I didn’t think I’d ever use my (limited) knowledge of video production for something practical. The objectively-stupid skits and vlogs I made in high school with my closest friends were hardly edited, barely cohesive, and blatantly offensive, but they were fun to make.
I’ve wanted to continue producing video content for some time, and I’ve had some opportunities. I’m making a video message for my Advanced Professional Writing class as one of three deliverables for a proposal project based on my on-campus job as a GForce mentor within the Institute of P20 Initiatives, as I’ve written about previously, and I’m realizing that if the principles of professional writing and professional video production weren’t mutual, I’d be screwed.
My sophomore year, I edited a video that was a group project for my Technical Writing class. It was pathetic, but I couldn’t make anything remotely close to the content I used to make. That being said, the video did serve its purpose: how to make Easter bags.
With this new project, I can redeem myself, I hope. As long as I keep a few principles in mind, the finished video will be clear, informative, and have shelf life. Still, I can use some of what I learned during my brief YouTube stint. Some.
Good B-Roll is as important as the subject(s) of the video.
When my friends and I would film vlogs around Port Isabel and South Padre Island, nearly three quarters of what footage made it past editing would be of one of us driving, whatever buildings we were passing at the time, one or several of us walking ahead of whoever was filming, or random focuses on our surroundings. In between these shots were a few minutes of us speaking, which was usually nothing more than insults or extended conversations on what happened in high school that week.
This would turn a rather one-sided video into an experience. Not only would a viewer see what we talked about that day, but they saw how we got to those conversations, what we saw along the way, and, ultimately, our lives in a small coastal town.
Music sets the tone.
When I was choosing music for my videos, I opened my illegally-downloaded file of J Dilla instrumental beats, closed my eyes, and randomly clicked among the thousands of songs. Within the first few seconds of the song playing, I’d know if it was right for the video. It was all about the video’s pacing, and who was involved in it. Would I play this song while we were going 90 miles an hour on the Queen Isabella Causeway? No; it’s a good song, but not for reckless driving. I plan on using one song throughout the entirety of the video message, something that can set its tone and matches with the footage (which will be videos of GForce mentors interacting with students, interviews with the mentors on why they are in GForce, and other associated B-Roll). Something like this gem from Black Star’s “Respiration,” produced by Hi-Tek. Upbeat, with consistent measures, just like our mentoring staff.
Something must be taken away from the video after viewing.
One day, my friends and I had bought a shot roulette wheel from a Spencer’s in Brownsville, Texas, making the thirty minute drive solely because we had absolutely nothing better to do. That night, we poured several expired condiments from my fridge into each shot glass, spun the wheel to where we couldn’t distinguish sauces and began the game. We had an hour of footage but edited it down to 20 minutes. To save my dignity, all I’ll say is that anybody who watched the video would takeaway that we were idiots, but shot roulette could turn an ordinary night into in an unforgettable one. With the video message I’m making, I want viewers to take away that GForce mentors love their job, and that the program benefits the students we serve, always.
On Writing (Professionally) 