U of J: Writing 101
U of J Creative Writing Course List:
Orientation
101, Basic Technique
201, Advanced Technique
301, Theory
401, Practice
Welcome to Writing 101, Basic Technique. TENES NVNC TENEBERIS. I’m not going to cover every possible technique here, just a selection which I find particularly helpful to know, or which are commonly misunderstood or ignored, or which everyone learns in school but, for whatever reason, bear repeating or rehashing. A number of these techniques span several levels of skill, so we’ll revisit them accordingly in later courses. For now it’s just the basics.
- Punctuation, Part I.
First a brief refresher of the problem marks:
- A semicolon joins ideas related enough to share a sentence but not continuous enough to be joined by a comma. ;
- A colon introduces a list or an apposite. :
- Parentheses delimit thoughts outside the narrative flow but relevant to it. (Like so.)
- An em dash can function as parentheses—by inserting a related thought or detail—or, chameleon that it is, as a colon—by offering a dramatic introduction.
- An ellipsis indicates an omission of quoted text. . . .
Now, why do I call them problem marks?
The semicolon. Where do I begin? First, it’s overused. What’s more, it’s easy to overuse. I rarely see discerning use of the semicolon. If you give it an inch, it’ll take a mile. It’s an easy way to make your writing look highbrow. Second, given that its function is halfway between a comma and a period, its use is arbitrary. I say go big or go home: separate your clauses with a comma or a period. Next time you read an article or a story imagine each semicolon replaced by a period or a comma + conjunction. Does the article lose anything? Does the narrative have less impact? In almost every case I find the narrative stronger for the clear cut punctuation. Third, one of my biggest pet peeves and a sure sign of amateur writing: semicolons are often misused in place of colons. I don’t know where this started but it’s rampant in online articles and occasionally in published novels, which must have been printed when the editors were all on vacation.
I have to tell you something; I love you.
Look at that. I found it in the dictionary next to the entry for ugly. The worst part is that the semicolon’s function is so wishy-washy that one could argue its use in this case is perfectly acceptable. All the more reason not to give it that inch.
Parentheses aren’t a problem so much in a technical sense as a stylistic sense. They’re cute, and they can be used to humorous effect, much like footnotes. The problem is when they’re used in all seriousness. Your job as a writer is to compose the narrative in a consistent, effective format. If you use parentheses it’s tantamount to admitting that you’re not very good at that job. It says oh wait, here’s this other thing I forgot, here’s this other point I couldn’t work into the flow. They are a hiccup for the reader. They remind him he’s being narrated to, and on top of that they tell him he’s not being narrated to very well. Parentheses are easier to swallow in a first person narrative, but still try the sentence without them first to be sure they’re absolutely necessary. Odds are they’re not.
I have very few problems with the em dash. In fact, I quite like it and prefer to use it where I might otherwise use a colon or parentheses. Just be careful not to overuse it. Especially in the case of dramatic introduction. It’s a great visual cue, almost cinematic in its effect, which makes it all the more tempting to overuse. Too many em dashes make your work read like a silly movie trailer or some investigative reports show on Fox.
She thought he could get away with it—she was wrong. He’d entered a race against time—and he already was too late.
Ellipsis. Another pet peeve. Use an ellipsis if you’re writing a paper and need to cut an unrelated clause from a passage you’re quoting. To be. . .that is the question. Like that. Do not, as many lazy or ignorant writers do, use an ellipsis to indicate a pause. That’s what commas are for. If it’s a lengthy pause use a period. If it’s a dramatic pause use an em dash. If it’s a notable pause in, say, dialogue, use that opportunity to narrate a pause. Describe a bit of body language to give the reader a sense of the character’s mood. Plenty of published authors use ellipses like this. Does that make it okay? I don’t know. Plenty of pop stars lip sync in concert. Does that mean you should?
- Dialogue, Part I.
As an extension of punctuation, here’s a quick look at how to punctuate and attribute dialogue. In an attributed line of dialogue—that is, one with he said / she said—the attribution is considered part of the same sentence. It is accordingly separated by a comma. Examples:
He said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said.
In the first example the period is enclosed by the quotation marks. In the second example the comma is likewise enclosed. This is standard. The attribution-first construction of the first example is almost always more awkward than the attribution-second, but it is occasionally useful. Also, the comma in the first case is interchangeable with a colon.
In the case of a line of dialogue interrupted or paused by a line of narrative pertaining to the speaker, and without attribution, use a period to separate dialogue from narrative.
“I don’t know.” Jimmy bit his lip. “It just seems, y’know, wrong.”
If you’re using a character’s name, there’s no hard and fast rule about whether to phrase the attribution as Name said or said Name. My rule is to use whichever sounds best in the particular instance. I consider the rhythm of the whole line, attribution included, and phrase accordingly. I do the same when deciding where to put the attribution in a longer line. Usually, but not always, I put it at the first natural pause. To expand on the second example:
“Hi,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
If both halves of the dialogue are one sentence, that period after he said should be a comma. The whole line could also just as easily read:
“Hi, I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said.
I prefer the first version because, especially when attributing with names in a scenario with multiple speakers, it’s helpful to put the attribution early so the reader knows who’s speaking. It also tends to sound and read more naturally. Once a scene of dialogue has its rhythm established it becomes less necessary to indicate the speaker. In a scene with only two speakers you may drop the attribution entirely once it’s clear to the reader who is who.
Generally, it’s best to stick to that he said / she said format. Even in the case of a question, the question mark is enough. You don’t also have to say he asked. In the case of varied delivery it’s suitable to use he screamed or she whispered or he laughed or she spat. Often even these aren’t necessary if your dialogue is written well enough to indicate how it’s said. Otherwise, stick to the basics. Don’t bother with he argued or she lectured or he indicated or she theorized. Instead, just write the dialogue well and the reader will know that it’s an argument or a lecture or whatever. If you’re writing it well then you’re being redundant with this kind of attribution.
“Yes,” he agreed.
Case in point. Redundant. Trust your writing and trust your reader to figure it out.
- Show vs. Tell, Part I.
“Show, don’t tell” is common advice in poetry, and it’s just as important in prose. At the basic level, it is the difference between explaining something that happened and describing the event itself, or signals of the event. For example: He didn’t like it. That’s telling. He frowned. That’s showing. Either line communicates the same sentiment, and there is a place for either technique in narrative writing.
- Economy, Part I.
What makes you a good writer is not using small words or big words, a few words or a million words. It’s a using each word well.
- Description, Part I.
As a reader I tend to forget long or meticulous descriptions. They’re grocery lists. Eyes like this, jaw like that, nose like this, hair like that. Who cares? Even if we as writers have a clear and complete picture in our head of a character, there’s only so minutely we can shape the reader’s imagination. At a certain level of detail we’re actually working against ourselves. The reader is overloaded with details so he forgets them all and either substitutes his own visuals, or, worse, chalks it up to crappy writing and abandons our story altogether.
As a general rule, in any given description I give a broad view and one or a few striking details. Character, setting, object, whatever. It’s roughly like this, plus has x and y details. This is most effective to me as a reader, so it’s what I gravitate toward as a writer. The broad view is enough to get the reader into your ballpark. He might not share your exact vision of the character or the scene, but he’ll get the idea. If there’s anything particularly important—meaning intrinsic to the scene, the character or the plot—then include it as a detail.
The office was a towering steel and glass affair with a twenty foot concrete H over the entrance.
It doesn’t matter exactly how many floors, how tall, what colour glass, etc. You’re in my ballpark. Later when a saboteur places an explosive to tip the H onto the evil CEO on his way out the door, you’ll recall the H from the description.
The detective had just returned from three weeks of drinking all night in front of his TV. Also known in law enforcement circles as a suspension.
In this example nothing is actually said about the detective’s appearance, but you get a broad view that’s probably close enough to what I envision. A man nearing middle age, scruffy and possibly disheveled, probably has dark hair and may have chiseled features a la romance novel detectives. There’s no need for a grocery list description. If I really wanted any of those details explicitly understood, I’d include them. I’d append You could light a match on his cheek if it wouldn’t ignite the gin fumes still wafting off him, or some such line.
That’s for people and things. This approach works for places too. I can’t count how many books I’ve stopped reading in the store because they opened with some socialist rendering of a scene. By socialist I mean each part is equal, each detail given the same priority and airtime. I find those descriptions blend together. By the time I reach the last article on the list, I’ve forgotten the first. The trees were like this, the bushes were like that, the stream was like this, the clouds were like that, the road was like this. Sometimes each article gets its own digressive inspection. That shit doesn’t matter. I see nothing wrong with a little fascism in description. Give a broad impression of the scene and pick a couple details to flush out, trusting that the reader will fill in any incidentals on his own.
A reader’s intellect plays secretary to his imagination. If you appeal to the secretary, you’ll have to wait for the secretary to puzzle out your message, decide its priority, petition the boss for approval, etc. etc. In many cases it’s ideal to bypass the intellect and directly engage the imagination. I like to build my descriptions around a single image or metaphor that is sharp and palpable—one that is so immediate and identifiable that it blows right past the intellect and hooks the imagination. Get the boss’s attention and the secretary will fill out your paperwork in due course.
For an example, because that’s a lot of vague talk, I’ll use a bit of description I’ve always been proud of. I’m paraphrasing, but it’s something like clouds like handfuls of white sand blown across the sky. It’s simple and direct. It evokes an image without you having to work to construct it based on cues and clues. You might not picture the exact same clouds as I do, or as the next guy does, but unless the entire plot of the story hinges on the shape of said clouds, that’s entirely beside the point.
A picture is worth a thousand words. A thousand words depreciate real fast when you spend them all on just one picture.
- Adjectives & Adverbs.
These are words that end up in every piece of writing, but they aren’t building blocks. It’s often easy to forget that. I include them naturally as I draft, even if I’ll pull them out or switch them around in revision. I cut down on this work in revision by drafting with a rule of thumb in mind:
What’s the default?
If the reader assumes a condition by default, I don’t bother adding a modifier to explain what’s already inferred. It was a dark night. Duh, right? If I say night you’re perfectly capable of assuming the dark part on your own. The ocean covered the horizon, blue and sparkling. If I say ocean what colour do you assume? Blue. You might even assume sparkling if I’ve already narrated the sun in the sky.
The amount of work this saves me is tremendous. I only have to narrate a divergence from the norm. If, say, the ocean is green, because the scene is in the tropics. Or, to move on to adverbs, if someone is dancing awkwardly, or calmly falling, or praying lustily.
In the case of adverbs, I don’t recommend like some ascetic editors to throw them out entirely. A lot of adverbs we forget are adverbs, and these we often can’t do without. Case in point: often. Also only, never, always.
That said, there are whole hordes of adverbs you can do without. Employ the default rule. Is your character running? Don’t tell us he’s running quickly, it’s redundant. Don’t tell us he’s stroking his chin thoughtfully. Don’t tell us he’s yelling loudly. If you want to add drama to a particular event don’t rely on adverbs. A regular verb plus an adverb isn’t nearly as effective as a strong verb. A verb is a building block. Instead of saying she moved gracefully, try she sashayed or she swept or whatever paints the picture you want. If you’re tempted to use a verb + adverb combo, take a minute to see if there’s a verb already for the action you want to depict.
- Sentence Variety.
It is a courtesy to yourself and your reader to vary the structure of your sentences. Just how drastically you vary them is a matter of style and taste, but it is important that you do so.
One bad habit I see a lot of in stories I’m given to critique is this construction: She did this as that other thing happened. Everything takes place as something else is taking place. Like every logical structure, the “as” sentence has its place. Also like every logical structure, that place is not everywhere.
Another of my biggest pet peeves is this construction: Verbing this, he verbed that. Have you ever used this structure when you speak? Say it out loud. Tying his shoes, he left the house. Try using that construction when you’re telling ghost stories around the campfire. I dare you. Not only does it sound unnatural, it’s usually done so clumsily as to depict a contradiction. The verbs get in each other’s way. Have you ever walked out of the house at the same time as tying your shoes? If so, that lazy sentence doesn’t do justice to the humour of the scene. This structure is a last resort even in a famine of sentence variety.
- Call A Spade A Spade.
Opposite the note on variety, a note against it. If you’re tempted to use synonyms or alternate descriptions of a person, an object, etc., in a given scene, resist. This is another common bad habit. The narrator introduces a bottle of gin. In the next sentence it’s poured into a glass and referred to as the clear liquid. In another sentence it’s referred to as the deceptively water-like substance in the glass.
If you want to describe a commonplace object or substance, consolidate your description and place it where the stuff first appears. From then on, refer to it by its common name.
Likewise with characters. Resist the temptation to sprinkle relevant info throughout the text via references. Bill did this. The professor did that. The avid cyclist and father of three said this. Did I mention Bill is a professor and an avid cyclist and has three kids? This is just asking for hiccups. If you’re going to tell the reader something about a character, either do it at the character’s first appearance, or do it in a more natural way in a later scene, by showing the character at his work (oh, he’s a professor) or his time off (oh look he really likes to ride bikes) or at home (oh he’s procreated). Otherwise refer to each character by a standard name. It can be their first name, their last name, their title, whatever, so long as it is consistent.
In general, if there’s already a word for what you want to say, use it. That’s what words are for.
That’s the basics. I may revise and expand this later based on new discoveries and suggestions. Stay tuned for next week’s course: 201, Advanced Technique.
~J
Tags: 101, advice, boogie down, u of j
