Writers: Loglines (Part 1)

Yes, you need one. Your logline tells your story in a sentence, but it says volumes about you. Part 1 of 2.

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Loglines are tough. Real tough. A logline is meant to distill the essence of a story into a single, declarative sentence. One sentence — two if you’re a noob. I used to hate them, but then I came to understand why they’re so important, whether you’re writing a film script or a novel series.

The French culinary equivalent of a logline is an ‘amuse bouche,’ a single bite of food often served before guests are even seated. Sure, it sounds like a pretentious appetizer, and in a way it is — in the same way a Lamborghini and a Citroen Deux Cheveaux (think Inspector Clouseau) are both cars.

An amuse bouche is also a distillation, though instead of words, it encapsulates a chef’s knowledge, experience and creativity into a solitary, exquisite mouthful of gastronomic heaven.

This is exactly the impact your logline must have. It should sail off your tongue like a declaration of love, fluid, passionate and sincere, and ring in the ears of your listener with the clarity of a heavenly chord.

No, Don’t Go. You can do this. Besides, it is part of your craft.

Like I said, loglines are really tough. They’re like the shortest test of your life with the most demanding answer, one which you must revise and recite like a mantra in your mind even when you’re not at your keyboard. If nothing else, fold a piece of paper to fit your back pocket and slip a pen into your jacket, just in case — you do not want to miss that flash of genius that crashes Sunday dinner.

Your Universe in a Nutshell

In the most simple terms, your logline identifies the preeminent conflict in your story involving your protagonist and antagonist, as well as the stakes involved. That said, it is not an invitation to write a two-hundred-word sentence. The fewer words the better. It’s almost like a unique form of poetry where rhythm, cadence and rhyme are subjugated by precision to craft a line with a perfect balance of conflict, emotion and stakes. Think of it as the essential snapshot of your story.

It is also so much more than that. Just as an amuse bouche reveals the talent, skill and imagination of the chef, a logline showcases the range of your vocabulary and your expertise at twisting grammar to your will. It parades your creativity and your passion for your tale.

A Sales Pitch for Yourself

What if you stood among a small crowd waiting for an elevator. You’re taking a big risk showing up at the publishing house’s corporate offices, but even John Wick has ‘Fortune Favours the Bold’ tattooed in Latin on his back. People get off at their floors, and suddenly you’re alone in a mirrored box with an executive wearing your annual salary.

“Budding novelist?” he asks, nodding his chin at the fat №10 Manila envelope you’re carrying. “What’s your book about?”

This your moment. The gods, typically capricious, offer you the chance to change your fate and you are ready. Your logline bursts from your lips, slick and accurate, painting your story’s epic tension in the time it takes to exhale.

“Wow, I’d read that,” he says as the elevator doors open. “My office is just down the hall. Why don’t you come in and tell me more?”

That’s what’s known in film circles as an elevator pitch, where you have however many floors to convince a broadcast buyer to take on your TV show. To be clear, young screenwriters have been known to attend conferences just to ride elevators for hours for a chance to pitch a studio executive.

It can make the difference between beguiling a reader or earning a brush-off. Do you see how critical it is? And I haven’t even hit the most important reason for a killer logline.

A logline betrays just how well (or not) you know your story, how invested you are in crafting the best novel you are capable of and how passionate you are to tell your tale.

You cannot write a great logline if you have — any — uncertainties regarding your project. The better you know your story, the more perfect your logline will be.

It still won’t be easy, by any means, but you’ll know which direction to swim in. Leonard Cohen’s song lyrics meant more to me than all the Romantic poets I studied at university, and he believed a poem was never finished. When he passed, Cohen had penned over two hundred stanzas for ‘Hallelujah.’

You have to look at your logline in the same way. No matter how good you think it is, there is a slight chance it could be better, and you have a LOT of rivals willing to go that extra mile.

In ‘Loglines (Part 2),’ I’ll apply this theory to my story ‘Raptured,’ which I use in my ‘Notebook to Narrative’ sequence. I realised recently that I never wrote one (the story is not complete atm) and that realisation was the inspiration behind this article and its partner, where you get to laugh with (at) me as I try and show you what to think about as you write your own.

Christopher Grant

Notebook to Narrative

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