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What is Method Writing?

Puppeting and Lifeless Characters

5 Tips on the Ticking Time Bomb

From https://www.method-writing.com/what-is-method-writing/:

What is Method Writing?

Method Writing means different things to different people. Is it a writer version of ‘method acting’? Is it a specific school of writing? Or does it just mean using a methodical or systematic approach to writing? Here’s an overview of some different definitions of the term “method writing”, and how I use it myself.

Is method writing like “method acting”?

“Method writing” sometimes refers to a creative process similar to method acting. This definition is now included in the Urban Dictionary, so clearly it’s taking hold!

So what’s method acting? It’s an acting approach that people often associate with performers such as James Dean, Marlon Brando and Daniel Day Lewis. In popular use, it means acting where the performer learns to embody their character by putting themselves into similar situations.

For example, when Day Lewis played the title role in The Boxer, he tattooed his arms and trained in boxing several times a week, so that he could embody the character more authentically.

For him, it wasn’t just about developing the right physique so he could look the part. It was about portraying the character from the inside out, after experiencing the pain, exhaustion and physical reality of the boxer’s world.

This is an over-simplification. Strictly speaking, method acting refers to a specific kind of training from an influential acting school. But how might this idea be relevant to writing?

Well, what if writers used similar immersive techniques? What if they put themselves through the mill physically to get a more authentic sense of their characters? Could they write more effectively or from a place of greater “truth” by taking a “method” approach?

Method Writers movement

Writer and journalist Thomas Hodgkinson set up his Method Writers group to promote this approach to writing. To write his novel about a stalker, for example, he shut himself in a cupboard to experience feelings of confinement, estrangement and isolation.

To me, this makes perfect sense. It’s research. You could argue it’s the writer’s job to research their characters and their world in whatever ways are accessible.

Clearly, there are limits! No writer is going to become a stalker or murderer in order to write those characters – that’s a research step too far! And not everyone who wants to write a sailor can get access to a sailing boat. Plenty of writers use their imaginations, and research in other ways, to create their version of an authentic character.

But within obvious practical constraints, writers can use physical research methods to get far closer to their characters.

Even in small ways, physical research can make a difference. For example, I was writing about rugby players. I didn’t find out what their pitch felt like until I walked on it, touched it, lay down on it. You’d think it would be hard underfoot, but it was springy and spongy, like moss. I got second-hand rugby boots so I could experience what they felt like to wear. Without that direct knowledge, I could have got it completely wrong. That sense of texture really helped to bring the description to life.

How might you use method strategies to get embody your characters more authentically? Try getting away from your writing desk and exploring the unfamiliar.

Method writing, systems and Stanislavski

Method acting goes deeper than this, however. Its foundations go back to the work of the Russian theatre director, Konstantin Stanislavski.

Stanislavski is the man behind the concept of “beats” in scriptwriting. If you’ve heard of “beat sheets” or breaking a scene into “beats”, you’ve encountered his influence.

One of his ideas was that if you analyse a scene to understand its “beats” (simply “bits” with a Russian accent!), you can put it back together and understand the whole structure much more effectively.

In a sense, he brought an engineering sensibility to acting training. This in turn has influenced writers, especially in scriptwriting. Most scriptwriters – whether for film, stage or radio – use the concept of beats when talking about chunks of dramatic action.

Beats are an incredibly useful concept for dealing with time and shifts in emotion and status between characters.

They can be used in fiction writing, too, and more writers are becoming aware of their usefulness for structural editing. Dramatic techniques can seem methodical, in some ways. But this isn’t surprising when you consider the collaborative nature of filmmaking and theatre as art forms. It’s simply more effective to have a working shorthand that everyone understands.

Writing teachers, schools and thinkers

Other writers and teachers have used the term “method writing” in different ways, including Dick Bentley (Stanislavski approach) and Jack Grapes (writing from the deep voice). Other writers using this terminology include those in the Method Writers project.

From https://www.method-writing.com/puppeting-lifeless-characters-fiction/:

Puppeting and lifeless characters | bring your fiction characters to life

Puppeting is a common issue in fiction writing. It means the characters seem a bit lifeless and mechanical, without a vivid sense of action and flow. Usually, it just means the author hasn’t yet worked out how to weave action, description and dialogue effectively together. Here’s an overview of the puppeting problem, and how to solve it.

What is puppeting? Writing more realistic character action

Here’s an example of “puppeting”. This isn’t a technical term, by the way – I’ve borrowed it from theatre, where it means “bringing an inanimate object to life”.

“Great idea,” said Karen. “I’d love to know more about it.”

She picked up her pencil and prepared to take notes, sitting down comfortably in her seat and lifting her coffee cup to lips, gazing at Jim, who was sitting across from her.

“OK,” said Jim, pouring her another cup from the cafetière. He brushed his hair from his eyes, scratched his chin and prepared to speak. His gaze fell on Karen’s yellow notebook and blue fountain pen. He offered her milk, but she refused.

Clearly, you’d never write something this clunky! However, it’s easy to fall into this trap when you’re trying to build a picture.

Puppeting prevention 1 – cut insignificant action

Too much time spent on insignificant detail is dull. It doesn’t advance the exciting story. It also slows the pace and forces readers to focus on unrewarding minutiae.

Instead, focus on dramatic action that builds tension, conflict and subtext between the characters.

Describing minutiae can also be used to slow time. You may want to do this when the detail is dramatically important.

For example, if your character’s car crashes into a wall, you’ll want us to feel that slow-motion authenticity, so you’ll spend time describing it.

Just beware of anything that feels like filler. The puppeting effect can often kick in when you’re too faithful to the detail of a scene, at the expense of story.

When in doubt, leave it out.  

Tip 2 – avoid sequences of actions

You might expect puppeting to be less likely when there’s lots of action in a scene.

So here’s the same passage in a more exciting genre:

“So be it,” said Grimaldi. “Tie her to the stake.”

He picked up his broadsword and swung it aloft to slash the length of rope, swishing it around his head and grunting, gazing at Sheba, who stared defiantly.

“Never,” said Sheba, unsheathing her dagger…

Interestingly, the two examples have the same structure. And even though the action is more interesting, there’s still a sense of “puppeting”.

This is because the actions are in a sequence, or a kind of list. It’s a “painting by numbers” approach to action.

We rarely behave and speak in a “then, then, then” measured kind of way, like this.

“Words words words,” she said. Then she did a thing. “Words words.” She did another thing, and another. Then she turned and faced him. “Words words.”

This exaggeration makes the point that our actions and speech are fluid, tumbling over each other. As a sequential list, they feel too robotic.

Tip 3 – vary the sentence rhythm

The puppeting effect can also kick in if your writing rhythm is repetitive.

This is particularly true for sentence rhythm.

When sentence rhythms have similar structure, the writing can feel a bit “paint by numbers”.

“Words, words,” he said. He did a thing, doing another thing as he did so.

“Words, words,” she answered. Then she did a thing, and another thing for good measure.

“Words, words,” he said, in response.

To mitigate this puppeting effect, change up the flow with subordinate clauses:

Doing a thing, he strode into the room. “Words, words,” he said.

As he did the thing, she strode into the room. “Words, words,” she said.

Or use free indirect style:

He did a thing. Words, words. She was always doing that “words, words” thing. It did his head in.

Practice these techniques and come up with your own ideas for varied flow.

Tip 4 – reduce dialogue tags

Puppeting is a particular danger with dialogue.

Dialogue tags such as those “she said, he said” are often used to weave together dialogue and action.

And they’re very useful phrases! However, if they’re overdone, the effect can be choppy.

If you overdo dialogue tags, the repetition of “she said, he said” can get start to feel like tennis.

And often, they’re not really needed.

Sometimes, writers try to avoid repetitive dialogue tags by using other verbs – he asked, she replied. Simple words like this are fine.

But often, beginning writers overshoot into more unusual words: he grunted, she smirked.

And this can become the dreaded “saidphobia” – the avoidance of everyday “said” by using ornate variation.

Sometimes, this is unintentionally funny, as in she expostulated, he ejaculated.

These words are far too heavy-handed to be simple connecting phrases. They’re like divas, drawing attention to themselves and obscuring the dialogue itself.

And they tend to distance the reader from the characters, which can once again reinforce a sense of puppeting.

Often, you can simply cut repetition of “she said, he said”, and replace them with action description. If it’s clear which character is doing what and speaking which lines, you don’t need “to say”.

For example:

“Words, words,” he said. He did a thing, doing another thing as he did so.

“Words, words,” she answered. Then she did a thing, and another thing for good measure.

“Words, words,” he said, in response.

Could become:

“Best get going, then.” He slung the heavy backpack over his shoulder, and headed for the door. Then he frowned. “My passport.”

She smiled. “Ah, yes. About that.” She handed him a folded brown envelope. “Don’t hate me. Or Fido.”

Fido lay panting on the floor in the heat, all big eyes and lolling tongue.

Kevin glared. “Not again.”

Surprisingly, the verb “to say” hasn’t been used here at all. However, it’s still clear who’s doing what, and saying what.

From https://www.method-writing.com/writing-technique-5-tips-ticking-time-bombs/:

Writing technique | 5 tips on the ticking time bomb

Ten, nine, eight… the ticking time bomb and countdown clock are a familiar technique in creative writing. You’ll find them everywhere – in films, fiction, copywriting, setting in motion a high-stakes race against the clock. These writing devices aren’t always literal, of course – they’re often metaphorical. So, what are ticking clocks used for, and how can you refresh this tired trope?

1. A ticking clock piles the pressure on characters

A ticking clock or time bomb device is there to put pressure on the characters in your story.

The technique is often seen in thrillers – the heroine wrestling over a spaghetti of blue, green and red wires, as the numbers flash down to deadly zero… will she make the right call?

This visual representation of time is especially useful in film. But it’s now such a screenwriting cliché that writers have to work hard to change it up.

Classic example: Armageddon, The Abyss.

Writing practice:

Find something dangerous in your story that has in-built time pressure. It may not be as high-impact as a bomb – it could be a wonky TV, a frayed fuse, a candle burning down, a cigarette left sizzling. How can you use this to put pressure on your characters?

Brainstorm the predictable outcomes, and see if you can write your own twist and come up with something new.

2. The ticking clock device is classic Aristotle

The grandfather of story structure, Aristotle, was aware of the power of the clock. He identified the three dramatic unities of story, space and time, and noticed that dramas with a restricted time span had more tension.

Plays that took place on a single day, such as Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex, compressed time in a way that put powerful pressure on the characters. This made their story more exciting for the audience.

No room to hide! No time to escape! Writers have been using the pressure-cooker effect of time ever since.

Classic example: Oedipus Rex, Groundhog Day.

Writing practice:

Look at the time span of your story and see if you can increase the tension by compressing the time frame. For example, if two scenes are divided by an overnight, can you squeeze them into the same morning?

Imagine a car chase where the detectives have time to go home, shower, have a sleep then head out again… no pressure at all!

Alternatively, combine story beats into a single scene for greater tension. Choose a time and setting that allows you to write in maximum action. Think of pressure cookers or stock cubes and how they distill something’s essence.

3. A ticking countdown clock needs high stakes

A countdown clock needs to have strong meaning (high stakes) for the character, or it won’t have any emotional effect. Say the alarm clock is ticking down to 7am, and your character is debating whether to jump out of bed when it rings.

If it’s the weekend, and they can just roll over and go back to sleep, then nothing is at stake. The 7am alarm doesn’t put any real pressure on the characters.

But if it’s 7am on the day of your wedding, an important interview or a do-or-die meeting, every second counts.

That’s when a countdown clock works best.

On the kind of day when it’s your friend’s wedding, you’re the best man, and you’re already late, late, late…

Classic example: Four Weddings and a Funeral.

Writing practice:

If you use a clock-type device, make sure something’s really at stake for the characters.

Say they miss the train, and there’s another one along in half an hour. What’s the problem? Nothing at stake! Just catch the next train!

But what if it’s the only train south? The last train before the border closes?

If the hero misses this train, the couple will never meet again, the revolution will fail, the traveler will die…

Something terrible will happen if he doesn’t catch this vital do-or-die train.

That’s high stakes.

Choose a “ticking clock” and reason that fit the theme of your story.

4. A ticking time bomb needn’t be an actual clock

Often, ticking clocks in stories are literal clocks.

Think of all those time bombs with digital displays ticking. Station clocks and guards blowing whistles. Weddings and deadlines…

But dwindling time isn’t always about literal clocks.

There are plenty of other objects that signal a point of no return, and can be used as a metaphorical ticking time bomb.

For example, a car running out of gas. A log supply running low in the freezing hut. A contract that will transfer grandma’s house to the villain.

Make those stakes high. Make it really matter. 

Dig into the power of high stakes writing. 

Classic example: Into the Wild.

Writing practice:

Brainstorm physical objects with a built-in time limit.

Look around the location of your story, and see what you can use to put the characters under time pressure. Is it set in a space station? Underwater? A hot, sweaty bakery?

Objects can expire or run out of gas. But they can also change in other ways that create pressure. Escalate, grow, shrink or undergo some kind of transformation, for example.

What’s at stake if this happens? Can you speed up this transformation, or put it under increasing pressure?

5. A ticking time bomb needn’t be a thing

Ticking time bombs don’t need to be objects. They can be high stakes circumstances, such as illness or jeopardy.

Extremes of cold or heat put characters under great pressure, especially if they’re potentially fatal.

Running out of life-saving medication is another option. Or the opposite: imbibing a slow drip-feed of poison.

Classic example: Titanic.

Writing practice:

Brainstorm circumstances that will put your characters under severe pressure, at the limits of their endurance.

What happens if you pile the pressure just a little more, if the situation escalates?

Now, find a way to include this in your story.

Note: making life as tough as possible for your characters is part of the fun of dramatic writing!