A STORY IN A NUTSHELL

by John M. Floyd

I’ve always felt that meeting with and listening to other writers has helped my own writing. It’s certainly made me change the way I do certain things, and I believe most of those changes have been to my advantage. There are probably two ways to look at that: Either (1) I’ve actually received good suggestions or (2) I was such a bad writer before, any advice I could get was a plus.

In any case, one thing several writers have told me over the years is that it’s helpful (to them at least) to do something I would never have thought of, otherwise: Summarize your story in one sentence.

The summary should be a simple, concise description, written in present tense. It’s almost like a tiny synopsis, though it probably reads and looks more like a long newspaper headline. When well done, it can serve as a quick pitch for your story, if one is ever needed — and even if it’s not needed, it can give you the satisfaction that you, as the author, have a firm handle on your main plotline.

On a couple of occasions I was actually “forced” into writing these summaries. In one instance, about a month after I was approached by a producer who wanted to film one of my stories, he called me while I working on the screenplay and asked me to also write a logline that he could use during the promotion phase.

“What’s a logline?” I asked.

I heard him sigh, and could picture him rolling his eyes. “You ever read TV Guide?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why?”

“Do the same thing they do.”

Dutifully, I located an old copy. One of the first listings I saw was for a rerun of Leave It to Beaver, and beside it was something like this: Since Wally’s new girlfriend can’t go out because she has to babysit, he talks Beaver into coming with them to the movies as her little sister’s date.

That not only solved Wally’s problem, it solved mine too. Newly educated, I came up with a “logline” for my story, the producer approved it, and all was again well in the world.

The other occasion was when my agent, the late Larry Sternig, informed me that I should start furnishing a short description of each story I submitted to him. I was never sure whether he used them in marketing the stories or whether he just wanted them for his own information, but I stood up straight and saluted and wrote the summaries. I even kept a few of them:

A teenaged computer whiz is forced to help two strangers rob an ATM.

Three travelers — a young woman, a sheriff, and his deaf prisoner — find themselves in a desperate situation.

An engineer for a chemical company convinces an attorney to help him fake a laboratory accident.

Howard Pullman lies dead inside a locked room with a broken window — but it appears that what came in through the window isn’t what killed him.

An old con artist tells his young recruit an amazing tale about his early days in “the business.”

A detective on vacation in Japan finds it difficult to leave the job behind.

A bank robber travels into the Alaskan wilderness with his partner’s wife to search for a cache of stolen loot.

Writing those, I must admit, was sort of fun. But I still didn’t see their benefit. I only did it because it was required — or at least requested. Later, I discovered that many writers believe that a brief summary like that, created beforehand, serves as a reminder that helps them keep the plot on track. One lady even suggested that she uses them not only to keep her concentrating on what the story is about, but to keep her from straying off into what the story is not about.

For what it’s worth, I did a little research the other night. Between the six p.m. news and the latest episode of Lost I took a look at some of the “mystery” listings in our cable company’s onscreen guide. Here are a few that I found (and I’m paraphrasing here):

“Reservoir Dogs”: Thieves suspect a traitor in the aftermath of a failed jewelry heist.

“Scarface”: A Cuban immigrant cuts a violent path to the top of the Miami drug trade.

“Fargo”: A pregnant police chief investigates a desperate salesman’s attempt to kidnap his wife.

Pretty good summaries. (Or loglines, if you prefer.) Another thing I noticed is that those single sentences are often enough, in themselves, to allow the reader to guess the names of the movies. Consider these:

A group of children try to help an alien find his way home.

A man-eating shark threatens swimmers off the New England coast.

An FBI trainee turns to a brilliant criminal for help in the search for a serial killer.

An unemployed actor disguises himself as a woman in order to find work.

Another observation: Occasionally a summary is no more than a reference to another story. I once heard the film “Under Siege” described as “Die Hard” on a battleship — although that’s more of what’s known as a “tagline” than a “logline.” (Taglines are the little teasers usually included on movie posters. Have I made your head hurt yet?)

Anyhow, you get the point. I’m not going so far as to say I fully appreciate the value of one-sentence summaries — I seldom write them myself — but if you do agree with the many authors who believe it’s an aid to their writing, I encourage you to try it with your own stories. If you don’t . . . well, don’t.

To each his own.