Mo Fanning - British writer and comic

Writing

Writer’s block – yet another writer with yet another tip

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Dealing with writer's block

Writer’s block is painful. Everyone gets a form of it at some point, and most writers have ways of dealing with it. A frequent fix is to ‘just write anything’ until the feeling of being blocked passes.

I recently stumbled upon a new tip for dealing with writer’s block, and it’s working like magic; not just to free up a brain jam, but also as a way to build an effective and engaging narrative dripping with that magic ingredient, conflict.

Write the last line first.

I’ll give that a moment to sink in.

When you start a new story or chapter or scene, write the final line of dialogue before you get going (or when the block sets in). This means you spend the rest of your writing time working towards that outcome, shaping actions and words around creating this natural outcome.

The last line should either tie everything up in a nice bow or deliver a cliff-hanging incentive to read on.

‘And that’s why we should never have done it’ was the example handed down in a recent script-writing workshop. We set off writing dialogue, not knowing our characters, but knowing where we needed to end up. Keeping the outcome in our heads and having it so clearly defined influenced so much of what came before. Lo and behold, the writer’s block lifts.

Choosing something that would make the reader want to turn the page when creating your final line chapter ends helps give your narrative force.  Think how you might write a scene or chapter in your work in progress that ends on any of the following:

  • ‘What now?’ she said. ‘How the hell do we make this right?’
  • ‘This is all your fault. I never want to see you again.’
  • ‘She’s going to hit the roof when she sees it.’

 

 

 

Writing: it’s my job to point things out

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Writing for writers

A frequently quoted ‘rule’ for writing is to write something every day. No matter if it’s good. No matter if it’s bad. Set yourself a window – anything from ten minutes to every waking moment – and sit in front of a screen or an empty piece of paper and write. The idea being if you do this each day, a habit forms and something good will come. As advice goes, it sits up there with ‘sometimes, even a blind squirrel finds a nut’.

Writing isn’t a natural thing for us as a species. For most of evolution, nobody wrote anything – fair enough there’s the odd cave drawing that historians insist are early attempts at storytelling. On that basis, bus-seat sharpie-penned pledges of Kazza luvs Jez carry equal value.

Writing for many years was the preserve of the elite. Even now, it remains a strange way to communicate.

When I stand on a stage and tell jokes, I see faces. The feedback is instant and I sense when an audience needs me to clarify or drop planned patter and jump to another topic. When I write a story, my words vanish into a void. Short of the occasional Amazon review, I don’t know who reads my books or how much they understand of the worlds I create.

Writing short set-ups

I try to find something interesting and point it out. I’ll ask you to look at someone or something and understand the flaws and persuade you that what I see is of interest. When learning the language of stand-up comedy, I picked up on how the shortest set-up works best. If a comic needs to explain the premise, chances are it’s unfamiliar.

It’s not the job of a writer or comedian to ram information into the brains of an audience.

The worst writing (and comedy) happens when those in charge abandon ‘joint attention‘ in favour of trying to sell their audience into an idea or world. It’s incredibly hard to do surreal comedy or writing and do it well.

Some of the worst writing advice is to create words for yourself and never consider the audience. For me, the audience comes first. I am part of the audience, but I’m also aware when what I find funny might be too personal. I’m not here to impress with clever plot twists or elaborate language and don’t care what you think about me. I’m not in the book. When I’m on stage telling jokes, you see a version of me.

What I aim to do is point out what’s there … if you look in the right places.

This is how we function as humans. Side-by-side we scan those around us, our landscape, the absurdity and improbability.

It’s my job to point things out.

Phoning in the dialogue

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I’ve never claimed to be anything but an ill-informed Luddite when it comes to mobile phones. Or phones, as I believe the youngsters insist on calling them, refusing to believe there was ever a day when we tied them to a supporting wall with wires. Or that ‘the house phone’ once lived on a special table; one with space for the telephone directory … and a tin to hold coins left by neighbours when they came to borrow your ‘party line’.

But I digress.

It’s editing season on ‘The Toast of Brighton‘ and that means chapters where I skimmed scenes (in the hope inspiration might strike later). It’s later now … time to plug the gaps with sparky conflict-building dialogue.

I often find it helps me if I write any new exchange independent of the draft itself. I open a blank email and begin the exchange, leaving out dialogue tags and actions, hearing only what two (or more) people have to say. A short edit later, and it’s ready to drop in.

A hidden dialogue assistant

Well, blow me down, if I didn’t stumble on the dictation feature on my phone this week. On a wobbly bus into Brighton, my thumb bounced and a pop-up message asked if I wished to let technology do the typing.

I didn’t need asking twice.

To be clear, I waited to get home before acting out a fight between a reformed alcoholic and her cheating husband … but being able to let rip in character was amazing.

Amazingly productive.

Sure. My phone mishears the odd word. If I don’t edit right away, it’s a struggle to make sense of things. Unless in the habit of saying ‘full stop’ out loud between characters, you get one long Molly Bloom soliloquy. But the freedom of being able to play your characters and talk as they talk is so freeing. I imagine this would help any writers who get told different characters sound  alike.

Maybe I’m the only one blown away by this. Has everyone else has been doing this forever?

 

Ban ‘real life’ dialogue – My first act as leader

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Time to talk writing. In particular, tips for writing dialogue. One of my first acts as leader will be to ban ‘real life’ dialogue.

It’s something I cover in ‘Talking out loud‘ – a guide to writing sparkling dialogue – there’s an extract below.

What is ‘real life’ dialogue? I will use the phrase a lot. So get used to it.

It’s my mission to correct any idea you might have that dialogue on the page should reflect the conversations you have or hear every day.

When I first started to write, I was sure of one thing.: my characters would speak like the people around me. They’d um, err and repeat themselves. They’d talk nonsense and occasionally get things wrong.

‘Hi,’ Andy said.
‘Hang on, I’m erm, just finishing off this email, I . . . yep, that’s about it. Right.’ Kieran looked up from his keyboard. ‘What can I do you for, kind sir?’
‘OK, so listen. Say no if you don’t want to, but you know, I was just thinking, and God knows, I don’t do that often enough, but, would you, err, like to look after the new girl?’
‘Oh, erm, right, yeah, well, urm, sure, yeah, but, erm. Well, I’m not sure I’ll have enough time, like because this report is kinda urgent, but you know . . .’

Soon enough I learned that if the written world sounded exactly like a real life conversation, I’d got it wrong.

Writing dialogue

Writing dialogue isn’t about reproducing real life, it’s about creating an impression of it – and let’s be honest, making it better.

Just like when you write a book, you cut scenes that don’t progress the plot, the same should apply to conversations between your characters. Work out what matters and what moves the story on. Show conflict (or collusion) and boil down your dialogue.

Talking our loud - writing tips

Real-life dialogue quickly becomes unreadable.

Journalists have it in their power to make their interviewees look dumb by printing what they say word-for-word. And while they might be tempted where they find their subject boring and unpleasant – or where they turn up three hours late – these journalists know it won’t make for sparkling copy. Or repeat business.

As writers, we want our characters to carry the story; they need to come over as real. But real people are weird. They don’t always talk about important things. They pass comment on the weather or tell you what they binge watched last night on Netflix. And unless you’re writing a particularly niche story, this probably isn’t what your readers want.

Read more in ‘Talking out loud‘ 

 

Ban text messages in drama – My first act as leader

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What would you ban forever? In the first of a series of rants and rails, self-confessed old person Mo Fanning imagines what life would be like if British politicians stopped arsing around like silly boys at summer camp and got their act together. His first act as leader would change society, promoting kindness and fair play.

It’s fashionable for any gentleman of advancing years to complain about mobile phone usage. Nobody cares that the world is falling apart. They’re too busy liking someone’s filtered photo or caring what David78333521 thinks of their recent status update.

To rail against this would make me a Luddite. Technology moves on. Twenty years ago, an illicit affair meant feeding coins into a secluded phone box, daubed with out-of-proportion sexual organs. I’m prepared to admit mobile phones have their uses.

My actual beef lies not with the phone itself, but with its ever-growing place in televised drama. Or comedy. Or anything with plot.

My first act as leader will be to impose a ban.

The Fannings have never bought into the trend of buying a TV set the size of one wall, but neither do we prescribe to the idea that having a tiny screen suggests television matters little in our otherwise busy lives. Whatever the average daily viewing hours might be for British households, add two. Or four if the bathroom needs a clean and one of us should work on his novel.

I love a good drama. What irks me is the increasing use of text messaging to carry the story.

Friday night dinner

An otherwise mundane dinner party hides the fact that one guest plans to first torture and then murder the hostess – an international spy hiding in plain sight – or Surrey – as a mother of two with a penchant for Boden fashion. As our soon-to-be in trouble heroine serves coq au vin with buttered carrots, an unseen phone beeps and the assassin shifts in his seat.

‘What’s that old chap?’ says Bertie Jeeves-Chopperhands. ‘One of those newfangled portable phones?’
‘My daughter got the bally thing for my birthday.’ Assassin fakes a smile. ‘It’s her way of keeping tabs.’
‘Big Brother is watching, eh?’
The table erupts in polite laughter and Assassin squints at the screen.

Viewers get two seconds to make sense of tiny text on a pixilated square. And the scene ends.

Ban this text messageThis is where, in the Fanning household, one of us dives on the remote control, mutters about it having a hundred fucking buttons and attempts to rewind, freeze frame, and make sense of what was likely a vital plot point.

In most cases, the wrong button gets pushed and a tense dinner party fades to an ironic BBC4 repeat of Top of the Pops from 1979.

Why can’t TV producers over-lay text messages on screen? I’ve seen this done. It doesn’t interrupt the flow. And there’s no frantic fumbling or the (frankly hurtful) suggestions that someone who can’t operate a remote control is showing their age.

One of my first acts as leader will be to ban reckless, thoughtless, feckless television trickery.

And then I’ll start on mobile phones.