by Liz Bureman |
I did it. After months of anticipation, it finally happened. This past Sunday night, I watched Sharknado.
Most of you are probably familiar with Sharknado, but if you’re not, get out from under that rock and go look it up on Wikipedia. It’s a SyFy original movie, and the only really important thing you need to know is that a guy chainsaws a shark in half. From the inside. It’s amazing. It’s probably the greatest made-for-TV movie that I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’m not using that much hyperbole.
What’s hyperbole, you ask? Great question.
by Liz Bureman |
We’re all familiar with the term climax in reference to the point of a story where the action has reached its peak, the conflict is at its tensest, and the rest of the plot is a movement towards the resolution.
But did you know that climax also is a figure of speech that you can use in your storytelling?
by Liz Bureman |
There are a few characters that we’re all familiar with in television and literature. Most lawyers are terrible people, the black guy who lightens the mood in a horror movie will die first, the high school head cheerleader will be catty (unless she’s the main character), and any pair of cops will have one who goes by the book and one wild card.
These character archetypes, when they’re not main or central characters, can tell the reader a lot about what type of story to expect. They’re referred to as stock characters.
by Liz Bureman |
Part of storytelling is creating something memorable. You want your readers to remember your characters, the world that you’ve created, and what happens to those characters in that world. This is nothing new; back in the earliest days of storytelling, before we had the written word, those who were responsible for the oral tradition had to make sure it was preserved.
One of the most effective ways to enforce memory is through repetition, and so one of the most common storytelling techniques was born: the Rule of Three.
by Liz Bureman |
I’m about a decade late to the party, but I’ve recently discovered The West Wing on Netflix, and it has quickly overtaken my life. The writing is sharp, the characters are great, and Sam Seaborn is challenging Chris Traeger for the title of Rob Lowe’s greatest contribution to pop culture.
One thing I’ve noticed in watching the show: you REALLY have to pay attention to keep track of everything that’s happening. If you take a bathroom break without pausing, by the time you come back, China has fired missiles at Taiwan, the Vice President has removed his name from a bill he feels passionately about, and the sexual tension between Josh and Donna has increased ever so slightly.
It raises the question: how many plots does it take to make you go crazy?
