- 谢谢视角的转贴,颇有受益。转贴如下。
>纯属个人视角 wrote:
> >这条线让我想到以前的一个转帖,这个贴给过我启发,就是如何看文字。因为长度可能超过主贴喧宾夺主,连在这里,仅供参阅:
> >阅读的两种方法,写作的三种方法
> >引用地址:http://www.xici.net/b680896/d42108276.htm
阅读的两种方法,写作的三种方法。
引用地址:http://www.xici.net/b680896/d42108276.htm
罗伊.彼得.克拉克
30年来,我一直以专业人员的眼光来看待阅读和写作。我教新闻记者写作已经有20多年了。但我只是在几个月前才学到了对于想写得一手好文章的人最重要的一课。
这就是:阅读有两种方法,写作有三种方法。
我的老师是一位我从未谋面的妇女。她的名字叫路易丝.罗森布拉特。她已经退休,住在新泽西州普林斯顿附近。30年代,她开始教中学生文学课,最后在纽约大学教书。作为学者,她不仅仅研究伟大的文学著作,还对她的学生如何阅读莎士比亚的《哈姆雷特》和《罗密欧与朱丽叶》这样的作品充满兴趣。
她早就意识到了现在很普遍的常识:阅读是一种相互作用的过程,读者把自己的经历、经验、偏见、知识或无知带到文字中去。作者写出的只是文字,读者使它变成故事。
罗森布拉特把阅读分成两类,“传达”和“审美”。请先容忍一下专业术语,一会儿我们就要谈到新闻了。“传达”的意思是“从……中获得”。读者获取信息,即有潜在作用的东西。罗森布拉特相信大部分新闻作品都属于这个类别。
.城里新开了一家餐馆。
.市政府同意开征一项新税种。
.本月有四部新片上映。
.一种治疗艾滋病的新药正在实验中。
在上面的每一例中,读者都能知道一些东西,能从中获取可以用在个人生活中的信息,或者把它告诉别人。显然,不管读者往文字里添加了什么,作者都能帮助他们获取一些东西。作品本身要清楚易懂,不要吸引读者额外的注意。
另一种我们常常进行的阅读是 “审美”,它指作品是艺术地写出来的。我们读《哈姆雷特》不是要找去赫尔辛格的路,不是学怎样挖坟,不是学如何给剑尖喂毒,我们读它因为这是一种体验。一个虚拟的现实。它不是要给我们信息,而是让我们形成自己的看法。
在美国和其它文化中,报纸讲故事有悠久的传统。
.三个人,原以为已经死了,在海上获救。
.一位妇女在家中被害,虽然很多邻居听到了尖叫声,却没有一个人报警。
.一只海琢救了一条狗。
.一项实验性的手术使一位妇女恢复听力。
这种类型的新闻要强调的是故事而不是信息。故事是用场景来表达的。它们中有谈话的人物。细节描写刺激了各种感觉,使经历更具真实感。故事也有背景,即人物生活的地方。我们从其他人的视角来看待事物。、
《西雅图时报》的理查德.萨勒对此也作出了有益的区分:“如果写作的目的是传达信息,就要靠传统的五个‘W’:什
么人、什么事、什么地方、什么时间和为什么。但如果写作目的是故事,而不是严肃的文章,‘什么人’变成了‘人物’;‘什么事’变成了 ‘情节’;‘什么地方’变成了‘背景’;‘什么时候’变成了‘时间顺序’;‘为什么’变成了‘动机’。”
让我们回到路易丝.罗森布拉特的区分吧,这是她1938年在一本名为《文学即探险》的书中作出的。但这次我要用的语言是我以前的学生达雷尔.费尔斯向我建议的,现在他是一位成功的记者。他提出语言分为“指导性”和“描绘性”两种。
考虑下表中两类语言的区分。
指导性 描绘性
有用的东西 经历过的东西
获取的东西 及时的事件
学到的东西 旅行
后来发生的事情 发生的过程
公民 文学
有毒标签 诗歌
罗森布拉特是这样解释最后一行的。比如,你误服了有毒物质,需要在这种标签上找出它的解毒方法。你看标签时,要找的是可以救命的具体信息,而不想看见什么隐喻和押韵。只要解毒信息写得不错,不至于产生令人误解的干扰,你一般不会去注意词语本身。
但诗歌却应该是文学的,即使它表达了高于词语的意义,也应该让读者注意到语言自身的美。
因此,假定龙卷风正要袭击圣彼得斯堡,我会急于了解所有信息:我应该撤离吗?去哪里?什么时候走?随身带点什么?我的狗雷克斯怎么办?
但龙卷风过后,全城十几万人撤离,37人死亡,数百人无家可归,这时我想知道的就不仅仅是信息了。我要听故事。我想与同城的其他人分享自己的经历,故事是最好的方式。
现在,以《圣彼得斯堡时报》上两篇关于教育的文章为例说明两种语言的区别。第一篇是标准的通知:
圣彼得斯堡地区妇女选民联合会今晚7点到8点半将举行一个论坛,讨论选校控制计划,该计划将允许家长在划片区内为子女自由选择学校。论坛在第9大街3745号的圣彼得斯堡大图书馆举行。发言人是特殊分配一选择项目主任琳达.本韦尔和本联合会教育委员加布丽埃勒.戴维斯。咨询电话896-5197。
作者在这则通知中包含了大部分“W”。我们知道了什么人什么时候在哪里要做什么。“为什么”是文中隐含着的:选择学校是很重要的事。作者觉得这些消息可能有用,会推动读者参加。你可以开车去图书馆论坛现场,也可以打电话询问。如果对专有名词 (像“选校控制计划”和“划片区”)加以简化,文章会有更好的效果。
《圣彼得斯堡时报》的一位记者汤姆.弗伦奇用一年时间报道拉尔戈中学的情况,还花了一年写了一则故事,关于六个中学生如何在90年代的美国教育制度中挣扎。下面一幕是一群中学生在玩“看和猜”,通常只有幼儿园的孩子才玩的游戏。
今天最引人注目的陈述者是米奇。他真名是斯蒂夫,但他不让任何人这么叫他。据这群孩子所知,他总是愿意别人用他的偶像——米老鼠——的名字叫他。这可不是开玩笑的。米奇很有幽默感,但骨子里异常认真。
他给大家看了他的米老鼠口琴、米老鼠帽子、米老鼠布偶、米老鼠牙刷盒和米老鼠耳环。他说,本应该把他的米老鼠内衣带来,不过觉得大家可能并不想看,就没带。
“我有米老鼠的所有东西。”
他还出示了一方剪报,那是张奶牛的照片,它身上的花纹看着就像米老鼠头。米奇说,奶牛的主人已经把它卖给了迪斯尼公司。
“他们把那头奶牛卖了一百万美元。”他说。
其它的孩子被巨大的数字和丰富的藏品惊呆了。尤其是米老鼠形的浮标。
“天哪,”另一个孩子瞪着浮标说,“你从哪儿弄到的这玩意儿?”
米奇笑了。
“我不会说出它们的来源的。”他说。
奥唐奈老师问他对米老鼠的迷恋是从什么时候开始的。米奇说,那是前不久,他休学了一段时间,独自呆在家中。他情绪低落,倍感孤独,觉得自己十分失败。这时,他发现了米老鼠。
“我没法交朋友,”他说,“它就是我的朋友,它不会说我是失败者……它从来不反驳我。”
前排一个女生举手。“可它也不会跟你谈心吧?”她说,“你从来没想过这一点吗?”
“我不在乎,”米奇说,“它从来不斥责我做错了事。”
他说这些时,教室里宁静得令人不安。有的孩子惊讶地琢磨他的话,有的则努力提醒自己别笑出声来。最后,有人打破了沉默。
“你家是不是像小矮人的童话天地一样?”一个小女孩问道。
米奇站在那里看着他的同学们,脸上挂着不确定的笑容。他可以用两种方法理解大家的反应。可能他让同学吃了一惊,他们只是在笑他的爱好很奇特;或者可能他们觉得他确实是个失败者,这是他最坏的担心。
事情没有继续下去,奥唐奈老师及时打断了他们。她礼貌地感谢米奇的演讲,把游戏进行下去。隔着几排座位,坐着一帮拒绝把 “看和猜”当真的孩子,他们总是捣蛋。这时候,其中一个男孩站起来,举着一个健怡可乐的空罐子。
“这是我的罐子,”他假笑着说,“它能再生使用,可以卖钱。”
“这是我的钢笔,”旁边一个孩子跟着说,“它能飞。”
说着,他把钢笔扔了起来。它以一条优美的弧线划过整间教室的空间,在空中上下翻滚着……
这种作品来自详尽的报道,而报道首先要有接近的权利,汤姆.弗伦奇在这件事发生之前肯定己经在教室里呆了好多天。另一次他在教室里时,班里的学生经过交流发现他们当中没有一个是同自己的亲生父母生活在一起的。人们的记忆有时会改变故事的本来面貌,但现场报道无疑是最真实的——记者目睹了全部过程。
考虑这两种类型的作品和相应的阅读时,可以假想一根标尺——范围是从1到10。关于选校会议的通知完全是消息:得1
分或2分。关于米老鼠的讲述完全是故事:得9分或10分。
那么,得5分的会是什么样呢?也许名人传记中的历史性记载可以算5分吧,下面这一段出自描写美国发明家的书:
德福雷斯特对类推的偏爱还出现在他写的诗里,甚至在自传中还引了一则自己的诗。他好像不知不觉就用上了比喻。例如,他在显微镜下观察无线传感器的电极间微粒子的流动时,他想象……
这段文章中包含着一些信息,但也让我们眼前浮现出一位富有创造精神的人正用显微镜观察着什么东西。
还有一个问题:我在题目里说阅读有两种方法,写作有三种方法,是什么意思?阅读的两种方法和写作的头两种方法现在是显而易见的。我们为了信息阅读和写作,也为了故事阅读和写作。语言分为指导性的和描绘性的。
因此,第三种方法是:既为信息,也为故事而写作。
新闻工作者常常要写含有故事因素的消息,也要写含有信息因素的故事。而且,这个行当里有些专门的技巧来帮我们实现这种写法。第一个是轶闻 (anecdote),它常常同“解毒药”(antidote)弄混——除非我们说轶闻是“呆板文章”这种毒药的解药。
轶闻是一则短小的故事,“精练的文字,讲述有趣或幽默的小事。”这个单词来自希腊语,原意是“未公开的”,指一些历史上或个人生活中的小秘密。奇普.斯坎伦现在是波因特协作训练计划的负责人,他曾经讲过一个故事:一位失踪女孩的母亲十分伤心,多年来一直给女儿亮着前廊的灯,因为怕她回家时看不清路。母亲在电灯开关上贴上胶布,这样灯就不会被谁不小心关掉。故事讲述的是永恒的悲伤,而这则轶闻却告诉我们 “永恒的悲伤”到底意味着什么。
唐.弗赖伊和我一样教写作,他提出一种叙事结构,其中轶闻可以用作金币。“想象你自己走在森林里的小道上,突然看见一枚金币。你捡起它,放进口袋里。你走出一英里,又找到一枚金币。每隔一英里,你都会捡到一枚金币。虽然你已经很累了,但你一直走下去,直到捡完所有的金币。”同样,读者如果在文章中能捡到金币,一段短短的文字能让他读到更多的乐趣,也会很高兴地读完一篇有很多信息的故事。
所以,消息可以大部分是信息,其中嵌人一些可以使之闪光的小故事,反之亦可。故事开头可以是一段富有艺术性的经历或叙述,使我们可以看到、听到甚至嗅到它讲述的对象。《华盛顿日报》的退休记者比尔.布伦德尔写过一篇牛仔正在消失的报道,导语是这样的:
骑马的人把一只牛犊从牛群申驱赶出来,套索开始转动。突然,绳圈套上了小牛的后腿并收紧了。他把绳子绕在鞍头上,拖着这只倒霉的动物来到他的同伴面前。
副手鞭打着牛犊让它躺在地上,兽医给它打了预防针。伴随着鲜血、尘埃和嘶叫,他们锯掉牛犊的角,给它烙上了印,空气中发出刺鼻的皮毛的焦糊味,再用折刀打上本牧场独有的耳记,最后将它阉割。整个过程几乎在一分钟之内就完成了。
好精彩的故事。可是,我们为什么看到这幅景象呢?它有什么意义?上下文是什么?后来又怎么样?文章其实要说的是在当今这样一个“牛仔热”的年代里,真正的牛仔已寥寥无几。作者后来总结道:
最终,像吉姆.米勒这样的人为数已经不多了。他们的靴子破旧开裂,熟悉马和牛的足迹,知道太阳升起在空旷的田野上是什么景象——还有同全美最浪漫的工作相随的危险、艰苦和微薄的酬劳。这样的人所剩无几。“我认识的真正牛仔,”米勒先生说,“大部分已经去世很久了。”
另一篇报道的开头是一个人正给自己做斯帕姆午餐肉三明治,虽然他曾经发誓只要能活过第二次世界大战就决不再碰午餐肉一口,打仗时他吃得太多了。可是,为什么提到斯帕姆午餐肉呢?看看第四段:“不管你信不信,斯帕姆午餐肉仍有生命力。去年霍梅尔公司卖出了9.1亿磅,使斯帕姆午餐肉成为美国最受欢迎的罐装肉类。”
这时叙述可以放慢,甚至停下来交代一下背景或作点儿解释。把文章的脉络当作一次读者坐着火车出门旅行。火车不时要放慢速度或者停上儿分钟,这时记者可能会直接同读者见面,作些解释,或讲述历史,或提供背景。
因此,我们已经知道,故事能使信息闪光,信息也能补充故事。
另一种把信息和故事结合在一起的报道形式我叫做“"沙漏”。这种方式最适合于同时间顺序密切相关的爆炸性新闻。沙漏的上半部分与传统的倒金字塔结构一样,但长度稍短——可能4到5个自然段。这样我们会知道有人开枪击伤了一位警官腿部,逃进某家住宅,用一名男孩作人质顽抗了8小时,最终没有伤害孩子自动投降并被逮捕。下面紧接着是一个转换,叫“转折”:“警察和在场的人对该事件作出如下评论”,然后是把事情按时间顺序复述一遍,添加很多标准报道中不该有的细节。
这样,读者就有了选择余地。他们可以看完前面一部分就转向其他文章,如果他们感兴趣,也可以继续看事件的细节。
如果上面这些对你有益,请感谢路易丝.罗森布拉特教授的贡献。
- posted on 11/27/2007
原文:
Two Ways to Read, Three Ways to Write By Roy Peter Clark (more by author)
Senior Scholar, Poynter Institute
Reprinted from Workbench: The Bulletin of the National Writers' Workshop,Vol. 4
I've been thinking about reading and writing as a professional for almost 30 years. I've taught storytelling to journalists for more than 20. But it has only been in the last few months that I've learned the most important lesson for those who want to write well.
The lesson is this: There are only two ways of reading. And there are only three ways of writing.
My teacher is a woman I've never met. Her name is Louise Rosenblatt. She is retired and living near Princeton, N.J. In the 1930s she began teaching literature to high school students, and eventually taught at New York University. As a scholar, she not only studied great works of literature, but she also was curious about the different ways her students read works like Shakespeare's Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet.
She realized early what is now a commonplace: that reading is a transaction in which each reader brings his or her own biography, experiences, prejudices, knowledge, ignorance to the text. The writer may create the text, but the reader makes it a story.
Two Ways To Read
Rosenblatt defines two kinds of reading, which she describes as "the efferent" and "the aesthetic." Excuse the technical language for a moment; we'll be getting to journalism soon. The word efferent means to "carry away from." The reader carries away information, things that have some potential utility. Rosenblatt believes, rightly, that most of journalism falls into this category.
- A new restaurant opens in town.
- The city passes a new tax on property.
- Four new movies open this week.
- A new drug for AIDS is being tested.
In each case, the reader has something to learn, to carry away from the story, to use in his or her personal life, perhaps to pass it on to another. It should be obvious that, whatever the reader brings to the text, the writer can help the reader carry something away. The writing must be clear and comprehensible, and not call attention to itself.
But much of the reading we do is also "aesthetic," which is to say that it is rendered artfully. When we read Hamlet, the purpose is not to find our way to Elsinore, or to learn how to dig a grave, or how to poison the tip of a sword. We still read or see Hamlet because it is an experience. A virtual reality. It seeks not to inform us, but to form us.
In the United States, and in other cultures, there is a long tradition of storytelling in newspapers:
- Three men, thought lost, are rescued at sea.
- A woman is murdered in her house, and although many neighbors hear the screams, no one calls the police.
- A dolphin rescues a dog.
- A woman's hearing is restored in an experimental operation.
This kind of news cries out for stories, not articles. Stories are told through scenes. They have characters who speak with dialogue. Details excite the senses, making the experience more real. Stories also have settings, places characters inhabit. We can see things from another's point of view.
Richard Zahler of The Seattle Times makes a helpful distinction:
"When we write for information, we depend on the traditional Five Ws: Who, What, Where, When, and Why. But when we write for story, when we thaw out those articles, Who becomes Character; What becomes Plot; Where becomes Setting; When becomes Chronology; Why becomes Motivation."
Let's get back to Louise Rosenblatt's distinction, which she made in 1938 in a book titled Literature as Exploration. But this time, I'll use language suggested by my former student, now a successful journalist, Darrell Fears. He talks about language that Points You There and language that Puts You There.
Consider this list of contrasts:
Pointing You There Putting You There
What is useful What is experienced
What is carried away An event in time
What is learned A journey
What happens after What happens during
The civic   The literary
The poison label The poem
Rosenblatt explains this last distinction. Let's say you swallow some poison and need to find the antidote on the bottle. When you read it, you are looking for specific information that can save your life. You don't expect metaphor or alliteration. You will notice the words only if the antidote is badly written, creating the "static" that leads to miscommunication.
But we expect a poem to be literary, to use language that calls attention to itself even as it conveys a higher meaning.
So let's say Hurricane Chip is headed for St. Petersburg. I am desperate for information: Should I evacuate? When? Where? What should I bring with me? What about my dog, Rex?
But after the hurricane has hit, and more than 100,000 people are evacuated, and 37 have been killed, and hundreds are homeless, I am looking for more than information. I am looking for story. I want to share an experience with my fellow citizens. Nothing does this better than story.
Now let's illustrate the distinction with two pieces from the St. Petersburg Times about education. The first is a standard announcement:
The League of Women Voters of the St. Petersburg area will hold a forum from 7 to 8:30 tonight on controlled school choice, which would allow parents to choose from any school in their attendance zone. The forum will be at the St. Petersburg Main Library, 3745 Ninth Ave. N. Speakers will be Linda Benware, administrator on special assignment--choice programs, and Gabrielle Davis, education committee from the league. For information, call 896-5197.
The writer includes most of the W's in this announcement. We know Who, What, Where, and When. Why is implied: school choice is an important issue. The writer expects this information might be useful, that it might mobilize the reader. You can drive to the library. Or call the information number. Perhaps the paragraph could be improved by simplifying the technical language (such as "controlled school choice" or "attendance zone").
Tom French, a writer at the St. Petersburg Times, spent a year reporting at Largo (Fla.) High School and another year writing the story of six students trying to survive American education in the 1990s. In the following scene, a group of struggling students play "show and tell," usually a game for kindergarten students:
The biggest presentation of the day comes from Mickey. His real name is Steve, but he won't let anyone call him that. For as long as the kids in the pod can remember, he has always wanted to be known by the name of his hero, Mickey Mouse. This is not a joke. Mickey has a sense of humor about it, but underneath, he is dead serious.
He shows the others his Mickey Mouse harmonica. and his Mickey Mouse cap. And his Mickey Mouse doll, and his Mickey Mouse toothbrush container, and his Mickey Mouse earring. He would have brought his Mickey Mouse underwear, he says, but he doesn't think they'd really want to see it.
"Anything and everything, I've got it."
He shows them a clipping of a newspaper photo that shows a cow with spots naturally shaped like Mickey Mouse's head. According to Mickey, the people who owned the cow have already sold it to Disney.
"They got like a million bucks for that cow," he says.
The other kids are stunned by the sheer number and diversity of the souvenirs. Especially the Mickey Mouse fishing bobber.
"No way," says another kid, staring at the bobber. "Where would you get that?"
Mickey smiles.
"I don't reveal my sources," he says.
Mrs. O'Donnell asks him how the fascination began. It started a while back, Mickey says, when he had quit school for a time and was at home by himself. He was depressed. He was lonely. He felt like a failure. Then he found Mickey Mouse.
"I couldn't make friends or nothing," he says, "and it's like this was my friend, who would never tell me I was a loserhe never argues back."
A girl nearby raises her hand. "He can never talk to you, either," she says. "Have you thought of that?"
"I don't care," says Mickey. "He never tells me that I'm wrong."
When he says this, the rest of the class grows uncomfortably quiet. Some of the kids are studying Mickey with amazement. Others are fighting not to laugh. Finally someone breaks the silence.
"Is your house, like, Pee-Wee's Playhouse?" says one of the girls.
Mickey stands there with an uncertain smile, looking out at the faces of his classmates. He could take their reactions two ways. Maybe he's made a hit and they're just laughing at the oddness of his obsession. Or maybe they think he really is a loser, confirming his worst suspicions.
Before it goes any further, Mrs. O'Donnell steps in. Politely she thanks Mickey for his presentation and moves on. A few seats down, among a group of kids who refuse to take show-and-tell seriously, always blowing it off, a boy holds up a can of diet Coke he's been drinking.
"This is my can," he says with a smirk. "You can recycle it and get money for it."
"This is my pen," says the boy beside him, playing along. "It flies."
With that, he pulls the pen back and flips it into the air. It sails across the room in a graceful arc, tumbling lengthwise end over end...
This kind of writing depends on intensive reporting that comes, first and foremost, from access. Tom French had to sit in that classroom for many days, before this incident came to light. He is there on another day when the students in the class learn that none of them lives with both birth parents. Stories can be reconstructed from people's memories, but nothing is better than an eyewitness account--where the reporter is the eyewitness.
When we think about the two ways of reading, and the two ways of writing, it is helpful to think about a spectrum-a scale of 1 to 10. The announcement about the school choice meeting is almost pure information: it scores a 1 or 2. The scene about Mickey Mouse is straight narrative: it scores a 9 or 10.
So what might a "5" look like, something in the middle of the scale? Perhaps an historical account in the biography of a famous person, such as this passage from a book on American inventors:
De Forest's love of analogy also appears in the poetry he frequently wrote, a selection from which he included in his autobiography. His use of metaphor seems to have emerged unconsciously and spontaneously. For instance, when observing under a microscope the flow of minute particles between electrodes in his wireless detector, he imagined...
This passage contains some information, but also helps us envision a scene of a creative man looking into a microscope.
The Third Way To Write
One question remains: What do I mean in my title when I say there are two ways of reading and three ways of writing? The first two ways of reading and writing should be obvious by now. We read and write for information. We read and write for story. Language points us there. Language puts us there.
So what is the third way: reading and writing for both information and story.
Journalists often write articles that have story elements and vice versa. Moreover, we have some tricks of the trade that help us do this. The first is the anecdote, a word often confused with "antidote"--unless we say that the anecdote is an antidote to the poison of dull writing.
The anecdote is a tiny story within a story, "a short account of some interesting or humorous incident." The word comes from the Greek meaning "previously unpublished," suggesting some little secret piece of history or biography. So Chip Scanlan, now director of Poynter's writing program, tells us that the grieving mother of a girl missing for years leaves the front porch light on for her, and places a piece of tape over the lightswitch so it cannot be accidently turned off. The story tells us about eternal grief, but the anecdote shows us.
Don Fry, my fellow writing coach, suggests a story structure in which anecdotes can be used as gold coins. "Imagine yourself walking along a path through the forest when you come upon a gold coin. You pick it up and put it in your pocket. You walk another mile, and find another coin. Another mile, another coin. Even though you're tired, you keep walking until the coins run out." In the same way, a reader will more likely move through an informational story if he or she is rewarded with a gold coin, a tiny bit of story that intensifies the experience of reading.
So an article can be mostly informational and be brightened by embedded stories. Or it can work the other way around. The story can begin with an experience, a narrative, rendered so artfully that we can see it, hear it, smell it. Bill Blundell, now-retired reporter for The Wall Street Journal, once wrote this lead to a story about the disappearing cowboy:
The lariat whirls as the man on horseback separates a calf from the herd. Suddenly, the loop snakes around the calf's rear legs and tightens. Wrapping a turn of rope around the saddle horn, the rider drags the hapless animal to his crew.
The flanker whips the calf onto its back, and the medicine man inoculates the animal. Amid blood, dust and bawling, the calf is dehorned with a coring tool, branded in an acrid cloud of smoke from burning hair and flesh, earmarked with a penknife in the ranch's unique pattern and castrated. It is all over in one minute.
Fascinating story. But why are we reading this scene? What's the point? What is the context? So what? It turns out there are few real cowboys left in an era of cowboy hype. And the author communicates this in a passage called the nut paragraph, or "nut graph" for short:
Finally, there is a little band of men like Jim Miller. Their boots are old and cracked. They still know as second nature the ways of horse and cow, the look of sunrise over empty land-and the hazards, sheer drudgery and rock-bottom pay that go with perhaps the most over-romanticized of American jobs. There are very few of these men left. "Most of the real cowboys I know," says Mr. Miller, "have been dead for a while."
Another story begins with a man making himself a Spam sandwich, even though he swore that if he ever survived World War II, where he ate so much of the stuff, he would never eat Spam again. But why read about Spam? Check the fourth paragraph: "Spam lives, believe it or not. The Hormel company sold 91 million pounds of it last year, making Spam America's most popular canned meat."
The narrative can slow down, or even stop, for a bit of background or explanation. Think of this structure as the moving train, a reader's journey created by the writer's narrative line. Every so often, the train slows down or even makes a whistle stop, during which the reporter may speak directly to the reader to explain, or offer history, or provide context or background.
So we've learned that stories can brighten information, and that information can enrich stories.
One other tool to bring information and narrative together is a story form I call the hourglass. This story works well when there is breaking news combined with narrative chronology. The top of the hourglass looks like the old inverted pyramid, but is shorter in duration-perhaps four or five paragraphs. So we learn that a man shot a police officer in the leg, ran into a house, held a boy hostage for eight hours, surrendered without harming the boy, and was finally arrested. What follows is a transition, called the turn. "Police and witnesses gave the following account of the dramatic incident." What follows is a retelling of events in chronological order, with many more details than a standard story would allow.
Readers now have a choice. They can read the top and quit, or, if interested can linger down in the story.
If any of these ideas serve you well, say a prayer of thanks for the contributions of Professor Louise Rosenblatt.
[Editor's note: Roy Peter Clark is Senior Scholar at The Poynter Institute and director of the National Writers' Workshop.]
- A new restaurant opens in town.