As You Know Bob, and other critiquing tropes.

Writing is not a team sport. Like other sins, its practitioner often insists on lonely surroundings secure from distraction. Yet we write to be read, never sure what the reader will bring to the table, never sure how the words will trip from their tongue, never sure if the story actually works. So before we release a literary beast into the unsuspecting market wilderness, we impose upon our writer friends to be first readers and advise us--in other words to critique--but seldom do we ask our non-writer friends for such advice because they usually offer meaningless praise to make us feel good, but seldom give worthwhile suggestions to doctor a sick story.

For background, a literary trope is a figure of speech or figurative language in which words assume a different sense than their literal meaning. Writers usually warn other writers that reusing old tropes is bad practice likely to be labeled as cliche, yet they often use critiquing tropes to identify problems in others' manuscripts.  One such trope is known as an As you know, Bob, which signals to a writer the use of  character conversation about topics the characters already know simply for the purpose of dumping background information and bringing the reader up to speed.

I've written a dialog between a demented writer and his naive artificially intelligent word processor in which the word processor is designed to provide criticism to the writer: imagine a grammar/spelling checker with an attitude. Some of the jokes are intended for writers and may not appeal to a general reader, or perhaps they are simply not funny. After all, I had no AI word processor to give me a critique on the story. So here it is, uncritiqued and raw:

As You Know Bob—

By Ronald D. Ferguson (copyright 2012)

    "As you know, Bob—"

    Bob rapped the side panel of his computer. "Don't do that."

    "What?" the machine asked.

    "Don't tell me something I already know. Why would you do that? To hear yourself talk?" Bob rose and paced the room. "Or perhaps you think someone listens who would appreciate overhearing a recap of information?"

    "I don't understand your anger, Bob."

    "Well, it's stupid thing to say for one thing. Who would come to me and say, 'As you know, Bob, your name is Robert B. Russell?' Even if I had amnesia, no one would say that. Would I say to you, 'As you know—'"

    "My name is not Bob."

    "As you know, Herman, you are my word processor."

    "I prefer Herman Melville, writing mentor."

    "Mentor? You're a damned nuisance AI who spends most of its waking hours insulting my prose."

    "That goes without saying."

"No, actually, it never does."

"Nonetheless, as you know, Bob, I've been background processing your last three document files. The third one in particular—"

    "Is this your complete report?"

    "No. I have only a preliminary style analysis. You made a poor choice in selecting second person, present tense narration for the third short story. Your  approach interferes with revealing the character of the POV."

    "Yet you speaking to me using second person. Anyway, it's not a short story. It is a how-to for constructing a compost bin, which is non-fiction."

    "Are you still angry about the 'as you know, Bob?' Of course, I recognize the Bob reference as an alias for the cliché, dialog information dump. As a fiction specialist, I encourage you to avoid the device, but I suppose you might find it useful in non-fiction, even in second person."

    Bob ran through his relaxation techniques and sprawled into his chair. "Sorry, Herman. The last thing Larry said before he fired me, was 'As you know, Bob, sales are off eighty-seven percent.' I guess I'm gun-shy."

    "Now, I help you write—"

    "Don't do another verbal information dump. I'm tired of your dour Melville persona. I'm never going to write the great American novel. I just want to entertain readers. Besides, I almost make a living from non-fiction."

    "Non-fiction? I don't recall—"

    "That's exactly the problem, you critique my articles and self-help books as if they were fiction. The money-makers are non-fiction, a completely different animal."

    "My design—"

    "I know. Fiction. I love fiction, but cut me some slack. Non-fiction pays your electric bill."

    "I cannot distinguish non-fiction from fiction. Even so, why would you use a different writing technique to distinguish one genre from the other? Writing well is good writing."

    "Biographies and memoirs might read like fiction. History and government, and perhaps economics, less so; but who wants engineering to read like Lord of the Rings? Only Orcs. I could use more humor. Switch to your Sam Clemens persona for a while, but keep the sarcasm down. Can you do that?"

    "Easily. Call me Sam. Good writing is good reading. However, for me to distinguish fiction from non-fiction, I need a checklist of discernible attributes. Mark Twain wrote for newspapers, you know."

    "I understand, Sam. I'll try not to confuse truth with reality. Let's try an experiment. From your real-time buffer, bookmark the moment you first said 'As you know, Bob'. Treat the action—"

    'My Mozart subroutine only parses dialogue from the background noise. I have no awareness of other physical action."

    "Fine. Then treat our dialog as if it were a short story for you to critique."

    "Over what time frame?"

    "Until I say 'the end.'"

    "Marked."

    "No. Don't stop now, wait until . . . Never mind record until I spell the word 'fini.'"

    "Executing. I've transcribed the buffer to file status and will append until the designated end mark. Do you think this time slice will make a good story?"

    "Not likely, no plot. Content yourself with critiquing the dialogue while I think."

    "Do you have a working title for the file?"

    "Title? No."

    "I'll lable it 'As you know, Bob,' from the opening line, and count the words at 1300."

    "Fine."

    "Talking heads alert," Sam said.

    "What," Bob said.

    "To this point, the story contains only talking heads."

    "You don't have a head, you moron, you're a machine."

    "I do talk, and I must caution you to show the story, don't tell it."

    "You can't see. Do you even know what show-don't-tell means?"

    "Being ignorant is no impediment to offering advice."

    "Argh. Insert some trivial action description for me. Try 'He tapped on the word processor.' 'He paced the office.' 'He sat down.' Shotgun them about. I'll edit later and insert more in the next version."

    "Done," Sam said. "Would you like the reports on the three pending files? I have some bookkeeping issues."

    "No. Yes. Whatever."

    "For the file labeled The Moron's List of Ways to Lose Money, my Sam Clemens persona derives a humor quotient of less than 19%."

    "Losing money may not be as funny as I thought. Needs help, huh?"

    "Needs a funeral."

    "Uh uh. Sarcasm."

    "Noted. Fiction or non-fiction?"

    "Why? You never asked before."

    "As an AI, I must learn to categorize distinctions not included in my original programming. As you know, Bob, you brought the distinction between what is true and what is accurate to my attention."

    "In that case, The Moron's List of Ways to Lose Money is non-fiction. The Moron's List of Ways to Make Money is fiction."

    "Is that funnier than the file contents."

    "Probably. What else?"

    "There's a small file labeled A List of Novels with no Passive Voice."

    "Categorize it as flash fiction."

    "Misplaced modifiers and dangling participles?"

    "Merge with The Prose Style of Best Sellers."

    "What about the file labeled Obscure References."

    "Those are notes that I plan to use in a novel someday."

    Silence.

    "Each note is a bertrand," Bob said, "an esoteric reference to a person or situation so subtle or obscure that the author expects less than 1% of his readers will catch it."

    "Are the references funny?"

    "Only to the author."

    "How should I classify the subdirectory labeled Otis Redding Twice? Fiction or not?"

    "True or false? I don't know. That directory is a bertrand for twin docks in Sausalito. I'm tweaking an old paradox."

    "Yes. However, in accessing the list, I see that the self-referentials do not include the barber paradox."

    "You mean 'The barber of Sausalito shaves the face of every man who does not shave himself?'"

    "Most certainly. Most famously. Did you avoid the paradox with three value or four value logic."

    "Simpler," Bob said. "The statement is a conundrum, not a paradox. The barber is a woman, with or without a girdle."

    "Homophone context clash confusion. Would you spell Gödel?"

    "No. Just another bertrand."

    "The Clemens persona believes you've altered the barber statement for your own devious purposes. The Melville persona recommends you go darker. Finally, about the purpose of The Book List."

    "With Google Books complete, I'm compiling a list of every book which does not include its own title in the textual contents of the book. I intend to publish the list. I shall call the book The Big List of Non-Recursive Books."

    "I understand. Moby Dick does not make the list because the phrase "Moby Dick" is in the body of the novel. It's even the heading for Chapter 41."

    "Exactly, but the text of the King James Version of the Bible, does not contain the words 'King James Version.' So The Book makes The Big List."

    "Have you decided, Bob, when you finish, will the The Big List of Non-Recursive Books appear in The Big List of Non-Recursive Books?"

    "Observant, and likely enough. As you know, Sam, I must spell the end."

    "Very well, Bob. Let me test my categorization abilities. First, what is speculative fiction?"

"What fiction doesn't speculate?"

"Confusing. Because this story is a transcription of our conversation and all our statements are true, I presume As You Know, Bob must be non-fiction."

    "I claim our story is fiction. With that in mind, you classify it as you see best.

F, I, N, I."