Write Hypnotic Stories Using A Packet of Biscuits

A truly British tale with a truly invaluable lesson

Photo by Sophi Raju on Unsplash

The other day, I came across a tale describing the hilarious nature of being British.

While upholding several traditions and painting myself and other Brits in a humurous light, one thing had caught my eye by the end of the story.

It uses a narrative device that I don’t see talked about much online. Yet, it is one of the most crucial and curiosity-inducing techniques you can employ as a storyteller. So I’d like to share this story with you, and then break down just how it uses this specific device to pull you down the page effortlessly.

By the end, you’ll be able to incorporate this into your own work and maintain your audience’s valuable attention as if they fell into a honey pot.

This story’s origin is unknown, but the account I read was a take by author Douglas Adams.

It’s known as ‘The Train Station Biscuits Story’.

(Oh, and that is the British definition of biscuits. For y’all on the other side of the Pond, think of it as cookies.)

Let’s take a look:

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The Train Station Biscuits Story

I had gone to catch a train. This was April 1976, in Cambridge, U.K. I was a bit early for the train.

I’d gotten the time of the train wrong. I went to get myself a newspaper to do the crossword, and a cup of coffee and a packet of biscuits. I went and sat at a table.

I want you to picture the scene. It’s very important that you get this very clear in your mind. Here’s the table, newspaper, cup of coffee and packet of biscuits.

There’s a guy sitting opposite me, perfectly ordinary-looking guy wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase.

It didn’t look like he was going to do anything weird.

What he did was this: he suddenly leaned across, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and ate it.

Now this, I have to say, is the sort of thing the British are very bad at dealing with.

There’s nothing in our background, upbringing, or education that teaches you how to deal with someone who in broad daylight has just stolen your biscuits.

You know what would happen if this had been South Central Los Angeles. There would have very quickly been gunfire, helicopters coming in, CNN, you know. . .

But in the end, I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do — I ignored it.

In the end I thought, Nothing for it, I’ll just have to go for it, and I tried very hard not to notice the fact that the packet was already mysteriously opened.

I took out a biscuit for myself. I thought, That settled him. But it hadn’t because a moment or two later he did it again. He took another biscuit.

Having not mentioned it the first time, it was somehow even harder to raise the subject the second time around. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice . . .” I mean, it doesn’t really work.

We went through the whole packet like this.

When I say the whole packet, I mean there were only about eight biscuits, but it felt like a lifetime. He took one, I took one, he took one, I took one.

Finally, when we got to the end, he stood up and walked away. Well, we exchanged meaningful looks, then he walked away, and then I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back.

A moment or two later the train was coming in, so I tossed back the rest of my coffee, stood up, picked up the newspaper, and underneath the newspaper were my biscuits.

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To say this spoke to my very core as a British person would be a gross understatement.

The British public have this bizarre tendency to avoid conflict, despite our ancestor’s best conquering efforts to convince the world otherwise.

After I read this story, I found myself wondering why it carries us down the page so effortlessly.

There is the humor and the tension involved, of course. But there’s actually a deep narrative element at play here. Another type of screwdriver for the storyteller’s toolbox.

It’s a little something known as ‘Chekhov’s Gun.’

Anton Chekhov was a renowned Russian playwright and author.

In a letter to one of his colleagues, Chekhov displayed the idea of his gun theory.

He wrote:

"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall,
then in the following one, it should be fired.

Otherwise, don't put it there."

Don’t introduce anything to a story that doesn’t have relevance. Anything that is introduced should play a pivotal role to the development of the story.

So, what’s our Gun in Adams’ story?

The biscuits.

They’re introduced early on as a seemlessly mundane purchase. But, as the story unfolds, they become the captain of the ship. They drive the entire plot.

Another example of a Gun in the story?

The newspaper.

Even though its role isn’t as prominent as the biscuits, we discover at the end that it had been concealing the original pack of biscuits the entire time.

These 2 objects become crucial elements to the overall plot of the story.

Try thinking of it a different way…

When you’re watching a crime drama, what are we all constantly doing? Trying to work out the plot.

“It has to have been him!”

“He was with her at the time of the murder!”

“She was the one who kicked him out the house when he told her about his secret love of country music!”

But, as the shows go on, we begin to notice something — they never introduce a prop on a crime scene unless it bares some responsibility for driving the plot.

Every time they do, it always invariably ends up as the random hammer in the garage as the murder weapon or the lottery ticket someone found on the floor has the numbers to unlock the safe.

So, what’s the lesson among all this British fanfare?

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When writing your articles or stories or emails or whichever medium you so may choose — beware of putting random, useless information inside your stories.

Instead, find an object in the story that carries your plot along.

It can possess a central theme like our biscuits tale, or it can quietly reside in the background. But, in the end, it closes such a massive loop that the reader can’t help but either laugh, gasp or remain fixed in shocked silence.

Find your Ring in Lord of the Rings.

Find your Invisibility Cloak in Harry Potter.

Find your Briefcase in Pulp Fiction.

Characters give our stories depth and intrigue. But the props and random objects of our world have the potential to play as crucial a role as any protagonist.

In writing, curiosity is king, and nothing opens nor closes the doors of uncertainty like a well-placed packet of biscuits.

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