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SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC

This one's easy: You've probably seen Spielberg's classic horror film, Jaws, right? Have you ever tried watching it on mute? Without his titular theme song, Jaws (that's the shark's name) doesn't look ominous; he looks lost. When seen in utter silence, Jaws isn't scary. It watches more like the tragic story of a shark with autism just trying to find his way home.

"Have you seen mommy? I WANT MOMMY WANT MOMMY MOAOAOAAAA" -Autistic Jaws

Now, I know books have their limitations and you can't exactly embed a soundtrack, but there are options. For example, you could just list a song for people to listen to as they read along. Here's a bit of Shakespeare's Hamlet with appropriate listening guidelines: HORATIO Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince: <Prince - Pussy Control> And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! Why does the drum come hither? <Jon Bon Jovi - Bang A Drum> Imagine how much more tragic Romeo and Juliet would be if you put on some Evanescence! Teenage girls wouldn't know whether to masturbate or slit their wrists; you'd sell a billion copies! Or maybe The Gin Blossoms' "Hey Jealousy," could kick in every time Iago appears in Othello --that would singlehandedly re-market dark classical tragedy to the Romantic Comedy crowd! Don't you see? The possibilities are only limited by the moral depths to which you are willing to descend for money!

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CELEBRITY CAMEOS

Listen, don't repeat this, because I don't think anybody has fully realized it yet: When you're writing a book, you can write anybody! Even famous people! Why not throw some celebrity cameos in there? The audience loves that stuff! You could have Mel Gibson appear as Mad Max in The Canterbury Tales. The Road Warrior's Tale! That's brilliant! Readers would actually buy that shit again--not just Middle School teachers wanting to punish 13-year-olds by forcing them to decipher 16 different spellings of the word "does." An example of how a celebrity cameo could potentially liven up an existing classic: "These women do prattle so, do they not Mr. Baracus?" Mr. Darcy said, leaning in casual repose against the door. "Indeed, sir," replied Mr. Baracus. "They are quite foolish in their way, and I for one do not suffer fools lightly. Actually, it is quite the pity they inspire in me." "The pity, sir? For fools? Surely you jest," responded Darcy jovially. "Jest I do not, sir. I do indeed pity the fools," Mr. Baracus replied, trailing off. A long and serene silence took the pair then, as it often does with gentlemen who, rather than speak idly, do keep their peace comfortably when left alone with one another. "DRINK MILK, SUCKAS!" Mr. Baracus interjected, to no one in particular.

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SLOW MOTION

Slow motion is awesome. Whether you're walking away from an explosion, or just jumping a school bus over a robot; slow motion makes everything take an appreciably radical amount of time. Now, you could argue that the one thing books have over movies is the pacing: You can always read at your own pace, right? Well, yeah, but that means you have to do stuff! Fuck that! A good director does everything for you, leaving absolutely no room for confusion. Good movies have characters sum up, in astoundingly simple terms, the entire plot at the end of the movie. If there's a twist, it usually takes 20 minutes of montage to show you exactly why it's a twist, and how. Hell, truly great movies will even have one of the characters say the title of the movie in dialogue, just so you know why a movie is called that, or indeed, simply to remind you of what movie you're actually watching. So why do we have to do things like mentally pace a scene while reading?

The best director in the world... according to the above criteria.

A good author could take a cue from the movies and draw a passage out in slow motion when something's particularly awesome. For example, here's what the Matrix could be like, in novel form: "Whoa," said Neo, his black trenchcoat flapping at a perfectly reasonable speed in the wind, "this is the Matrix and I can jumpkick for like a day and a half." "Yes," said Trinity, "I am wearing black leather that makes me look hotter than I actually am, and I too can kick for hours." "What's that? AN AGENT WHO IS A BAD GUY!" Neo gets a running start towards the sinister agent--who you can tell is sinister because he's wearing a suit. He takes a step, and then another and another. Now there's another step. Now it's only half a step, and he starts to lift off the ground just a little bit. Now he's kind of in the air but not really. Now he's more in the air. Now he's totally in the air and seriously about to kick a guy in the face. Neo is kicking a guy in the face. Neo is still kicking a guy in the face. His trenchcoat is flapping. Flap. Flaaaap. Flaaaaaaaaap. ....Flaaaaaaaaaap. Now that guy that Neo kicked is flying all around everywhere and it seems way too fast but it's really just normal speed that you're not used to right now. "I love you, Neo," says Trinity, her leather jumpsuit falling off just a little. Now a lot. Now a little more. Then it's all the way off and there's tits. "Whoa," Neo responds, then flies away.

The sunglasses are a metaphor for our caged emotions, the coat is a metaphor for our trailing ambition, and the flying is just because flying is awesome.

You can thank me later for saving the written word, English Literature. I accept payment in Gin and hot female grad students who are easily impressed by manifestos about socialism (I googled some stuff). Redheads and Seagram's, if you've got 'em.

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Find Robert on Twitter, Facebook and his own site, I Fight Robots, where he will gladly critique your thesis if you know what I'm sayin'.