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.

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: The Editing Side of the Coin

For the past several posts, we've looked at the most important question a writer can ask, "why." We've seen how it can break writer's block, help the Q&A process, aid in sifting critiques and help writers face their fear.

Underlying what we've been looking at is editing—that mystifying, disconcerting process of seeing your work darkly as in a mirror and seeing its defects, not as a writer sees them, which is usually as a parent sees an offspring, but as someone outside the work, a near stranger, the editor side of you, the side that's difficult to deal with but essential to develop to become a good, even great, writer.

Asking "why" is essential to the editing process. It's should be asked throughout the writing process, even when you fear the answers, not only because you don't want to know, but because getting at the answers takes effort—and time. But, in the end, it's better to ask yourself the tough questions and not leave this intimate business to others, because this is where writing gets personal, the heart of the matter, your heart, the most intimate part of a writer, the reason you write, or don't.

So, when you reach that part of the writing process that ties you in knots and makes you more than a little crazy, stop as you would at a washed out section of roadway. Ask yourself why the story or scene, dialogue or description isn't working. You can also ask the lesser questions—who, what, where, when and how—but none of these gets at the heart of the matter better than "why."

As a reminder, the three keys that unlock the power of why are to answer the question honestly, in detail and in writing. See the posts below for more information, and 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.

The Most Important Question a Writer Can Ask: Part 2

The most pivotal question you can ask as a writer is "why." We started examining the power of this question by seeing how it can break writer's block. In this post, we tackle that especially tough paragraph, scene or story.

Before junking what's not working, stop and consider the piece. Ask yourself why you're having trouble, and what made you stop trying to improve it? Why did you resist discarding the section or story if you really believe it's not working? Apparently, it still seems important, even though it's not quite right.

As before, to get at what's really happening, answer these questions in detail, with honesty and in writing. Your initial responses may beget more questions, but continue until you've asked everything you need to, or until you see the answers repeat. The aha moment may shine like a Xenon spotlight or dawn like the sun on a cloudy day. Whatever the candle power, the answers reveal why this aspect of the work, or the work itself, is ineffectual.

To delve even deeper, use the rest of the journalism questions—the who, what, where, when and how of what's going on, nor not—until you're out of questions and answers.

Before revising the story or scene, review your responses. Consider how they relate to your work and what aspects of the writing they address, and how. Now make the fixes wherever they're needed.

For my free online editing workshop, see On a Clear Day: Editing for Clarity and Publication.

"On a Clear Day: Editing for Clarity and Publication: Part 3"

Welcome to the third in a four-part series on editing your work for clarity and publication. Today we describe, diagnose and offer fixes for muddy wording—a real source of the blues for readers, editors, lit agents and writers.

Problem: Anyone who's read a contract knows what lack of clarity looks like, even if the writer was hoping otherwise. As the word implies, muddy writing is dull writing.

Diagnosis: Big words when smaller are better, long clauses, imprecise wording, mixed metaphors and inaccurate similes all make for unclear prose. Readers come away feeling like they need to clear their heads.

Cure: One way to fix lack of clarity is knowing what you want to say even if you're still figuring out how to say it. Let's start by defining metaphors and similes. A metaphor is a word or phrase that's used instead of another to suggest an analogy, for example, "drowning in money." A simile is figure of speech, often using "like," that compares two unlike things, for example, "cheeks like roses." These tools for writers need to be used correctly (in the right place at the right time) in order for them to function as they should.

As with wordiness, cut unnecessary text, use contractions for less formal prose and expand your vocabulary to make one word count for more. If you're still deciding what you want to say and how to say it, ask yourself what the scene or story is really about. Why did you create it? Then consider how it can be revised to reveal character and advance plot, preferably both.

For a great pro at editing, visit James Scott Bell, or check out his book Revision And Self-Editing (Write Great Fiction).

"On a Clear Day: Editing for Clarity and Publication - Part 2"

This is the second in a four-part series on editing for clarity and publication. For clear communication, it's best know what you want to say and how to say it. Today we describe, diagnose and provide fixes for the second of four common problems that keep writers from publication: wordiness.

Problem: Verbosity comes in variations. Words can be unnecessary, overabundant or repetitious. Repetition can also present as recurring text or scenes that don't add meaning or depth.

Diagnosis: Several ways to spot this problem are confusion, annoyance and, ultimately, avoidance. Readers will lose interest in descriptions or scenes that feel familiar and skip them altogether. If they really get annoyed, they'll walk away. If your trusted critique group or writing buddy has these responses, there's a problem.

Cure: Cut unnecessary words, use contractions, and expand your vocabulary by reading widely and using a thesaurus to make one word count for more. For sections or scenes that recur without added meaning or depth, ask yourself: What is this scene or story really about—why did you create it? How can it be revised to reveal character and advance plot, preferably both at once?

Betsy Lerner, literary agent and editor par excellence shares her knowledge of the subject at Betsy Lerner, Forest for the Trees.

On a Clear Day: Editing for Clarity and Publication

Welcome to a four-part series on editing your work for clarity and publication. There's nothing like clear communication to get a point across. Even writers of literary fiction need to know what they want to say and how best to say it, how to obscure and reveal. For clarity in revelation, we'll describe, diagnose and provide fixes for four common problems that keep writers from publication: clichés, wordiness, muddiness and disorder.

Today we start with clichés.

Problem: Two common clichés types are word choice and plot choice. Clichéd word choices are common because they're easy to write and understand. But to write with style and keep the reader's interest, clichés aren't recommended, except sometimes in dialogue to convey character. Plot clichés, where nothing original happens, are deadly.

Diagnosis: You know a clichéd phrase because you know a cliché. They're easy to spot, especially if you've stepped away from the work before editing (always recommended). You know a clichéd plot choice when a scene or story is predictable. No one wants readers to come away from a piece thinking, "I knew that would happen." Or, worse, "I could have written better."

Cure: To fix a clichéd word choice, ask yourself what you want to convey. For a clichéd plot choice, for example starting a story with someone waking up, conduct a what-if scenario for characters and plot. For characters, consider a possible flaw or secret. For plot, raise the stakes and increase the conflict. This will enhance the characters, too.

To see whether you've written a cliché, visit Cliché Site. To write with originality, visit Writing Forward, considered one of Writers Digest's 101 best websites for writers.

Something Lovely: Revising, With Christiana Langenberg

Award-winning author Christiana Langenberg is not only a writer, but a professor and a very busy mom. Thanks again to Christiana for her fresh, down to earth perspective on revision as part of the writing process.

AA: What is it about the process that you find exhilarating?

CL: Revision is time-consuming, but it's also my favorite part of the writing process. It's where the real excavation of the story takes place. Getting the first full draft hammered out is torture compared to the relative giddiness of being able to have back at it and work that lump of clay into something lovely.

AA: How do you deal with the inevitable distractions?

CL: Because I work full time and am constantly interrupted by students and advisees, and I have classes to teach and student stories/essays to grade, (not to mention children who apparently need to be fed regularly), I'm not always guaranteed a long block of time to concentrate on revisions, so I have to make do with chunks of minutes or hours here and there. In the rare event, though, that I do have a whole day or two to myself, I can definitely spend nine or 10 hours fine-tooth-combing a story and working at my keyboard with few breaks.

For Christiana's compilation Half of What I Know, visit Christiana Langenberg.