Johan opened up to me. I think he has as much respect for narratives as I do and realized that it was a story perfect for sensationalization (Bear Bites Man!), which he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

What, if any, ground rules did you have with Johan, the family, doctors, etc.?

When I explained to Johan what a narrative is, I told him that I would need complete and exclusive access. I was up-front with him every step of the way. I told him that I would need his medical records. I told him that I would do a FOIA on the park's report about the rescue. I hid nothing from him, and I told him that he had to be open with me, especially if there was any part of the reporting that made him uncomfortable. I explained that we would talk about it and then decide whether or not it was critical to the story.
Of course, along the way he was tempted by other magazines and mediums (Oprah, for one), but after a month or two, I was able to appeal to his conscience, explaining how the LA Times needed to break this story first and that the paper had already devoted a lot of time and money in reporting it. Fortunately, he understood and respected that agreement.

How did you get the level of detail in the story?

I was lucky. Not only was Johan very forthcoming (it became clear to me that our interviews and email exchanges were becoming a form of therapy for him) and his memory of the events completely lucid, but also everyone involved in the rescue and the recovery seemed to have the whole incident seared into their brains.
Also, my editors were terrific and played no small role helping me uncover every detail. The first draft of the story was an ungainly 15,000 words and contained a number of extra characters and characterizations (which would probably find room in a book but not in a newspaper story). We decided to scale the story back by focusing strictly on Johan's point of view. I consequently spent a day with him, allowing him to fill in as many blanks as he could. It was a smart decision. It forced me to dive deeper into his psyche, and it shortened the piece by about 5,000 words.

Can disgusting bugs teach us about storytelling?

I say yes, and I'll try to prove it on July 11 when we meet for our six-month storytelling seminar.
Time: Noon
Place: Big conference room
Food: Catered lunch of sandwiches, pasta salad, chips, drinks, dessert*
Features: Story readings, playing of songs and DVD clips from various staff members.
Plan to spend: About 90 minutes max. We'll try to keep it moving.

*I don't think the bugs are disgusting enough to kill anyone's appetite.

'Encounters' at the St. Petersburg Times

We've linked to and read several stories from the St. Petersburg Times that have run as part of its regular feature called "Encounters" -- a story about about bugs having sex and one about what would possess someone to kill for a taquito, to name a couple.

These stories, when done well, have great impact. They are sharply focused, short, emotional, evocative and vibrant.

I would love for us to find and do more of these types of stories. So I e-mailed Mike Wilson, the editor who works with "Encounters," and asked him how they're doing it.

I asked what he's looking for in an "Encounters" story:

"I tell reporters that I'm looking for stories with compelling characters whom we get to know in depth -- even though the length limit on these pieces is 20 inches. Leonora LaPeter wrote about a woman who trains Lippizaner stallions. Training horses was her family business; she learned it from her father and grandfather. After they died, she kept it up, but something didn't feel right. Then one day she walked into the barn and the horses started to nicker and whinny and she realized that she had finally made it, that the horses had accepted her. It was a tremendously important moment in her life, and not the kind of thing newspapers usually take notice of. Which in itself is probably a good definition of Encounters: Important moments that newspapers usually miss.

"When reporters come to me with story ideas, I always tell them the same things. Encounters must be original; if TV or another local paper is doing the story, it's not an Encounter. Encounters are not news by any traditional definition. Encounters must be exceptionally well written; other things on the front page can be all about delivering important information, but Encounters are ALL ABOUT THE READING EXPERIENCE. (Forgive me for shouting.) Encounters may also be, and often are, experimental; Thomas Lake told one story that began at the end and ended at the beginning (my idea, and I'm not sure it worked even though he did it brilliantly); Caryn Baird, who collects state quarters, narrated the important details of her life, according to what was happening when each quarter was released."

I asked him what were the common threads in how reporters are finding and doing these types of stories:

"Reporters who are good at finding Encounters have a couple of things in common: They understand the distinction between traditional news and a good story, and they are able to focus closely on single person or a single interaction. Phuong Nguyen wrote a great piece about an abused woman, now in a shelter, who got a makeover. It made the woman feel pretty and dignified for the first time in years. Ben Montgomery wrote about an artist who painted a portrait of an aimless young woman and, by doing so, motivated the young woman to do something with her life. These reporters 1.) realized these were stories even though they were not "news", and 2.) didn't quote university professors or give census numbers to give their stories a patina of legitimacy and authority. "

I asked about how they vetted ideas, how they figured out what might work and what probably wouldn't:

"With regard to the vetting of ideas: Sometimes a reporter will tell me about an interesting situation that's unfolding and I'll say, "What's the satisfying resolution to that story that will make readers glad they read to the end?" If we can't come up with a good answer it's probably not an Encounter.
"Sometimes an idea just isn't completely cooked. The other day a reporter told me she wants to write an Encounter about an adult learning to swim. She didn't have a particular adult in mind; she just thought the situation had the potential for a lot of drama and tension. I agreed. But I told her the key to Encounters is in the details. These stories aren't just about dramatic situations. They're about specific people with specific things at stake. If the reporter finds an adult who is stepping into the water for the first time after dreading it for years because of the drowning death of a sibling, that may be an Encounter. But if the adult just never got around to learning how to swim, it isn't."

Not everyone in the newsroom, he said, is a fan of "Encounters." Some question its mission or purpose; and he acknowledges some of the stories they've tried haven't worked. But readers do respond. Some wonder what the paper was thinking. More, Wilson said, say something like, "I never thought I'd see a story like that in a newspaper. Thanks for making my day."

'The salvation of newspapers'

Just above this post is the lead graf of 'Attacked by a grizzly' by Tom Curwen. Want to keep reading? Yeah, me too.

That's one reason we wanted to focus on narrative storytelling this year. Tom Curwen of the L.A. Times, who wrote the story, echoes something we talked about when we kicked off the Year of Storytelling -- that people love to read these stories, and, when the stories are well done, people will come back to the newspaper (or web site) to keep reading.

In comments to the Neiman narrative web site, Curwen said the reaction to this story "convinces me that the salvation of newspapers lies in narratives." Online, he wrote, the package got more than 533,000 hits. Of the nearly 400 e-mails he received, the overwhelming majority praised the story.

One said: "I never buy papers during the week, but your piece in Sunday's edition compelled me to buy Monday's paper to read the rest of Johan and Jenna's story."

Another said: "Please tell your editors that my entire household as well as half of all the passengers waiting at gate number 24 at the Oakland Airport yesterday were enraptured by the story, not just because of the drama but also for its spirit and sensitivity."

Gotta focus

We've talked about theme and focus of stories throughout the year. Here's a must-read post from Poynter's Chip Scanlan about story focus, and it ties in both the written word and the visual.
A teaser from Chip:

Discovering the theme is crucial to the two interested parties at polar ends of the storytelling experience: the reader, viewer or listener; and the writer, both of whom rely on the theme to produce and experience a unified story. This is what I believe.

Serial narrative murder mystery

The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette ran this several-part piece earlier this month. Compelling story. The chapters are relatively short. How effectively do you think it is told?

The way words sound

I just posted something on my Explorer blog that, in retrospect, might be of interest to my fellow wordsmiths.

It's kind of lengthy to repeat here, so you can just click here and read it for yourself.

I often find myself thinking (probably too much) about the sound of words and sentences and why alliteration works when used well but doesn't when it's forced. Or why I love to listen to someone speaking a foreign language -- I have no idea what the words mean (and this frustrates me to no end) -- but you can hear patterns in the speech, intonation, rhythm, staccato and legato and all those musical things we don't really pay much attention to when we're worried about meaning.

Asian languages seem especially good for this kind of listening.

Does anyone else have instances where you've noticed this?

If so, please share in the comments here so I don't feel like such a freak. Thanks. :)

Crabbing show a real hook (haha)

I was pretty unable to tear myself away from the TV set last weekend when I saw The Discovery Channel's "The Deadliest Catch" at a friend's house.

I rarely turn on my TV, and I don't have cable, so maybe it's really not anything special, but I found myself marveling about how -- using material that is true and not made-up (like in the reality shows where the suspense is all fake and created for the viewer) -- they were able to present the lives of these Alaskan crab fisherman in a way that hooks the viewer (even someone like me with the attention span of a fly).

They introduce you to the characters so you feel like you know them a bit, set the scene, weave in educational tidbits so well that you don't even realize you're learning about crab fishing and the difference between opilio and king crabs.

And of course, there's the reality that any of these guys could get killed or seriously injured at any time. So many turning points and small-but-crucial decisions made for good suspense. I was fascinated.