Do You Have the X Factor?
By Jo Eberhardt | October 4, 2015 |
Photo by Flickr user Leif Carlson
I have a confession to make.
I have recently developed a serious addition to The X Factor UK.
I’ve never been a fan of so-called reality TV, and yet each week finds me snuggled up under my blankets, obsessively watching the most recent show, laughing and crying along with the contestants and the judges. I can’t get enough of it. All of which prompted me to ask the simple question: Why?
It’s not the singing. I like music as much as the next person, but I like what I like. Most of the songs on the show aren’t ones I’d choose to listen to in a blue fit.
It’s not the talent. As much as I love a bit of karaoke, I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. A singer has to be spectacularly bad for me to notice an off-key note or flubbed lyric.
It’s not the interactivity of live voting. I’m not even eligible, being that I live in another country, and I watch the show days after it aired. (As to why I watch the UK version, and not the Australian iteration, I can answer that in two words: Simon Cowell.)
No, it’s something a lot more simple than any of those things.
Story.
When a young man stands up in front of the judges and sings Labyrinth’s Jealous with so much emotion it makes even Simon Cowell shed a tear, we’re not sitting at home crying because of his talent. We’re preparing to hit the “Share to Facebook” button because not only is he an incredibly talented singer, we know that he’s really singing to his best friend, who died two years earlier.
When a 40-year-old woman stands up and sings Whitney Houston’s I didn’t Know My Own Strength, we’re not moved because of her awesome vocal ability. We’re moved because not only does she have an awesome vocal ability, she also spent years helping her new husband learn to walk again after a horrific accident. In fact, after her audition, Simon Cowell said, “That could be the best backstory we’ve ever had on X Factor.”
It’s their stories that move us, and their singing ability that provides the medium for us to experience their stories.
Which brings me to the overall story of X Factor, which is where we move from backstories to the way each character changes as the plot — the challenges — push them into more and more difficult, emotionally fraught situations. What the judges are looking for, and what they encourage the audience to look for, is not merely great singing. They are looking for a performer who changes for the better; someone who can bring the elusive X Factor on to the stage in performance after performance.
But, what does that really mean? And what can we, as writers, learn from it?
In my “research” (read: binge watching), I came to realise that there are four categories of performance. Now, I’m not talking about types of performers — an individual contestant can easily move between these categories from performance to performance, and they often do. And that’s what keeps us watching, week after week: the promise of change, either for better or worse.
So, what are these categories?
1. Confidence Outweighs Ability
In these performances, the contestants have a perception that they are much more talented and/or skilled than they actually are. You mostly see them in audition rounds, where they quickly become part of the “worst audition ever” YouTube compilations that are viewed almost as many times as a video of a cat cuddling a baby sloth. But you also see them further into the competition, where contestants, buoyed by their early success, go drinking instead of rehearsing, forget their lyrics, or spend more time talking about how awesome they are than actually putting in the work to be awesome.
2. Technically Perfect
There are literally no flaws with these performances. Every note is pitch perfect. Movements match the music. Lyrics are correct. The costume suits the song. The song suits the performer. And yet… There’s just something not quite there. There’s no heart or soul. The performance is technically perfect, and eminently forgettable.
3. Heart of Gold
These are the performances we look forward to. The ones that are shared across social media, that make us cry or leap up and dance. They may or may not be as technically perfect as the previous category, but the performances are full of heart and soul. These are the performances that make the judges say things like: “You meant every word you sang.” The contestant has taken a song written by and for someone else, found a personal connection with the lyrics, and then performed it in a way so that we, the audience, feel that emotional connection for ourselves.
4. That Certain, Special je ne sais quoi
Every now and then, there is a performance so perfect, so soulful, so amazing, that it shines above and beyond even the best of the Heart of Gold performances. We know them when we see them, but it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly what it is that makes them stand out so strongly. When Simon Cowell tried to describe a performance at this level, he struggled for words, and then said: “Do you know what I felt like when I was watching him? I felt like I was at his concert. It’s the only way I can describe it. It’s that, you cannot keep your eyes off him.” When someone performs at this level, they don’t just own the stage, they own your whole world for the duration of their performance.
You see exactly the same categories with writers and their novels.
There are those writers whose confidence far outstrips their abilities. The ones who don’t think they need an editor, who aren’t interested in studying the craft, and who publish story after story, sure that their lack of sales indicates not a lack in their own ability, but the “stupidity” of buyers. You also see it in writers who have a fantastic debut, but whose second or subsequent novels could have really benefited from another set of eyes and a few extra rounds of revision.
There are novels that are technically perfect, that follow all the “rules” of fiction, but simply don’t engage our interest.
Then there are novels that make us laugh and cry, that touch something inside us. We read them again and again, recommend them to our friends, write fan letters to the author and fanfiction for ourselves. These are the books we love, the ones we display on our bookshelves, the ones that inspire us to write.
And then, every now and then, we come across a novel in the fourth category. These are the books Donald Maass calls “breakout novels”. They’re not only technically close to perfect, with plenty of heart and soul, they own our entire world from the first page to the last. These novels take up residence in us more intimately and can even change our lives.
Now, I don’t believe for a second that these categories are a measure of a writer’s talent. You aren’t automatically relegated to a particular category at the moment of your birth. It’s knowledge and practice and hard work that lets you move from one category to another — and just because you’ve reached category three or four once doesn’t mean everything you ever write is going to sit within that category. That hard work is ongoing.
The key to moving your work from one category to another is as simple and complicated as self-awareness.
The Writer Unboxed X Factor
Let’s take a moment to play a little game. Imagine, if you will, that you are a contestant in the new reality TV show: Writer Unboxed X Factor.
You’re ushered on stage in front of an arena audience to read the first five pages of your current Work In Progress. And there, in front of you, are the four judges you need to impress if you’re to make it from the audition to the boot camp round: Donald Maass, Therese Walsh, Heather Webb, and Dave King.
You overcome your nerves, and you start to read.
What happens next? What will the judges say?
There are numerous resources out there to help you improve your skills — some of them written by the judges in this scenario — but those resources aren’t going to help you without the self-awareness to identify where your writing sits at the moment.
How would you fare in Writer Unboxed X Factor? How do you feel about that?
[coffee]
Jo Eberhardt is a writer of speculative fiction, mother to two adorable boys, and lover of words and stories. She lives in rural Queensland, Australia, and spends her non-writing time worrying that the neighbor’s cows will one day succeed in sneaking into her yard and eating everything in her veggie garden.
Interesting! And thought-provoking. But of course the first 5 pages won’t be enough. The magic needs to continue right to the end of the book.
Absolutely! But if you don’t grab an audience — whether they be judges or readers — within the first five pages, they’re not likely to keep reading and find the magic in the rest of the book. SO it’s a good starting place. :) Glad to have provokd some thoughts.
Wonderful analogy, Jo.
I’ve never seen The X Factor, although I’ve seen shows like it (America’s Got Talent, American Idol), and it seems the one thing that I hear over and over is “You really made it your own.” Contestants have taken a well-known song and turn it into something entirely new. (On the other side of the coin, the judges are quick to point out when something remains exactly the same: “That was no better than karaoke at a bar.”)
I love Clay Aikens version of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I feel when I hear it. I’ve heard other versions, even Simon and Garfunkel’s, but Clay’s…Clay’s really hit a high note with me. I’ve watched it countless times on YouTube. It’s not only technically perfect, but Clay’s backstory was great (he was a total dweeb at his audition), he changed from dweeb to superstar in the course of his journey, and even though he didn’t win (I don’t see how Ruben won), he had that certain je ne sais quois that took him to the top of the charts. I don’t know what ever happened to Ruben.
But as you said, we can’t rest on our laurels. I’m only as good as my next effort. Clay seems to have faded from the scene and I wonder if that’s why.
I’ve had the honor of sitting with three of the four people you mentioned, of talking with them, learning from them, and absorbing everything they offered. I don’t know where I sit in the eyes of the WU X Factor judges, but my self-awareness tells me I have much to learn — not only now, but always.
Thanks for a great article, and have a cuppawhatever on me. 11
Thanks, Mike. I think all those “reality” talent shows are similar in the way they portray the journey of a character (contestant) through the verious challenges, and I’m sure that’s true for Clay. The thing that strikes me about your comment is that you talk about his song really touching you, and then you go on to talk about his journey from dweeb to superstar. As part of the audience, you experienced that change with him, and so I wonder how much your experience of the song is impacted by having adventured with him.
If I know you at all, I know that resting on your laurels isn’t in your nature. Happy learning — now and always. And thanks for the cuppa!
Love the analogy, Jo, though it would take a team of mules to force me to read my work on reality TV. Note that I wasn’t one of the brave ones to step up and read my work at the first Writer Unboxed Un-Conference. I wish I had because that’s the best way to find the strengths and spot flaws in one’s work. We’re all trying to get to that fourth category, the breakout novel. Performance is the ultimate test for all artists. The difference is that the great singers bring emotional depth to the song, but for writers, the work itself is the performance and the story either has the emotional depth to connect with the reader or it doesn’t. The greatest orators into the world can’t breathe life into turgid text. Thanks for sharing these thoughts, Jo.
Chris, I’ve found it takes a lot of guts and exactly two martinis to read in front of people.
And if the reading flounders, at least the martinis soften the blow.
You’re absolutely right that the work itself is the performance. For me, I translate the “you really made it your own” comments into a feeling that the story reveals emotional depth and truth about the writer. Anyone (well, any writer) can decide to sit down and write a book about a man being attacked by mutant, alien, shark-spider hybrids. But if you can take that idea and really make it your own — find the emotional connection between fighting eight-legged, air-breathing sharks, and your own deep-seated fear of finding yourself obselete in a rapidly-changing technological world… well, then you have yourself a story that you’ve made your own. One that can create a strong emotional connection with readers. No matter how stupid the premise.
I do have to disagree with you on one point you made, though. I don’t think everyone is necessarily trying to reach the fourth category. There’s a better than even chance that most writers who congregate at WU have that as their ultimate goal, but overall? No. There is great success (depending on your definition of success) to be found via all four categories. And that, to me, is part of the self-awareness that a writer needs. The self-awareness to know what your own definition of success is, and what you need to do to reach it.
Thank you Jo and Mike for your X Factor ideas. Helped me envision (which is key venue for me) a new way of thinking of my role in a piece of writing.
You’re welcome. Happy writing!
I knew two guys in high school, both gifted musicians. One could play anything he heard, note for note, and went on to be in a bunch of bands. He could play and sound so much like Sting that it was scary. The other one wrote his own songs and had a raspy funky voice that matched his self-destructicve, over-sesitive nature. But his songs never failed to move me. The other guy? Not so much. Your post so vividly explains why. Same thing with books. Perfect sentences do not a story make. Going deep and working hard to touch on emotional change in our characters does. Sometimes it feel akin to ditch-digging. Not glamorous. But the results can be transformative. Thanks so much for this post, Jo!
“Perfect sentences do not a story make.”
Oh, how I love that sentence, Susan. In my experience of working with new writers, this is something that many could stand to have stamped on everything they write. I certainly know I could have used it back when I was starting out. Thank you, and happy writing.
LOVE this article, thank you! What a fantastic reminder, that in addition to “knowledge and practice and hard work,” the real magic happens when an artist stays true, let’s it rip, opens up a vein. I’m thinking of Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice (to stretch over to another genre…) Sure, the story and Styron were a requisite base, but that face, oh my god, soul baring. She let us in.
My first five pages? Oy! You’ve inspired me to go open up a vein…
Thank you so much, Gail. I’m glad this touched a nerve with you. And I love your example of Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice. These lessons apply to all creative endeavours. “She let us in” is probably the best result you can have, whether you’re an actor, singer, or writer. Happy writing!
Your four categories make perfect sense, Jo, even though I’ve never seen the show. Last week the first brave students in my latest writing class sent out their work to be critiqued. I’m sure they were as nervous as I would be in front of your panel but also eager to hear and take away constructive suggestions for improvement.
The only reality show I watch is So You Think You Can Dance. The lesson I’ve learned there that I’ve applied to my writing is the judges’ frequent admonition to “leave it all on the stage”. Don’t hold anything back for later. Without what you call a heart and soul performance, you’ll never make it to your fourth category. Whenever I need my courage braced, I think of Melanie’s fearless leap halfway across the stage into Neil’s arms (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyVwqpqdTlk). She probably would have won anyway, but that single moment made it inevitable.
You’re spot on, Barbara. What we all need in our work, whether it’s dancing, writing, singing, or any other creative endeavour, is a fearless leap. That’s what takes us from category three to category four. The courage it takes to send your work out to be critiqued is not all that different to the courage it takes to read in front of a panel of experts. Sending best wishes to your writing students, and hoping they find the strength of will to take on feedback that will help them advance their craft. Happy writing!
Thoroughly enjoyed this.
Thanks, Joe.
Fun stuff, Jo, but also an opportunity to gain some insight. The reality singer that popped into my head is Casey Abrams – the hirsute stand-up bass player from American Idol. He came in sixth. Why did he come to mind? Well, I’m sure it’s mostly due to the fact that he recently came to our little hometown area, and played our rickety theater that serves local craft brews at the bar. He joked with the audience and quaffed our local fare – it was an intimate, heart-felt, “guard-down” performance. It felt as if he was playing for his home town.
Anyway, in spite of his “not winning” Idol, Casey recognized the artist he truly is. He’s comfortable in his own skin. As he plays his songs, it’s clear he has put the art ahead of his ego. I find that admirable. Cheers, Jo!
I’m still a Casey fan and watch all of his videos I can. I love what you said about him being comfortable in his own skin. Very true. He may not win over a massive audience, but he knows who his fans are. We can definitely use that mindset as writers. :)
The Missus and I were in Casey’s camp all along, although we haven’t followed him since. Absolutely loved his persona as a performer — as you say, very talented and very comfortable in his own skin.
I find that admirable as well. As has been mentioned elsewhere, the thing about reality TV is that it bears as much resemblance to reality as a painting of an apple does to a real apple. “Winning” American Idol is less important to a singing career than finding the truth of yourself and connecting with an audience. So glad you had the experience of seeing Casey perform live, and having those insights into him as an artist.
My mom and I were watching Doogie Howser, MD last night—dang, that was a great show. He and his friend took an acting class so they could stretch themselves beyond known areas of genius-level proficiency. Doogie sucked at it, trying a monologue from Richard III that Doogie based on physical attributes. For the next class he brought a poem. His friend told him there was a reason he was drawn to this poem, and he should think about why. It was about abandoned childhood (you may remember Doogie was a doctor by the age of 16). Neil Patrick Harris nailed it, softening his voice and adding hesitations through which the emotions could come through. I was crying within 30 seconds!
Then today I find this post from you, Jo. Powerful medicine at work. We are drawn to certain stories for a reason, and must remain emotionally available to them so they can manifest fully—and evocatively—through us.
NPH can really do no wrong, both now and back when he was Doogie Howser. (I used to love that show — maybe it’s time I watched it again.) I love the way you put it, about remaining emotionally available to the stories we’re drawn to. Such a powerful thing. Thanks, Kathryn.
Wonderful post, Jo. You have me thinking about my WIP, and what makes it special–how I can weave in that something that gives it true meaning and depth, all the sparkle for which I strive. Bring on the judge role! Woot! I love to help writers and what a fun way to do it. ;)
Looking forward to your next post!
Thanks, Heather. And I’m glad you’re happy with your judge role in my little scenario — I could just imagine you taking on the mentorship of a field of hopeful writers. :) Happy writing!
Never watched reality TV in my life.
Generally, I’d say you’re not missing much. I’m not at all a fan of “reality” TV overall, but I’m a big believer in learning about storytelling from as many different sources and media as possible.
Great post, Jo! Has me thinking about the shows I watch…
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Thanks, Denise. Glad it got you thinking. Happy writing!
Jo, I don’t know how I’d fare in front of famous writers, but I just finished commenting on James Patterson’s “Sam’s letters to Jennifer” on Goodreads before reading this article. Patterson can certainly jump from one type of writing – suspense to romance- and still weave a wonderful story that knocks peoples’ socks off . And you’re right, not everyone can do that. Hopefully I have enough years left in me that someday someone will say my books hit them to the core too. Practice, practice, practice and pick up tips from fellow authors along the way.
Marlene Chabot
Author of China Connection, North Dakota Neighbor, Mayhem with a Capital M, and Death at the Bar X Ranch
As long as you’re open to feedback and willing to put the work in to practice, practice, practice, I have no doubt you’ll reach that point, Marlene. Best of luck and happy writing!
Jo,
I read this post about an hour ago on my break. I’m doing the early shift today. I am responding on my phone at lunch so excuse any typos. I am glad I had the time between my break and lunch to mull over what I wanted to say because I’m coming from a different point of view. In the interest of objectivity, and an open-minded dialogue, first off let me tell you that your post is right on the money from the perspective of a VIEWER of a reality TV show. However, it also calls to mind for me something Frank Zappa said about the music industry, and showbiz in general. It went something along the lines of: In the phrase ” music industry” there are two words and the emphasis is on “industry”.
Reality TV is the same sort of phrase. One must separate the TV from the reality to put it in perspective. One of my daughters works behind the scenes on a highly rated reality TV show. Don’t underestimate the “show” part of reality TV. Because when you sit on your couch and cry at what seems like an “X Factor moment”, your heartstrings have been played by master manipulators. What you as a viewer see in a reality TV show is only the tip of an iceberg. There are puppet masters working very hard behind the scenes to ensure that you as a viewer have that “X Factor moment”. And that’s cool, it’s the intent of a realty TV show to entertain, get huge ratings and sell airtime.
Now for the reality part: How many American Idols went on to great success? How many X Factors? It’s an actual fact that some of the runners up prove to have more substantial careers than the winners.
While your idea of an X FACTOR type competition on Writer Unboxed based on the first 5 pages of a story would be entertaining, it’s only the tip of an iceberg. Writing is so much more than that.
Thanks for the thought provoking post. I wish you were here so that we could have a cup of coffee together. So I’m buying you a cuppa.
Oh, I couldn’t agree more with everything you said, Bee. This is why I usually refer to so-called reality TV or “reality” TV. In general, reality TV bears as much resemblance to actual reality as a painting of an apple bears to a real apple. It’s the same shape and colour, but you wouldn’t want to eat it.
The fact that I sit there with tears in my eyes because a master manipulator (read: storyteller) has presented a contestant’s story in a particular way, with a particular “package” shown in a particular order? I love that. Like advertisers, reality TV producers are adept at telling a deeply touching story in a very short time with a very definite goal in mind. My albeit-limited experience as a viewer tells me that the methodology goes something like this:
1. Show the contestant standing in the wings, nervously making small-talk about their family. This makes them seem normal, approachable and “just like me”.
2. Show the contestant walk on to the stage and fight to overcome their nerves, while the judges look on impassively. This makes the audience immediately feel kinship with the contestant.
3. Cut to a prepared package showing the contestant talking about why they’re competing, how much it means to them, and detailing an emotional backstory. If possible, include family photos and interviews with other family members. This makes the audience empathise with the contestant and shows they’re worth loving. (If they’re good people and they love the contestant, and I’m a good person, then I should love the contestant.)
4. Cut back to the stage, where the contestant takes a deep breath as the music starts. This makes the audience hold their breath and hope that they will succeed.
5. As the contestant starts singing, cut to a close-up of the judges, where one of them will suddenly widen their eyes in shock or have their mouth drop open. This makes the audience feel a surge of triumph and solidarity with the contestant.
6. When the contestant finishes, cut to the judges saying nice things about them… all except one, who makes a vaguely critical comment (“It’s not the best version I’ve ever heard.”). This builds tension in the audience.
7. Finally, have the judges vote. When the contestant gets four yeses, the audience is crying along with the contestant.
All in all, it’s a masterful use of emotional shading, backstory, and characterisation that, I think, any writer or storyteller can learn from.
As for your other point about the operative word in “music industry” being “industry”, the same can be said for the publishing industry. Honestly, I don’t think a writing version of the X Factor would create any more great works of fiction than can be produced through hard work. But the idea is thought-provoking, is it not?
Thanks so much for the cuppa. Hopefully we’ll be able to have one together in person next year. :)
Thanks Jo, I basically think our core truth is the same here. In an age of Kardashian- ilk celebrity I’d hate to see our group pare down the writing process to a game-show-like contest on the first 5 pages of a novel. While critique and mentoring is always beneficial there is so much more than 5 pages that the writing process demands.
Looking forward to that coffee in Salem.
I would love to have my first five pages evaluated. I have no idea which category I’m at with my current work, besides not the confidence/arrogance part. I’ve kind of lost perspective on the whole writing/publishing thing. I doubt it’s technically perfect, for sure. Does it have heart and soul? The exclusive X-factor? Definitely what we should strive for, but I question if it’s possible to orchestrate it, or does it just have to come from passion and sharing openly your story?
What a fun thought exercise. :) Thanks for making me think today!
You’re welcome, Lara. Glad it made you think.
If you’d like my take on your question, I’d say that it is possible to orchestrate it through allowing yourself to fully own the stage. That is, to open your heart and soul, and openly share the story you have to tell without holding back. So the short answer would be: Yes.
Thanks for the reminder on self-awareness, even if, as in my case, it translates into “go write more, more, more”!!! It also reminds that je ne sais quoi also involves personal presence/presentation. Which challenges some of us writers.
“Go write more, more, more” is a pretty darn good motto, if you ask me. Happy writing!
Don’t know how I’d fare in front of judges, and have no intention of trying those four masters, BUT I have every intention of producing the ‘Read by author’ audiobook version. I LOVE reading the WIP out loud – half of the stuff in it was created that way, so I could read it out loud. It scans better when you actually try that.
Or you can have a good laugh by having the robot voice on your computer (the MacBook Pro I have running Yosemite does a decent job) reading your ‘deathless prose.’ Great for finding typos, too.
Haven’t tried to have it read me recipes.
Alicia
That made me laugh, Alicia. Thank you. I don’t have a lifeless robot voice on my PC, but now I’m tempted to find one just so I can hear it reading my deathless prose. Happy writing!
They come (and I say ‘they’ because you have your choice of voices) built-in on Macs – and the speech icon is present on my Scrivener navigation bar. Select text, click microphone icon, cringe.
Repair. Repeat until not cringe.
The only reality show I watch is So You Think You Can Dance, which airs during the summer. You’re absolutely right that it’s about the stories. On SYTYCD the dancers are top notch. Years of practicing to perfect their technique, but along comes a guy or girl who is a great performer and has the drive to learn every dance style that’s out there. One of the winners from two years ago was a street performer. Watching this kid from audition to final dance was *the* story. Sure, he could break and dance hip-hop that was his thing, but he mastered ballroom, contemporary, jazz and Broadway by listening to all the critiques the judges gave, and worked hard. By the way, his performance name is Fikshun.