Welcome Back. This week, Aristotle continues to give advice about the writing process, wading, briefly, into the subjects of outlining, gesture, structure, and unity.
Book XVII
Writing Process
a. See the Action
In this section of The Poetics, Aristotle turns his attention to the process of writing. He begins by talking about the importance of using our imaginations to “see” the action we are writing about played out on the stage of our inner thoughts.
In seeing the action “with the utmost vividness” we can help ourselves identify what is essential to the communication of our stories. In audio drama, this means the identification of sound and dialog that communicates everything necessary to create the scene for the audience.
Remember, in Audio, there is no visual information provided to the audience that the audience members do not construct for themselves. The audience of audio-drama constructs the stage for themselves on the basis of the audio cues we provide.
“What do I see that is essential?” is a question to be followed by “What dialog and sound is necessary to communicate that to my audience?”.Let’s say that our gumshoe is returning to his office a little worse for the wear.
SAM SPADE: I stumbled down the corridor and into my office. The beating I’d been given – mixed with the fifth-of-rye I’d drunk to take the edge off – left me too addled to notice that the door wasn’t locked.
SOUND: DOOR OPENS, THEN CLOSES
SOUND: TABLE IS BUMPED. EMPTY GLASS BOTTLES RATTLE FROM THE IMPACT.
SOUND: CHAIR SCRAPES.
SAM: Too tired to switch on the light, I threw myself down in my favorite chair and prepared to drift off into an alcohol-fuelled slumber. (BEAT) That’s when I heard the match strike.
SOUND: MATCH STRIKING.
GLINDA ROUTLEDGE: I borrowed one of your cigarettes Mr. Spade. I hope you don’t mind.
SAM: Mrs. Routledge? I’d generally advise against sitting in an armed man’s office in the middle of the night without the lights on. It’s liable to get you some unwanted ventilation.
GLINDA: Is that right? Then why didn’t you shoot? I could have been a burglar, after all.
SAM: Firstly, Mrs. Routledge, I’m too plastered. And secondly, I like that couch you’re sitting on too much. I wouldn’t want to ruin it with a fresh coat of red.
GLINDA: I wouldn’t have thought “being plastered” could put you on the bench where delivering “unwanted ventilation” is concerned, Mr. Spade.
SAM: Mrs Routledge, it’s far too “three-in-the-morning” for your usual games. And, while I’m prepared to swallow a reasonable amount of sarcasm for a fee, the shiner that’s blooming over my right eye has left me feeling less than generous.
—
From this exchange, we get most of the cues necessary to construct the scene. We discover and/or imagine…
- The unlocked office
- The door
- The table
- The chair
- The couch
- The match and cigarette
- The gun
- The inebriated state of the detective
- His black eye
All of the essential scene-building elements need to be referenced (via dialog, narration, or sound) in order to construct the scene. But the list does not need to be comprehensive because, in audio, drama, the imagination of the audience will provide what is missing. Merely mentioning an office is enough to create a fully stocked detective’s office in the mind of the listener. If elements are not supplied initially (such as the couch), a quick reference to them brings them into existence (and the listener will rarely be left wondering, “now where did that come from?”).
Reading aloud is particularly useful here. One of the best self-checks on my writing, that I know of, is the reading aloud of dialog. As a writer, a great many clunky sentences and ineffective lines of dialog have been fixed simply by reading them aloud. It is sometimes easy to forget that the words we choose, have to be read aloud by other human beings (actors) and that the line that appears on the page, while comprehensible enough inside our heads, is not so easily spoken aloud.
b. Direction
Next, Aristotle discusses gesture. Generally speaking, in our day and age, the actors and director work on this area of a drama together and it has little to do with the writer. However, writers do provide some important direction. While we cannot tell actors how to deliver our dialogue we do want to assist actors in interpreting the lines on the page.
Aristotle, under the heading of gesture, advises playwrights to prescribe the emotion which should govern a line’s delivery.
Some would argue that the dialogue in a well-written play should guide us to the emotion without the need for any special directions. And, perhaps, for the very best of writers, this may be true.
However, language (particularly the English language) can be very ambiguous and confusing – and even the best writers may need to spell out when a line (that appears, on the surface, to be neutral) should be delivered with sarcasm, or simmering anger, or rage, or teasing good-humor, etc.
In Audio drama this is accomplished through capitalized and bracketed directions such as (SARCASTIC), (ANGRY), (TEASING), etc. appearing in the dialogue.
While it is never a writer’s job to tell an actor what to do, it is always the writer’s job to accurately communicate how a character is feeling and speaking. Bracketed directions are an important tool that helps us to do this.
c. Outlining
It turns out that Aristotle was not a pantser, but rather a planner when it came to writing. As a planner, myself, I’m actually pretty happy with this. But if you fly by the seat of your pants when writing (one of the most gifted writers I know has never written an outline in his life) there is still some helpful stuff here.
I happen to be of the opinion that pantsers make just as much use of the rules for planning a piece of writing as those who outline ahead of time, they just apply them later as part of their ongoing revision efforts, while the planners apply them right from the start. Either way, the endpoint is roughly the same.
For Aristotle, the process is straightforward. He advises the sketching of a general outline (beginning, middle, and end), followed by the naming of the various episodes needed to progress through the story, followed lastly by the amplification of the detail (or detailed writing) of each of these episodes (acts, scenes, lines, etc.).
In our own culture, we have become so very accustomed to three-act structure (applied in film, television, and via novels) that we know, almost without thinking about it, when the basic rules of storytelling have been ignored or skipped by an author. Since we know the structure so well, it can be very easy to construct our plays via a detailed outline that demonstrates ahead of time, that we have hit all the appropriate character and story beats necessary to get our stories across.
But because of this incredible familiarity, many writers can hit these beats without the aid of a pre-generated plan (so ingrained has storytelling become, and so immersed in the culture of storytelling are we).
For Aristotle, the most important achievement to arise from planning a story is, the imposition of unity that it affords. In planning, the writer can build each element, scene, and action around the central message of the play, contributing to its overall unity and purpose. He uses the word “Telos” to describe this. The telos of the play is the plot reduced to its essentials in just a couple of lines – the log-line or elevator pitch, if you will.
According to Aristotle, we should never begin writing without having clearly identified the irreducible essence of the story. Writing a logline or elevator pitch at the outset of the process helps both to guide and restrain our story-telling so that it remains unified and relevant.
Book XVIII
Two parts of the plot: complication and unraveling.
Aristotle, in a final act of classification (at least with regard to story-telling), breaks the plot into two important parts. The complication, by which he means everything leading up to the reversal, and the unraveling or denouement, by which he means everything which follows from the reversal.
By making the reversal such a conspicuous boundary in plot development, one could be tempted to believe that it marks the half-way point in a story. This is not, of course, the case. A character may fall from fortune into misfortune early in the plot (at the end of the first act for example) or late in the plot (at the end of the second act – as is common in most modern films). Shakespeare liked to place his climax in the center of the play and have the reversal occur with it.
What is important to note here is that, in tragedy, the reversal is essential. The complication (no matter how long or short) is the portion of the play that MUST lead inevitably to the reversal and the unraveling (no matter how short or long) is the portion of the play that MUST lay out the consequences of the reversal.
Because Aristotle believed good stories are stories that maintain a laser-like focus on their objectives, he provides these classifications to help the storyteller stay focused and unify the work.
Does the action contribute to, or lead to the reversal without any wasted words or episodes? Then it is relevant, contributes to the unity of the whole, and should be retained. If not, it should be jettisoned.
Does the action follow from and make clear the consequences of the reversal without any wasted words or episodes? Then, again, it contributes to the unity of the whole and should be retained, but should, otherwise, be jettisoned.
Tragedies are (as he has already explained) either simple (being made up of episodes strung together) or complex (containing reversals and recognition). But they can also involve characters who are motivated by ethical concerns (rational individuals) or characters who are motivated by passion (emotional individuals).
Aristotle preferred, again as has already been stated, those plays which were complex in nature and had as their protagonists, individuals of a rational disposition. In our own time, it is common for us to have characters who are both rational and emotional and we are far less concerned that our stories should have an ideological message in them than Aristotle was.
Aristotle was at pains to require playwrights to master BOTH the complication AND the unraveling of stories. It was so common in his day for writers to produce good beginnings or good endings, but not both, that he felt the need to address it as a significant problem. Our time is, perhaps, not that different.
Selection
He gives two final pieces of advice in Book 18. Firstly, he reminds writers of the need to be judicious in selecting the elements of a story they wish to tell. You can’t put a spotlight on every action a character takes in the procession of events from the story’s beginning to its conclusion. A writer must elide time, passing over the less important in favor of the more important. Every bathroom stop a character makes during Oedipus Rex is not nearly important enough for inclusion in the story. Selection is essential, and, again, the kernel, or essence, of the story should be our guide. Only include what is necessary to the telling of this story (it’s reversal and resolution) and leave all else on the cutting room floor.
Making the pieces fit
Finally, Aristotle asks the writer to make the chorus an important element in the telling of the story, rather than a sideshow or distraction. The Greek Chorus often explained features of the plot to the viewers (something that Aristotle was not in favor of) or provided a form of half-time entertainment (marking scene transitions and so forth). Neither of these uses were satisfactory as far as Aristotle is concerned. He wished the chorus to push the story forward rather than distract people from it, and in this there is a great lesson to be learned.The audio dramatist (and in fact any dramatist of the modern era) has little use for a Greek chorus, but there are plenty of ways in which the elements of audio story-telling can come into conflict with one another.
All the supporting elements (dialog, narration, sound effects, music) must work together to support the story (in particular, the clarity of the story-telling). An immersive soundscape is a boon to any production, but if it competes with the story for attention, it is failing in its proper job. Likewise, good music is an obvious benefit, but not at the expense of the storytelling. The actors, the sounds, the music, the narration – all of these things must subordinate themselves to supporting the telling of the story. If at any point, the story becomes merely a supporting prop for showcasing the actor, the music, or the sound design, the cart has been put before the horse and the production WILL fail. When all elements see themselves as being in harmony with, and in support of, the goal of telling the story, they will all shine in their own way. When they compete and distract, from the storytelling, the whole ultimately suffers.
Next Time: Aristotle takes a look at diction (or the musicality of dialog) and the grammatical building blocks of words.
Copyright Philip Craig Robotham © 2021 .
