Writing for radio -- Do it without your eyes
Caleb Daniloff is a writer and radio commentator. To read his blogs or listen to his commentaries, go to www.calebdaniloff.com The YWP is partnering with Vermont Public Radio to help you produce radio commentaries for a series called "My Life." For more, click on "Radio Commentaries" in the left sidebar.
By Caleb Daniloff
Forget what you know about writing. Forget computer screens and words on the page. Forget about your eyes. Radio is all about the ears. You’re writing not to be read but to be heard.
Radio is a means of mass communication, but you want to write as if you’re talking to one person — your dad at breakfast or a friend over lunch. That’s what Betty Smith, longtime producer at Vermont Public Radio, tells her commentators.
“At its best, radio is intimate,” she says. “Don’t write a speech, a lecture or a press release. Write a personal narrative that sounds like your half of an informal conversation.”
I’ve been writing for Betty for several years now. I try for crisp, simple sentences and avoid words I don’t use in everyday speech. I read the piece aloud plenty before I record — always trying to keep it natural. Without fail, I find spots that sound stiff or lengthy sentences that leave me gasping for air.
One of the most important things to remember is radio is experienced in real time. An odd turn of phrase, unusual word or fuzzy thought can make listeners stop and wonder. Meanwhile the piece marches on. Once the mind drifts, it’s all over, you’ve lost your audience. There’s no going back and re-reading an airwave.
Finding your story
I like hearing personal pieces, stories about the everyday. That’s what I go for in my commentaries. I’ve written about my blocked sink, apologizing for drunken behavior, getting lost in the Adirondacks, blogging, running in the dark. There’s not much swashbuckling that takes place in Middlebury so I look for greater meaning in my routines.
As teenagers, you bring a fresh voice to the airwaves. Only you can tell the real story of Vermont youth. All those tales you tell your friends at school or on Facebook — well, maybe not all — there’s good reason you share them. And believe me, people are interested in your lives — what you do on Saturday nights, whether you’ve survived a car accident or know someone who didn’t. We see the roadside crosses out there.
Or tell us what it’s like to ride the bench on a championship team. To stalk a deer at 5 a.m. To visit New York or Los Angeles for the first time. Or go into lock-down during a school-shooter drill. I know I’d hit the ignore button on my cell if any of those pieces came on the radio.
Another approach: Read the paper and see if you can personalize the stories of the day — state or national. For example, a big worry in Montpelier is young people leaving Vermont for career opportunities out-of-state. Does that describe an older sibling? You in five years? What about lowering the drinking age to 18? Cyber bullying? Do any of your friends plan to join the army?
Writing the piece
VPR gives commentators three minutes — around 500 words — to tell their story. About the time it takes to toast an English muffin or floss your teeth. Not a big window. Also, since airtime is scheduled for the morning and evening commute, there’s competition: traffic, a striking landscape, cell phones. I try to connect with listeners fast, grab them by the throat if I can. A couple examples: “The other evening I found myself in Duxbury, naked and facedown in the snow,” “Ten years ago, my wife moved Christmas,” or “I have a friend who was held captive for six weeks.”
If I’m struggling with the focus of a commentary, I take a break; I might even work on the intro the radio host reads before I begin. I always ask myself, why write this piece? Will it mean anything to the one-legged grandmother in Buels Gore? Or to the millionaire in Shelburne? The answer doesn’t always have to be yes, but the question reminds me to think about connecting with people beyond my own circle. Sometimes, the host intro morphs into an opening, and when I’m lucky, even spawns a snappy first line.
Once I get going, I make sure the piece rolls at a good clip. Active verbs keep things moving. Too many adjectives are like molasses. Listeners have trouble holding a lot of descriptive prose in their heads. In my early commentaries, I got hung up on crafting artistic sentences rather than telling a quick solid story. I’ve learned to check my creative-writing ego at the door.
But in the end, just as reading is the best teacher for your prose, the same holds true for radio. Check out the VPR archives online and sample some of the commentators. There are tons of different voices: male, female, old, young, gay, straight, journalist, filmmaker, school teacher. Everything really — but rarely teenager. In other words, your time has come.
