Backstory

I was prepared to take issue with Sam Sacks's essay on workshop fiction (and I don't accept his contention that only the best writers know how to teach writing), but I found myself agreeing with most of it. Especially this:

. . .As in psychology and law (and franchise coffee shops) a workshop-specific lexicon has been born, and its terminology is common, with minor variations, to every writing program in the country. And thanks to the noisome cottage industry of books on writing—invariably authored by people who have never written anything of significance—the buzzwords are standard usage to the reading public, too.

A Story, as it progresses, is counterbalanced by a Backstory, which informs the reader what of importance happened beforehand. Both Story and Backstory must have a pronounceable Why Now, a meaningful reason that they are being told—something must be At Stake. Regarding meaning and significance, the writer should Show Not Tell through recurring Central Metaphor rather than through dry explanation of what is being felt. Furthermore, a good story has an apt and memorable Voice and conveys a strong Sense of Place. . .

If the term Show Don't Tell were one tool out of many that a perspicuous teacher used to aid a specific student in a particular situation, then it would be all to the good. But recall that except in exceptional cases professors need a common denominator with which to teach a group of students of all degrees of talent and taste. Consequently, Show Don't Tell becomes one of the rules in a standardized how-to checklist. . .

And this:

A popular anecdote that sheds light on an earlier epoch of American literature has F. Scott Fitzgerald, fresh out of Princeton, saying to his fellow alumnus Edmund Wilson, "I want to be one of the greatest writers who ever lived, don't you?" There is naiveté in the statement and there is hubris, but the boast also expresses a serious pursuit of greatness that is beautiful and quite spine tingling to any young writer who feels within him the powerful welling of undeveloped talent. But today, such a statement would most likely be met with muffled embarrassment in a workshop, which values the practical ends of publication and employment over this sort of dreaming.

I also agree with the Matt Cheney codicil: "The only real way to learn to write is to write and keep writing and read and keep reading. There aren't any great secrets held by a wise secret cabal that will help anybody become a better writer."

Comments

[steve]

Dan,

In one of my own workshops, I had student ask me for a "checklist." "Could you just give me a list of things that I need to do to write a good story?" she asked. Don't get me wrong. She was a wonderful student and we still enjoy conversations (especially about the laughter I gave in response). This student no real aspirations although she did have interest in "story." I'd actually be thrilled if a student entered a course and proclaimed their desire to be great. That's better than these typical proclamations: "Could you show me how to be a published writer" or "How many poems do you want in the portfolio?"

What's the paraphrase from Baldwin? I want to be a good writer and a good man. These are good things to want.

[Tony Christini]

It is a funny question - asking for a list of things needed to write a good story. But how about this:

Tell the truth - as best you know it
Be lively - so to speak
Enlighten - fearlessly

[steve]

I like your list, Tony.

We could add these to it as a prompt (if a writer needs one):

I dare you to:

1. Make me laugh
2. Scare me
3. Make Borges proud