Moment: The Soul of Your Story

The moment cubby gives your story realism and soul.

How’s that?

When an audience experiences a story, part of the ritual is: suspending their disbelief.

They know they’re watching a large screen in a theater, or a bright screen in their living room. They know that the people on that screen are actors playing out scenarios designed and determined by a whole fleet of other people. Everything is polished and perfected before being put in front of that audience. It’s not real life, and they know it. They suspend their disbelief.

The moment cubby, is all about purposely and specifically injecting some “less-than-perfect” into your story.

Putting some humanity back in.

There are many ways to accomplish this. But two of the easiest are…

  • Intentional Flaws
  • Extraneous Beats

Intentional Flaws

These are mistakes.

You are purposely putting mistakes, flubs, missteps, into your story. But these aren’t just any kind of mistake.

These are mistakes that specifically do not move the story forward in any real sense.

Damn near useless, in pushing the narrative along.

What’s that mean?

You’ll commonly see mistakes used in stories for an important story purpose.

Like the best friend accidentally tells someone a secret. Oh no! Everything’s ruined! It just slipped out!

That’s a mistake. But it’s the kind of mistake you see all the time in stories. The kind that is there to advance the story. If the best friend doesn’t spill the beans, then the girlfriend never goes to the secret meeting, and the story doesn’t move forward.

What we’re talking about here, with intentional flaws, is a different kind of mistake.

We’re talking about a character saying “when’s the lime getting here?” instead of “when’s the limo getting here?”

Does that advance the story? No. Does it feel like the kind of flub people make in real life? Yes. And it’s endearing. It’s unusual. It feels real. Like suddenly you’re not watching a polished practiced performance. Instead, these people are authentic in a way they weren’t just a moment ago.

I’m sure you can think of examples from your favorite movies. But if you can’t, here’s one:

Boogie Nights – William H. Macy’s character (Little Bill) finds his porn star wife having sex with another performer in the driveway.

A friend tries to talk to him about purchasing a zoom lens for the film shoot the next day, but is irritated that Little Bill seems distracted.

Little Bill:
“My fucking wife, has an ass in her cock in the driveway Kurt, alright?”

He flipped the words around. That’s 100% moment cubby material. It’s not there to advance the plot, or the story at large. It’s just a very human screwup in the words being used. It’s great.

Be creative.

Intentional flaws don’t have to be just dialogue. They can be actions too.

Maybe your character backs up into a chair, knocking it over. Maybe they scoop their ice cream with a fork on accident. Maybe they stoop down to pick up a pen they dropped, to realize they didn’t actually drop anything.

Get weird with it.

When you add intentional flaws to your story, you’re adding a bit of much needed authenticity to your story. You’re roughing up the edges. Making it feel real.

Extraneous Beats

These are similar to intentional flaws, in that they too do not advance the story in any appreciable way. But extraneous beats are more about…

Giving attention to a moment that is typically skipped over in other stories.

It’s a moment that just… is.

Like a character excusing themselves to the bathroom during a stressful dinner. They get to the bathroom but don’t really do anything in there, they just take a moment to themselves. Breathe.

Or maybe you have the audience witness the main character eating an entire cupcake in one sitting. No talking, no real facial expressions communicating feelings – just your character. Eating a cupcake. Then they’re done.

When crafting your story, you’ll ideally want your moments to follow some kind of theme.

Perhaps all your moments are comedic. Maybe they’re all intensely private. Maybe they’re all about emotional outbursts, whatever.

Then there’s the central moment of your story. The big one. The major moment.

What’s that?

It’s the one moment that defines your story as a whole. The core. One image, one line, one idea in action.

This, is your story’s soul.

That quirky, unique moment that really encapsulates what your story is, at a fundamental level.

Like an old man and his granddaughter holding hands as they stroll through the park. You let that moment breathe, let it expand. Because that moment, is what your story is all about.

THE moment.



Symbol: The Depth of Your Story

Symbols are complex, deep, and have many different aspects. But for our purposes…

A “symbol” is basically when you have one thing represent something else.

There are three main types of symbols used in stories:

  • Visual symbols
  • Auditory symbols
  • Action symbols

Visual symbols are things you see.

Like an expensive flashy car representing wealth. Or a teddy bear representing childhood.

Auditory symbols are things you hear.

Like a police siren representing authority. Or a certain whistled tune could represent a specific time in a character’s life.

Action symbols are things a character does.

Like saying grace at the dinner table, representing a religious belief system or connection with community. Or a patriotic gesture like saluting someone – a specific movement of the arm and hand representing respect.

These are things seen, heard, or done, that carry more meaning than is obvious.

The surface image, sound, or action is connected to a web of associations that are related to their surface content, but simultaneously more complex, complicated, and hazily defined.

Though many will probably agree that a teddy bear can easily represent childhood, what “childhood” really means to one person or another is going to vary wildly. The teddy bear doesn’t specifically mean a particular set of things that are objectively defined as “childhood” in any scientific sense. Instead they trigger a unique set of associations in each individual audience member. This is what makes symbols special.

They pack a wide range of meanings, into a compact unit.

An image, a sound, an action – when experienced, sets off a whole chain of associations. They’re almost like a shorthand. A way to embed as much meaning as possible into the fabric of your story.

Ideally, when constructing your story, you want to craft a set of interconnected symbols. Different themes and ideas that are related in some way, and all circle around the central concept of your story. So no matter where you look, the symbolic experience keeps shedding new light on the central core of the story.

Your story will have major symbols, and minor symbols.

The only real difference between the two is the significance and frequency of their use in your story.

Major Symbols

In Minority Report the visual symbol of eyes was used repeatedly throughout the film. Echoing the general thematic idea of the pre-cogs being able to “see” the future and the consequences of that fact. That’s a major symbol.

Minor Symbols

What’s a minor symbol look like?

In Batman Begins there is an auditory symbol that is used only twice in the entire film (two and a half if we’re being super specific).

Towards the beginning of the film, a young Bruce Wayne has been rescued after having fallen down a well in the backyard. Thomas Wayne says to a young Bruce:

“And why do we fall Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

Much later in the film, when Ducard/Ra’s Al Ghul has destroyed Wayne Manor – an adult Bruce muses that he wanted to save Gotham, and now he’s failed. Alfred tells him:

“Why do we fall, sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.”

Though the words themselves seem to convey advice worth heeding, the fact that Alfred says this sentence to an adult Bruce Wayne in a time of trouble, is itself a symbol. He’s not just telling him that “we fall down to learn to pick ourselves up.” He’s also reminding him of the fact that he fell down that well once upon a time, and it seemed bad – but he survived. He’s reminding him of the strength of his father. Of the love he had for Bruce. Of the responsibility they both have to try and protect the legacy of the Wayne family. And the fact that Alfred is the one asking, symbolically positions him as Bruce’s father, which he essentially is. All of these meanings, and more, are embedded in the sentence, making it an excellent auditory symbol.

Also, the symbol is initially set up, and called back once. That’s it. That’s a fairly minor symbol. Though, given its emotional impact and connection to the characters, it almost feels like you could call it a major symbol.

When crafting your symbols, you should try and tie them to some of your other cubbies.

Which ones? That’s up to you. But this does give you a chance to convey some of the story work you’ve done with the different cubbies, in a non-conventional way. Each of your different cubbies has story information to express. See if you can use symbols to express them.

Another point of note:

Opening and closing images.

Your opening and closing images should be symbolic representations of the entire story. Different images, mind you, but both should represent the story in its entirety at the beginning and end.

You don’t have to do this, but it goes a long way to making your story feel like a complete unit. It makes the tale feel whole.

A kind of prelude, and summary, at the beginning and end.