Writing Tips: The Amazing Invisible Word

"Listen up!" I say, shout, reply, recommend, plead, mutter, adjure, announce, articulate, and vent. "I have some advice for you."

Writers, like everyone else on earth, can get bored doing the same old thing over and over again. Hence the temptation to stop writing the letters s-a-i-d on every page and use other, more colourful words instead. Sometimes abandoning "said" in favour of other dialogue tags is a good thing. Often, though, it is not. When dialogue is dogged by them, descriptive tags quickly become distracting, annoying, or just plain silly.

Don't believe me? Perhaps I'll let a conversation speak for itself:

"Stick to the word 'said' in dialogue tags," the professor crooned.

"Why should we?" the students shouted.

"Because it's invisible," the professor muttered.

"I don't know about that," Tom doubted.

"I also disagree," his girlfriend hissed.

Any minute now, that classroom is going to break into a fistfight over word choice, led by the girl who sounds like a snake--or your readers are going to fall over laughing. But while they're duking it out, we should note that the professor was right. "Said" is invisible. Readers will hardly even notice it as they read. "Asked" will also fail to blip on their radar--and that's good.

In any piece of fiction or narrative writing, your goal is to immerse readers in the scene. You want them to hear the words spoken, to feel the underlying emotion, to be doused in the atmosphere of your setting. "Said" will help you do that because it's so low-key. Readers won't notice it, so their attention stays where it should--on the story itself. Obtrusive dialogue tags, on the other hand, will yank them out. Fancy writing for its own sake is rarely effective.

Make use of the Amazing Invisible Word, I say, and let your story spring to life.

Writing Tips: Spice It Up!

Have you ever read a story that was full of dialogue, but left you feeling like you were floating in white space? Or a book that was so full of description you couldn't remember what was going on? Have you ever wished the action would slow down long enough to let you get to know the characters?

Stories are best when their many ingredients--dialogue, description, action, etc--are held in a delicate balance. You don't want a story that's too airy, too heavy, or too bland. The goal is just the right touch of spice.

For example, let's look at a conversation from my fantasy novel Worlds Unseen. The main character, Maggie, has just discovered that her traveling companion has the unusual ability to hear things no one else can.

*******************

"What else do you hear?" Maggie asked. "Besides dangerous voices in the dark."

"I hear the grass grow," Nicolas said, "and I hear the stars singing."

"They sing?" Maggie asked.

"Yes," Nicolas said. "I hear other things, too ... sometimes I can hear what Bear is saying."

"Bear talks."

"Well, not exactly talks," Nicolas said. "He feels things, and thinks things, and sometimes I hear what he means."

"Does he speak the language of the Empire?" Maggie asked.

"No, of course not. He just feels things, and sometimes I understand them. That doesn’t make much sense to you, does it?"

"Have you always been able to understand him?" Maggie asked.

"No," he told her. "When I was a child I would listen to rabbits and squirrels and birds, and it was hard to understand them, too. But I kept listening, and trying to understand, and one day I did. I still don’t understand everything."

"What else can you hear?" she asked.

"When babies cry," Nicolas said, "I know what they want before their own mothers do. Sometimes I can hear a baby talking while it's still in its mother’s womb."

"What do they say?" Maggie asked.

"It’s hard to understand them," Nicolas said. "But not so hard as with the animals. Mostly they dream about the world out here. And they wonder why so many of the voices they hear are angry and worried. They dream, and they wonder, and then they go back to sleep. And when they wake up they wonder all the same things over again."

*******************

That's not bad, but it's sparse. We don't get any sense of where these characters are, or of what they're feeling. By adding a few spices to the dialogue, I can bring the scene more fully to life. In this scene, I chose to use facial expressions and thoughts to help my readers understand what these characters were feeling. I added a bit of background history, a campfire and some interesting shadows, and a tiny bit of body language to bring the scene to life. Here's the result:

*******************

Nicolas appeared in the firelight and collapsed into a cross-legged heap. The firelight glinted on the gold in his ear and traced strange shadows on his face.

Maggie rolled over and lifted herself onto her elbows so she could look across the fire at her half-wild friend.

"What else do you hear?" Maggie asked. "Besides dangerous voices in the dark."

"I hear the grass grow," Nicolas said slowly, "and I hear the stars singing."

"They sing?" Maggie asked.

Nicolas nodded. "Yes," he said. "I hear other things, too ... sometimes I can hear what Bear is saying."

Maggie looked up at the hulking form just beyond the glow of the campfire. "Bear talks," she said flatly.

"Well, not exactly talks," Nicolas said. "He feels things, and thinks things, and sometimes I hear what he means."

"Does he speak the language of the Empire?" Maggie asked, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop herself from asking.

"No, of course not," Nicolas said. "He just feels things, and sometimes I understand them." Nicolas laughed a little nervously. "That doesn’t make much sense to you, does it?"

Maggie ignored the question and asked another of her own. "Have you always been able to understand him?"

"No," he told her. "When I was a child I would listen to rabbits and squirrels and birds, and it was hard to understand them, too. But I kept listening, and trying to understand, and one day I did. I still don’t understand everything."

Maggie felt herself drawn to the strange young man across from her. It was fascinating, what he was saying, perhaps absurd. Yet she believed him.

"What else can you hear?" she asked, leaning forward with her chin resting in her hand.

Nicolas’s eyes met hers. How many people had he ever spoken to like this? Who, in all his life, would ever have believed him? Even the Gypsies thought he was mad when he spoke of hearing, although they were not so quick to dismiss it the way others did. They wondered sometimes, if madness was not a gift.

"When babies cry," Nicolas said, "I know what they want before their own mothers do. Sometimes I can hear a baby talking while it's still in its mother’s womb."

"What do they say?" Maggie asked, a smile of wonder beginning to tug at her own face.

"It's hard to understand them," Nicolas said. "But not so hard as with the animals. Mostly they dream about the world out here. And they wonder why so many of the voices they hear are angry and worried. They dream, and they wonder, and then they go back to sleep. And when they wake up they wonder all the same things over again."

*******************

As you can see, a good mix of elements can bring characters, a conversation, or an entire scene to life. I hope you've enjoyed this writing tip! If you'd like to read more of Worlds Unseen, be sure to check out the free Ebook Edition at www.littledozen.com/worlds.html .

Writing Tips: Speak to the Senses

Previously, I wrote about the first rule of good narrative: show, don't tell (read that post here). This week, we'll look at one aspect of effective showing.

Imagine for a moment that you enter a room. What do you see? What do you feel? What do you smell? Can you taste or hear anything? The five senses are our gateway to the world. Without them, we couldn't interact with anything around us.

In writing, you want to speak to your readers' senses so they can interact with YOUR world. If you don't include details that speak to your readers' sense of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch, you leave them essentially blind, deaf, and crippled. They're not likely to enjoy your writing much!

When you write a scene, think about the five senses and how you can speak to them. However, be careful--don't fall into the "fuzzy trap." Vague words are fuzzy. Specific words are sharp. Let's look at this example paragraph:

"The man walked into the room. He could smell food cooking. A picture hung over the fireplace. He made a sound before he took off his coat and hung it up."

The wording in that paragraph is vague. It gives us an idea of the setting, but it doesn't REALLY engage our senses. Let's see what happens if we use specific wording:

"The man walked into his study. From the kitchen, he could smell bacon and eggs frying. A painting of a meadow in early morning hung over the fireplace, its figures of sheep and shepherd lit by the flickering flame below. With a deep sigh, he took off his heavy wool coat and hung it up."

In this new paragraph, our senses are fully engaged. We can imagine the smell of bacon and eggs and perhaps even hear it sizzling. We can see the painting and the firelight, and we can feel the heavy, scratchy wool. We hear the man as he sighs and wonder what inspires him to do so.

When you write, speak to the senses. By doing so, you'll give your readers everything they need to enter your world!

The Creative Art of Conflict

I'm cleaning up superfluous blogs from my past and so am about to delete the "Little Dozen Press" blog. There are a couple of posts I want to keep, so I'm moving them here. This was originally posted December 2005.

Writers and readers all, weigh in on the discussion... leave comments!

The dragon pulled itself up to its full scaly height as the knight tightened his grip on his sword; the homesteaders barred their doors as the sound of war whoops filled the air; the little boy looked defiantly into the face of the bully. The mother prayed for her child as she fought the ravages of smallpox, and the family hid the Jews away while the Nazis pounded on their door.

Cliched? Probably. But if you're a reader, you know what moments like the above can do to you. They make your heart pound and your palms sweat. They keep you up reading until two in the morning. They make you skip your dinner.

They make or break a story, because conflict is central to every enduring piece of fiction. Think about it--have you ever read a story that didn't make use of conflict? If you have, you've probably forgotten it. Frodo had his black riders. Anne of Green Gables had red hair, freckles, and a desperate need to belong. The Greatest Story of All (that of Jesus and His followers throughout the ages) is riddled with persecution, hardship, and the struggle to keep truth alive.

I used to think that conflict appealed to readers simply because it gives us an adrenaline rush. We thrive on thrills. But nowadays I lean toward another theory. We love to read about conflict because, just as it makes or breaks a story, conflict makes or breaks us. It's the hard times that cement our character, drive us to God, open our eyes. Without the fight, the victory means nothing.

Good stories have the power to encourage those who are struggling, to give hope and remind readers that happy endings really do exist. The use of conflict is not only a literary device, it's a commentary on life and the amazing truths that lurk within every circumstance.

Love is stronger than hate.
Happily ever after is real.
In the end, there is no night so dark that it won't see the sunrise.

Leave a comment. What think you?

Writing Tip: What's the Point?

It's the final week of the Spring Semester, and I'm marking essays. My students are given a choice of topics and 30 minutes to wax brilliant. I thought I'd address one of the common problems I see in this column.*

An essay should leave the reader with one strong impression. If he reads and then asks, "What's the point?", the essay has failed. If you know this, you'll find it much easier to put an essay together quickly. You needn't address every aspect of a topic or fill your essay with lots of inconsequential facts and anecdotes. You simply need to make a point.

Start by making a quick outline, either mentally or on paper. (Paper is better. Always.) Try for five paragraphs:

Par. 1. What's the point? Use this paragraph to introduce your topic and make a strong point about it. For example, if my topic is winter, I can make the point that winter is inhospitable to life. I can't just ramble on about winter in this paragraph. It needs to get to the point quickly.

Par. 2-4. These paragraphs should support my point. They should not give facts about winter that don't pertain to my point, nor should they ask lots of rhetorical questions or detail my childhood relationship with winter. Rather, each paragraph should look at one aspect of winter that supports my point.

Winter is inhospitable because it's too cold for most creatures. (Look at the way birds fly south and rodents hibernate.) Winter is inhospitable because nothing grows, so there is no natural food source. (This is why people have canned, dried, and salted food since time immemorial.) Winter is inhospitable because it's dark. (People fall into depression.)

Par.5. Here I make my point again, phrased slightly differently, and sum up my argument. I want readers to leave with a strong impression: WINTER IS INHOSPITABLE!

An essay with a clear point will feel solid and unified, and accomplish the purposes for which it was sent.

Incidentally, aren't you glad it's SPRING?




* It's my blog, so I'll call it a column if I want to :).

In the Company of Genius

As a writing coach, I've had the privilege of helping over one hundred students become better writers. I love it. I have a confession to make, though: I've never taken a writing course in my life.

That doesn't mean I haven't had teachers. In fact, I've been taught by some of the best. Writers have the unique opportunity to sit at the feet of the masters, because words are deathless. My writing coaches span ages and literary genres: everyone from Shakespeare to Beatrix Potter; from Ray Bradbury to the Apostle Paul.

Writers read. If they don't, they bypass the greatest body of creative instruction in the world.

Here are a few tips for you, O Aspiring Writer:

1. Read through the ages. You may have a poster of Charles Dickens on your wall, but make sure you read things that have been written more recently than 1870. Writing as an art form has come a long way since the 19th century. Become familiar with the styles of past and present, and you can mine them for a style of your own that is neither outdated nor destined to go the way of New Kids On the Block.

2. Read poetry. Read poetry even if you don't understand it. Read it even if you don't like it. Poets use language in ways that will enrich your own writing if you let their work sink in.

3. Read nonfiction if you're a novelist; fiction if you write nonfiction. The styles can learn a lot from each other. Fiction writers know how to pace a story and involve the emotions and passions of their readers--it's a skill nonfiction writers can benefit from. Likewise, nonfiction writers know how to cut to the chase, communicate clearly, and make the mundane sound interesting. Novelists, take note.

(A quick aside: novelists and short story writers will also find that nonfiction books--history, science, biography, social issues, travelogues, and more--are an incredible storehouse of ideas.)

4. Read critically. When something moves you, ask yourself why. When you're bored, ask the same question. What's working? What isn't? Analyzing the work of others will help you
figure out what's strong or weak in your own writing. Keep a journal where you jot down your observations, along with favourite quotes, interesting new words, and ideas.

5. Read the thesaurus. For fun. Seriously. I do this when I'm bored. If you doubt the extreme "fun factor" of this activity, look up "miscellany." Who knew "rumble-bumble" was a word?

And last but not least...

6. Read books about writing. People spend hundreds of dollars on writing courses and conferences, but the library has a host of how-to books that will teach you a lot about structure and pace and dialogue and exposition and everything else you need to know.

something's happening in the northern swamp

The sentence has become a paragraph, and the paragraph a scene: birth of a character with requisite new ideas festooning every line, a hunt for zoological references while "As the dawn was breaking the sambhur belled/Once, twice, and again!" repeated itself in my mind, evening spent sniffling over the unexpected sadness of my own imagination.

I do love to write :). More Taerith shall appear by the end of this week, I hope.

I hope to start posting Writing Tips again shortly. The new semester has begun and I am teaching 55 students: lots of material for Tips!

Writing Tip: What's the Big Idea?

When you write nonfiction, your opening paragraph should include a thesis statement--what I call a "big idea sentence." It's the statement that tells readers, in a nutshell, what you're writing about. There are several good reasons to include a clear "big idea" in your first paragraph:

1. It will keep you on track. The best of us meanders in word and thought at times. A clear big idea is like markings on the pavement. It will keep you focused and writing in the right direction.

2. It will pull your readers in. If you've written an article on canning peaches the easy way, your opening paragraph had better make your subject matter clear. If you spend the first half a page warbling on the virtues of peaches in general, would-be canners will stop reading and the only audience you'll retain till the end will be a few diehard horticulturalists from the We Love Peaches Association.

3. It will give the body context. Have you ever experienced the uncomfortable feeling, while reading, that your brain was out in some airy-fairy no-man's land? Trackless wildernesses may be romantic, but they don't make good reading. Our brains need to feel anchored. An article or essay without a clear big idea sentence will leave readers feeling lost and slightly nervous--we're not sure what this is about, so we can't be at all certain that something scary might not jump out at us at any moment.

A big idea sentence isn't hard to come up with. Simply answer this question in one sentence: what is your article about?

Writing Tip: Choose Your Readers

New authors are often asked who they think their work will appeal to. "Everyone will like this book," they gush. That is an unfortunate reply.

None of us writes for the whole world. We each have a special group of readers who will read what we write--our ideal audience. Will people from outside this narrow group read your writing? Possibly. But you cannot write for "everyone." Choose your readers, and write for them.

Your readers are key to what you write, especially in nonfiction. They determine the language you'll use, the issues you'll address, the degree of personal or professional tone you will take. For example, if you're writing an article on the influence of Greek in English vocabulary, you will write differently for a group of college professors who are proficient in Greek than you would for a group of primary school students who are just learning about root words and their ilk. If you're writing about motherhood, you will take a different tone if you write for feminists than if you write for homeschool moms--your audience determines how you speak.

If you find that you have trouble focusing in your nonfiction, ask yourself who you're writing for. How can you best help them? What do they need to know? Why are they listening to you?

Write for your readers. It's just good sense.

Writing Tip: Tighten Up

The tighter your writing, the stronger it will be. You should always be on the lookout for words, phrases, and even whole sentences that can (and should) be pitched. No, I don't mean you need to sap all the artistry out of your words--

"Now is the winter of our discontent" is a lot better than "Our discontent is over," even though the first sentence is almost twice as long. Still, I hope you can see that either of the above is better than "Now is the time when the winter of our discontent is here."

The key to creative tightening is not to shorten your sentences as much as possible: it's to make sure that every word counts. Write potent words, reeking with significance. When every word is essential to clarity, beauty, and power--when there isn't a single word that can be thrown out without leaving a dearth--you're done tightening.

It's a subjective art, of course. No one will ever do it perfectly, but to come close is a writer's peculiar joy.

Writing Tips: Say What You Mean, Part 2

There's a whole coterie of words out there whose life mission it is to plague our work with ambiguity. Don't get me wrong; they DO have their place. But these pushy little fellows will run rampant all over your writing if you let them.

Their ringleader is ye olde state-of-being verb "seems."

Look at this sentence: "The sky seems to be grey."

Ahem. Is the sky grey or isn't it? Stand up to your writing: say what you mean! No more beating around the bush.

Here's a few more:

"She felt a feeling like anger rise up inside."
"It seems that the answer is found in our human nature."
"The buildings resembled 17th century homes."
"The river is probably the nicest place in town."

All too often, we haul out words like "seems" and "probably" and "like" because we're feeling apologetic or we're not quite sure of what we're saying. If you find yourself doing this, stop. Make sure of your facts. Solidify your opinion. And deliver it whole-hog. Have the courage to say what you mean. It makes for much better writing!

Was she angry or wasn't she?
Is the answer found in human nature or not?
Are the buildings 17th century homes?
Is the river the nicest place in town?

Saying what you mean will make your writing tighter, sharper, and more impactful. Excelsior!


Technorati: writing, words, clarity, writing tips

Writing Tips: Clarity in Word Choice (Say What You Mean)

Never underestimate the power of one little word. A few letters here; a syllable there; but the difference between "Do feed the lion" and "Do not feed the lion" can't be measured. It might, in fact, be the difference between life and death.

Good communication is important. Writers have a high place in the cast of history because they possess the power to communicate: their instructions, ideals, visions, and protests have changed the world more than once. The writing project you're working on may not have the significance of The Declaration of Independence or The Gospel According to John, but if you're going to write it's important that you master the art of saying what you mean.

Two important tools can help you with this:

1. The Dictionary. If you're not sure what a word means, look it up! Did you know that a casualty is a "person or thing injured, lost, or destroyed," or that "taciturn" means "temperamentally disinclined to talk"? I'm fond of "lowering" skies, which are "dark, gloomy, and threatening." Many of us pick up words through conversation or reading that we're comfortable using, but can't actually define. In writing, it's often best to look these up. You may get the joy of discovering just how bang-on the word you want to use is!

2. The Thesaurus. These are even more fun than dictionaries. Maybe you're describing a man who is "sulky," but that isn't quite the word you want. Look it up in the thesaurus and discover a new world of possibilities: perhaps he is glum, sullen, surly, morose; choleric, crabby, cranky, or cross; irascible, irritable, or just plain petulant.

Every word has its own shades of meaning. Choosing the right one will not only give your writing clarity, it will give it power.

Check back next Wednesday for "Say What You Mean: Part 2," in which we discuss the insidious insipidity of "seems" and "like" and other words to be avoided.


Technorati: dictionary, words, thesaurus, writing, clarity

Writing Tips: 5 Secrets of Highly Effective Proofreading

No matter how nitpicky you are, errors in your writing will camouflage themselves. That's why publishing companies spend a lot of money to have multiple people check and re-check the little details in every book they produce. Still, there's no need to fear if you don't have a professional team at work every time you jot down a memo. Here are some tricks I use for effective proofreading:

1. Give it some time. If you've written a short note that you want to check for errors, do something else for five minutes before you read it over again. If you've written an article or essay, eat lunch before you proofread... if a book, wait a month or so. When the words you meant to write are fresh in your mind, you won't see the words you actually did write.

2. Take your time. Don't speedread when you're proofing. Skimmers never prosper.

3. Read out loud! I know, I know, if you mutter to yourself all the time you'll look like a crazy person. But it's worth it. Your ears will often catch what your eyes do not, so read under your breath when you're looking for errors.

4. Check for homophones--"soundalikes." I mark them in my students' writing all the time, but they're just as prone to show up in mine: here/hear, right/write, its/it's, there/their/they're, and all the rest of them. Put your brain on red alert for these, because we ALL type the wrong one now and again, and most of us won't see it afterward if we're not looking.

5. If it sounds wrong, check it. If a sentence sounds wrong to you, chances are there's something off in the grammar. Don't stay in a grey zone on this--learn what the problem is so you don't keep making it. I recommend Strunk and White's Elements of Style for the most common foibles.

That's it for today... I'm off to do email for five minutes, after which I'll come proofread these tips!


Technorati: writing, writing tips, proofreading, grammar

Writing Tips: Show, Don't Tell

My apologies for getting this tip up a day late... I'm battling the combined invasion of travel, computer problems, and bronchitis. We shall triumph!


"Show, don't tell" is the first rule of good narrative. As a writing coach, I repeat it about thirty times a week. The art of showing--of giving readers eyes and ears and allowing them to live in a scene that you have created--is what sets narrative apart from other forms of writing. It is behind the phenomenal success of the novel, and ensures that writing will always be the most powerful way to communicate a story.

Over time, "showing" becomes an instinct. In the beginning, most of us need to work at it. There's a certain magic to it that's hard to break down and analyze, but at its nitty-grittiest showing is a matter of choosing your words wisely: specific nouns, descriptive verbs, and evocative adjectives and adverbs.

Let's take "The woman pet the dog" as our example sentence.

1. Nouns. You'll feel quite differently about the woman if I call her a "noblewoman," a "sprite," or a "hag." Likewise, "dog" calls up quite a different mental image if I change it to a "mutt," a "wolfhound," or "her faithful sheepdog." Always be specific when you name things, and pay attention to the mental images each name creates.

2. Verbs. "Pet" will do for communicating action, but "stroked," "tousled," or "gently caressed" will do a good deal better. When you write descriptive verbs, go for the unexpected. How do we feel about a hag who gently strokes the sheepdog at her feet, or the noblewoman who tousles a mutt's ears when no one's looking? When you show rather than tell, you'll find a thousand opportunities to betray character.

3. Adjectives and Adverbs. I love adjectives. Adverbs should be used sparingly: if your verbs are strong enough, they won't need them. But a few well-placed modifiers will do a lot in creating a vivid scene. Is the woman beautiful and the dog ugly, or the other way around? Is her hand shaking... is the dog whimpering?

"Show, don't tell" will serve you faithfully through any sort of story. Lord Byron said "Words are things." Make sure the things you create are full of substance and life, and readers will hunger for more.

Writing Tips: Using Sentence Length to Mirror Action

Long, short, and in-between: more is communicated in the length and rhythm of our sentences than most of us suspect. One of language's most fascinating tricks is its ability to mirror the action it depicts.

For example, look at this piece of narrative:

"The squirrel fidgeted, twitching its tail, as I inched closer with my hand outstretched. It bit me, and I yelled."

Shortening the sentences and rearranging them slightly sharpens the action:

"The squirrel fidgeted. I inched closer, my hand outstretched. Its tail twitched. Suddenly, it bit me. I yanked my hand back with a yell."

Fidgeting, twitching, and biting are short, sharp actions. The sentence length mirrors them.


By contrast, some actions are better expressed in long, flowing sentences:

"The water danced. It flowed over the rocks. The sun sparkled on it."

The flow of water is a continuous thing, and the sentence can show that in its length and structure:

"The water danced and flowed over the rocks, sparkling beneath the sun."


Until next time, happy writing, and may your pen be ever blessed!