During my last semester of undergrad, I spent a lot of time
watching 30 Rock.
Like many graduating seniors, I suffered from a mild-to-moderate
case of senioritis: a heaviness that periodically gripped my limbs at the very
thought of academic work. But the time I spent riveted on Tina Fey and Alec
Baldwin as they traded repartees? That didn’t count as a symptom. My
steady diet of sitcom wit wasn’t procrastination — it was
research.
That was the semester I signed up for a workshop on literary
translation, taught by a celebrated translator of
Hebrew and Arabic. Over the course of fifteen weeks, the class chipped away at
individual projects, wrestling with texts in languages that — for the most part
— neither our classmates nor our professor could understand. Then we’d read
each other’s work as a group. As the term wore on, we sampled a dizzying array
of translations: Russian realism, Greek philosophy and, in my case, classical
Chinese domestic farce.
Of course, we couldn’t offer notes on how accurately each
translator treated the languages we didn’t know how to read. What we could
critique was the quality of the English that came out the other side: the flow
of the sentences, the music of the syllables, the feelings that arose as we
read each line. That was when I realized literary translation was as
much about writing as it was about understanding a text: it was creative, as
well as critical, work.
Now, what exactly did translating classical Chinese have to do
with 30 Rock? Not a lot at first, as you’d probably assumed. But that
changed as the semester progressed and my project started to develop in a new
direction.
The piece I’d chosen to translate was earthy, irreverent, and
dialogue-rich: lively with farcical liaisons, domestic squabbles, and
pretentious characters who’d misquote the classics to justify their jealousy
and lust. It was also literally full of holes — and not the plot variety. Part
of a cache of excavated texts from the Western Han, the rhapsody dated back to the
second century BC, and the bamboo it was inked on had been badly damaged,
gnawed away by time. In the transcription I worked from, typed out by a Peking
University professor, brackets and ellipses stood in where the original
characters could no longer be read.
My first pass through this fragmentary text left me with a
tortuous translation, pocked by footnotes and straining toward literalism. The
other workshop participants gamely picked their way through the frustrated
tangle of my English, asking insightful questions. But I could tell from their
reactions: all I’d manage to get across was the text’s brokenness and
difficulty, not the wit and soul that drew me to it in the first place.
So for my second draft, I decided to cut loose a little. Instead
of bowing under the tyranny of the corrupt original, I’d turn this fragmentary
story into a play, letting the sharp humor of the dialogue speak for itself. I
wanted to spotlight what was still there, not the parts that were lost
forever.
When I told the workshop about this new approach, I couldn’t
resist ending with a joke: “I’m thinking about watching a lot of sitcoms to
make sure the dialogue sounds right.” But my classmates — and our professor —
took me seriously, encouraging me to study TV writing as I learned to craft
dialogue. So Liz Lemon and I started spending quite a bit of time together.
As it turns out, a tightly scripted sitcom really is a
masterclass in writing conversations. Break it down, and you’ll learn more than
the art of a snappy one-liner: you’ll get a sense of how to write dialogue that
sounds natural without being pulled from real life, with all its pauses,
mumbles, and wasted air.
The next time you’re stuck on a bit of dialogue, try taking
inspiration from your favorite Netflix show. Whether you’re writing a novel or
turning a 2,000-year-old text into a play, the characters you’re trying to coax
into conversation will thank you. Best of all, you’ll get to watch TV —
guilt-free.
Lucia Tang is a writer for Reedsy, a marketplace that connects self-publishing authors with the book industry’s best editors, designers, and marketers. To work on the site’s free historical character name generators, she draws on her knowledge of Chinese, Latin, and Old Irish — learned as a PhD candidate in history at UC Berkeley. You can read more of her work on the Reedsy Discovery blog, or follow her on Twitter at @lqtang.
As an English major in the 90s, I was excited to learn my craft and be creative. However, I was clueless about what to create. Then one day, I bought a book that changed how I viewed my passion for writing.
The late Bob Briner’s classic The Roaring Lambs challenged Christians to use their talents to create positive and redemptive art across the spectrum of entertainment: sports, music, art, television, and film. Briner called Hollywood a “Mission field!”[i]
Recently, I sat down with 30 year Hollywood veteran Brian Bird (The Case for Christ, When Calls The Heart) to talk about how the lambs (the church) can roar in this mission field.
Martin Johnson: I know you are a fan of the Roaring Lambs, how has the film industry changed since it came out in the 90s?
Brian Bird: Oh yes, love the book! Prior to the book, For much of the 20th century, I think Christians working in the arts were few and far between, with the exception of music. There were a handful of believers working in the film industry, but a lot of that activity was specifically on church films, small-time evangelistic church films. But there was not a real attempt to break into the mainstream audience with Christian films; for the most part, evangelicals were M.I.A.
Martin Johnson: You used an interesting word there, evangelicals. As a filmmaker, what does it mean to be an evangelical filmmaker?
Brian Bird: There are filmmakers who are Christians who make sermons on film. There are Christian filmmakers who don’t make specifically evangelistic films, and there are filmmakers who are evangelicals who don’t make Christian films. You can even be a non-believer and make a terrific evangelical film. It’s all about telling great stories.
Martin Johnson: Briner expressed how the church needs writers. What do you hope to accomplish at the end of the day?
Brian Bird: My personal mission is to tell stories that stir up cravings in people’s souls, make them want to know God—to be effective as I can be at communicating my Christian worldview through good story-telling, to tell stories that don’t beat people over the head, but, stir up soul cravings. To me those are the best kind of faith films. Sometimes evangelistic films can be neither good evangelism nor good filmmaking; because their intent from the beginning is propaganda. There are good uses for propaganda. Propaganda in the most generous sense of the world can be put to good use as evangelism. The Jesus films have been effective at that. A good example of that is The Jesus Film—very effective. Those kinds of films are good and effective, but that is not what I’ve been called to do. I’ve been called to just tell great, true, redemptive stories that are not there just to entertain, but to provoke hearts to greater self-reflection and get people talking about the water cooler. In my view, the story of Jesus and his work on the cross needs to be shared between two flesh and blood people having a conversation. Not by a picture on a wall.
Martin Johnson: What is the main roadblock keeping Christian film from being successful at the box office?
Brian Bird: Ourselves. . .the church! If evangelicals are going to make a difference in the giant media conversation going on across the world, we, have to pursue excellence in our crafts of communicating. The church must support the gifts of creative evangelicals when it does the message and the art can soar! During the Renaissance, the church supported all the great artists of that time and people like Michelangelo were able to strive for excellence because of that support. Art in humans is always a reflection of the creativity behind the creation of the universe. The Renaissance artists were trying to bring heaven to earth with their creations, as CS Lewis said… all art from men is an attempt to copy heaven. We are made in the image of our creator; it is in our DNA to create. This was evident in the Renaissance, the Reformation; the church stopped supporting the arts. The theology of the church began to view all art as worldly and considered it sinful. But that is so counterintuitive to the truth in the Bible. The view of art became worldly, it was considered sinful. God was the first writer … in the beginning was the Word (John 1:1–4). The Bible is full of references to the beauty and art in creation, and yet for several hundred years the church left art behind in favor of the “good enough principal.” We need to get back to pursuing excellence in Hollywood and that to me is the biggest obstacle facing us, the good enough principle. That’s where art has been relegated in the church and it has to stop—this attitude that art doesn’t have to be excellent, all it has to be is useful. We need to strive for excellence, not for our own glory—but for the glory of our creator, God. We can trust Him with our talents.
Brian Bird on the set of, “When Calls the Heart”
Martin Johnson: I’m glad you mentioned trusting God, Briner says that the lambs can trust their Shepherd.
Brian Bird: Throughout history, all art has been passed down from one generation to the next through a process called “Copy the Master.” In an art class, for example, the Master, or the teacher, is at the front of the room painting or sculpting, and the students are at their canvass. They copy the Master but bring themselves to the canvass in order to learn our art. Well, we are all in the class with the author of the universe—that’s quite a source to copy from. And we can trust our Master with every creative bone in our bodies.
Martin Johnson: Briner says art is a full-time ministry. What do you think?
Brian Bird: He was absolutely right; it is how we answer our God-given calling. Every person who finds Jesus needs to strive to become a minister out of the skills and talents God has gifted them with, both inside and outside the church.
Martin Johnson: Briner points out that part of our ministry is being the salt of the earth. Thus, for Christians to be roaring lambs in Hollywood we can’t just be just entertaining, we need to be ministers of the gospel.
Brian Bird We should be telling great stories, but they have to stir up soul cravings in people. We need to tell stories that help people realize there is more to life than what this world offers. Great stories have great messages. If they’re not entertaining though, they are not good stories. We have to do both. We have to tell stories that transfix our audiences; you have to keep your audience entertained so they can organically receive the meta-narrative or message, that is at the heart of your story.
Martin Johnson: In closing, what do you see the church doing to become the roaring lambs Briner described in his book?
Brian Bird: I think that is starting to happen. I think there’s a new renaissance beginning. I am witnessing it around me, in younger people that I mentor in filmmaking. I have this film coming out September 14th I executive produced called The Heart of Man and I shepherded a group of incredibly young talented filmmakers. I am so proud of them and proud of what we are making. I think it’s about all of us who are in this business encouraging one another to push for excellence, not to settle for just good enough, to practice the 10,000 -hour rule and to be bold. Some people who are born with a spark of genius need to put in their 10,000 hours in order to get really good at what they do. That’s how genius become experts. All of us are born with that spark because we are made in the image of the author of all things. But if we sit on our hands and don’t put in the time to become experts, we will never be the roaring lambs Bob Briner was hoping for.
[i] Briner, P (1993). The Roaring Lambs. Grand Rapids: Zondervan
Brian Bird “When Calls the Heart Devotion” with Michelle Cox
Martin is a forty-three-year-old award-winning Christian screenwriter who has recently finished his first Christian nonfiction book after three years of researching, editing and remembering.
While majoring in English, he walked away from the Christian faith to experience the grandeur and luster of college life. While dating, he delved into different spiritual beliefs—from Hinduism to Catholicism and Judaism.Martin’s journey took him on a journey for answers.
In March of 1997, Martin received his answer. Albeit, not the answer he wanted. Nearly dying in a severe car accident, he survived with a (T.B.I.) Traumatic brain injury which left him legally blind and partially paralyzed on the left side.
After enduring eleven months of humiliating rehabilitation and therapy, Martin found himself at the foot of the cross with a choice to make. It was then Martin realized to truly live, he had to die. Not physically but in every other area of his life. There could be no compromise.
Martin has spent the last nine years volunteering as an ambassador and promoter for Promise Keepers ministries. While speaking to local men’s ministries Martin shares his testimony. Martin explains The Jesus Paradigm and how following Jesus changes what matters most in our lives.
As I’m pre-published, the book I’m currently shopping around is The god of reality TV. It was a finalist in the ACFW Genesis competition in 2016 and is currently under consideration by a publishing house.
The god of reality TV is a story where church meets reality TV. Two pastors take part in Pastor Swap, a new reality TV show for the Christian market. Brad Shepherd needs to save his dying church in a forgotten suburb of a large city and Jack Alexander wants to emerge from the shadow of his megachurch pastor father.
Swapping congregations, they take part in the show in order to achieve their own aims. Brad is trying to save his dying church, while Jack has been promised the chance to take over from his soon-to-retire father – a chance that doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. But Randy Stone, the show’s producer and reality TV guru, has plans for how he will portray church on TV, because there is no god bigger than him.
In terms of selling books, I wrote Swimming Upstream years back, which was written for couples having trouble conceiving. It talked about the everyday experience in real language with common sense advice from an IVF counselor and was one of the few books around – in fact, it still is – to provide input about the male perspective on having trouble having kids.
I want to explore the world I live in from the perspective I’ve picked up over my life. At their heart, my stories are about how people interact with their modern world, their faith and their God. It’s my calling – I believe I’m led to take my twenty-five years of writing experience and turn it into something that challenges people.
And I also want to write books that I’d want to read. My stories are modern tales, with nary a cowboy or Amish love interest in sight. They explore work, church, advertising, the media, social media and life. Some authors want to present escapism on the page. I want to also provide a mirror in which the reader may see themselves and their world.
What are you currently working on?
My current WIP is a story also in a competition (so not too many details!). It’s a book that talks about how some elements of society – particularly celebrity and science – view the concept of God. It’s a novel (my third), and it’s neither a book about apologetics nor is it my response to the Da Vinci Code. All I’ve done is take my experience of debating people about God and turned it into a story.
I’m at the edit stage and I’ve had great fun with it and enjoyed meeting a new set of characters.
How does your work differ from other work in its genre?
In terms of story, I guess I’m writing about modern-day topics that carry an underlying message. They’re not preachy – far from it – so you won’t read a novel I’ve written and say ‘oh, this is the bit where he goes off on a pseudo-sermon’. But my hope is you will say ‘that’s so like my workplace/friend/mother-in-law.’
In terms of style, I’m an Australian and our culture is soaked in irreverent humor. That’s how I write; I can’t help but give convention a subtle prod. It’s not funny as such – humor is so subjective – and satire can be difficult for some cultures to understand, but I have found one of my strengths is to make a point which is cloaked in a tinge of irreverence. It can be a fine line, especially in an age of perpetual and imminent offence, but I enjoy the challenge of coming up with a way to make people think and chuckle at the same time.
How does your writing process work?
I’m a freelance copywriter, so I have a bit more flexibility in terms of writing. I have dedicated times in which I write, but I’ve also developed a number of writing hacks that help me wring the most out of my schedule. I’ve blogged about a couple of them – writing on the train or using the dead time in traffic to help me keep churning things out.
In terms of story development, I’m a pantser trapped within the body of a plotter. I plot a novel so I can see where the characters are going and because the overall story is important to me. (I have twelve fully-plotted novels on the runway, ready to be fleshed out). I then let the pantser loose to fill in the colors within that framework.
I write on my trusty laptop, sheathed in its BookBook cover, which is my pride and joy. My other tools of the trade are my iPhone, into which I have now dictated parts of two-and-a-half manuscripts, and a team of readers who give me feedback that is both constructive and honest – especially honest.
Bio
Based in South Australia, David is a writer who reads everything within an arm’s reach. He has made writing his career and paid the bills with words for twenty-five years – from journalism to corporate copywriting and advertising campaigns.
He has published in the non-fiction arena and is now focused on writing contemporary Christian stories that explore God, people, 21st century church and our modern society. David is sports-mad (which is compulsory for Australians) and is married with three kids (which isn’t).
