Another example I was asked about was Morgan Spurlock’s documentary Super Size Me, the 2004 social experiment in fast food gastronomy where Morgan attempts to subsist only on food from McDonalds for a month. It was suggested that he didn’t know what he wanted when he began living off McDonald’s food, and just took a wait-and-see approach to discover what would happen. I disagree with that assessment. I think Mr. Spurlock knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to prove that eating nothing but fast food is not only dreadful for your exterior physique and internal health but can actually kill you. His desire to find out if that hypothesis was correct and his pursuit of the answer—by putting his own life at risk—proves that he not only knew what he wanted but was willing to go to any length to get it. And that is what makes the film so powerful.
In talking about what the protagonist wants, I also want to discuss a logline I created from a property with an unusual twist. I had a fantasy project in which the lead character went on an incredible journey through mystical lands filled with unicorns, fairies, et cetera, and I remember vividly that I had a very hard time coming up with the logline. My troubles emerged from the fact that I couldn’t define what the protagonist really wanted. It was difficult to figure out the lead’s desire since he wandered through so many trials and tribulations, and it was simply noted in the writing that he was always searching for the ever-so-general “most important.” There were no other specifics. That somewhat spiritual element was as detailed as the writer got, and there was the additional, more problematic complication that the protagonist also ended up exactly where he began. I was confused because if he came full circle and finished in the exact spot where he started, what could he possibly have wanted? After all, you can’t exactly want to end where you originated or you never would have set out in the first place, right?
After further exploring the material, talking with the writer, and breaking down the story, I finally realized that no matter how many stops there were along the way, this character still had to be on a journey toward something. The plot moved forward due to his decisions; it had nice pacing and some small urgency. There absolutely had to be something he wanted, even if that unnamed thing had been there all along. It turned out that that was the crux of the logline. Here’s my rough draft:
A man on a fantastical journey searches for “the most important” and learns he had it all along, in the family he did not previously appreciate.
What I realized from creating this unusual logline is that sometimes what the character wants is something they already possess. That is certainly a fairly uncommon occurrence, and most material doesn’t fit this formula, but it’s still something to note and keep in mind when trying to craft a logline.
So we’ve now uncovered a strong protagonist who drives the story by pursuing specifically what they want. But we’re missing the critical last piece: what is at stake? What happens if the character doesn’t succeed in achieving his or her desires?
Chapter 7
Defining What’s at Stake
FOR ANY STORY, IT’S VITALLY IMPORTANT TO KNOW what’s at stake. Sometimes, I refer to this crassly as the “why do I care?” element, not because I am trying to be mean, but because it is literally what makes us as an audience give a darn about the character’s journey. It’s what, at its simplest, keeps us reading or watching to find out what will happen at the end of the road. If the stakes aren’t high enough, then we don’t want to stay along for the ride.
Many writers confuse the action-oriented stakes with the emotional stakes. For example, I’ll ask a writer what is at stake in a story, and they’ll say that it’s the protagonist’s ability to find true love. That’s what’s at stake emotionally, and as per most broad sweeps, just too general for our logline purposes. What is really at stake is what happens if the character doesn’t achieve his or her specific goal: to find the man she left at the altar ten years ago, for example. What happens if she doesn’t find him? Will the protagonist feel forced to marry someone she doesn’t love because she’s pregnant and needs a father for her baby? Will she have to live as a spinster with 75 cats in the middle of the deepest wilderness in Alaska? I’m being a bit silly here, but these are the types of scenarios that define what is at stake for the lead character.
It’s also important to know what happens if the character doesn’t achieve his or her actual physical goal or desire, because the potential negative outcome is what adds to the overall story tension. When a writer is struggling to create a logline that sounds dramatic, it usually becomes clear that the reason is that what’s at stake is missing from the logline. Here’s an example of a logline in which, initially, there were no real stakes:
ORIGINAL
A princess must travel on a long and tiring journey to find the missing gold from her kingdom.
Why is she on this journey? What happens if she doesn’t achieve her goal of finding the missing gold? These are the crucial questions that must be answered in order for us to know what’s at stake for the protagonist. While, of course, it’s always important to define the journey, it’s even more important to express what will happen if that journey is not completed successfully. That’s where the drama comes from.
After talking to the content creator at length about this story, I found out what would happen to the princess if she did not recover the gold that was taken from her kingdom. This revelation made all the difference in the world: It showed me what was at stake for her if she did not achieve her goal of finding the gold and bringing it back home. It explained the reason she went on this journey in the first place, as well. Here’s the rough draft redo:
REDO
A princess must rescue her kingdom’s stolen gold before she is forced to marry a rich, evil sorcerer to save her people from destitution.
Now we know what will happen if the gold is not retrieved. Additionally, this revised logline tells us what’s motivating the princess’ journey—what’s giving it its urgency. If she does not achieve her goal then her kingdom doesn’t have the funds it must have, and she’ll be forced to wed a tyrant, for the greater good. Her unmarried state is what is at stake if she doesn’t get the gold back in time. Notice that because we now know what will happen if she doesn’t retrieve the riches, her scenario feels more pressing.
Here’s another example of a logline where the stakes are missing:
ORIGINAL
A dot-com millionaire returns to his hometown to deliver the keynote speech at his old high school graduation.
My very next question to the content creator is: “So what?” Why does it matter whether or not he delivers the speech? What is at stake? What happens if he doesn’t deliver it and, alternately, what happens if he does? If I don’t have these answers in the logline then I don’t care about the protagonist or his journey. Here’s my rough draft redo after spending some time talking to the writer:
REDO
A millionaire must deliver a humble keynote speech to try to win back his first love.
This is obviously quite different, and that is because we now know the value of the speech; we know what is at stake. If he gives the speech poorly or says the wrong thing, he will never attract his true love again. Notice, by the way, that I removed all reference to the high school. That’s because it doesn’t matter where he delivers his speech. It only matters that the logline portrays what’s needed to have the desired response of winning back the girl.
The other reason it’s so imperative to define what is at stake is because, as you write, that information helps keep the story focused on what is really important. Without it, sometimes writers end up meandering through their stories without much direction—what I call an event-to-event-to-event problem. You have the scenarios in place but they lack all impact or meaning. In the earlier logline, for example, by keeping what will happen to the princess if she fails at the forefront, it’s easy to make sure that every circumstance along her adventure has both exigency and the force to move her trip forward along its path. Str
ong, specific stakes make the reason for her journey abundantly clear.
Below is another example in which the stakes needed to be more fully defined. It’s also unusual in that a question is used as a logline. I personally don’t recommend using a query as your selling sentence, because a logline is always supposed to provide answers, not pose more questions. The reader obviously can’t answer the question, having never read the original material, so using this method essentially falls into the category of a tease, which doesn’t help you sell your work. Here’s the original logline that was submitted:
ORIGINAL
A man’s unique skin can set anything on fire, but is he the arsonist that’s got Texas law enforcement in knots?
My first question, of course, putting into practice all we have learned so far, is if the man with the unique skin is the one on the journey, what does he want? From this logline and from speaking to the writer it seems that he does not want to be blamed for the numerous arson fires stumping the police. But that’s a negative goal and rather passive: It’s what he doesn’t want. So what is more active and can fully explain what he does want? Together, we determined that we should just flip the information and craft the logline so that he actively wants to prove that he is innocent of the egregious crimes being blamed on him. The logline also has to include what is at stake—what happens if he doesn’t prove his innocence—which was not mentioned in the original sentence at all. Here is the rough draft redo:
REDO
A man whose skin can start fires must prove he’s innocent of serial arson or be put to death for homicides he did not commit.
The gist of the new logline is not really that different from the intent behind the original one. The redo just has everything more explained and defined so that there is no guessing required. More important, it highlights what is at stake if the lead character fails to prove his innocence.
In one of my seminars at a writers’ conference, I was told about a story that was essentially about a man finding out that Lee Harvey Oswald did not kill John F. Kennedy. After hearing the very long tale, I asked the writer: “So what?”
The writer seemed perplexed. “So what?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered, “Why do I care that the protagonist found out that Oswald did not kill Kennedy?”
“What do you mean?” said the attendee.
That’s when I got down to specifics. “What happens if he lets that fact be known? Will the Earth explode because history is wrong? Will he lose the love of his life because she’ll think he’s crazy and put him in an insane asylum? What is at stake?”
The writer looked at me sadly and said, “But that’s it. I already wrote the whole book!”
This is the number one reason to do your logline first, during the fleshing-out process as you create your story rather than after you’ve written your entire work.
Now that poor guy has to go back and redo a great big portion of his writing because he didn’t figure out what was at stake first. Now, I haven’t read the full piece, obviously, but I can almost guarantee that the protagonist meanders around through one event after another with no real purpose until he stumbles upon the historically relevant information. How do I know? Because there is nothing motivating his journey. Afterward, I assume he wanders again, since nothing is really at stake. The writer had no concept of what happened once that important information was actually revealed.
Now that we understand the importance of defining what’s at stake, I think it’s essential to discuss the instances where what’s at stake is already inherently defined within the logline. I appreciate when this occurs. My logline gets shorter and tighter all by itself, since I don’t have to actually spell out the stakes.
Chapter 8
When What’s at Stake Is Already Defined
AS MENTIONED EARLIER, SOMETIMES THE STAKES ARE already inherent in the logline without having to be explicitly spelled out, such as when the story is about a protagonist fleeing a known killer. Just the fact that the murderer has taken people’s lives before makes it clear that the protagonist’s life is what’s at risk. This doesn’t occur all that often, but when it does, creating the logline becomes much easier: You no longer have to include more words to describe what is at stake. Your sentence becomes shorter, tighter, and more focused all by itself. Here’s an example of a rough draft logline in which the stakes are already inherent in the establishment of the protagonist and what she wants:
An 89-year-old nun commits to attempting completion of every item on her bucket list.
The idea that the nun has to try to achieve every item on that list before she dies is already implied. There is no need to spell out the fact that she has to do everything she wanted to do before her death because it’s already built in to both her age and the definition of a bucket list: a list that includes the things you haven’t yet done throughout your life and which you want to achieve before death takes you.
Another example in which the stakes are already implied by the rest of the logline comes from a children’s property that was brought to me a few years ago. Here’s the rough draft:
A diabetic kid is trapped inside a chocolate factory by a fiendish tooth-decay villain.
There’s no need to continue the logline by pointing out that if the kid doesn’t get out he’ll have to consume chocolate to survive and have a diabetic reaction that could kill him. That is already implied by the fact that the protagonist suffers from diabetes to begin with and that he’s trapped in a place with nothing but sugary food to eat.
Occasionally, I come across a property where the stakes are obvious simply because of the vast divide between two characters. I call it the Romeo and Juliet logline because of the impossible rift between the Capulets and the Montagues in that famous story. Here’s an example: One day, I was asked by an agent I work with to help him sell a story for one of his clients—he was struggling to find the hook. He gave me the long plot summary and asked if I could help him create a logline from it. In an early version, before I figured out what was wrong, I actually listed the stakes:
ORIGINAL
A US marshal finds the love of his life but, after a great deal of digging, unfortunately finds out that she’s the daughter of NY’s most powerful mafia kingpin, which puts their relationship at risk.
Of course, I knew that “relationship at risk” was much too general, but this was an early draft of the logline. Then I realized that I could actually cut that part out entirely, because the stakes were already obvious due to the Romeo and Juliet nature of the story. He is a US marshal and she’s related to the mob, so the problems are inherent in any relationship they may pursue. Here’s a later version, rough but nearly finished, without the spelled-out general stakes which bogged down the earlier logline:
REDO
A US marshal finds the love of his life, only to discover she’s the daughter of NY’s most powerful mafia kingpin.
This is not only much tighter but also focuses on what’s at stake without stating it outright. In its brevity, it highlights the extremes of both marshal and mafia in the love story. What’s at stake is clear: it would be virtually impossible for these two to get together without there being problems from one side or the other (and probably both).
Another good example of a Romeo and Juliet logline coming into play is the film Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. Here’s my rough draft version:
A prostitute unfortunately falls for a client, a wealthy industrialist who doesn’t believe in love.
We know what’s at risk is her heart, but we don’t have to add an ending such as “which makes their relationship impossible” because that’s implied by each character’s definition. They are at two ends of the spectrum. She’s a lady of the evening, and he’s a very rich gentleman with no time for matters of the heart, so the two can’t end up together without there being big problems with the match.
Usually, after I create a logline, I’ll look at the stated stakes and ask myself:
“Do I really need this?” I try to determine if the logline works just as well without it, if the stakes are already implied somehow without me spelling them out. It’s a good habit to get into. Define the stakes, always, but then revisit and see if you really need to write them out or not.
It should be crystal clear already that a logline is an indispensable tool. First of all, it helps a writer (and a reader) figure out who the protagonist really is: whose actions are driving the story forward and moving the action along. Secondly, it helps to get laser-focused on what that protagonist wants, what’s motivating the journey that they are on, what’s pushing them forward from one event to another. Lastly, it instills urgency and keeps the reader interested by explaining what is truly at stake, why what’s happening matters, and what the consequences are if the character does not achieve the goal.
Now that we know the three main components involved, let’s start to explore and understand the detailed rules for crafting the perfect logline.
Chapter 9
Only a Sentence
WE KNOW ALL OF THE IMPORTANT MAIN ELEMENTS OF a logline, but how long should it be? Many years ago, a writing instructor told me to imagine taking five dollars out of my pocket for every word I put on the page. I found this to be invaluable advice, and I apply it constantly during logline generation and revision. It’s amazing what you can cut out when it’s costing you. With inflation since then, let’s just say ten dollars per word.
Sell Your Story in Single Sentence Page 4
