3 ways Gareth Farr’s A Child of Science shows us how to tell better stories, whatever we're writing
Earlier this month, I was at the press night of the gripping, thought provoking, heartwrenching A Child of Science. Unsurprisingly, it got me thinking. Not only about the immense bravery and limitless hope that framed the early days of IVF. But about storytelling, off the page. How it works. What defines it. And of course, the specific, unique, sometimes magical things that happen (and happened in that theatre auditorium) when a story is so well crafted, at every depth, that it truly lives.
Gareth Farr’s writing, Matthew Dunster’s direction, captivating performances by Adelle Leonce and Meg Bellamy, jaw dropping set, lighting, staging. So much went into bringing A Child of Science to life that to break it down into its constituent parts would take more hours than I have left in the week. So instead I’ve picked three. Universally applicable techniques, that any of us could and should be doing every time we write, to make sure our stories live – on and off the page – with power and purpose.
?1.??????? Make it personal
The 20 year journey to one of the most remarkable medical breakthroughs of our time involved a lot of science. A lot of men, in white jackets talking. A lot of complex terminology and slow processes and staring into a microscope with little to show for it. Despite being groundbreaking, as a story it had the potential to be quite dull. So in his writing, Farr looked beyond the science, to the people who made it happen. The pioneering fertility specialists, nurses and physicians. The volunteers. By thinking about how they must have felt, how their own journeys underpinned the work, what they were feeling moment to moment through the loss, hope and heartbreak, he gave us proximity and intimacy, which made the science so much more meaningful. Whatever you’re writing – even the most complex, most technical stuff – every story can be made more engaging by focusing on the people at its heart.
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2.??????? Think about how it sounds
I recently came across a quote from Gary Provost (author of 100 Ways to Improve Your Writing) about how writing that is repetitive (particularly in sentence length) loses readers. Quickly. It suggests we should play with cadence, rhythm and flow on the page. Introduce pace and pause in the way we write our sentences, not just the content of them if we want to capture and keep our readers' imaginations. A Child of Science illustrated that perfectly. How a fragment can say more than a thousand clauses, when crafted with expertly-placed sibilance, or a hard consonant for emphasis. How phrasing can take a simple statement and twist it to hurt, or soften it to support. How full stops between words, or the lack of them, can change the meaning of a statement entirely. Whatever you're writing, think about how your words sound. Read them out loud. Look for the rhythm, the rhyme, the pace, the pause. You’ll maximise their impact ten-fold. No doubt about it.
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3.??????? Find the common thread
Making the extraordinary ordinary was the powerful motivation at the heart of Farr's story. And that combination of words delivered the way they were (see point 2 above), really hit home. But they also highlighted the importance of universality. Of sharing a story that means something to others. Of ensuring an experience and the people who have lived it are seen, recognised, understood. Whether we’ve experienced IVF or not, we’ve all wanted something out of reach, had to dig deep to be brave, feared loss, hoped hard, wanted to see the world changed for the better, in some way. It’s these universal themes that give A Child of Science such heart and help us as an audience connect with the experiences of the characters. Whatever you’re writing, find the universal feeling that connects your readers to your story. Start and end with a feeling, and you’ll take your reader with you, for the journey.
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A Child of Science is on until 6 July at Bristol Old Vic. Go now. Go.
Read my review of A Child of Science?to find out what I thought – hint, there were tears. Many tears.
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