We’ve featured Kurt Vonnegut’s list of rules for writing short fiction before—here’s a link—but here they are again, this time in his own voice.

HOW TO WRITE A SHORT STORY

by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

HIGH CONCEPT

by James Lincoln Warren

Per Rob’s request, today’s column concerns the Hollywood idea of high concept.

Simply put, the phrase “high concept” describes a story, especially a movie, that can be pitched by using a catchphrase that evokes a contrived premise, one that explains all ye need to know about the story and all ye need to know. HC is plot gimmickry in its purest application. The most notorious high concept movie of recent vintage was “Snakes on a Plane”. The title itself tells you everything there is to know worth knowing.

The phrase high concept first appeared in the late 1970s, and really took off in the 80s, but the idea is hardly new. Consider, for example, the 1955 Hitchcock classic, “To Catch a Thief” starring Cary Grant and Grace Kelly, based on a 1952 novel of the same name by David Dodge. The story can be summarized as follows: “Cat burglar proves his innocence by coming out of retirement.” Unlike most HC entertainments, “To Catch a Thief” happens to be a very good movie, as one would expect with Hitch at the helm and such attractive leads, but the gimmick is obvious. Another early example is the classic 1950 film noir “D.O.A.”: “Poisoned man has 24 hours to solve his own murder before dying.”

I was probably late coming to the party, but the first HC movie to impinge itself on my consciousness as a blatantly high concept vehicle was the comedy “Twins” (1988), which was almost certainly pitched as follows: “Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger as twins separated at birth.”

Monk is high concept: “Brilliant detective—but he’s got OCD”. (Unlike many of my colleagues, I am not a fan, since I think the show trivializes OCD, something with which I have struggled for many years.) Back in 1984, Brandon Tartikoff, then head of NBC’s entertainment division, pitched Miami Vice to producer Michael Mann as “MTV cops.”¹

Not all stories based on a simple premise, not even blatantly formulaic ones, are HC, not by a long stretch. The central element is that pervasive gimmick. USA Network’s White Collar, which deals with a convicted forger helping the FBI solve crimes, is high concept, but their In Plain Sight, which tells stories about U.S. Marshalls in the Witness Protection Program, clearly isn’t. You might think that Walter Mosley’s stories are high concept (“ … hard-boiled P.I., but he’s black”), likewise Tony Hillerman’s books (“ … police procedurals, but on an Indian reservation”), and you could be on to something—but only if Easy Rawlins’ and Joe Leaphorn’s ethnicity was why people were attracted to the stories, which I don’t think is the case. On the other hand, the proliferation of gimmick private detectives in the 80s and 90s was clearly driven by the triumph of high concept.

High concept, which is often used as a pejorative term, is only bad when the gimmick drives out everything else that makes a story worthwhile; in other words, whether the gimmick is used to launch an engaging story or if it’s the story’s only salient feature. As I said, “D.O.A.” was a great movie, but “Alien vs. Predator” clearly wasn’t. I liked “Beverly Hills Cop”, but loathed “Gremlins”.

Likewise, HC isn’t exactly the same thing as a hook or a MacGuffin, both of which are amenable to being tersely expressed, although HC can operate as both hook and MacGuffin. A hook is something meant to attract the readers to a story—the rumor of a spectral hound in The Hound of the Baskervilles, the pervasive Santa Ana winds in “Red Wind”, Melvin Udall’s OCD in “As Good as It Gets”. (I know what you’re thinking: shades of Monk, but “As Good as It Gets” accurately portrays the crippling nature of OCD in a way that Monk usually completely avoids.) A MacGuffin² is a plot device, frequently incredible on its own merits, that drives the action but is otherwise irrelevant: the letters of transit in “Casablanca”, the precious statuette in The Maltese Falcon, the mythical George Kaplan in “North by Northwest”.

In fine, high concept is a story-telling technique, one of the contents of a story-teller’s bulging bag o’ tricks. As with everything technical, high concept can be your best friend or your worst enemy. I am fond of saying that technique has no inherent value, because its only value is in how effectively it helps in telling a good story. I suppose you could call that Warren’s Thirteenth Law—must add it to the list.

What a concept.

1. I know this because I once heard Stephen J. Cannell tell an audience that Tartikoff pitched the show to him first using those exact words, but that Cannell declined.
2. Recapitulating an earlier note made in this column some time ago concerning MacGuffins: said term was allegedly coined by Alfred Hitchcock’s friend, Scottish screenwriter Angus MacPhail, and denotes a device for setting the action in motion but which has no reality or importance in and of itself. Hitchcock himself apparently claimed it was a device for capturing lions in the Scottish Highlands.

WEIRD CRIME STORIES, Feb

by Leigh Lundin

Chargers 1, Free Speech 0

San Diego, CA.  Half the population is watching Super Bowl XLIV, which means you’re missing your dose of sports. Twice recently I’ve read sports items suggesting fans sitting in the wrong section should be arrested. One story attempted to justify a basketball player leaping into the stands to grapple with a booing fan.

In San Diego, free speech is an arrestable offense. Police exercised disregard and fanatical hubris in arresting a vocal New York Jets’ enthusiast. Surrounding Chargers’ fans booed police for arresting the Jets fan and removing his girlfriend.

Doin’ It Doggy Style

Whiteland, Johnson Co, In.  In a girl-bites-dog story, Michelle Owen, 24, decided to take revenge upon her ex-boyfriend for ditching her. Hoping to cop a deal following a drunk driving arrest, this dog lover asked police to check her computer to see if her boyfriend might have downloaded illicit or illegal porn.

Investigators found porn all right: Michelle Owen. And a dog. Together. Like sort of Biblical (not). More than once. Did I mention a canine? A woofer? Fido, Rover, Rin-Tin-Tin? Four-footed girl’s best friend?

Men may be dogs, but most women don’t mean it that way. Following her DUI, friends suggested she recover with a taste of hair-of-the-dog.

World of Warcraft

Kokomo, Howard Co, In.  Deputy Matt Roberson and Major Steve Rogers are my kind of detectives, tenacious and technically savvy. They were after drug fugitive Alfred Hightower, who U.S. Marshals believed fled the country.

Hightower might change his appearance or change his address, but he didn’t change his habits. Deputy Roberson figured out Hightower liked playing an on-line game called World of Warcraft, operated by Blizzard Entertainment in California.

With Blizzard’s help, an IP address and Google Earth, Deputy Roberson tracked down his man in Ottawa, Canada. Good game, man!

D.B. Cooper is Alive and Well

La Paz, Bolivia  Police seek the murderer of a taxi driver. Along with exciting, heart-pounding music, authorities released to the public this sketch of the suspect, presumably drawn by police artist Randall Munroe.

Knife in the Back

Moscow, Russia  Julia Popova, 22, a Russian mugging victim, knows what it’s like to get stabbed in the back. Either she’s one tough broad, or adrenalin prevented her from feeling the pain.

There could be a Russian relations metaphor here, but I’m not certain what it is.

Moose Murderer

Stockholm, Sweden  Swedish ballistic experts finally concluded a husband did not murder his wife. Apparently an unnamed moose committed the dastardly deed.

Police have not revealed if the husband hired the moose to perform the hit.

Serious Story

Guisborough, North Yorkshire, UK  Warning: This is not intended to be humorous. It’s stomach-wrenching.

In this shocking story, radio talk host Graham Mack invited listeners to phone in with the most unusual things people had eaten. Listener Anthea Harrison phoned in admitting she’d eaten… little children. This occurred when she very young living in Mufulira, Zambia.

Is it just me, or does the caller seem just a bit too cheerful?

Public Service Announcement

Atlanta, Ga.  Finally, a serious warning from the Center for Disease Control not to respond to eMails touting the CDC sponsored State Vaccination Program. This is part of a phishing scam designed to trick you out of personal information. As with any government agency or financial concern, you should not respond to any eMail you didn’t initiate. Vaccination programs may be legitimate, but the scam eMails are not.

STRIKE UP THE BAND

by John M. Floyd

I’ve always loved music. My mother says when I was a little squirt I used to go around humming or singing or whistling all the time, and even now — unless I’m writing, at which time I like it quiet — I usually have some kind of music going in the background or I’m playing it myself on the piano or guitar. I wouldn’t say I’m a musician (I never even learned to read notes) but I’ve always been able to hear a song on the radio and then go play it. Self-entertainment, I guess you’d call it.

No tunes like show tunes

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, it probably won’t surprise you that a lot of what I picked out as a kid on our piano was movie music. That, and TV themes. I was big on Gunsmoke, Ben Casey, Mannix, Perry Mason, Zorro, etc. Recently our daughter, a music major and an excellent pianist, heard me playing “Etta’s Theme” from Butch Cassidy and asked, “Can you show me that?” I played it for her a couple more times, and finally she said, “Wait a second.” She fetched her electronic keyboard, plugged it into her computer, asked me to play the song on the keyboard, and then printed out sheet music based on what I’d just played — which she could then use, and play herself. (My biggest surprise, though, wasn’t that such a thing could be done; my surprise was that the music she printed out looked pretty damn difficult. I had managed to impress myself.)

But enough reminiscing. What I want to do today is talk about film scores, and their composers.

I’m one of those folks who enjoy soundtracks almost as much as they enjoy the movies themselves. And since I always watch to see who wrote the music, I find it interesting that certain film directors and composers teamed up again and again, like Blake Edwards/Henry Mancini, Steven Spielberg/John Williams, Tim Burton/Danny Elfman, Alfred Hitchcock/Bernard Herrmann, David Lean/Maurice Jarre, Robert Zemekis/Alan Silvestri, and Sergio Leone/Ennio Morricone. (I once heard that Leone always had Morricone write the score first, then Leone tailored the movie to fit the music, rather than doing it the other way around.) I’ve also noticed that composers like Morricone and John Williams often attach certain pieces of music to certain characters in the film, and play those “themes” while those characters are onscreen.

The score board

For the record (pun intended), here are ten of my favorite film composers, and what I consider to be some of their best work:

John Barry:

From Russia with Love (1963)
Goldfinger (1964)
The Lion in Winter (1968)
Midnight Cowboy (1969)
Somewhere in Time (1980)
Body Heat (1981)
Out of Africa (1985)
Dances With Wolves (1990)

Ennio Morricone:

A Fistful of Dollars (1964)
For a Few Dollars More (1965)
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966)
Once Upon a Time in the West (1969)
Duck, You Sucker (1971)
Once Upon a Time in America (1984)
The Mission (1986)
The Untouchables (1987)

John Williams:

Jaws (1975)
Star Wars (1977)
Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
Superman (1978)
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
E.T. (1982)
Far and Away (1992)
Jurassic Park (1993)

Jerry Goldsmith:

Our Man Flint (1966)
The Sand Pebbles (1966)
Patton (1970)
Poltergeist (1982)
Twilight Zone: The Movie (1983)
Medicine Man (1991)
Rudy (1993)
L.A. Confidential (1997)

James Horner:

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982)
Glory (1989)
The Rocketeer (1991)
Legends of the Fall (1994)
Apollo 13 (1995)
Braveheart (1995)
Titanic (1997)
The Perfect Storm (2000)

Dmitri Tiomkin:

Duel in the Sun (1947)
High Noon (1952)
The High and the Mighty (1954)
Giant (1956)
Rio Bravo (1959)
The Sundowners (1960)
The Guns of Navarone (1961)
The Last Sunset (1961)

Henry Mancini:

Hatari! (1962)
The Pink Panther (1963)
Charade (1963)
A Shot in the Dark (1964)
The Great Race (1965)
The Molly Maguires (1970)
Oklahoma Crude (1973)
The Thorn Birds (1983)

Elmer Bernstein:

To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Kings of the Sun (1963)
The Great Escape (1963)
The Carpetbaggers (1964)
Hawaii (1966)
The Gypsy Moths (1969)
The Magnificent Seven (1970)
From Noon Till Three (1976)

Bernard Herrmann:

Citizen Kane (1941)
Anna and the King of Siam (1946)
The Day the Earth Stood Still (1948)
Vertigo (1957)
North by Northwest (1959)
Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959)
Psycho (1960)
Cape Fear (1962)

Maurice Jarre:

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Doctor Zhivago (1965)
The Professionals (1966)
Ryan’s Daughter (1970)
The Year of Living Dangerously (1982)
Witness (1985)
Dead Poet’s Society (1989)
Ghost (1990)

There are many other composers whose soundtracks I love as well — Bill Conti, Michele LeGrand, Alan Silvestri, Randy Newman, Han Zimmer, Aaron Copland, Trevor Jones, Harold Faltermeyer, Max Steiner, etc. — but I wanted to keep the list at ten. I also didn’t list any TV themes, which would certainly have included those by Mancini, Mike Post, Lalo Schifrin, and others. You gotta stop somewhere, right?

Now, the big question: Who are your favorites?

One thing’s certain. Movies wouldn’t be the same without them . . .

TWO-FACED

by Steve Steinbock

One of the earliest aphorisms I ever remember learning as a small child is “Look Both Ways Before Crossing.” Is that an aphorism? Perhaps it’s more of a dictum. But I like the word aphorism better. “Look Both Ways” can be applied to all sorts of experiences, not just crossing streets. It could be interpreted as a reminder to weigh all options, to hear all opinions, to examine all evidence, or to read all definitions. It could be interpreted these ways, but it normally isn’t.

The expression is very specific about the number of ways one should look before crossing. It doesn’t say “Look all ways” or “Look every way” or “Look three ways.” It always says “Look both ways.” So it seems pretty specific to looking both ways along a road before stepping off the curb. Perhaps that’s why Janus, the two-faced Roman god, is the deity of doorways, gates, beginnings, and endings. According to myth, the god Saturn gave Janus the ability to see both past and future, which is probably why we name the first month of the year “January.”

About a decade back the wordsmith Richard Lederer invoked Janus when describing contranyms (also known as auto-antonyms. These are words that can mean their opposites. When we encounter these words, we really have to look both ways. Speaking of looking, perhaps one of the best examples of a contranym is the word oversight, which means both “supervision; watchful care” and “omission or error due to carelessness.” In other words, the purpose of “Oversight” is to prevent oversight.

When my parents were really angry but didn’t want to cuss, they often said, “God bless it!” I think they thought it was more polite or acceptable than saying “God damn it” but it came out just as nasty. It turns out that this use of “blessing” goes way back. Even the Bible occasionally uses the term “bless” euphemistically when it really means “curse.”

On the subject of religious contranyms, there’s the word sanction, which can mean to permit something or to censure – or not permit – something.

A few other interesting contranyms:

To cleave means both to attach to something or to split something in half.

When you buckle your shoes or your belt, you’re making them tight. But when your knees buckle they become loose and wobbly.

Similarly, to bolt means both the fasten something, or to run away.

To clip means either to cut something our or off (like newspaper clippings or nail clippings) or to attach things (like what a paper-clip does).

The words fast, bound, and pitch can all refer either to make something stay in place (pitching a tent; binding something fast), or to make or describe something in motion (he threw a fast pitch but the man on third was bound for home).

As some of you know, I review audiobooks. One jarring error that I’ve heard a number of narrators make is to pronounce the word “secreted” as though it were the passive form of secrete (to ooze out, as in a secretion) when the author intended it as the passive form of secret (to cause something to be hidden, in other words to make sure it doesn’t ooze out).

It’s funny that the verbs skin, seed, and core refer to removing the skin, seeds, or core of a food product. I guess it would be pretty hard to put them back on.

When you wind up a toy, you make it start. If you get me all wound up I might find it hard to stop. So as I wind up this column, I make it end. So in the spirit of Janus, the god of beginnings and endings, I bid you to look both ways before crossing and I’ll see you back here next Friday.

LET IT SNOW

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

Practically anyone who knows me knows I am a perennial lover of springtime weather. I don’t just dislike snow days, I loathe them. We’re in the midst of a Winter Wonderland weather where I live. Only forget the wonderland part. Outside is picture postcard perfect for a White Christmas card or a ski lodge advertisement. So much snow has fallen, the drifts are covered by drifts. I think I have a mailbox out there somewhere. It’s on a post, but the post is white and I haven’t seen it for two days now. I already had cabin fever by the time the ground was finding itself covered like a delicate lace doily.

It does look pretty, but the snow is like jail bars trapping me inside when I’d rather head out to a coffee shop, meet friends for lunch or even duck inside a charming antique store or two. Okay, I admit I am not the outdoors type. I’m never going to willingly hike, careen with nature or go on weeklong camping trips. Usually, I enjoy being at home. I don’t enjoy being forced to be home. There’s a difference.

I’m blessed that I don’t have to go out in the mess to get to work. I can sit in my cozy office (by the way, “cozy” is synonymous with “small” in real estate lingo.) Still, it’s mine and usually, hours disappear like vapors while I am in my chair typing away at the keyboard writing about spies in Tahiti or an escaped prisoner in the middle of a blizzard.

But that’s when I know I could go somewhere if I wanted. Being snowbound is like having your car in the shop; you are not free to move about the country.

I stand at the door and watch my husband happily helping the elderly neighbors next door with his trusty snow blower. He says they need to have a safer walkway. He’s like that. Cheerful even when the temperatures have taken a decided dip into the nether regions on the thermostat. He’s donned a red plaid flannel coat with Sherpa lining and a furry hat with flaps like the one Elmer Fudd wears. He looks adorable in his I-don’t-care-what-Tim Gunn-would-say attire. (Of course, he has no idea who Tim Gunn is at all.) I try to smile, but find my mouth is frozen and my chin quivering. I need more coffee and a sweater. I also dig out a pair of my husband’s hunters’ socks which help tremendously. I imagine I am a perfect model for the “Don’ts” section of Glamour magazine. At least, I’m staying inside where no one will see me. Maybe because I do know who Tim Gunn is and what he’d say.

I head to my office and close the door behind me. I have to do this or our two cats will follow me into the room. Our previous cat, Ursula, used to sit on the other chair and sleep while I wrote. These two are more of the adventurous types and still kittens. One is content to perch on the headrest of my chair and slap his tail repeatedly across the back of my neck to keep me at my task. The other, our female, likes the keyboard and walking across it. Occasionally tapping more than one key at a time with a paw interests her. She has put my computer into a reconfigured mode more than once. So, now I shut the door behind me, which makes it seem a bit claustrophobic until I get into the rhythm of writing and forget my surroundings.

The snow blower noise interrupts my thoughts as my husband edges closer to the office window, then drifts away as he moves from the veranda (it’s actually a porch, but the realtor once called it a veranda, so I’m choosing to use his terms that sound better on paper.) The noises begin to disappear and I wonder if he’s finished or is taking a break.

I glance out the window, but the stark whiteness blinds me. I make out a slight path where the snow has billowed up along the sidewalk. Piled up, the snow looks even more depressing, so I scurry back to my computer.

The cursor blinks like a warning stoplight reminding me I have a deadline to meet. I start writing, but remember why winter seems the longest season, the extra heating expense on next month’s bill and whether I have enough cat food.

I decide to think positively. We are safe within a house that does have heat and food and electricity. The farmers need moisture. The weathermen are ecstatic when the snow is falling and lightening is striking simultaneously.

My husband loves that we live in a place where there are four seasons, but then, he seems way too cheerful most of the time anyway. I guess that makes me the grumpy one in the family. He’s Kelly Ripa and I’m Regis Philbin in this relationship. At least, while it’s snowing.

If searing temperatures bring out more criminal activity in the summer, why can’t some people who don’t like the cold become just as violent during dreary, depressing winter days with gray skies? Back at the computer, I begin typing. One word leads to another and paragraphs form. My characters are skipping through my imagination in their own Winter Wonderland. Most of the small town citizens are having a great time. Except for one. He’s not having fun at all. He will be my villain. I consider that maybe he’s not all bad, just cold. Something has caused his frozen heart to chill his morals enough to accept murder as the only valid answer to his problem. So bitterly cold to the world, he’ll make a deliciously hot villain.

I’m feeling better already. Not quite ready to embrace the freezing weather, I do find my lips have thawed and my smile has returned. I feel like a realtor who’s just unloaded a fixer-upper (realtor slang for dump.)

Let it snow. I’ve got my love to keep me warm. If only, he’ll lose that hat.

PLOTTING OUT LOUD

by Rob Lopresti

I have a predicament which is unusual, for me.

As I’ve said before (and after two and a half years of blogging I suspect I have said everything before) I generally find characters easy and plots hard. I sometimes think my head is a little waiting room full of detectives and criminals irritably waiting for me to give them something to do.

But this time I have a plot. Pretty good one, I think. All I need is someone to put in it.

You see, it is a police procedural, and what seems right is to hand the case to two generic cops; detectives Jones and Smith (or Friday and Smith, for those of us who are old enough to remember Dragnet.) And I could do that, but it seems lazy. I can add another layer to the story if the cops are effected by it in some way.

Of course, that can get awfully tiresome. Hey, what a surprise! The cop knew the victim. Or his brother died at the same street corner. The reduction-to-absurdity is the detectives on TV whose every friend and relative have been murdered over the year.

I should tell you my story involves a suicide, but I want to avoid the obvious tack of giving one of the cop’s tortuous memories of a suicide in his family or the like. That seems easy and obvious. So I’m thinking, thinking. My characters are still blank slates. What should I write on them?

Mystery guests, sign in here

I’ve got a few possibilities roaming around in my head.

One of the cops is a rookie, and this is his first case.

The older cop, disgusted of being assigned to suicide, a “victimless crime,” considers retirement.

The case causes newly-partnered cops to bond together.

The case causes an old partnership to be altered or severed.

If you don’t know where you are headed, does it matter where you go?

People who don’t like mysteries often complain that the field is plot driven while mainstream fiction is character driven. For myself I find that the plot usually gives me a character, but then further plots (if any) come from the character.

Having written this all out I think I know what choice I’m going to make. If the story ever gets published I’ll link back to this blog and you can see how it turned out.

So, what about you? Which comes first: the chicken or the egg? And how do you get them into the frying pan?