cebollaescribe

[cebollaescribe]

some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received: always put the punch line at the end of the sentence.

it doesn’t have to be a “punch line” as in the end of a joke. It could be the part that punches you in the gut. The most exciting, juicy, shocking info goes at the end of the sentence. Two different examples that show the difference it makes:

doing it wrong:

She saw her brother’s dead body when she caught the smell of something rotting, thought it was coming from the fridge, and followed it into the kitchen.

doing it right:

Catching the smell of something rotten wafting from the kitchen—probably from the fridge, she thought—she followed the smell into the kitchen, and saw her brother’s dead body.

Periods are where you stop to process the sentence. Put the dead body at the start of the sentence and by the time you reach the end of the sentence, you’ve piled a whole kitchen and a weird fridge smell on top of it, and THEN you have to process the body, and it’s buried so much it barely has an impact. Put the dead body at the end, and it’s like an emotional exclamation point. Everything’s normal and then BAM, her brother’s dead.

This rule doesn’t just apply to sentences: structuring lists or paragraphs like this, by putting the important info at the end, increases their punch too. It’s why in tropes like Arson, Murder, and Jaywalking or Bread, Eggs, Milk, Squick, the odd item out comes at the end of the list.

Subverting this rule can also be used to manipulate reader’s emotional reactions or tell them how shocking they SHOULD find a piece of information in the context of a story. For example, a more conventional sentence that follows this rule:

She opened the pantry door, looking for a jar of grape jelly, but the view of the shelves was blocked by a ghost.

Oh! There’s a ghost! That’s shocking! Probably the character in our sentence doesn’t even care about the jelly anymore because the spirit of a dead person has suddenly appeared inside her pantry, and that’s obviously a much higher priority. But, subvert the rule:

She opened the pantry door, found a ghost blocking her view of the shelves, and couldn’t see past it to where the grape jelly was supposed to be.

Because the ghost is in the middle of the sentence, it’s presented like it’s a mere shelf-blocking pest, and thus less important than the REAL goal of this sentence: the grape jelly. The ghost is diminished, and now you get the impression that the character is probably not too surprised by ghosts in her pantry. Maybe it lives there. Maybe she sees a dozen ghosts a day. In any case, it’s not a big deal. Even though both sentences convey the exact same information, they set up the reader to regard the presence of ghosts very differently in this story.

[cebollaescribe]

missed call

Harleen Quinzel checks her answering machine.

A one shot i wrote for a friend last year about harley after she became the joker’s sidekick. I have not rewatched btas or reread the btas comics so some details may be off and i’m running on mostly headcanon. Content warning for implied sexual harrasment (not graphic)

Though she had lost the keys, breaking into her old apartment had been pretty easy. Harley looked around, a little surprised no one had tried to take away anything, or the little she had left anyway. Coming here after a few weeks of being with her pumpkin and her new life was. Odd. An odd feeling, maybe nostalgia? She could settle for that. The air felt heavy for some reason, but there wasn't really anything that would bring her to tears on this shoddy two room apartment, so she marched on.

It had been an easy shift, you know? From her old family home to this now abandoned hideout. She had graduated with the highest regards, so high that it had landed her a job at Arkham right away, but for them it was not enough. She had made peace knowing nothing would ever be enough for those two, and moved on. And how! She had a whole new life now! She didn't even have to send them postcards anymore, and they never really gave one back or called her unless it was to tell her something she forgot or... Her thoughts trailed away from her troublesome parents to a small, dusty contact book.

She reached for the book and looked through the pages, not really rushing to it, but wondering if she even wrote anything down that could be of use. Finding it empty as she expected, her eyes moved to the answering machine, she had even gone through the trouble of getting it just in case her patients had an emergency or her colleages needed her when she wasn't at work or when her friends... friends? "Did I even have friends?" She asks herself, examining the blinking faint red light. The memories are blurry, but she wants to remember, she wants to know if someone actually knew Harleen Quinzel enough to warrant calling her.

She decides, since they hadn't cut her electricity yet, to give it a try. She's hesistant at first, what if it was only the police? Or bogus journalists? Or undercover cops faking being journalists to set her up and arrest her and her puddin' for daring to live free? or her parents scolding her, knowing this relationship wouldn't work out just like the others? These thoughts consumed her but she braced herself, there really was nothing to lose anymore.

She pressed on the button and started walking around the room to entretain herself maybe, looking for anything of value that could make things at her new love nest much more comfortable. It felt a little funny, like she was robbing herself, which of course she wasn't, because she used to live here, but also she didn't, it was a little funny to her.

Then the recorded call started.

"Hi Harleen! I don't even know why am I doing this, but I was just checking old contacts and turns out you don't live at your old folks anymore? And that you started working on Arkham!...I ended up working at a hospice, but I'm sure old people are less trouble than the guys over there! Anyway, I'm getting distracted..." The tired but gleeful voice giggled. Harley dropped her bag and jumped back at the side of the source, as if she would be able to remember her better by getting a few feet closer to it. "In case you don't remember me it's Esperanza! We lost all contact after graduation so I just wanted to drop you my number if you wanted to catch up or meet up sometime, if our schedules or god lets us even take a break!” The voice slows down to say the digits of the phone number before a simple “Bye!”. The message ends.

Harley sat down next to the nightstand and stared at the ceiling.

She mumbled her name. Esperanza...Esperanza...Esperanza Quiñones? Esperanza Quiñones was it. She and Esperanza had been roommates in college, and even if they didn't get close, they always shared lunch and helped each other on tests, waking up each other on all nighters and making sure they were safe every night. She didn't need her help anymore when the teachers started demaning... extracurricular points, but she made sure they never tried any funny bussiness with Esperanza. She had a flight right after graduation, so they couldn't even meet up at the party. She had been kind of bummed about it, but let it go and over time forgot about her. How could she?

She checked the date of the message. It was that night. The night she didn't come back here, the night she had made herself free of the bounds of this sick city. But somehow guilt grew over her. What could she do about it? She couldn't bring herself to repeat it, nor delete it. She sat on the floor and reached for her bag, clutching it. What would she do now? Esperanza was a good woman, and well, so was she of course! But she didn't live the life that she did now, and so they wouldn't really meet up for coffee anymore. Besides, who's to say she hadn't watched or read or listened or been gossiped the news about the woman who made Mister J escape?

Yes, she must've heard of it. Harley imagined it all, the shock and dissappointment, the pity, or the anger, or even the armchair psychoanalyses her and her old circle of friends must have shared together. A part of her hoped Esperanza hadn't been like that, but she most likely was. Yes, there was no way she'd want her to call her back, especially now that she was Miss Harley Quinn and was just adapting herself to the changes to this lifestyle. And one of these changers was to forget about these people, they wouldn't understand. She slowly stood up again, put her bag over her shoulder, and looked through the window.

Her nostalgic gaze disappeared from her eyes, half lidded now, tired, as if she had actually had to sit down and talk to Esperanza about why she can't really see her or call her anymore.

She put her foot on the window frame and gave one last look at her old life, leaving it open. Perhaps that way someone would take away something and put it to good use. Someone who could call back their missed calls.