When a writer pitches a serial narrative, everyone else in the shop launches a thousand questions. Here are some of the most frequent. Use them, perhaps, to rehearse your answers in advance of your pitch.
Should the whole thing be written before any of it appears in print or online?
That is my preference. I think fiction writers — from Charles Dickens to Stephen King — have been willing to publish chapters on the fly. But I’m not that daring. St. Petersburg (Fla.) Times reporters Sue Carlton, Tom French, and Anne Hull collaborated in April 2000 on a breaking serial narrative, the daily coverage of the trial of a teenage girl who killed her mother. They did tons of work and published two special sections of background in advance of the trial, but the daily reporting and narrative writing were just dazzling. I’m content with seeing the full arc of the story in advance, and writing everything before publication of anything, knowing that there will always be unanticipated revisions.
Is it true that you share drafts with sources before publication?
This is a controversial topic, to say the least. The St. Petersburg Times does not encourage this practice, but does not condemn it either. In many serial narratives, the investment of key characters is so great that they may deserve special consideration. With Jane Morse, for example, who was not a public figure, I tried to create a climate of “no surprises.” What would be worse than getting a phone call from her after Day 3 of the series begging for us to stop?
Sharing drafts does not mean ceding editorial control to the source. In my experience, sources rarely want you to make major changes, and when they do it’s for a good reason, and often leads to new and better information. One source told me that her mother “hated” her old boyfriend. The mother told me she didn’t hate him — that she was a Christian lady and didn’t hate anyone. She wanted out of the story. Instead, I wrote that she “disapproved” of him. Share. Listen. Be open. Maintain control.
What happens if a reader misses a day?
The paper should be prepared to help readers keep up. Extra copies and back copies can be available for sale at area offices. Readers who are online can connect with the Web site. Perhaps news clerks can be prepared to fax an occasional chapter to a faithful subscriber. The serial should also help readers keep up. Depending upon the length of the serial, writers can include “yesterday” boxes, or “the story so far.” House ads can be used to summarize the story. Table of contents boxes can summarize the whole series each day. Internally, each chapter should repeat the key details: Mick is married to Jane. Mick has AIDS. Jane is trying to figure out what to do. In other words, the serial should be written so that each chapter stands on its own, invites the reader back tomorrow, and creates a new starting point for readers who join the party late.
News Web sites are growing in number, complexity and sophistication. As they mature, they will continue to find new ways to publish their own serial narratives, or to enhance the print version with a rich variety of additional forms of multimedia storytelling or information delivery.
Help me understand the difference between a series and a serial — and between a serial and a saga.
Serials and sagas are first cousins. For our purposes, the serial has shorter chapters and, most likely, a longer run. Both the serial and the saga are narrative experiences. Think of it as a literary form of virtual reality, as a vicarious (or substitute) experience, in which the reader becomes an eyewitness. Imagine how boring a motion picture would be if the characters spent the whole two hours explaining things, rather than experiencing them. There are only a few ways for the writer to create this experience for the reader: setting scenes, using dialogue, highlighting details that define character and setting, showing the world from the characters’ points of view. If the story cannot be told without extensive passages of explanation, in which experience is diluted rather than enhanced by information, you’ve got a series and not a serial.
How do you organize a serial?
It’s different every time. But I generally think of the letter “e.” I start at a key scene, usually in the middle, move forward a bit in time, but then flash back to the beginning and move chronologically beyond where I started. A man in his 50s falls down drunk and breaks his neck. It’s the low point of his life, and he prays to God for redemption. We go back to the beginning of his life to trace how he reached this low point, and then follow him through to a life of purpose and sobriety. At some point I gather all my transcripts and notebooks and mark them for scenes. Then I record that scene on an index card: “Tommy falls and breaks his neck — III. 35-36.” That means that Tommy describes this scene in Notebook III of the transcripts, pages 35-36. When I’m finished with this process I may have a stack of about 150 or more scenes. I can then work with them, shuffle them, find an order, and start thinking about the possible number of chapters.
What do you mean by “immersive reporting”?
The reporter immerses himself or herself in the lives and experiences of the subjects. If the reporter works with the source occasionally or conducts formal sit-down interviews, a “Heisenberg effect” is likely. That is a scientific metaphor that asks us to consider how we change a thing as we observe it. With immersive reporting, the sources become used to the presence of the reporter, who can directly observe scenes as they occur. This takes time and energy, but the results can be among the most powerful forms of narrative journalism.
Obviously, the reporter is rarely an eyewitness to most of the scenes described in any story. So the reporter must develop the skills of narrative “reconstruction,” where an event, such as D-Day, is described through the eyes and ears and memories of those who were eyewitnesses. Many serial narratives will combine the effects of direct observation and reconstruction.
Aren’t there ethical and aesthetic pitfalls to this kind of writing?
We all know of cases where journalists have taken illegitimate shortcuts. In the serial narrative, there are none. The reporting must be scrupulous. The fact-checking must be systematic and tedious. Ethical guidelines must be followed: no composite characters, no conflated time sequences, no adding to the observed reality. Differences in people’s memories must be accounted for. Not every fact must be attributed, but readers must be made aware of the reporter’s methodology. How was information obtained? From court records? Interviews with witnesses? Oral histories? If the reporter is dutiful, the result will be a moral and aesthetically powerful narrative, one that aspires to the highest purposes of journalism: to seek out the truth and to tell it well.
What should a serial narrative look like in the paper?
The world-renowned newspaper designer, Mario Garcia, offered me some good advice after reading a draft of “Three Little Words.” Because the chapters were short, they should not be overwhelmed with visuals. This would be a text-driven project. One telling photograph would accompany each installment. Kelly Smith, the designer, made each installment look like a chapter in a small book.
Sagas require more space each day, calling for a strong visual presence. There also needs to be a bit of “furniture” surrounding the story, but this too should be minimized and unobtrusive. An italic sentence at the top can summarize yesterday’s chapter. One at the end can say what is coming up tomorrow. A boldface note at the bottom can invite readers to visit the Web site, where they can read previous chapters and leave messages. An editor’s note can make the sourcing transparent.
Can you write a serial narrative on a breaking news story?
Sue Carlton, Tom French, and Anne Hull of the St. Petersburg Times have proven that you can. They collaborated on the coverage of that high-profile murder trial, the case of a teenage girl accused of killing her mother (see above). The extensive coverage began each day on Page A1 and took up two full inside pages. The work required weeks of preparation and advanced reporting, nimbleness on the daily work, and great collaboration among the players. Many people in the community were reading the coverage and talking about the case with their friends and neighbors.
Should we just spring this on the reader?
Absolutely not. Send up a flare. Let the readers know, repeatedly, that this story is different. Prepare them a week ahead of time. The day before. The day of. An editor’s note accompanying the first chapter can really help.
Tomorrow: Chapter Six — Say the Secret Words
