Beauty in the Breakdown: Editing Description

This is the next installment in the series Beauty in the Breakdown, on how to edit various aspects of a story. We've been talking about description. Here's the last installment on that subject—for now.

In queries about description, writers often ask which details to include and how much. The question sounds good, but often shows the writer hasn't made enough effort to figure out not only what she wants to say, but why she wants to say it. That's the benefit indirect description, which can also be conveyed through dialogue. Here's an example based on the premise above.

Diane opened the living room curtains.
Joe stood behind her. "Still watching that maple?"
She turned to him. "Do you think we should take it down and plant another?"

Knowing the story's background, this conversation says far more about what are now two characters suffering through another loss. And that's the key—knowing the story. If you're still unsure about your description, don't ask yourself what you want to say; ask yourself what you want to convey.

One rule of thumb in editing description for length: Longer is better to set a languid mood, convey a literary feel or slow the plot. Shorter is better to create suspense, convey accessibility or quicken the pace.

In the coming installments, we'll talk more about character description, dialogue, narrative and scene. All stories include these building blocks, but that doesn't mean we can afford to overlook how to best use them. On the contrary, if we don't use the best material properly, we can expect the story we thought was carefully constructed to crumble.

We'd love your input. To pose a query on a writing topic, e-mail Adele Annesi. You can also visit my online writing workshop, the Art of Editing in Writing.

Beauty in the Breakdown: More About Editing Description

This is the second installment in the series Beauty in the Breakdown, on how to edit various aspects of a story. We started with description. Here's more on that subject.

Let's start with the function of description. Because we're continually bombarded with information, it's easy to believe the purpose of any description is to convey facts. Yet, for writers, this isn't description's primary function—just stating facts rarely reaches the core of a piece. When you describe something or someone, you reveal its essence. Interpretation is up to the reader. This approach is most satisfying—to reader and writer.

Here's an example. "Though it was spring, the maple was bare." This, on the surface, is direct description. It's a clear, descriptive sentence, maybe even a bit poetic, and it conveys a fact—that the maple tree has no leaves. The underlying question, though, is why tell readers this? To add layers to a story, there should be a good reason to make this statement.

If the purpose of the sentence is to say the tree has no leaves or that it was a rough winter, then the description is adequate, but static. It doesn't take the reader anyplace because it doesn't advance plot or reveal character. But if I use the same sentence in a paragraph where I show that my character has just had another miscarriage, then the barren maple becomes indirect description, and serves to show my character's acute sense of loss, especially when she's expected to be "in bloom," a perceived shortcoming of which she's continually reminded.

More on description next time. To pose a query on a writing topic in the meantime, e-mail Adele Annesi. You can also visit my online workshop, the Art of Editing in Writing.

Beauty in the Breakdown: Editing Description

When autumn arrives, I go into academic mode. Blame all those years of school when fall not only meant new things to wear, but new things to learn. With this concept in mind, we'll start September with the first installment of a series called Beauty in the Breakdown. It will cover how to edit various aspects of a story, starting with description, dialogue, narrative and scene.

Since these elements are common, we often take them for granted and don't make each word count, because we can still get by without each word saying exactly what we mean. Yet, it's increasingly important to be selective about what to keep and discard, because in this competitive environment more people are writing, but not everyone is writing well. So, here are reasons to perfect your craft: to distinguish yourself from other writers, learn about writing through your work, hone your editing senses, and improve your style and technique.

The best time to edit—whether it's description, dialogue or narrative—is after giving the work a rest. If you're editing your own work, paper is still a great way to see your writing from an outsider's perspective, as is reading it somewhere besides where you normally write. It's also important to look back over a section after you've finished the next. This provides a perspective you wouldn't have otherwise. While editing, slow down so that you can see—and hear—the words and phrases.

One of the commonest facets of fiction and nonfiction is description. Whether you're describing a place, an event or a character, description is everywhere, so much so that we often fail to view it critically. And a critical perspective, in the constructive sense, is key. If you catch your missteps, your work will be more highly regarded and more publishable. Description is important, too, because through your portrayal, you're asking the reader to trust you, and today more than ever that's a tall order. Still, trust is essential, and a writer must prove worthy of it. Look for more on editing description in the next post.

For a free online editing workshop, visit my website Adele Annesi.

Essential Conversations on Creativity: Style With Peter Selgin

Author, artist, writer and teacher Peter Selgin, Winner of the 2007 Flannery O'Connor Award for Short Fiction and author of 179 Ways to Save a Novel, a must-read for all writers, shares his insights on that all-important element of writing — style.

AA: It could be said of writers that we are what we read. But how does a writer select, develop and assimilate style?

PS: I think it's so important for writers to find their own, unique influences. I myself have done this by combing the stacks and shelves of libraries and used book stores. The best-seller lists I avoid, since their influence is everywhere. The same goes for the classics, though it's important to have read the classics, if only to know where you fit into the 4,000 year-old conversation known as literature.

My method goes something like this: I scan the shelves for spines that intrigue me—either with their titles, just because something about their shape or even the color or texture calls out to me. Those books I pull from the shelves and open to their first pages while trying not to read any cover matter or learn the name of the publisher, or anything else that might in some way bias my response to the actual writing. I read the first paragraph. If I like it, I read a few more. Since I can only allow myself so many books to borrow or buy, I exercise very strict standards in choosing.

By this means, I've discovered some of my all-time favorite books and authors, including Emmanuel Bove, whose now thoroughly forgotten first novel My Friends begins:

"When I wake up, my mouth is open. My teeth are furry: it would be better to brush them in the evening, but I am never brave enough. Tears have dried at the corners of my eyes. My shoulders do not hurt any more. Some stiff hair covers my forehead. I spread my fingers and push it back. It is no good: like the pages of a new book it springs up and tumbles over my eyes again."

And Hans Falada's The Drinker, which starts out:

"Of course I have not always been a drunkard. Indeed it is not very long since I first took to drink."

And The Dreams of Reason, by Xavier Domingo:

Seventh year of the war for independence in Algeria. Seventh year of living in Paris. Seven years of sleepwalking from urinal to urinal. Seven years of unconsciousness, of being half asleep and idiotic and happy. They are not seven years in hell, no, nor seven years in purgatory. They are seven years in limbo. Innocent, stupid, and cruel. Like a cat or a small boy.

You see why I've wanted to make these authors mine? Anyway, the great books that we discover entirely on our own are the ones that form us the most, the forgotten ones, the ones no one else is reading, the ones we bond with most meaningfully, whereas anyone can read the bestsellers.

AA: What's the difference between style and voice?

PS: A writer's style covers all of his work, while he may alter his narrative voice from project to project to suit each one. Voice is subordinate to style.

Also editor of Alimentum literary magazine, Peter is the author of Drowning Lessons  and Life Goes to the Movies. To learn more about his books and classes, visit Peter Selgin and the essential blog Your First Page.

The Most Important Question a Writer Can Ask: Part 4

As we've been seeing, the most important question you can ask yourself as a writer is "why." We've addressed writer's block, help for tough sections and Q&A (see the posts below). Today, we look at dealing with the peer review, or critique, process.

As a reminder, three keys unlock the power of "why," as we'll see below.

How can asking "why" help when your critique group, mentor or inner critic recommends changes, maybe extensive changes? The criticism may be accurate. You may need to change a scene or delete it, but until you address the reason you wrote it as you did and not another way, don't let it go—yet.

First, review what you've written. Start by asking yourself why you wrote the scene this way and how the suggested changes, or your own observations, impact the story and characters. The power in the process is answering the questions in detail, in writing and honestly. Once you've done this, consider which changes are essential. Also consider how to make the changes and how extensive they should be.

Clearly, "why" is a breeder question. It yields other queries that must be answered honestly and in detail (and preferably in writing) to make the most of your work. When you start thinking you're going too far afield, you probably are, but one thing you'll find in this process—the power of why is a catalyst for improving your work. You'll recognize problems sooner, be better prepared to address underlying issues and be less afraid of the outcome—more on fear next time.

For more information, visit my online editing workshop, "Show and Tell: How to Know, How to Fix."

The Most Important Question a Writer Can Ask: Part 3

The most important question you can ask yourself as a writer is "why." This week we examine the power of this question. We started with seeing how it can break writer's block, then used it to work through that tough paragraph, scene or story. Today, we look at the Q&A process.

When writers reach a point in a story—nonfiction or fiction—where they're unsure how to proceed, many plow ahead without adequately resolving the issue. Sometimes this works and the questions get answered along the way. Most times the section ends up needing a major rewrite and leading the writer down the garden path, into a thicket of thorns.

One good way to deal with not knowing what to do next is right in the manuscript. When instinct tells you to take stock, hit the enter key and drop down a line, then describe the problem and how you might fix it. The what-if scenario works well here. Ask yourself, "What if the character did this?" Or, "What if I take the story in this direction?"

Sometimes you can select a scenario, make the fix and keep writing, incorporating the change into the rest of the story and making sure to return and fix everything effected beforehand. Some writers transfer the selected scenario to the end of the chapter or story and check it when they're done writing to make sure they addressed the key points.

If you can't make your selected fix right away, note what has to be changed and where. Novelists sometimes keep a bulleted "To Resolve" list at the end of each chapter. For shorter pieces, you can put notes in brackets within the piece or at the end.

For more information, visit my online editing workshop, On a Clear Day: Editing for Clarity and Publication.

Show or Tell: How Do You Know?

It's amazing how a simple conversation can spark a line of thought. That happened with friend, writer and multiple Hemingway style award-winner Jack Schmidt. He posed a writing question we all consider: Is it always better to show than tell?

The usual answer, that showing is better, is a point made so often it has lost its meaning. For clarification, here are two examples:

• Stabler stared at the money on the desk. It was clear from his bemused expression there was some interest. [not bad]
• Stabler gaped at the stack of twenties, then wiped his mouth. He looked at me. "What do you want me to do?" [better]

Generally, showing is better because the writer uses detail and more precise language, rendering him or her invisible and making the reader's experience more satisfying. Think of classes where the instructor used the inductive approach instead of lecturing for an hour. As in the above example, showing works best in setting scenes, creating dialogue and moving the plot along through the characters' eyes, preferably all at once.

But one great point made in a recent post is that in writing, rules are made to be broken. Telling usually works better than showing when the writer must convey a lot of information (e.g., back story) in a short amount of space. This can be done through devices like flashback, but sometimes it's best to just say Cal Jones was in prison instead of showing him there.

Ultimately, the test question is: Which technique serves the story best at that particular point?

Let me know how "show versus tell" works for you.