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Sherwood's
Writing Riffs The best plot in the world is only going to read okay if the writing is merely adequate, or flat. What does 'flat' or 'adequate' or 'dull prose' mean? Cliche Clusters They are so small, and so harmless-seeming. When one is reading, they almost slide past, because they do signal an easy image, so easy they're like a placeholder. Music that always piercingly sweet or hauntingly beautiful; characters, usually female, often the heroine, whose fragile beauty is also sometimes haunting; people who, at sentimental moments, feel achingly vulnerable; stormy eyes and living rock and moldering castle. We all know what they mean, but they are so predictable that they don't add any surprises to the scene, or create vivid and fresh images. Another pernicious form of cliche cluster is the easy phrase that everyone understands . . . but comes from this world, and not that. Now, some writers excuse using "okay", for example, by saying, "Well, if I translated from their language to English, 'okay' is the nearest term." You can actually make a case for that--but only so far. Your world is going to seem more real if people think and talk like they belong in that paradigm. You can only Jump off-track if that world has rail tracks. She tuned him out muddies your world building if they don't have radios there, so does or firing arrows when you mean shooting or loosing--unless they really are setting the arrows on fire, but then they have to loose 'em. Pistols were fired...and for that matter, are you using the word 'gun' when you mean artillery, or for a pistol, if you are writing something set in the past? You get the idea . . . watch your phrases, make sure they belong in the world of your story, and not in ours. Cliche Verbs These verbs don't mean what they used to; the cliche meanings have taken over. She stormed into the room. Even worse is stormed as a dialogue attribute, as in "I hate you," she stormed, after which her bosom usually heaved passionately, leaving me wondering what it heaves--and how? A smiled played about his lips-- Rage and anger battled across her face--A shadow crossed his face--these were once effective metaphors, but they've been overused, and while they work as signals for emotions, they don't make a character distinctive. It's a good idea to watch out for things crossing, or creeping in faces--A shadow crept across his face. Anger crept into her eyes. A smile crept across his lips. Anyway, to keep your prose exciting and fresh, make sure that pandemonium doesn't always reign, tables don't always groan under lots of food, and screams don't always pierce the air. Action cliches are another group: the hero doesn't just deliver his speech and leave, he turned on his heel and marched off. The party of heroes faced by a sudden threat all stood stock still. She was beside herself with anger--she found herself throwing things. Her head was spinning--her thoughts whirling--is there anothe way to express these things to make the moment memorable? Battery-Powered Eyes The eye cliches are probably the worst offenders: we find eyes bouncing, raking, glinting, gleaming, twinkling, smoldering, blazing, falling, piercing, stabbing, flaming, and of course flashing off and on like Christmas trees in December. Scenes become unintentionally humorous if we get literal, as in His eyes fell to the floor. Ow! Eye cliches have been a shorthand for showing emotions just about as long as novels have been written. We all know that His eyes blazed means the guy is mad, and Her eyes glowed generally means some more tender emotion. So how to show all those changes of expression? Well, it calls for some close people watching. When someone is angry, what exactly happens in his or her face? Eyes widen or narrow; mouths thin, or pucker, hands are great for indicating emotions. I first noticed Anthony Hope's mastery of body language in how he reported on his characters' use of hands. Frequently he intersperses his vivid observations between phrases of dialogue, meaning he never stops the action to report on how someone looks or acts. The whole is so smooth that the flow never once jolts or bobbles. You can sometimes hear the breathing of someone who is endeavoring to control strong emotion. Posture is another great indicator; watch how people sit at work, or at a party, or in the park. Watch how people in a crowd react to a flash of lightning or to a car backfiring, or some sudden noise. They don't all react the same way. Look at old photos. You can frequently guess at who knows whom, who likes whom, who is comfortable or uncomfortable with whom. Watch old film reels* of real people; is a man holding a woman with his thumbs away from her body? That seems to be a subtle indicator for a situation in which A. is forced into proximity with B. but doesn't really care for B. By seeing how people really react to various types of emotion or confrontation and describing that, using verbs that mean what they say, the scene is strengthened. * I don't recommend watching TV or films to get people reactions because actors too often fall into cliches, especially in weekly shows. If you want to test this theory, turn off the sound and watch a popular show. Suddenly you notice how false everyone's posture is as they stand on their marks, positioned in the half-circle so the three cams can get them all. Gestures are either artistic or artful but not much like real people. Adverbs as Adjectives Adverbs have a lot of power if used sparingly. If they are necessary after each verb, then think about using stronger or more evocative verbs. The effect of strings of dull verbs followed by "ly" words is deadening. Also deadening are the double qualifiers, like the hauntingly sweet music and the achingly vulnerable eyes. Weasel Words The easy way around defining very complex or difficult emotions is to fall back on the old something, but I think it robs the scene of impact. Something in her eyes . . . Something in the air felt . . . Something in his voice . . . after every one of these, I want to know WHAT in the air/voice/eyes. The other half of the weasel-somethings are usually just as bad. Something crept into her voice Do vocal tones really creep? . Something in her eyes told him . . . That one is an easy cheat, because it gets the scene moving, but at the cost of the character becoming interesting, because the reader is often left wondering what that "something" was. Because I am a visual writer, I am constantly struggling against the temptation to use easy word clusters to dash down what I see. Brilliant prose artists don't make the awful mistakes I do--they choose just the right word, and craft a fine, euphonious sentence. When I finish a draft, because I am a fumbler, I have to do a grindingly tedious search, but I've found of late that I can eliminate several thousand useless words when I perform this chore. That's right, several thousand words that contribute as much color and meaning as veins of fat running through a slice of meat. Here's a short list:
Each of these is good if everyone is not doing them all the time: grinned, sighed, muttered, murmured, lifted one eyebrow, arched an eyebrow--well, you get the idea. If you suspect you're falling into easy patterns, try searching on the word, and like as not you'll discover to your dismay that you used that action 674,785 times in the past 100 pages. Or you do if you're me. Simultaneous Actions I'm really guilty of this one; action that has people doing things simultaneously when you mean them to be sequential. Reaching for his sword, he attacked the evil minions. Or, As she flicked on the controls, she eased her ship from the dock. Or Easing the door open, he raced up the stairs. When I write at a headlong clip, seeing the action almost as fast as the actors move about in a summer movie, I end up with a whole string of these as-loaded or *ing subordinate clauses barnacling the frontend of my sentences. Sometimes they do work: Rubbing her eyes, she remembered the fight. One easy way to check and see if you are describing the impossible is to mentally put while at the front of the subordinate clause, and see if it snaps into clarity: While reaching for his sword, he attacked the evil minions. Oops. Now I know I have to reword the sentence to make it sequential action, rather than parallel action: He reached for his sword, then attacked the evil minions. This When I first started selling, two separate first-rate editors took me to task over the question of the "unattributed this". I was told, "NEVER use the word 'this' as an object!" If you can cut it, do. ("Has she heard this?" shortens better to "Had she heard?") Cut after the verb--or give it a noun. That word diffuses every visual, or issue, it doesn't define. Just about every time it's used each this could either be replaced by 'it' or cut, or given a noun to strengthen the sentence, instead of leaving the reader saying, over and over, "This what?" Said Bookisms This is a shorthand term for dialogue tags--the verb indicating speech. Was I surprised when I finally sold my much-rewritten Wren to the Rescue to be told that "Oh, how fun," she grinned was a said-bookism. A what? "You can't grin words," the editor told me. When dialogue is attributed by a verb that can't actually produce words, well, that's a said-bookism. Though we can all find books wherein said-bookisms abound, they are klunky and sometimes drawn attention to themselves...such as in the (probably apocryphal) romance novel containing the line: Wow, she's hot!" he ejaculated. 'Said' is nearly invisible. The occasional use of other verbs adds flavor, but only if used sparingly, and they must be verbs that can actually produce words. You can whine words, you can cry words, but you can't press words, or oblige words. If you want to indicate changes in tone, do it with a quick, simple sentence. Noting body language is also a vivid, effective way of adding visuals to speech. Examples Incorrect
Said-Bookism: "I'm worried," frowned the girl. Further note: words such as 'commanded' or 'exclaimed' work more smoothly after the character name, not before. When they occur first, they draw attention to themselves (read the sentences aloud into a recorder, then listen, and you'll see what I mean). When they are placed after the name, they read and sound more natural. Awkward
Example: "Go!" commanded Fred. Maid-and-Butler Talk vs. Data-Dumpage You've been told not to interlard your scenes with long encyclopedia articles of information, commonly called data-dumps. Readers tend to skip these, and editors, finding too many, are easily convinced to set aside the story...and return it. So the beginning writer thinks: Ahah! I'll put the background stuff into dialogue! Then it can't be a data-dump, right? Wrong. There are few things that bounce the reader right out of a story quicker than characters who tell each other, in detail, what they both already know. Just as we don't say to our auto mechanic when we drive in for the yearly tune-up, "As you know, Ted, I bought this car in 1985, and you have been working on it since '93, when you first put brakes in it." "Yes," says Ted. "And as you know, I first studied mechanics back in 1978, when I was living in Illinois..." How can characters have any kind of real reaction? They can't; it's unrealistic, and to force your characters into this situation is to make the scene feel at best contrived, at worst, absurd. Information should create reaction, and emotion--the character must want to know it, perhaps even need desperately to know it, and if that causes something to happen, suddenly "info" becomes "story." The greater the need in the character, the more the reader will be curious. It is a mistake to shovel in loads of information before either character or reader cares. As always, there are exceptions. From what I've seen from readers' reactions, they are perfectly happy to read lots of data-dumps if the narrative voice is entertaining. Back in the 19th C when the omniscient view implied a narrative presence, it was clear to the writer that there must be an entertaining voice at all times. Our modern preference for tight third, in effect denying a narrative presence, sometimes has authors who work hard at vivid character and dialogue slipping into a dull neutral tone when offering background or explanatory info. The effect of this is like having the action and dialogue read to you by James Earl Jomes--and all the explanations and data read by Ben Stein in his deadest monotone. Take a look at Terry Pratchett and Steve Brust to see how they make their narrative voices engaging no matter what they are writing about. Pratchett even makes footnotes fun! |
