High concept isn’t necessarily cheesy at all – Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, anyone? It’s all about how well it’s executed.
A couple more great high-concept thrillers: Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park: “What if scientists could clone dinosaurs from prehistoric mosquito blood trapped in amber?” Or John Grisham’s The Firm: “What if a high-end law firm turned out to be a Mafia front? What if a man with amnesia has forgotten he’s the world’s most dangerous assassin? That concept boosted Bob Ludlum’s already large readership hugely, based on the premise alone. In fact, if you have a high concept, that makes it even easier to sell. It’s all wind-up, little delivery.ĭon’t get me wrong there’s nothing wrong with a “high concept” thriller. Take “Snakes On a Plane” – you get what it’s about instantly.
Yet if a story is all high concept with no follow-through, it’s little more than a gimmick. It’s got to have wide, instant commercial appeal. No – it has to be extremely appealing and commercial, not just succinct. But a warning: just because you can pitch it in a sentence doesn’t make it High Concept. “High concept” is an unjustly maligned term meaning a story idea that can be easily grasped both by studio execs and by audiences.
I’ve done some thinking, and here’s my answer. Is a hook the thing that starts the book and grabs you by the lapel and makes you want keep reading? Or is it the concept of the entire book – a definition that veers dangerously into the Hollywood notion of “high concept”? Now, a confession: I’ve been writing thrillers for over 20 years, and I still get confused about the difference between a “hook” and a premise. It’s the thing that sucks the reader in and makes him or her want to know what happens next. Call it a Hook, call it a donnée, call it a premise. But he was right every book starts with a question that, in the end, it answers. My “What If”? I’d never thought in those terms. Years ago, when I was struggling through the first draft of THE MOSCOW CLUB, I had lunch with an editor. I’m convinced that if you can’t “pitch” it in a sentence, you don’t have the story figured out yet. But it’s essential, and not just to sell a book.
#Simple divider hook tv#
Don’t forget, we established writers have to pitch our books too, when we’re interviewed on TV or radio. Summarizing your story in a sentence or two is one of the hardest things to do, whether you’ve published ten books or none. But odds are, at some point you will have to e-mail or snail-mail a pitch in the form of a letter or a note. Maybe you’re thinking, “Who cares? I’m not going to ever get into an elevator with a powerful agent, and if I did, I’d probably freeze up anyway.” Maybe. Put it another way: you’re in an elevator with one of the most powerful book agents in New York (or wherever), and you have ten seconds to pitch your novel to her so that she’ll actually want to read it. Why should novelists care about the art of the pitch in Hollywood? Because being able to pitch a movie, or a TV show, is the same skill as being able to come up with the “hook,” the “what-if,” the premise of that novel you’re writing.
If you can’t pitch your idea, no one’s buying. But in Hollywood, the pitch is the currency. Pitching is a specialized skill that has very little to do with whether you can write. You might think that I’d be embarrassed or annoyed, but the truth is, I appreciated his honesty and respected the guy all the more for it. Why don’t you come back in after you meet with the other producers and pitch it again?” I confessed I hadn’t, as if I had to say anything. No offense, but you’ve never pitched before, have you?” I figured, why not? I flew out there and got into the meeting with Big Shot Producer #1, wearing my expensive jeans, and started telling him about my idea, the same way I’d tell my editor or my agent.Ībout five minutes into my spiel he cut me off and said, “Excuse me. not long ago to pitch a couple of Big Shot TV producers on an idea for a show they wanted me to create. My Hollywood agent brought me out to L.A.
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