I: The Elements of Story: Conflict, Tension, Revelation and Resolution.
A “narrative” is simply a story, and all stories share a few main characteristics: Usually there is a hero of some sort, then the hero goes through some conflicts or hard times, then overcomes those conflicts or hard times. If we look at movies or TV and the stories they tell, all of them share these characteristics. The main character, or hero, “does” stuff for a purpose, to achieve some goal, to beat some enemy, whether another person or the self.
Here’s a perfect example of a traditional story: Rocky, played by Sylvester Stallone, in the movie of the same name, begins as nothing more than a “Bum on the street,” or “A bum from the streets,” whatever it was. He’s way down here (in class, I make a motion with my hand held toward the ground, showing “lowness”) at the beginning, and ahead of him are a lot of challenges to overcome to get up here (I then put my hand way over my head to emphasize the heights to which he ascended, as reflected in the metaphor of Rocky running up the Philadelphia courthouse steps; in a manner, this is a metaphor for the birth or our nation, isn't it? Maybe not).
So, at the beginning of the story, it’s established that he’s a bum from the streets who wants better, but when he’s offered the opportunity to fight for a million dollars against the world champion, Apollo Creed, played by Carl Weathers of Action Jackson, Rocky says “No.”
What’s going on? Here’s a bum from the streets who wants better, and he’s given the opportunity, even though he’s just a cheap club fighter, to make millions against the world champion, and he says no. Here’s the clincher, and this will amaze you and make you love the wonders of storytelling: the main conflict in the story is Rocky versus Rocky. The tension isn’t between Rocky and Apollo. Apollo isn’t the obstacle to overcome: Rocky is the obstacle to overcome. Basically, a psychologist would say that Rocky is afraid he'll fail because he doesn't believe in himself. He's full of self-doubt (until Adrienne and Burgess Meredith teach him that he's a worthwhile human being).
When Rocky finally decides to face the obstacle of his own self-doubt, he set s a realistic goal: he wants to “go the distance” rather than win the fight. If he can stay standing by the end of round 11, he’ll have won a "moral" victory, like most Minnesota Viking's victories. So, at the end of the movie, when they have the big scene in the ring where Rocky is bloody and weeping all over Adrienne, his tears are of joy because he’s gone the distance; he believes in himself and so does someone else. Then there’s a cut to Apollo, throwing his hands up in the air, declared the winner of the fight. The real winner is Rocky, though. This is the resolution of the story.
Rocky has the classic elements of story: Hero who starts off “low”, fights against the obstacles that want to keep him “low”, and beats those obstacles by the mentorship and support of others: Adrienne and Burgess Meredith. Whether you’re religious or not, this kind of story connects to the life story of Jesus: from poverty at birth to the perfect ascension of the human spirit. Most stories you will ever read or see have these same essential characteristics. Still, some tension is subtle. If we look at Curtis Adams’s essay, the prime conflict is with himself, trying to come to terms with his father’s death. By owning up to his feelings, he’s achieved a personal victory and thus there is resolution to the conflict. All stories must have a resolution.
The Remembering Events essay consists of two main parts: story and meaning. This week, we will focus on “story”; the next lecture will deal with meaning.
The word “narrative” means “a story”, and a story is a picture of people doing things in a place, and they do these things for a purpose, to win some kind of battle, no matter how subtle. It is a picture of people "doing" things by action, behavior, dialogue and description rather than the writer “telling” us what people are doing; instead, it is the writer “showing” us what people are doing and how they appear through active verbs, concrete descriptive nouns and adjectives, and also they things they say. The writing should act like a movie.
Example of a non-story:
"When I was seventeen, I moved out of my house in Mora and went to St. Paul. I lived with my sister near Frogtown. She moved there for the same reasons I did: our parents were too controlling. They wouldn't let us have our own lives."
Though clear communication, this is not a story. It is "telling", the summarizing or explaining of events rather than the physical presentation of events. We don’t know what the characters look like because we don’t “see” them in a scene; we also don’t see them in action. In order to see them in action, active verbs such as “walked” and “drove” need to be used rather than “lived,” which shows nothing; nor does the verb “moved” show anything. They aren’t specific enough. A reworking of the above:
"At seventeen, I slammed the door of my parents' house, jumped into my car and drove from Mora to Frogtown in St. Paul in one hour, my red Firebird skidding to a halt in the driveway of my older sister's house. I climbed from the car and pounded on the door. "Open up, Mary!" I yelled. "I can't live with those people anymore!"
In this example, the reader is not told how the characters feel about their parents, but is shown through behavior (what she does, what she says). By risking a reckless driving charge and banging on her sister's door and yelling that her parents are driving her crazy, we get the "idea" and in a more interesting manner.
A phrase like “I like rock music a lot” converted to “I have Led Zeppelin posters on my wall” shows that the writer loves rock music by visual imagery whereas “I love comedy movies” translated to “I park myself in front of the tube quite a bit to watch Will Ferrell run around screaming” shows a love for comedy through kinetic energy (movement/action).
III: Concrete versus Abstract Language
Concrete language is necessary for storytelling, especially verbs and adjectives. Concrete language reveals the individual nature of characters whereas abstract language is non-specific and shows nothing. It sounds “smart” but is actually vague. Concrete language, on the other hand, is specific and cannot be argued with. It expresses connections to physical things, whereas abstract language attempts to express connections to ideas, beliefs, and other matters not physical: things we can't see, touch, taste or feel. Abstract language is the stuff of “business” and “institutional” language, as in this example from William Zinsser’s On Writing Well:
“We have established a special phone communication system to provide additional opportunities for parent input.”
Concrete translation: “We have a special phone number set up so parents can call and complain.”
Another example: Instead of saying, "Jamie was a sad person," a writer using concrete language could write, "Jamie hung her head and a tear dripped off her nose." By her behavior, the reader knows she is sad.
Abstract language is open to interpretation; concrete language is not. For example, the word "rock" is concrete. Sometimes rock is concrete, and is thus a good example. Concrete can't be argued with. It is what it is. The word “Confusion,” on the other hand, can be argued with. For one person, “confusion” might mean not knowing which way to turn at the I-35 E and W junction; for another, it might mean mental anguish brought on by severe clinical depression. The word, “Rock,” however, means the same thing to just about everyone, unless talking about Led Zeppelin or Korn. Oh, wait. Korn isn’t rock.
Other abstract words: spirituality, sacrifice, torment, pain, morals, values. Each of these commonly used words only has specific meaning when a writer shows what each means to him or herself through describing them through concrete language. Otherwise, they are vague, impersonal, general words that most people assume share a similar meaning. But nothing could be further from the truth.
"Truth" is another abstract word. Can you define what it means? Some might say it is "honesty," but that's abstract, too. Honesty is actually a character quality, and those who have that character quality value truth, which is nothing more than what “is” as opposed to what “is not,” but who knows? As you can see, abstract language is confusing and open to interpretation, and thus it muddles up stories and lessen their emotional impact and softens their truth. Maybe that's the purpose of abstract language: to muddle up the truth, to present less-than realistic portrayals of life, and maybe that's why abstract language is purposely employed by lawyers, politicians, businesses and institutions (ad agencies, schools, cults), or in sum, those who attempt to have power over others by confusing the others so that the others know less than they do. If these leaders meant to be clear, they'd use concrete language. Instead, they use words like “glorious” and “tragedy” and “opportunity” to boondoggle people into fuzzy ideas about the truth.
We’ll deal more with the unethical use of language, from abstractions to clichés, euphemisms, interpretive manipulations of data, and intentional use of logical fallacies. For now, just know that abstract language doesn’t work for “story.” For the “significance” part of the Remembering Events essay, however, abstract language has a place, but we'll deal with that when we get there.
V: Concrete Speech: Examples
Active verbs show nouns "doing" things. Much of the time they give the reader a mental picture. In this short list, you can see the difference. The specific verbs "show" specific action, while the inactive verbs can express a number of different actions, and are therefore called "abstract." They show nothing but pain (also abstract).
Concrete verbs: Inactive verbs
walk went
run go
jump got
crash get
flew come
Concrete Adjectives Abstract Adjectives
blue beautiful
black amazing
rusty confusing
curved wonderful
Abstract adjectives show nothing and can be interpreted to mean hundreds of things, while concrete adjectives are what they are: they show exactly what exists in reality, and are therefore concise.
Concrete Nouns Abstract Nouns
wound pain
soot confusion
water melancholy
nails beauty
Concrete nouns are what they are; they represent exactly what they mean to represent. Water is water, but confusion is an abstract, vague idea that could take hours to explain and make sense of.
Description should be believable and honest. Readers trust writers who describe well. The key to description is simple: use concrete language that’s true to reality, that reflects the senses of touch, taste, feel, sight, smell, and kinetic movement. In “The Relationship,” by Adams, the first paragraph begins by description, with very little exposition. And it’s honest description in the way he describes a landscape realistically, without sentimentality, as in the “low country landscape” filled with “methane and poisonous snakes.” There’s no false language such as “beautiful” or even “ugly.” Instead, ugliness is shown by concrete words so that the reader can see and smell it for him or herself. Just saying that something is ugly isn’t enough; the writer needs to support the claim, and the key support for any story is reality” description, action, dialogue. Also, the list of concrete nouns (things) that he uses at the end of paragraph two is enough to help the reader see the store, to actually be there. Tapestries of dogs playing poker? Velvet Elvises (Elvi)? Adams, through excellent description, has brought us into the place.
I’m not going to talk too much about dialogue except to say read the section on dialogue in Chapter 14, and most importantly, make your dialogue believable. Don’t contrive speech. If you can’t remember exactly what a person said ten years ago, don’t worry. Write down what they “would” have said in a way that's true to the way you recall their voice. A little tinkering with fact doesn’t hurt a story. In your prewriting, you will recreate conversations; just write fast and record the person’s voice, how they really spoke; if you don’t get exact words right, so what.
No one can remember every bit of dialogue from ten year-old conversations. You are “re-creating” conversations, not recording them. By “re-creating,” you are making them new; they may not be factual, but they will
be truthful. Also, don’t fluff up a character’s speech to make him or her seem more intelligent. For example, if a writer re-creates the speech of a father who happens to be a wheat farmer with a fifth grade education, and the father speaks like Paul Majors, formerly of Kare 11 News, with perfect grammar, who’s going to buy it? This is not in any way a comment on the farmer’s lack of education; instead, it’s about integrity to truth, to what “is”. Example: “You need to stay on the farm, Bill,” said my father as he pulled the bill of his John Deere cap down over his grease-smeared forehead. “I need to pass along what my father had passed on to me. This is the cycle of existence, Bill. Don’t break it.”
My first reaction to this passage of dialogue would be, “I don’t buy it.” My advice to the writer would be: Trying to hide bad grammar in the speech of a character is not being true to that character. Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer had bad grammar, too, but no one cared about that; it didn’t diminish their worth as intelligent humans beings; in fact, Tom Sawyer, though his grammar isn’t great, is one of the wisest characters ever presented in a story. Make the dialogue true to the character; though your writing needs to be grammatically sound, the speech of your characters does not.
Narrative voice is similar to narrative dialogue in that it demands truthfulness. Though your own words won’t be in quotation marks, you are writing from the first person point of view, from the “I” perspective, and therefore to make your story engaging, you need to use your own language, especially the same kind of word choice and jargon you use in real life. One stipulation: if your word choice is offensive or bad language that calls attention it itself and makes you, the narrator, less credible, don’t use it.
©Scott Wrobel, 2008