how to write

Fingers poised with painful precision above the keyboard. Eyes squinting, lines furrowing between arched eyebrows. Mouth pursed. Head cocked. The occasional twitch, fingers buried in hair and the frustrated sigh.

Writer’s block.

It’s not that I don’t have ideas, because Lord knows I have ideas. A plethora of squirming ideas wriggling about, waiting to be plucked and put to the hook, bait for a story to swallow it whole. (Gruesome but truthful.) The problem is their lack of substance. I might have a few scribbles in my notebook after an hour of brainstorming and they all mostly come down to a story about a so-and-so, who faces so-and-so challenge to reach so-and-so goal. It’s formulaic, stale, overdone, and about as gripping as watching a dying earthworm crawl along the sidewalk. I want to cultivate my ideas because they’re precious to me, but in truth, so few of them move beyond that first, stagnant concept.

A professor of mine once said that when you are writing, you should jot down the first four ideas that come into your head for your story. And then you should immediately cross out the first three, because they’re clichéd, hackneyed crap. What you want to create is beyond the surface. You don’t want a “concept,” you want a high concept. Something universal but fresh, an interesting twist, a compelling new confection. Which some might argue is difficult, given that many scholars, critics etc. have decided there are only seven story ideas in the whole world.

Except that there are fourteen. Depending on whose side you’re on…

Here are the seven (via the Internet Public Library):

1. [wo]man vs. nature
2. [wo]man vs. man
3. [wo]man vs. the environment
4. [wo]man vs. machines/technology
5. [wo]man vs. the supernatural
6. [wo]man vs. self
7. [wo]man vs. god/religion

Or, alternatively, here are the seven (as found on suite101):

1. the quest
2. voyage and return
3. rebirth
4. comedy
5. tragedy
6. overcoming the monster
7. rags to riches

I’ve found that melding the two is best: From the first list you choose your theme, from the second list you decide your plot. And when you combine both together, you create your high concept.

Examples:
-    During the Great Depression, a young man leaves school and becomes a member of a traveling circus, falls in love with a star performer, and takes care of an eccentric elephant. (Sara Gruen’s Water for Elephants)
o    Theme: man vs. the environment
o    Plot: voyage and return

-    A family narrative of sex, love and secrets as recounted by the youngest generation’s child, an intersexual who metamorphoses over the course of the story from woman into man. (Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex)
o    Theme: [wo]man vs. self
o    Plot: rebirth

-    When a teenage girl is displaced to a dreary town, she becomes fascinated with a local boy who seems almost supernatural, only to discover that she is falling in love with a vampire and putting both of their lives at stake. No pun intended. (Stephenie Meyers’ Twilight).
o    Theme: woman vs. the supernatural
o    Plot: overcoming the monster

Brenda Janowitz’s article in PW toys with the notion of the “high concept” idea—stories like Good versus evil, man plays God, New York fashion—and its significance in today’s market. Janowitz notes, “It's hard to describe what exactly makes an idea high concept—it's almost the opposite of what it sounds. But simply put, it's an idea that is easily explainable and can be sold in one sentence.” But as her agent friend said, it may seem simple, but if you don’t have a high concept, you won’t get your book published. But publishers don’t want a formula, they want chemistry. And though I’m not a science professor, I can offer this thought: high concepts may hold untold depth, but they all begin with simple formulas that, through your own creativity and inspiration, become said chemistry. Your idea + theme + plot = your story.

Brenda’s final conclusion is to keep writing, and the high concept will emerge.

But remember, scratch out the first few ideas.