Head in a Bag Plot Device

Did the title get you? Yes, this blog post is about the infamous head-in-a-bag plot device. But first, a foray into literary theory. (Sorry, I have to find some kind of use for those college classes. But I promise it will be brief and fun—which is not a use of irony.)

Anyway, lit crit folks have an idea that only a handful of stories exist and most stories, no matter how dissimilar, can be boiled down to one of these “genres.” Allow me to oversimplify with a couple of examples. Greeks thought stories were either comedies (ends in a wedding) or tragedy (ends in a death). Hence Shakespeare’s works are divided into Comedy and Tragedy (and, of course, “histories,” but if Richard the Third isn’t a tragedy, what is?) Detective/murder mysteries are viewed as modern versions of the quest epic.

So if all stories fit into just a couple of categories, how do we keep it interesting? That is in the telling. (Enter head-in-a-bag plot device.) Jasper Fforde writes the Thursday Next “mysteries.” Thursday is a literary detective/fixer. (According to Thursday, she actually “repaired” Jane Eyre. In the “original” version, Jane and Mr. Rochester never got together. Thursday almost lost her job over that fix.) Anyway in Mr. Fforde’s world, characters often try to improve their novels by buying plot devices. One character, who is afraid that his novel may be shredded, goes to the plot device store to buy a plot device. The-head-in-bag device is on sale because, you know, it’s been so overdone, so there’s not a lot of demand. A couple of months ago, I saw an episode of Castle. Guess what? It had the head-in-bag. But the writers made it fresh. (It was a mediocre episode, but still it was the head-in-a-bag. And my kids yelled, “No way, the head-in-bag plot device!”) In the episode, the dead man had his head stolen and stuffed in “cryogenic head container.” The “bad guy” claimed it was for cryogenic purposes. But the truth was that the brain contained evidence of experimental cancer drugs ineffectiveness—which is a totally overdone plot device—the writers need to go back to the plot device store.

All that to say, even if there aren’t any new stories, all you need to do is find a fresh way of writing it—and avoid the head-in-bag plot device. After all, you can only toss the bag through the air and say “Heads up” once or twice before is gets lame.

Getting Something for Nothing

We don’t have cable. We’ve never had cable. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those I-don’t-believe-in-television-we-only-read-Shakespeare kind of people. I love Shakespeare and could talk about the plays and the sonnets for hours. But I also love Leverage, Castle, and the Yankees (I don’t really love baseball, but I love my husband and sons. And they love baseball, so...I know that Nick Swisher is called “Swish,” Robinson Cano is called “Robby,” and Curtis Granderson is called “The Grandy Man.”) Anyway, I enjoy popular culture. But without cable, it’s kind of hard. And cable is just too expensive. (Do you know how much beef/chicken/beans I can buy with that kind of money?)

But I worked out the popular cultural connection. For years we streamed from the computer onto the television. Everything was great. Until last week.

Last week, we tried to stream the final episode of Leverage. And it was locked!?! And you had to type in some stupid cable code to unlock the episode. How could they do this to me? I realize that I’m not actually paying for the content, but I watch their uber-stupid commercials. (Actually, I like the one with the fake raccoon-man who destroys the attic.) But most of the commercials assume that the viewers are stoned/drunk/brain-dead—I mean who wants to listen to commercials that scream at them. Or watch over and over again, the lame eyelash commercial (Latisse) that warns you the product may permanently “darken” your irises and eyelids. Why would anyone buy that crap?

Sorry, I don’t mean to diss the pharmaceutical companies. At least, not much.  But why lock the final episode of Leverage? It’s not like that’s going to make me buy cable. And Netflix isn’t much help; their streamable content is mostly junk that no one wants to watch. Though Downton Abbey and the new Sherlock series were notable exceptions.

I fear this is the beginning of the end of the something-for-nothing glory of the internet. Even Amazon is going to start charging sales tax in some states. What is the world coming to? I want my something for nothing.

BTW, here’s a link to my book blog post “Moaning Monks.” Enjoy.

Maybe I Don't Want A Castle

On Saturday, we’re leaving for vacation in Orlando. That means that in the near future (tonight) I have to begin packing. Since the kids are 18, nearly 17, 14, and 12, you’d think I’d be set. I pack my stuff and they pack theirs. The problem is we’ve done that before. Some people end up with no pajamas or no socks or no underwear—this is bad. So, they make piles, and I inspect and approve.

Orlando should be perfect. Too early for nasty heat, low 80s is just fine. Too early for bugs. I was in Florida a couple of times when I was a young teen and the one thing I remember was the bugs—winged, flying, biting vermin-ish insects.

Florida sounded lovely until I heard about The Castle. There’s a famous writer (NYT bestselling writer—Ally Carter) who’s going on vacation at the same time we are. Except she’s going to a castle. She and her writing friends are renting a castle. In Ireland. I want to go to a castle too. Granted I am very thankful for my husband and four children and would never change places with her (she’s single). Though I do occasionally covet her bestseller author status—the closest I get to that is my faithful blog readers (thank you). But I think I could do the castle thing too.

Ally’s been blogging about buying for her trip—“Ooo these socks would be so great for the castle.” I’ve been thinking, “Ooo, how much underwear does each family member need, and do I need to buy more.” Ally says, “We have to make cupcakes in the castle.” Hold the boat! Why would anyone want to bake cupcakes in a castle? I’d be buying chocolate and saying, “Oh, this Lindt extra dark chocolate with pear and almonds will taste so good in front of a roaring hearth fire in the castle! And I need that Lindt E.D. intense orange as well for sustenance when I don’t want to get out of the feather bed in the morning.”

I do think there could be one caveat to the whole Irish castle thing. There’s a possibility that is especially frightening to me. What if, being this is Ireland and all, I caught the James Joyce progressive incoherency disorder?! Not many people know of the disease. It’s a particularly virulent virus named after the writer who first contracted the disease. It leaves the infected writer unable to write antecedents for pronouns (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man). As the disease develops, it leaves the writer unable to craft a story that makes any sense at all. If you don't believe me, pick up The Dubliners.

Currently, there’s no immunization for the virus. Maybe I don’t want to vacation in a castle. Orlando sounds really good—as long as there aren’t any bugs.