Writing Tools

Political oratory in America has become as predictable as an episode of "Law & Order."

If you are a fan of "Law & Order" -– the original series -– then you know there is a reliable and predictable structure to the narrative:

*The story opens with two or three random characters whose only job is to find a dead body.

*The body is a murder victim and the first half of the story involves police efforts to identify suspects and make an arrest.

*After the second commercial, the district attorneys take over to prosecute the crime.

*A complication arises when a key piece of evidence is thrown out.

*Either the judge or the defense attorney or both are a pain in the butt.

*Late in the process, some new evidence emerges that either makes the case or reveals they are prosecuting the wrong person.

*In the end, the suspect is found guilty or not guilty; he takes a deal; or the jury is hung.

*An epilogue involves a brief conversation among lawyers, either in the DA's office or in a bar, which ties some kind of moral bow around the narrative.

If I were to construct an equivalent grid for speakers at the Democratic and Republican conventions, it would look like this:

*Enter the hall to wild applause and cheering. Spend a little time waving to the crowd. Point to someone in the crowd and mouth some greeting. Then try to modestly quiet the crowd by putting your hand in the air and repeating "Thank you" into the microphone.

*Thank your supporters in the room for their hard work and support. Be sure to mention the "long journey" you have made together.

*Use the phrase "history-making."

*Thank your immediate family by name, leaving time for applause and recognition.

*Invoke the memory of a dead relative.

*No matter how wealthy you may be, tell the story of your humble roots.

*Be sure to remind the audience that you are proof that "the American dream is alive."

*Spend some time enumerating the problems and challenges that face the "next generation" of American leaders.

*Blame the other party for their "lack of vision," "lack of leadership," "lack of political courage," "putting party before the people."

*Briefly mention how much you like the other candidate as a person and colleague, but with a couple of sharp one-liners, describe why he is unfit for office.

*Emphasize that the other side has "failed to utilize the greatness of the American people."

*Using a set of "glittering generalities," help the audience imagine a future where good things abound: where every person gets affordable health care, where everyone who wants a good job can have one, where every child gets a chance for a good education.

*Be sure to avoid any boring or problematic specifics which may make visible how difficult it will be to achieve these great goals.

*Your specifics should come from sob stories that demonstrate you have been out and among the common folk: the auto worker in Flint, Mich., who lost everything when his job was outsourced to some unnamed foreign country; the school teacher who has to work three extra jobs because her child has an incurable disease; the war veteran who didn't have body armor and wound up with shoddy care when he got home. Mention them by name, or at least mention their home towns.  (Small towns are better than big ones.)

*Remind the audience that you are not running for yourself, but for them, and especially for the auto worker, the teacher, and the veteran.

*Use the softest euphemisms and exaggerations to say that the country's current condition sucks: "Never since the Great Depression have we faced such challenges," or "With new leadership this great country can become even greater" or "We must restore the greatness that is the United States of America."

*Even if you are an atheist, invoke God at the end: "Thank you. God bless you. And God Bless America."

As reliable as an episode of "Law & Order." And just as predictable. I have a feeling "The Daily Show" will be calling attention to these strategies of language and rhetoric. So should the rest of us.

Even more than pubs, old movie houses, and ancient ballparks, I love bookstores. For me, a bookstore is like sex or pizza: even when it's bad it's good. My kind of bookstore has book carts in front of the store, open to the elements, crammed with tattered and water-stained detritus, the ruined remains of remainders. So it was that I approached A Cappella Books in the funky Little Five Points district of Atlanta, where doorways are shaped like skeleton skulls and a whiff of something not quite legal wafts in the air.

Sometimes when I read, the words will begin to glow on the page, like a scene from Harry Potter, always a signal to me that I should begin to read more carefully. This second, closer reading will often reveal some clever or useful effect, the result of the strategic application of a writing or language tool. The writer's strategy may not be intentional. But for me, as reader and writer, intent makes little difference. It is effect that counts. If I am laughing or crying or outraged or curious to learn more, I seek to discover what button the writer pushed, and whether I can get that button for my dashboard.