It is insight into human nature that is the key to the communicator’s skill. For whereas the writer is concerned with what he puts into his writings, the communicator is concerned with what the reader gets out of it. He therefore becomes a student of how people read or listen.

William Bernbach

I received a poke from a concerned writing friend. Asked if the wheels on the writing bus had fallen off or had I just gone walkabout. To see fourteen months have passed without a thought scribbled on Writeside-Up made me cringe. It did appear as if those wheels had fallen off. In truth, I had embarked on a literary walkabout.

While on that detour, I found enlightenment about what I considered exceptional versus adequate (and inadequate) writing. It drove home Bernbach’s point. The American advertising creative director was adamant that it’s not what you say but how it’s said that reaches an audience. Exceptional works are crafted by communicators. The writing style must capitalise on how the human psyche internalises what they read or hear, the impact those words deliver.

No matter the genre, the writer’s challenge is to not only pen believable stories, but the tales told must leach into the reader’s soul. Punch them in the gut. Tear at their hearts. Evoke indignation at injustice or fill one with satisfaction when justice is served. Elicit tears of sadness or joy in empathy for the character. Build tension then scare the crap out of them. That is achieved through skilful writing. Proven by our litmus test–our readers.

I once mentioned I’ve used my busy-hands time listening to Audible. The total number of books has surpassed one hundred. The genres as varied as the authors. And the writing styles ranged from simplistic and undercooked storytelling to clever grand tales filled with visual and emotional impact. Listening shifted from escaping boredom while performing mundane tasks to analysing of each author’s writing style. The shift occurred after I noted numerous modern stylistic Do’s and Don’ts were either exemplified or violated, respectively.

I homed in on vocabulary usage. Weighed the impact of rich passages of descriptive writing to barren ones. Ditto to dialogue styles, which ranged from verbose deliveries to three-word terse replies. I engaged my ears as people did while gathered around the radio, once upon a time.

No matter how difficult it was to get through stories I found emotively deficient or poorly written, I continued listening, hoping for redemption. Sometimes it was delivered but more often not. Did the fault lie in the critical editing process? That critical place where we are challenged to shift from writer to communicator.

The power of deft editing was exemplified in the transformation of a H. G. Wells novel, The War Of The Worlds, by Orson Welles, his Mercury Theatre on the Air actors, and writers. The radio theatre group walked a do-or-die line at the tail end of a production, scrambled for a new production number. Wells book was suggested then dismissed because The Mercury Theatre actors and writers deemed the work an improbable, idiotic load of nonsense. The 1897 novel was the earliest known to portray a conflict between earth and aliens.

 (Yup, that little tidbit surprised me too. Never thought anyone in that era even considered the possibility of an intergalactic invasion, given the shift from a steam-driven to a gasoline powered automobile didn’t occur in the United States until 1895.)  

That desperation for new material knocked so loud and hard, the company’s writers and actors tore the forty-year-old novel apart. They edited the bejeebers out of the it. Turned it into a ‘fake news bulletin’ radio script. And on Halloween night in 1938, an anxious Orson Welles and his Mercury Theatre on the Air players performed The War Of The Worlds.

Kapow! The sweat equity paid off. The fake, real-time bulletins, and the actors dramatized responses to them, were so convincing it was reported tens of thousands of listeners panicked believing Martians had indeed invaded New Jersey. They contacted police. Radio stations and the newspapers were inundated with reports. The terror reportedly spanned the nation.

That reworked story succeeded exponentially in producing a credible production. The outcome exemplified the power of editing a questionable story into something outstanding. They reconstructed it. Brutalized it. Hammered away at every line to make it work for the listener. Made it utterly believable.

H. G. Wells may have authored the story, but when Orson Welles and his collaborators were done, a visceral event occurred. It leached into the readers’ souls and produced terror. Punched them in the gut. Tore at their hearts. Made them run for their lives.

Wowzer! A win-win for the communicator and the listener.

How about you? What makes a story hold your attention? Do you often find yourself mentally editing something your read? Do you finish a poorly told tale or put it back on the shelf?

Thanks for listening. Cheers.

S. C. Roberts