Tag: Random

Incongruous Juxtaposition – Genre Combination and the Art of Mayhem

“The force of Nature could no farther go: / To make a third she joined the former two / Don’t try this with prescription drugs.”

Being creative. Sometimes it takes a bit of the “add this incendiary here” to the “gee, what’s this thing on fire here” to get something going. Dynamite. Grenades. The hydrogen bomb. The exploding PB&J. Things that have bettered life, merely by taking one thing that works (like hydrogen) and adding it to something else that works (a bomb).

Same goes for writing, no? Sometimes the pigeon can’t be crammed further into that hole. Problem? Dig another hole. Go for that historical chick-lit, that Western Gothic mystery, or the epistolary autobiography. Blow something up. Just don’t screw it up.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

Are there certain kinds of genres that shouldn’t go together? I want to write some crossgenre works, but I need to make sure I’m not trying to combine oil and water here. Thanks man.  

—Jacob Art, New Orleans, La.

You won’t have an issue combining oil and water, chemically speaking.

You will have an issue if you treat genre combination like a popcorn bowl of meds, mixed up, unmarked, ready for a party of post-pubescent idiots, psychotropic stomachaches, and a house call from your nearest EMT.

I’ll give you a few of the “don’t write these” combinations, as long as you and your buddies don’t write these. I’m not responsible for anaphylactic shock or somnambulistic seizures.

Prehistoric Legal Thriller

“Tru’ok Rgh’ghr faces his stickiest legal battle yet, with intrigues ranging from a pterodactyl accident to a so-called “wheel.” The inventor of fire, Groth’r Mngroah, is found dead in his two-story cave, clutching a tablet bearing strange writings. The blame quickly falls on Groth’rr’rr, the only one in the village who can write. While Tru’ok takes what seems like a hopeless case, confident he can persuade a thick-headed jury, he soon finds himself in over his thick, protruding brow with the swirling cloud of deceit surrounding the case.” — Requires too much suspension of disbelief regarding cavemen, the legal system, and the “thrilling” aspect of legal matter.

Armpit Slick / Feminist Lit

(If you don’t know what “armpit slicks” are, then you’ve missed out on life. Look them up, puke your bloody bath of laughter, then come on back.)

“Jane Peacelove toils away in her kitchen, longing for freedom from cooking, baking, and sandwich making. Little does she know that she (and countless other housewives) are being held captive by an unlikely alliance of Nazis, Communists, and Nordic Socialists. As she tackles her womanly duties, she fantasizes over a “knight in shining armor,” ready to sweep her away.  Little does she know that Ace Racer, a shirtless male model/soldier of fortune, hatches a plan to break into the fortress and face countless odds to free countless damsels in distress. Will they escape? Will Ace survive? Will Jane ever be liberated from her womanly shackles?” — (Sorry, I’m still laughing about “armpit slicks.”)

Hardboiled children’s detective fiction

“After discovering the body of a coke dealer, the Boxcar children find themselves sucked into an unforgiving world of drugs, violence, and addiction as their curiosity gets the best of them.” — from The Boxcar Children: The Seven Pounds of Blow Mystery. Yeah, imagine what you’d do to your average 4th-grader (and her parents) with a classic like that.

Christian bromance

“Brace wants to share his faith with his best bro Chad. But while they share a love of Jack Johnson, XBOX 360, and AXE body spray, will they find a mutual friend in Jesus Christ?” — I shouldn’t have to explain this one.

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com), followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong), and found in the latest “Man’s Life,” available at your nearest five and dime. 

Say No More

You know what they say: if you can’t say anything nice, then you’d better shut up.

And in writing, if you can’t say anything but “say,” then you should listen to what we have to tell you.

That’s why we’re Writing All Wrong.

I cringe every time I see dialogue written by lesser writers. It’s like “he said, she said” in the worst kind of way. Say, said, says, saying, like there’s nothing more to be said about SAID. But when I try to write without using “say,” it gets more difficult as it goes on. There’s got to be a better way to change it up without sounding redundant or intentionally constrained.

—Torey Lewis, Irvine, Calif.

I’ll break protocol and begin by quoting Oxford intellectual Right Said Fred’s glorious exposition on the subject:

“I’m too sexy to continue employing ‘said’ as an indication of the conveyance of communication. With viable options manifestly promulgated, one should deign to refrain. Replied. Uttered. Responded. Insisted. Noted. Mentioned. ‘Say’ no more.”

Well put, Mr. Said Fred.

You’re missing the point if you feel your dialogue has to be adulterated and fornicated by such verbal markers. Any verbal markers. Regardless of how cleverly you vary them; that’s still making the same mistake, but with style. Sure, you want to differentiate who speaks what, but a writer worth his silt will ensure that he’s not writing himself into a snare like that. Take, for instance, this gem of a barf-trigger:

“I’m pregnant,” he said. “And I’m the father.”

“How is that possible?” said Jill.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Jack said, “It must have happened after those hCG injections, I can’t explain it.”

“But I trusted you,” she said.

Aaaaand, we’re done. You can put away that airsick bag. “Said” is not your cowbell. You do not need more of it.

If you’re going to use any markers at all, make them count.

“All your base are belong to us,” he affirmed.

“i think halo is a pretty cool guy. eh kills aleins and DOESN’T AFRAID OF ANYTHING,” she declared.

“Has anyone really been far even as decided to use even go want to do look more like?” he inquired.

“No buts, cuts, coconuts, Mass, or Eucharist,” he interdicted.

The dialogue should grip your eyeballs and brand into them the patterns, the sensible ebb and flow, the cadences of well-tuned conversation. Make it good enough to stand on its own. And if you resort to using a marker, don’t prop—accentuate. Slap one of them down to slap your reader senseless with goodness, nothing less.

Enough said.

Writing All Wrong can be reached via email (WritingAllWrong@me.com), followed on Twitter (@WritingAllWrong), and recited within your daily Cantata Incantatis.