The Ultimate Story Checklist: Lady Bird

Christine “Lady Bird” McPherson tries to make it through her senior year (and a bit beyond) at a Catholic school in Sacramento in 2002, fighting with her mom but not her dad. She acts in the school play and starts going out with Danny, but finds him making out with a guy. She ditches her friend Julie for cool girl Jenna and loses her virginity to cool jerk Kyle. Finally, she ditches Kyle just in time to go to prom with Julie as friends. Against her mom’s wishes, she goes to college in New York City, but calls her mom to make peace at the end.

PART #1: CONCEPT 14/19
The Pitch: Does this concept excite everyone who hears about it?
Is the one sentence description uniquely appealing?	No, there’s no hook.  It had to depend entirely on reviews and a funny trailer.
Does the concept contain an intriguing ironic contradiction?	Not really.  The cover image is very slightly incongruous: a girl with colored hair at a catholic school, but that doesn’t really rise to the level of irony.
Is this a story anyone can identify with, projected onto a bigger canvas, with higher stakes?	No, this is just the writer/director’s life story, faithfully recreated with its original place and time, with the same stakes as the true story.
Story Fundamentals: Will this concept generate a strong story?
Is the concept simple enough to spend more time on character than plot?	Very much so.
Is there one character that the audience will choose to be their “hero”?	Lady Bird
Does the story follow the progress of the hero’s problem, not the hero’s daily life?	Basically.  It begins at the moment her relationship with her mom becomes untenable, and ends with the relationship’s peacable resolution.
Does the story present a unique relationship?	None of the relationships are tremendously unique, but they’re all original enough not to be cliché. We’ve seen relationships of the sort we see here with the mom, the dad, Julie, Jenna, Danny, and Kyle, but not with these well-observed unique details.
Is at least one actual human being opposed to what the hero is doing?	Her mom is opposed to a lot of what she’s doing.
Does this challenge represent the hero’s greatest hope and/or greatest fear and/or an ironic answer to the hero’s question?	Her greatest hope is to leave Sacramento and be cool.
Does something inside the hero have a particularly volatile reaction to the challenge?	From the first scene, we see how volatile she’s become as a result of the stresses in her life.
Does this challenge become something that is the not just hard for the hero to do (an obstacle) but hard for the hero to want to do (a conflict)?	She knows she will lose her mom if she becomes her own person, and she loves her mom.
In the end, is the hero the only one who can solve the problem?	Yes, only she can be in charge of her own life in the end.
Does the hero permanently transform the situation and vice versa?	Very much so.
The Hook: Will this be marketable and generate word of mouth?
Does the story satisfy the basic human urges that get people to buy and recommend this genre?	Very much so: It’s funny, romantic, moving, etc.  We laugh and cry.
Does this story show us at least one image we haven’t seen before (that can be used to promote the final product)?	Again, just slightly with the colored hair in catholic school.  So not really.
Is there at least one “Holy Crap!” scene (to create word of mouth)?	Very much so.  The way they sold this movie was by showing her jump out of the car in the middle of the argument with her mom in the opening scene.  It adds a “Holy Crap” moment to a subdued movie and makes you want to see it.
Does the story contain a surprise that is not obvious from the beginning?	Not really.  A bit with Danny turning out to be gay.
Is the story marketable without revealing the surprise?	N/A
Is the conflict compelling and ironic both before and after the surprise?	N/A
PART #2: CHARACTER 21/22
Believe: Do we recognize the hero as a human being?
Does the hero have a moment of humanity early on? (A funny, or kind, or oddball, or out-of-character, or comically vain, or unique-but-universal “I thought I was the only one who did that!” moment?)	She’s mildly funny (saying her brother barely saw the knifing that caused her to be taken out of public school) and vain in a mildly comic way (insisting on her made-up name and saying “I want to go where culture is, like New York.  Or at least Connecticut or New Hampshire.  Where writers live in the woods.”)
Is the hero defined by ongoing actions and attitudes, not by backstory?	Jumping out of the car defines her
Does the hero have a well-defined public identity?	Jumping out of the car results in a bright pink cast with “Fuck You Mom” written on it, and she has pinkish hair, so that defines her strongly.  And she tells everybody her chosen name, showing she wants to fly away.
Does the surface characterization ironically contrast with a hidden interior self?	She secretly loves Sacramento and her mom.
Does the hero have a consistent metaphor family (drawn from his or her job, background, or developmental state)?	Developmental: We first see her listening to Steinbeck on audiobook and her voice is sort of Lost Generation-y (“I wish I could live through something.”)
Does the hero have a default personality trait?	Her teacher then tells her “You have a performative streak”.  She’s overly dramatic, likeably shallow and vain.
Does the hero have a default argument tactic?	Mischaracterizes her scene partner: (“I’m sorry I’m not perfect.”) Insists on her own reality if spite of evidence: “What I’d really like is to be on Math Olympiad.” “But math isn’t something that you are terribly strong in.” “That we know of YET.”
Is the hero’s primary motivation for tackling this challenge strong, simple, and revealed early on?	Her motivation isn’t strong: She strongly wants out of town, but nobody is sure why, including herself.  She waffles about whether she even wants it.
Care: Do we feel for the hero?
Does the hero start out with a shortsighted or wrongheaded philosophy (or accept a false piece of advice early on)?	“I wish I could live through something.”  Be careful what you wish for.
Does the hero have a false or shortsighted goal in the first half?	Win Danny.
Does the hero have an open fear or anxiety about his or her future, as well as a hidden, private fear?	Open fear: She won’t get into an east coast school, that she’ll always look like she’s from Sacramento.  Hidden, private fear: That she’ll lose her mom.
Is the hero physically and emotionally vulnerable?	Very much so: She has a cast, and she’s emotionally open to scenes that hurt her.
Does the hero have at least one untenable great flaw we empathize with? (but…)	She’s vain, she betrays her friend in a quest to be cool.
Invest: Can we trust the hero to tackle this challenge?
…Is that great flaw (ironically) the natural flip-side of a great strength we admire?	She’s self-confident and goes for what she wants.
Is the hero curious?	Yes, she tries out theater, looks up whatever she can learn about things mentioned by the guys she has crushes on.
Is the hero generally resourceful?	Yes, she rehearses for the audition, schemes her way into the world of the cool kids.
Does the hero have rules he or she lives by (either stated or implied)?	“I don’t even want to go to school in this state anyway, I hate California. I want to go to the East Coast.”
Is the hero surrounded by people who sorely lack his or her most valuable quality?	Her best friend lacks her confidence.  Her family lacks her ambition.
…And is the hero willing to let them know that, subtly or directly?	Not so much with her friend (which is good), but certainly with her family.
Is the hero already doing something active when we first meet him or her?	She jumps out of a car.
Does the hero have (or claim) decision-making authority?	Well, she’s trying to get more of it the whole time but yes, she pretty much in charge of her life.
Does the hero use pre-established special skills from his or her past to solve problems (rather than doing what anybody would do)?	To a certain extent.  Her lack of skills is part of her problem.  But she shows uncommon social ability to navigate different worlds.
PART #3: STRUCTURE (If the story is about the solving of a large problem) 17/21
1st Quarter: Is the challenge laid out in the first quarter?
When the story begins, is the hero becoming increasingly irritated about his or her longstanding social problem (while still in denial about an internal flaw)?	Her first line: “Do you think I look like I’m from Sacramento?”
Does this problem become undeniable due to a social humiliation at the beginning of the story?	Her mother tells her she lacks the ability to make it out of Sacramento.  “You should just go to City College, with your work ethic. City College and then to jail then back to City College. Maybe you’d learn how to pull yourself up and not expect everyone to do everything for you...”
Does the hero discover an intimidating opportunity to fix the problem?	Sort of.  She pusues the real solution (applying for an east coast school) slowly in the background for most of the movie, but in the foreground she pursues other ways to be sophisticated and happy: Theater and boys she perceives as smarter than her.
Does the hero hesitate until the stakes are raised?	No, she’s not a hestiater.
Does the hero commit to pursuing the opportunity by the end of the first quarter?	She’s applying to schools, doing theater, and pursuing Danny.
2nd Quarter: Does the hero try the easy way in the second quarter?
Does the hero’s pursuit of the opportunity quickly lead to an unforeseen conflict with another person?	Her mom fights her at every turn, and she get pushback from her brother too.
Does the hero try the easy way throughout the second quarter?	Sort of: She applies to college amibitiously despite not attempting to better her grades.  She accepts Danny without suspicion.
Does the hero have a little fun and get excited about the possibility of success?	She’s in love, loving theater.
Does the easy way lead to a big crash around the midpoint, resulting in the loss of a safe space and/or sheltering relationship?	Danny turns out to be gay, she can’t enjoy the play anymore.
3rd Quarter: Does the hero try the hard way in the third quarter?
Does the hero try the hard way from this point on?	Yes, but this is the sort of movie where “the hard way” is also “the bad way” She drops theater and her best friend Julie, pursues a bad friend and bad boy, through subterfuge.
Does the hero find out who his or her real friends and real enemies are?	Both of those relationships are unsatisfactory and she goes back to Julie.
Do the stakes, pace, and motivation all escalate at this point?	She has to race to Julie before prom ends, sort of.
Does the hero learn from mistakes in a painful way?	Very much so.
Does a further setback lead to a spiritual crisis?	When she ditches Kyle.
4th Quarter: Does the challenge climax in the fourth quarter?
Does the hero adopt a corrected philosophy after the spiritual crisis?	“She’s my best friend” “I’m sorry, I know I can lie and not be a good person but... Please, Mom, please I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you - I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I’m ungrateful and I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I wanted more...”
After that crisis, does the hero finally commit to pursuing a corrected goal, which still seems far away?	Well, she pretty much just has to wait and see if she gets off the wait list.
Before the final quarter of the story begins, (if not long before) has your hero switched to being proactive, instead of reactive?	She goes off to school, despite her mom not talking to her.
Despite these proactive steps, is the timeline unexpectedly moved up, forcing the hero to improvise for the finale?	No.
Do all strands of the story and most of the characters come together for the climactic confrontation?	No, she’s off at school in the final scenes without all the other characters.
Does the hero’s inner struggle climax shortly after (or possible at the same time as) his or her outer struggle?	She accepts her name, but then lies about where she’s from at a college party, then drinks herself into oblivion and wakes up at the hospital.
Is there an epilogue/ aftermath/ denouement in which the challenge is finally resolved (or succumbed to), and we see how much the hero has changed (possibly through reversible behavior)	She goes to church and then calls her mom and leaves a message admitting that she loves Sacramento and her mom.
PART #4: SCENEWORK 18/20: The scene where she hits on Kyle in the parking lot
The Set-Up: Does this scene begin with the essential elements it needs?
Were tense and/or hopeful (and usually false) expectations for this interaction established beforehand?	He said before that he wished she’d been flirting with him, and he’d see her at the Deuce, which she assumed was someplay really cool.
Does the scene eliminate small talk and repeated beats by cutting out the beginning (or possibly even the middle)?	No, it starts at the beginning.
Is this an intimidating setting that keeps characters active?	She’s a little intimidated, because all of these kids are cooler than she is, and she’s definitely discombobulated to find out that the Deuce is just a parking lot.
Is one of the scene partners not planning to have this conversation (and quite possibly has something better to do)?	He’s reading a book when she approaches him and he’s reluctant to put it down.
Is there at least one non-plot element complicating the scene?	Jenna is making out with her boyfriend, distracting Lady Bird.  His dad has cancer.
Does the scene establish its own mini-ticking-clock (if only through subconscious anticipation)?	Not really.
The Conflict: Do the conflicts play out in a lively manner?
Does this scene both advance the plot and reveal character through emotional reactions?	Yes.
Does the audience have (or develop) a rooting interest in this scene (which may sometimes shift)?	Our rooting interest is complicated.  We love Lady Bird, but we’re not really on board with this guy, so we’re starting to want our heroine to not get what she wants.  (But we’re also seeing that the theater activity she’s skipping is now run by a football coach and amusingly lame.)
Are two agendas genuinely clashing (rather than merely two personalities)?	Not really in that they both want to sleep with the other, but yes in that he wants her to be something she isn’t, so her desire to be with him puts her in conflict with herself..
Does the scene have both a surface conflict and a suppressed conflict (one of which is the primary conflict in this scene)?	Surface conflict: Will he agree to a date?  Suppresed conflict: Who am I?
Is the suppressed conflict (which may or may not come to the surface) implied through subtext (and/or called out by the other character)?	When she pushes her “cool girl” thing too far and threatens to kill his family, he pauses and then says “What?”asdf
Are the characters cagy (or in denial) about their own feelings?	She’s pretending to be blasé but she’s asdaf anything but.
Do characters use verbal tricks and traps to get what they want, not just direct confrontation?	He pretends that he’s getting her number so that his band can play his café.
Is there re-blocking, including literal push and pull between the scene partners (often resulting in just one touch)?	He has her write her number on his hand.
Are objects given or taken, representing larger values?	A pen to write the number.
The Outcome: Does this scene change the story going forward?
As a result of this scene, does at least one of the scene partners end up doing something that he or she didn’t intend to do when the scene began?	Well, he had previously announced that he liked flirting with her, but he wasn’t planning on following up until she pounced on him.
Does the outcome of the scene ironically reverse (and/or ironically fulfill) the original intention?	Not really.
Are previously-asked questions answered and new questions posed?	Previously asked: What’s the Deuce?  How much does he like me? New: Will he call?  Can she continue to impersonate the person he wants her to be?
Does the scene cut out early, on a question (possibly to be answered instantly by the circumstances of the next scene)?	We cut out early before they part ways, but not on a question.
Is the audience left with a growing hope and/or fear for what might happen next? (Not just in the next scene, but generally)	Well, again, we’re proud of her for going after and getting what she wants, but we’re not sure we approve of this guy.
PART #5: DIALOGUE 15/16
Empathetic: Is the dialogue true to human nature?
Does the writing demonstrate empathy for all of the characters?	Very much so.
Does each of the characters, including the hero, have a limited perspective?	Very much so.  The dad is the wisest, but even he has his blind spots.
Do the characters consciously and unconsciously prioritize their own wants, rather than the wants of others?	Very much so.
Are the characters resistant to openly admitting their feelings (to others and even to themselves)?	Yes.
Do the characters avoid saying things they wouldn’t say and doing things they wouldn’t do?	Yes.
Do the characters interrupt each other often?	Yes.
Specific: Is the dialogue specific to this world and each personality?
Does the dialogue capture the jargon and tradecraft of the profession and/or setting?	Coming of age movies don’t really have much jargon.
Are there additional characters with distinct metaphor families, default personality traits, and default argument strategies from the hero’s?	Metaphor families: Mom: mom, Dad: dad, Danny: theater, Kyle: left-wing politics Personality traits: Mom: Critical, guilt-inducing, Dad: pitiful, loving, Julie: chipper, Danny: friendly, Kyle: Cool Default argument tactics: Mom: Gut-punching, Kyle: Diminishing the personal in favort the political
Heightened: Is the dialogue more pointed and dynamic than real talk?
Is the dialogue more concise than real talk?	Yes.
Does the dialogue have more personality than real talk?	Yes.
Are there minimal commas in the dialogue (the lines are not prefaced with Yes, No, Well, Look, or the other character’s name)?	Yes.
Do non-professor characters speak without dependent clauses, conditionals, or parallel construction?	Yes, even the intellectual speaks realistically.
Are the non-3-dimensional characters impartially polarized into head, heart and gut?	All characters are 3-dimensional, even the teachers.
Strategic: Are certain dialogue scenes withheld until necessary?
Does the hero have at least one big “I understand you” moment with a love interest or primary emotional partner?	She and her mom each reach out to the other in one-way ways, her mom with the letters she didn’t intend to send, the daughter with a phone message.  Maybe Metcalf would have won that Oscar if she’d picked up the phone at the end.
Is exposition withheld until the hero and the audience are both demanding to know it?	NA: Not much plot, not much exposition.  They never explain why she has a hispanic brother.
Is there one gutpunch scene, where the subtext falls away and the characters really lay into each other?	Several.
Part #6: Tone 9/10
Genre: Does the story tap into pre-established expectations?
Is the story limited to one genre (or multiple genres that are merged from the beginning?)	A straight-up coming of age tale.
Is the story limited to sub-genres that are compatible with each other, without mixing metaphors?	No sub-genres.
Does the ending satisfy most of the expectations of the genre, and defy a few others?	She grows up and moves away, but doesn’t find love.
Separate from the genre, is a consistent mood (goofy, grim, ‘fairy tale’, etc.) established early and maintained throughout?	Poignant, droll.
Framing: Does the story set, reset, upset and ultimately exceed its own expectations?
Is there a dramatic question posed early on, which will establish in the audience’s mind which moment will mark the end of the story?	Well, we assume based on everything that it’ll end when she leaves town, but it goes a little longer, which tries our expectations a bit, but we accept it.
Does the story use framing devices to establish genre, mood and expectations?	Not really.
Are there characters whose situations prefigure various fates that might await the hero?	She worries she’ll end up loveless like her friend, broke like her parents, living at home like her brother.
Does foreshadowing create anticipation and suspense (and refocus the audience’s attention on what’s important)?	Danny’s gayness is certainly foreshadowed.
Are reversible behaviors used to foreshadow and then confirm change?	Refusing to be called by her name.  This always tells us that the movie will end with a character accepting her name.
Is the dramatic question answered at the very end of the story?	The story goes a bit past the end of the main dramatic question: Will she leave town?  But then we realize the real question: Will she accept her mom and what her town has done for her?
PART 7: THEME 13/14
Difficult: Is the meaning of the story derived from a fundamental moral dilemma?
Can the overall theme be stated in the form of an irreconcilable good vs. good (or evil vs. evil) dilemma?	Contentment vs. ambition.
Is a thematic question asked out loud (or clearly implied) in the first half, and left open?	The first line: “Do you think I look like I’m from Sacramento?”
Do the characters consistently have to choose between goods, or between evils, instead of choosing between good and evil?	Hang onto friends who may be holding you back? Kyle represents justice but not decency.
Grounded: Do the stakes ring true to the world of the audience?
Does the story reflect the way the world works?	Very much so.
Does the story have something authentic to say about this type of setting (Is it based more on observations of this type of setting than ideas about it)?	Very much so.  It begins with a quote: “Anybody who talks about California hedonism has never spent a Christmas in Sacramento.” - Joan Didion
Does the story include twinges of real life national pain?	They keep watching the Iraq war on TV.
Are these issues and the overall dilemma addressed in a way that avoids moral hypocrisy?	Yes.
Do all of the actions have real consequences?	Yes.
Subtle: Is the theme interwoven throughout so that it need not be discussed often?
Do many small details throughout subtly and/or ironically tie into the thematic dilemma?	Listening to the end “The Grapes of Wrath” at the beginning (in which California is un-nurturing, but a character is saved by breast-feeding.)  9/11 posters symbolize the danger of New York City.
Are one or more objects representing larger ideas exchanged throughout the story, growing in meaning each time?	Maybe the cast?  The math grade book.  First Kyle’s reading “The People’s History of the United States” then she’s reading it.  Writing boys’ names on her wall then painting over it.
Untidy: Is the dilemma ultimately irresolvable?
Does the ending tip towards one side of the thematic dilemma without resolving it entirely?	She chooses ambition but realizes she also needs to accept that she should have been more loving towards her mom and her town.
Does the story’s outcome ironically contrast with the initial goal?	She seeks out the comforts of home (church and calling her mom) in New York.
In the end, is the plot not entirely tidy (some small plot threads left unresolved, some answers left vague)?	She still hasn’t found love.  She still hasn’t told anyone the truth about being from Sacramento.
Do the characters refuse (or fail) to synthesize the meaning of the story, forcing the audience to do that?	No, she basically synthesizes it.

Final Score: 107 out of 122

Podcast Episode 12: Hollywoodization

The Secrets of Story Podcast · Episode 12: Hollywoodization

Listen to "Episode 12: Hollywoodization" on Spreaker. Hi everybody, and welcome back to the website!  Tomorrow we’ll have a new checklist, so that’s when we’ll really get started, but let’s start out with a new podcast first!  This one is loooong but fun.  I lopped off the Free Story Idea and we’re going to expand it to be its own episode next time. 

Happy Labor Day (New Content Resumes Tomorrow!)

Nice Review from K. M. Weiland

One of the bestselling writing advice authors in the world is K. M. Weiland. Guess what her new favorite writing guide is? (And she’s been backing it up by quoting me and linking to my book in her wonderful blog/podcast several times recently)  Thanks, K. M.  I’m a fan of your advice, too.

Podcast Episode 11: Heroic Self-Interest with Geoff Betts

Hi guys, it’s time for another episode of the Secrets of Story Podcast! In this episode special guest Geoff Betts joins us to talk about Heroic Self-Interest and James pitches a new take on “Annie”. Check it out!

The Secrets of Story Podcast · Episode 11: Heroic Self-Interest with Geoff Betts

Fantastic News!

Hi, guys! I've been shame-facedly hiding the fact that my publisher went bankrupt a few months back, because I was hoping that everything would turn out okay. Today I got the best possible news: Not only am I not going out-of-print but I'm moving on up to a more prestigious publisher: I'm a Penguin Random House author now!

Podcast Episode 10: More Fun with Jonathan Auxier

The Secrets of Story Podcast · Episode 10: More Fun with Jonathan Auxier

Hi, guys, long time no see! Here we are with a new Podcast episode! Special Guest Jonathan Auxier returns to the podcast to give us some pushback for our last three episodes! It’s a good one! Exclamation point!

I also had some follow-up thoughts for those of you that have listened to it. Have you listened to it yet? Good, here we go: Jonathan points out that the Rank-Raglan 22-step structure wraps around to overlay on top of itself, with the hero going through the first 11 steps while the villain goes through the last 11. As I edited the episode, I wondered if that was true of Harry Potter, and it is true with Voldemort to a certain extent, but where it really applies is not to the villain but to the mentor, Dumbledore. Harry meets most of the first 11 steps while his mentor meets all but one of the back 11.

12. Marries a princess (often daughter of predecessor): This is obviously the one that fits the least since, as we later found out, he’s gay, but basically the princess is Hogwarts itself.
13. Becomes king: He’s offered leadership of the whole wizarding world but chooses to just rule the school.
14. For a time he reigns uneventfully: For many years.
15. He prescribes laws: He also chairs the Wizengamot.
16. Later loses favor with gods or his subjects: People are constantly plotting against him in the books.
17. Driven from throne and city: He gets fired in books 2 and 5.
18. Meets with mysterious death: Seemingly killed by his follower, but there’s more to it.
19. Often at the top of a hill: He’s atop a tower.
20. His children, if any, do not succeed him: He’s childless, his killer takes his place.
21. His body is not buried: He is laid in an above ground tomb, which is later raided and desecrated.
22. Has one or more holy sepulchers or tombs: See above.

I thought that was neat!

This Looks Cool

Hey guys,  I always considered turning my book into an app but ultimately decided it was just too much work.  Well, it looks like another group has done something similar that looks cool. They’re recommending my book and manuscript services to their clients, so I figured that I’d put in a plug for their app. Watch the video preview here:

Sorry about the lack of posts! And my obligatory MCU list!

Sorry about the lack of posts, guys! Things are in transition. Expect a re-design soon (Everyone loves redesigns, right?) In the meantime, I posted this in the comments of this article, got greyed out, then realized, “Oh, right, I have a blog that’s thirsty for content, why not just post it there?” So here you go. Sorry if it seems like I’m trolling you with my unorthodox picks. I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em!

1. Iron Man (Practically perfect in every way)
2. Black Panther (Plot problems, but inspiring and deep)
3. Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Kicks all kinds of ass, but awkward yoking of Hydra story to the Winter Soldier story)
4. Guardians of the Galaxy (Just delightful)
5. Avengers: Infinity War (Deftly plotted, wildly thrilling)
6. Iron Man 3 (Fantastic action, but a step down from the top 5)
7. Captain America: The First Avenger (aka The Rocketeer Part 2, which is a compliment)
8. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (Underrated, big emotional punch)
9. Doctor Strange (Amazing, but I wish he wasn’t a jerk anymore after his spiritual journey, like in the comics)
10. Avengers: Age of Ultron (Underrated, admirably complex)
11. Captain Marvel (A little too jokey, but a lot of fun)
12. Spider-Man Homecoming (Disposable fun)
13. Thor: Ragnarok (Massively overrated. Huge tone problems. A horrific tragedy with a chuckleheaded tone. Still a fun time at the movies)
14. Thor (Plot problems, but a great cast)
15. The Incredible Hulk (Underrated. A fun slam-bang action flick)
16. Thor: The Dark World (Underrated. I’d rewatch it anytime. The only reason I ranked it so low is that the MCU is so damn good.)
17. Captain America: Civil War (Ludicrous villain plan, murky theme, forced conflict, it makes no sense who signs up for each side, etc.  Great action, though)
18. The Avengers (Massively overrated! Nonsensical plot, awkward chemistry)
19. Ant-Man and the Wasp (Forgettable. The first on this list I wouldn’t rewatch.  The Wasp in the comics is a ray of sunshine!)
20. Ant-Man (Considered turning it off, finished out of complete-ism)
21. Iron Man 2 (The only genuinely bad movie they’ve made.)

How to Write a Memoir: Have a Skewed Point of View

As with all prose writing, memoir writing really comes down to voice. You are asking to be invited into your reader’s home. Will they be happy to hear you talk for several hours?

Yes, they want to hear about amazing events, but no memoir has ever sustained itself by just being a series of events. What they really want to know is, even if there’s nothing extraordinary going on, will you have a unique perspective on everyday life? Do you have a properly skewed point of view, showing amusing and perceptive insight that surprises us, but instantly seems right?

Of course, one question that Trevor Noah had to ask himself when he sat down to write his life story was how angry he wanted to be on the page. He’s writing about horrific historical injustices, and the last thing he wants to do is trivialize them, but he does want to make light of them, and that’s a tricky line to walk.

The solution is to look back at injustice with an amused and amusing point of view. The whole point of this book is that Noah, being one of very few biracial South Africans, is never entirely welcome in any community outside of his own home. This means that no historical perspective is “his story.” He looks upon both blacks and whites from the POV of a somewhat-cynical outsider, which allows him to take his amusement where he pleases, neither approving of nor judging those who had to make terrible decisions. For instance:

• The white man was quite stern with the native. “You need to pray to Jesus,” he said. “Jesus will save you.” To which the native replied, “Well, we do need to be saved—saved from you, but that’s beside the point. So let’s give this Jesus thing a shot.”

Or:

• If you’re Native American and you pray to the wolves, you’re a savage. If you’re African and you pray to your ancestors, you’re a primitive. But when white people pray to a guy who turns water into wine, well, that’s just common sense.

We just like hearing this guy talk. Another form of skewed point of view that early-childhood memoir writers can and must avail themselves of is child logic. We all remember, with some embarrassment and some wonder, the bizarre logical inferences we made as a kid, looking at the world with unschooled eyes. The ability to capture this way of thinking, and show its wisdom, is a big part of memoir writing:

• But at black church I would sit there for what felt like an eternity, trying to figure out why time moved so slowly. Is it possible for time to actually stop? If so, why does it stop at black church and not at white church? I eventually decided black people needed more time with Jesus because we suffered more.

A great storyteller doesn’t even need interesting material.  They can make anything amusing.  Of course, if you start with an amazing life, and then add a great voice on top of that, you’ll have it made.  

Rulebook Casefile: Unique Relationships in “Born a Crime”

So we’ve talked about how Trevor Noah creates the classic archetype of the scampish kid, and he also taps into the universal archetype of the indomitable bad-ass single mom. Each character has lots of specifics to make them come alive, but they’re definitely characters we recognize from other stories. But that’s fine, because, as I’ve said before, readers don’t actually crave unique never-before-seen characters. We like archetypes. But while we don’t demand unique characters, we do like them to combine into unique never-before-seen relationships.

Anyone who’s seen “Gilmore Girls” or other similar stories will recognize the idea of a single mom and child who interact as almost-equals, but never quite like Trevor Noah and his mom. Here’s their conversation from the first chapter of his book (It is always dubious, of course, when a memoir recreates this much dialogue, but readers are forgiving.)

• “It’s the Devil,” she said about the stalled car. “The Devil doesn’t want us to go to church. That’s why we’ve got to catch minibuses.”
• Whenever I found myself up against my mother’s faith-based obstinacy, I would try, as respectfully as possible, to counter with an opposing point of view.
• “Or,” I said, “the Lord knows that today we shouldn’t go to church, which is why he made sure the car wouldn’t start, so that we stay at home as a family and take a day of rest, because even the Lord rested.”
• “Ah, that’s the Devil talking, Trevor.”
• “No, because Jesus is in control, and if Jesus is in control and we pray to Jesus, he would let the car start, but he hasn’t, therefore—”
• “No, Trevor! Sometimes Jesus puts obstacles in your way to see if you overcome them. Like Job. This could be a test.”
• “Ah! Yes, Mom. But the test could be to see if we’re willing to accept what has happened and stay at home and praise Jesus for his wisdom.”
• “No. That’s the Devil talking. Now go change your clothes.”
• “But, Mom!”
• “Trevor! Sun’qhela!”
• Sun’qhela is a phrase with many shades of meaning. It says “don’t undermine me,” “don’t underestimate me,” and “just try me.” It’s a command and a threat, all at once. It’s a common thing for Xhosa parents to say to their kids. Any time I heard it I knew it meant the conversation was over, and if I uttered another word I was in for a hiding—what we call a spanking.

(This is of course a trick that screenwriters don’t have, jumping in to unpack the hidden meanings behind one word.)

Both characters have unique voices and strong opinions. Together they have a complex, shifting power dynamic. Either character on their own could probably carry the story, but it’s their contentious but loving relationship that will really power the book. Compelling characters are great, but compelling relationships are even better.

Storyteller’s Rulebook: Walk the Thin Line Between Rascal and Rotten

Up to a certain point, readers love rascally misbehavior. We’re happy to read a paragraph like this one, in the first chapter of Trevor Noah’s “Born a Crime”:

• I was naughty as shit. She would send me out to buy groceries, and I wouldn’t come right home because I’d be using the change from the milk and bread to play arcade games at the supermarket. I loved videogames. I was a master at Street Fighter. I could go forever on a single play. I’d drop a coin in, time would fly, and the next thing I knew there’d be a woman behind me with a belt. It was a race. I’d take off out the door and through the dusty streets of Eden Park, clambering over walls, ducking through backyards.

Such paragraphs are joyous and liberating. They remind us of the freedom from consequences we used to feel, and long to feel again. They make us think that if we were a little more brave we could outrun those that hold us back. We admire the audacity of young Trevor for misbehaving, and of old Trevor for bragging about it so shamelessly.

But at some point, for me as a reader, I started to get a bit uncomfortable with how he related his memories.  Maybe, of course, this was a simple case of “white reader pathologizes behavior in black man that he would forgive in white people,” but I did find myself saying at times, “Uh, this guy might actually be a sociopath.” The most obvious tipping point was when young Trevor was playing with matches and burnt down a house. He describes his feelings after watching it burn to the ground:

• I didn’t feel bad about it at all. I still don’t. The lawyer in me maintains that I am completely innocent. There were matches and there was a magnifying glass and there was a mattress and then, clearly, a series of unfortunate events. Things catch fire sometimes. That’s why there’s a fire brigade. But everyone in my family will tell you, “Trevor burned down a house.” If people thought I was naughty before, after the fire I was notorious. One of my uncles stopped calling me Trevor. He called me “Terror” instead. “Don’t leave that kid alone in your home,” he’d say. “He’ll burn it to the ground.”

That same cocky defiance started to curdle for me. Did he really have to say “didn’t feel bad about it at all”? What sort of adult defends burning down a house?  In the next paragraph, I got even more uncomfortable about his imperviousness to consequences:

• My cousin Mlungisi, to this day, cannot comprehend how I survived being as naughty as I was for as long as I did, how I withstood the number of hidings that I got. Why did I keep misbehaving? How did I never learn my lesson? Both of my cousins were supergood kids. Mlungisi got maybe one hiding in his life. After that he said he never wanted to experience anything like it ever again, and from that day he always followed the rules. But I was blessed with another trait I inherited from my mother: her ability to forget the pain in life. I remember the thing that caused the trauma, but I don’t hold on to the trauma. I never let the memory of something painful prevent me from trying something new. If you think too much about the ass-kicking your mom gave you, or the ass-kicking that life gave you, you’ll stop pushing the boundaries and breaking the rules. It’s better to take it, spend some time crying, then wake up the next day and move on. You’ll have a few bruises and they’ll remind you of what happened and that’s okay. But after a while the bruises fade, and they fade for a reason—because now it’s time to get up to some shit again.

Reading the book made me admire Noah’s personal bravery and his skill at telling his story, but it also confirmed some of the vibe I’ve always gotten off him.

I think of his joke at the Oscars this year. As CNN summed it up:

• “The Daily Show” host introduced the best picture nominee Black Panther and had some fun with the idea that people think the fictional setting of the country of Wakanda is real.
• Noah, who is South African, joked about knowing the movie’s main character, T’Challa, played by Chadwick Boseman.
• “Growing up as a young boy in Wakanda, I would see T’Challa flying over our village, and he would remind me of a great Xhosa phrase,” Noah said. “He says ‘abelungu abazi uba ndiyaxoka’ -- which means, ‘In times like these, we are stronger when we fight together than when we try to fight apart.’”
• But those who speak Xhosa got a good chuckle, because what Noah actually said is: “White people don't know I’m lying.”

On the one hand, this was really funny to find out about the next day, but thinking back on it, knowing what he was actually saying, there was something sorta creepy about Noah’s beatific smile as he said the words in Xhosa, looking into the eyes of hundreds of people who didn’t know he was mocking them.

Noah has been through a lot. His very existence was criminal until the age of five. His mom threw him from a taxi to escape would-be rapist/murderers, who were never arrested. His stepdad shot his mom in the head and the police didn’t care. Police ended his teenage DJ career by shooting his computer dead. Whatever qualities that may have resulted are understandable. And he deserves credit for writing honest and forthrightly about his life and emotions.

As I read his book, maybe I was supposed to revel in his earlier misbehavior and then feel chilled when I saw how far it went. The book made me trust him very much as an honest, self-aware person.  That paragraph shows that he’s admirably grappled with his own psychology.  But it certainly kept me from bonding with him 100%.

How to Write a Memoir: Digress Deftly

There are a couple of ways to tell a complex anecdote from your childhood when you’re talking to your friends. Sometimes you start with the incident in question, then find yourself having to stop several times and say, “Wait, I forgot, I have to tell you about something else that happened before I go on...”

Or, you can keep all your ducks in a row, and start out with, “So there was this funny thing that happened to me as a kid, but before I begin, let me tell you about three other things that will be important to this story…”

Both of these approaches are frustrating for the listener. The first is too confusing and the second is too boring.

Yes, it is inevitable that telling any one story from your childhood will probably need you to add some background, either before you begin or interspersed, but there are more elegant ways to do it, and that’s a big part of memoir writing.

Let’s look at the skillful way the first chapter of Trevor Noah’s “Born a Crime” is structured:

1. He quotes the Apartheid Law that meant he was “born a crime.”
2. He briefly tells us a bit about the civil war between Zulu and Xhosa that followed the end of Apartheid.
3. He jumps into his main anecdote at the moment he gets thrown out of a moving car. He says it was on a Sunday on the way home from church.
4. He jumps back to tell us about how South Africans embraced Christianity.
5. He tells us about a typical Sunday with his mother and baby brother, attending four church services all over town. His description of each service is funny.
6. He briefly reminds us that this will be a story about getting thrown from a moving car.
7. He goes back to that morning, when the car was broken and he tried to talk his mother out of church, but she said they would take minibuses. The conversation ends with the threat of a spanking.
8. He mentions that he would sometimes run away from spankings, and she would chase him.  He says they were both champion runners at his school’s sports day (where parents were allowed to compete). He tells stories of other misbehavior and his mom shouting to a crowd that he was thief when she couldn’t catch him.
9. He briefly goes back to getting on a minibus to head out to church.
10. He jumps back to tell us more about the civil war between Zulu and Xhosa. He talks about his mom walking through the violence to go back and forth to work. She was never scared.
11. He talks about going from church to church that day, until they were stranded on a street late at night, looking for a minibus.
12. He explains the nature of the conflict between minibus operators.
13. Now we finally have enough info to finish the anecdote: They end being bullied into a Zulu minibus. The drivers find out his mom is Xhosa and threaten to rape or kill her. She throws Trevor out of the car and jumps out with her baby in her arms. Their running ability comes in handy and they get away. He tells her that this proves his was right about not going out, and they laugh about it.

A few of these transitions are awkward. Here’s the most awkward one:

 But the other eleven transitions are all fairly smooth. Here’s a good one:

He needs to include that little em-dash to make it clear to us that he’s jumping in time again, but he knows he has to ramp us up to jump us over the gap, so we don’t use that em-dash as an excuse to put the book down.

“Even when she should have been” ends that digress on a note of foreboding. We fear, correctly, that the anecdote we’re jumping back to will be a case where she maybe should have been more scared. He reassures us every time that he’s digressed from the main anecdote for a good reason, which will soon be readily apparent.

Almost getting murdered is a hell of a story, and he’s stretching it out as long as possible, threading in a lot of not-quite-as-interesting material that now become much more interesting when we know that it will come into play in this anecdote. He starts us off with just a little about the Zulu-Xhosa Civil War, but he works most of that information in once he’s telling a story about almost getting killed by a Zulu for being Xhosa.

Now we care: about his anecdote, his life, and his country. Smoothly interweaving wild anecdotes with less-interesting background details is a big part of memoir writing.

How to Write a Memoir: Establish that You Were in the Thick of It

There is nothing you can do that is more self-important than writing a memoir: “Hey, you! Hey, everybody! Stop what you’re doing and devote 10 hours to hearing every detail of my life! In return, I will not listen to a word of your life! Because I am so much more interesting than you!”

Trevor Noah has a bit more claim to our time than out last memoirist, Tara Westover: We’ve at least heard of him. We’ve maybe been entertained or edified by his TV shows. We might say “Oh, sure, that guy, let’s hear what he has to say.” But that only gets us as far as the first chapter. If he launches into chuckleheaded tales of celebrity shenanigans, we’ll check out quickly.

No, all memoirists ultimately face the same test: Once the reader is reading they’re going to ask, “What can you tell me that’ll blow me away? What about your life is remarkable or shocking or harrowing enough to be worth my time?” As veterans used to ask of each other, “Sure, you were in Vietnam, but were you in the shit?” Noah understands that even celebrity memoirists, if they want to reach beyond their hardcore fans, have to assure the reader: “I was in the shit.”

Luckily Noah has three historical horrors to power his story. His title lures us in by promising a tale of one of history’s great crimes, apartheid, which we’ve all heard of. But that turns out to be sort of a fake out, because Apartheid ends when he’s five, so, after getting us to pick up the book, he transitions us on the first page into another conflict, the subsequent civil war between Zulu and Xhosa ethnic groups. American readers are less familiar with this (and wouldn’t have bought a book that promised to be about this), so he has to get us up to speed, and convince us that this, too, is the shit.

So his first chapter is about a time that some Zulu minibus drivers almost killed him and his mom for being Xhosa, until they leapt from the moving vehicle to get away. And he makes it kind of funny, while still totally harrowing. It’s a great first chapter.

And lest that conflict run out of steam, he briefly mentions in this opening chapter that he’ll also be telling the story of his stepfather shooting his mother in the head! Noah is going out of his way in this first chapter to tell us, “It doesn’t matter if you love me or not, I have a hell of a story to tell.” He is holding himself to the same standard that Westover or any unknown memoirist has to meet: I will make you care whether you want to or not.