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2005 IEEE International Professional Communication Conference Proceedings 0-7803-9028-8/05/$20.00 © 2005 IEEE. Expand Your Horizons: Add Drama to Your Writing Ron Blicq RGI Learning Inc [email protected] Abstract One’s abilities as a technical writer provide a strong basis for moving into other forms of writing. Writers who have done so find their technical writing capability is considerably enhanced: they organize their information more effectively, they write more easily, and they are much more aware of audience. For many years I have been aware that marked similarities exist between writing technical documentation and writing dramatic scripts. In recent years I have had the opportunity to write drama in addition to writing and teaching tech- nical communication. This has reflected well on my technical writing: I now differentiate more easily between ‘need to know’ information and ‘nice to know’ details, better anticipate my readers’ reactions, and write faster and more easily. As a bonus, I have had the satisfaction of seeing my technical writing experience translate into viable dramatic writing, and have had the privilege of seeing three of my plays produced. Keywords: playwriting, script writing, changing genre Introduction What prompted me—as a long-term technical writer and a seasoned teacher of technical writing—to suddenly start writing drama in my “retirement”? There are five reasons: The culmination of many years’ love of theatre. A long-term awareness of the similarities that exist between writing technical documentation and writing play scripts. The personal realization that I no longer want to write description (as one does in technical documentation, novels and short stories). An awareness that, of all writing, dramatic writing is the most audience-oriented. A subliminal ability, as I write, to see the action, hear the words, and feel the emotions experienced by the characters I have created. At IPCC 2005 I will describe some of the factors that started me into writing drama, discuss the similarities among technical writing, story writing and playwriting, describe techniques for writing effective dialogue, offer general suggestions for writing dramatic scripts, show how venturing into a different genre can sharpens one’s technical writing skills, and demonstrate the impact one experiences on seeing one’s work “on stage.” Similarities and Differences The similarities and variances between writing technical documentation, novels, and drama are most noticeable in three areas: establishing the purpose, identifying one’s audience, and writing the words. Purpose When you write a technical document, your pur- pose is to provide information about a product or service so that the purchaser/user can operate it correctly or a service technician can test it and repair it successfully. Both are unlikely to read the whole document from cover to cover; more often, they will search for the information they need to carry out a particular task. When you write a short story or novel, your pur- pose is to entertain. You expect the reader to start at page one and continue to the very end. Conse- quently you need to hold the reader’s attention 534

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Page 1: [IEEE IPCC 2005. Proceedings. International Professional Communication Conference, 2005. - Limerick, Ireland (July 7, 2005)] IPCC 2005. Proceedings. International Professional Communication

2005 IEEE International Professional Communication Conference Proceedings

0-7803-9028-8/05/$20.00 © 2005 IEEE.

Expand Your Horizons: Add Drama to Your Writing

Ron Blicq RGI Learning Inc [email protected]

Abstract

One’s abilities as a technical writer provide a strong basis for moving into other forms of writing. Writers who have done so find their technical writing capability is considerably enhanced: they organize their information more effectively, they write more easily, and they are much more aware of audience.

For many years I have been aware that marked similarities exist between writing technical documentation and writing dramatic scripts. In recent years I have had the opportunity to write drama in addition to writing and teaching tech-nical communication. This has reflected well on my technical writing: I now differentiate more easily between ‘need to know’ information and ‘nice to know’ details, better anticipate my readers’ reactions, and write faster and more easily.

As a bonus, I have had the satisfaction of seeing my technical writing experience translate into viable dramatic writing, and have had the privilege of seeing three of my plays produced.

Keywords: playwriting, script writing, changing genre

IntroductionWhat prompted me—as a long-term technical writer and a seasoned teacher of technical writing—to suddenly start writing drama in my “retirement”? There are five reasons: • The culmination of many years’ love of

theatre.• A long-term awareness of the similarities that

exist between writing technical documentation and writing play scripts.

• The personal realization that I no longer want to write description (as one does in technical documentation, novels and short stories).

• An awareness that, of all writing, dramatic writing is the most audience-oriented.

• A subliminal ability, as I write, to see the action, hear the words, and feel the emotions experienced by the characters I have created.

At IPCC 2005 I will describe some of the factors that started me into writing drama, discuss the similarities among technical writing, story writing and playwriting, describe techniques for writing effective dialogue, offer general suggestions for writing dramatic scripts, show how venturing into a different genre can sharpens one’s technical writing skills, and demonstrate the impact one experiences on seeing one’s work “on stage.”

Similarities and Differences

The similarities and variances between writing technical documentation, novels, and drama are most noticeable in three areas: establishing the purpose, identifying one’s audience, and writing the words.

Purpose

When you write a technical document, your pur-pose is to provide information about a product or service so that the purchaser/user can operate it correctly or a service technician can test it and repair it successfully. Both are unlikely to read the whole document from cover to cover; more often, they will search for the information they need to carry out a particular task.

When you write a short story or novel, your pur-pose is to entertain. You expect the reader to start at page one and continue to the very end. Conse-quently you need to hold the reader’s attention

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throughout, and to do this you write so evocative-ly and creatively that the reader finds it difficult to put the story down.

When you write drama, your purpose is similar: You want the play to entertain, and you want to command the audience’s attention right until the final curtain.

Audience

The audience for a technical document may be a potential purchaser, the purchaser/user, a service or maintenance technician, or all of them, depending on the scope of the document. The audience for a short story or novel will be a reader who is seeking entertainment. In both cases, the audience is a reader.

The audience for a dramatic script, however, is much broader. It starts with readers: initially an artistic director, who evaluates the script’s poten-tial as a theatrical production, and then a director, the actors, and the stage crew who will present the play to an audience. They each read the script to interpret the author’s intent, and then convert the author’s ideas into a visual and spoken produc-tion. The ultimate audience, however, do not read (except for the occasional viewer who purchases the script for further entertainment); they watch and they listen. Consequently, as a dramatist you have to consider a much broader audience with differing needs.

In the second of six Empson Lectures that Margaret Atwood presented at the University of Cambridge in 2000, she compared historical oral narration of stories (an equivalent to dramatic presentations) with written stories:

The tale-teller in the midst of his tale can improvise, within limits—he can embroider or digress, he can add details—but he cannot revise the begin-ning, except between performances.… The writer, on the other hand, can scratch his way through draft after draft, laboring, like Flaubert, over the shape of sentences, striving for exactly the right word.For the tale-teller, the audience is right there in front of him, but the writer’s audience consists of individuals whom he may never see or know. Writer and

audience are invisible to each other; the only visible thing is the book… [1]

Language

Significant differences exist between the crisp language used in technical documentation and the expansive language used in a novel or even a short story. Technical documentation demands focusing the readers’ attention on the facts they need to perform a task and excluding irrelevant details. (Technical writers learn early to discriminate between “need to know” and “nice to know” information.) In a novel, however, authors are expected to provide detailed descriptions of the scene, the people, and their actions, so that readers get a complete picture.

But the differences are much less evident between technical documentation and dramatic writing. Like a technical author, a dramatist has to ensure that all words and actions are relevant; that they either contribute to moving the plot forward or demonstrate traits in a person’s character that will influence what happens later. For example, a character must never make a remark or do some-thing just for effect. There must always be a valid reason that contributes to the action.

Some Suggestions for Writing Dramatic Scripts

Now that I have written several scripts, and watched them during rehearsal and in production, I have learned several factors which have helped me create scripts that appeal to a producer: • For a full-length play, aim to have two acts.

Producers don’t like lengthening and inter-rupting a production—and possibly losing some of the audience—by having two intervals.

• Limit a full-length play to 2 to 2.5 hours.• Allow approximately 1.75 to 2.0 minutes of

acting time for each page of script that has been typed with 1.5 lines between each piece of dialogue. Consequently a two-hour play would have a 60- to 65-page script.

• Limit the number of characters to as few as possible—five is a comfortable maximum—to keep costs down.

• Limit the number of scene changes, and the complexity of the set, partly to reduce costs and partly to develop smooth transitions between scenes.

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• Give characters time to move to a different entry point, and if necessary to change clothes, between exits and entrances.

• Avoid long speeches by individual characters. In natural conversation people talk with short exchanges of information, often only a few words.

• Let actions tell the story whenever possible, rather than depending only on words. In the script describe what happens and let the director and actors interpret your ideas into actions.

• Have an exciting moment as early as possible in the script. For example, avoid the old-fashioned way in which a butler and a maid would come into a parlor and talk about people and happenings to “set the scene.” Let your characters establish their characteristics and previous occurrences as the play evolves.

Producers, directors and actors know that in a well-written script they do not have to read the names on the left to see who is speaking; they can tell who it is by the tenor and manner of the words.

And one final piece of advice: Read numerous plays, from Shakespeare through Wilder to Stoppard, to see how style has changed through the years and how each playwright’s writing has fashioned a story that grips his audience’s attention.

Preparing to Write

Like painting a house, I need to take several preparatory steps before I start to write. Without them, the paint will not adhere well to the structure and may start pealing or flaking off, and the finish will not appeal to the eye (or ear). Here are six questions I consider: • Have I developed a complete story? Does it

have an objective that the main character or characters want to achieve? Are there obstacles they must overcome, and is overcoming them logical and, sometimes, achieved in an unexpected way? Will it engender a feeling of suspense and make the audience wonder what the outcome will be? Does it have a closing moment that evolves naturally from the events, yet still carries an element of surprise?

• How well do I know the characters? This means that, for each primary character, I need to write a scenario that describes their history,

their likes and dislikes, their relationships to each other, their decisiveness and receptiveness to other people’s direction and opinions, and even tiny details about the kind of foods they prefer and their preferences in clothing.

• Have I worked out an opening that will capture the audience’s attention and draw them quickly into the plot?

• Have I worked out how I will keep holding the audience’s interest and keep them wondering what the outcome will be?

• Have I worked out which character or characters will experience a change in character that will influence the outcome of the play?

• Have I worked out a closing moment that will leave the audience feeling satisfied and pleased with the outcome? And will the denouement be short?

Writing the Script

Everyone writes in a different way. For most of my general and technical writing, I jot down a few notes and then compose right at the keyboard, which is how I am writing this. For writing dramatic scripts, however, I work differently. I buy an 80-100 page lined notebook, in which I will handwrite an initial draft. On the front page I list detailed contact information, for I have an in-built fear that I may mislay the handbook and will have to start again (a fear that once evolved into actuality after I inadvertently left a writing pad in the pocket of the aircraft seat in front of me, which I never recovered). I use a bound hand-book, rather than a loose-leaf writing pad, so that I won’t inadvertently lose some pages. When I have completed answering the six questions listed above, I write a simple outline of the main scenes on page 2 of the handbook. For each scene I list the scene number, the initials of the characters who will be present, and a short statement that describes what will happen. For example:

1-5 - C, D, G - G interrogates C re court motive

This tells me that in act 1, scene 5, Celia, Des-mond and George will be present, and George will be questioning Celia about her motive for wanting to take her case to court.

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Most often I write the scenes in sequence, so I can feel the plot evolving and the characters develop-ing, and write in short bursts (a burst is about 45-50 minutes). I rarely write at home. At home, there are too many potential interruptions: the telephone, a trip to the fridge, chores that need to be done – all things that I tend to use as a distraction when I have a difficult piece to write. So the short bursts get done at unusual places and at unusual moments: on a bench in a park or on the bank of the local river; at coffee shops (a local Starbucks works especially well); or on an aircraft seat, where I wear earphones tuned in to the classical music channel. I recognize that, for some people, writing in a public place would offer too many distractions; yet, for me, it works well because I have the unusual facility to be able to switch off to the surrounding sights and sounds and concentrate on the scene and the characters who populate it. When I know my characters well, they are there with me at that moment, and I sense their presence.

I write in pencil on the right-hand side of the notebook, ignoring my natural tendency to econo-mize and use up every side consecutively. My rationale: when I look back and I review what I have written, frequently I may want to change something or insert additional lines of dialogue. These additions and changes I write on the left-hand side and key them into the appropriate points on the right-hand page.

Do I rush home and type what I have just written? No. The typing gets done at convenient intervals and often several days later. Gradually the full play takes shape as a second draft, which I then begin to edit to create a smooth-flowing continuous narrative. All the time I keep two sets of people in mind: my characters and my audience. I continually check that each character is speaking “in character,” and that what a character says at one point evolves naturally from what that charac-ter said earlier or other characters have said to him or her. And I constantly ask myself whether what my characters are saying or doing will seem natural and necessary to the audience, and how the audience will react to what they are saying.

Do I constantly think about the actors and how they will handle what they have to say and do? No, because I know a director will interpret the scene to them. Yet, I often have a very strong visual image of what a particular moment will be like,

which helps me to see the scene the way I hope the audience will see it.

Writing Dialogue

A critical characteristic of a good dramatist is the ability to write natural dialogue: conversation that sounds the way people really speak to one another. I learned how to write good dialogue in two ways: by learning as much as I could about the characters whose words I was portraying, and then by writing 20 minutes of dialogue every day. I pick two or three imaginary people, place them in a hypothetical situation, and then write a brief bio about each of them. I describe their appearance, their family history, their relationship with different members of their family, their tempera-ment, and how they feel about the person or people with whom they will be conversing. Then I pull out a pad of paper and start them talking to each other. Some days I continue from the previous day’s dialogue; on other days I start a new setting with different characters.I have found that these two activities work together, so that after two to three weeks my characters are saying what they would say, rather than the way I personally think they might speak. Suddenly their conversation comes alive and sounds realistic. For example, in a recent play I wanted foster parent Beryl to describe the loneliness of a seven-year-old girl who has been lodged with her and her husband, and how her husband helped the girl feel a little less lonely:

Beryl: It was so hard to reach out to her, poor wee thing, she’d built such a protective shell around her. Then one evening, after we’d had our supper and were walking through the village, Bernard stops and puts an arm around Rosalind’s shoulders. He points to some roses leaning over a garden wall, bobbing in the breeze. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘They’re nodding to you. They’re saying “Hello, Rosie. You’re so pretty, just like a rose yourself. Welcome to our village.” And he looks down at her and says; ‘Is it all right if I call you Rosie?’ And little Rosie…she looks up at him and at last there’s a smile on her face; just a trace. ‘I’d like that,’ she whispers. (Beryl wipes away a tear, the memory is so vivid.) [2]

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And as I looked up from my writing I realized my view inside Starbucks was blurred, and I had to surreptitiously wipe moistness away. When your characters speak so evocatively—when they start saying their thoughts—they can help you live the moment.

Watching During Rehearsals

I was fortunate to be present during rehearsals of three of my plays. But as a visiting playwright I had to be extremely careful not to become a second director! Nothing confuses actors more, and irritates the director more, than to have an author give instructions that run at cross-purpose to those the director is giving. My role at this stage was to be an observer: to give credit when roles were particularly well played, to answer questions, and to privately suggest to the director any changes I felt were necessary. Then we would discuss them. When I first met the actors, I used the opportunity to describe the situation and the locale, and how I felt about the drama and the characters they were about to portray. I made it clear that my words were not cast in stone, and if I had their characters saying something they felt “just wasn’t right,” then I would try to change it. I found that actors and directors very much appreciated my willingness to adapt.

Impact on My Technical Writing

How much has my venture into dramatic writing influenced my technical writing? The impact has been much greater than I expected and falls into two areas: how I write, and the words I put onto paper. I find that I now write much more easily: I am much more clearly aware of my audience, I discriminate better between essential and unessen-tial information, I can see and hear my readers as I write, and I can anticipate their actions and reactions.

In the early days when I wrote instructional text-books, complete with assignments containing information about a situation that students would have to write about, I would write something like this:

You are checking the condition of crates damaged in a highway accident An insurance adjuster checks the crates with you. You find that, of the 12 crates in the shipment, all but No. 6 and No. 10 are

totally beyond repair. No. 6, surpris-ingly, is hardly marked, and No. 10 is missing.

But I became frustrated—as did other instructors who were using the textbook in the classroom—because my students simply parroted the same words back to me, simply changing the person and tense. So, in the next edition of the book, I turned the information into a story, complete with dialogue:

As you check each container, the adjuster writes the numbers in his book: 7, 4, 12, 11, 5, 3, 1, 9, 8, and 2 are totally beyond repair and have no salvage value.

“This one seems okay,” you say, pointing to Crate No. 6. “Hardly any damage: I think it will be salvageable.”

The adjuster adds up the totals. “Not very good for us,” he says. “Ten out of eleven means a heavy claim.”

“Twelve,” you say. “There were twelve crates.”

The adjuster checks his figures again, while you count the crates. There are ten smashed ones and only one good one.

“One is missing,” you say.

“No. 10,” says the adjuster. [3]

It may seem an unusual way to write a textbook, yet it works because student have to extract the information and write it in their own words (because it would be inappropriate to copy my dialogue into their reports). But there also has been an unexpected advantage: students read the assignments with much greater interest, understand and empathize with the protagonists, and then tend to write much better-developed answers to the problems. (The crate numbers were intentionally presented in random order, to test students’ ability and ingenuity to sort out awkward details when they write their report.) The result: story-telling and dialogue have became an integral part of all my textbooks.

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References

[1] Margaret Attwood, Negotiating with the Dead: a Writer on Writing, Cambridge, England: O. W. Toad, Limited, 2002, p. 49.

[2] Ron Blicq, Choosing Home (unpublished script), first production in Gadoc One-Act Play Festival. Guernsey, UK, May 26-29, 2005, p.11.

[3] Ron Blicq and Lisa Moretto, Technically-Write! , 6th ed., Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson/Prentice Hall, 2004, p. 93.

Suggested Reading

Alfred Brenner, TV Scriptwriter’s Handbook: Dramatic Writing for Television and Film. Los Angeles, CA: Silman-James Press, 1992.

Matt Buchanan, Children’s Theatre/Creative Drama. [Online] Available: www.childdrama.com Rib Davis, Writing Dialogue for Scripts, 2nd edn. London, England: A & C Black, 2003.

Ronald B. Tobias, 20 Master Plots. Cincinnati, Ohio: Writer’s Digest Books, 1993.

Barry Turner, ed., Guide to Writing for Stage and Screen. London, England: Macmillan Publishers Ltd., 2003.

About the Author

Ron Blicq has been a technical communicator for over 50 years and is still active in the field. He is a Fellow of the STC and the ATTW, a Member of the ISTC, a Life Senior Member of the IEEE Professional Communication Society, an author of six books on technical communication, and (most recently) a playwright.

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