The Same Notes Over and Over

Playful graphic interpretations of vocalizations in
“Messa di Voce” by Golan Levin and Zachary Lieberman
with Jaap Blonk and Joan La Barbara.

First, I was driving in my car the other day. I don't often drive, let alone by myself, so this was one of the times I actually had some time to turn up the radio and listen to whatever I felt like listening to. A song came on that got me practically dancing in my seat - a mix of rap and metal and pop. It was fantastic!

Then, I was playing Guitar Hero with my husband, and a question occurred to me as I pressed the same four keys over and over again: what makes it possible for only a few notes to be turned into something amazing?

The song in the car was very repetitious - the same phrase played to the same rhythm, completely predictable, yet so catchy I wanted to listen to it a hundred times over. Guitar Hero lets you play the bass or guitar lines to a variety of songs using only four or five keys. Writing is the same way. We have only 26 letters to work with, and if you ask me, only so many stories to tell over and over. I've always believed that there's only a set amount of plots, and they've all been told before no matter how you structure or tell a story - at its roots is the same ideas retold time and time again.

Yet, somehow, in the hands of a good writer, the same story can be turned into something incredibly unique, something that gets me dancing in my seat.

I'm currently working on a novella that feels to me, cliched and overdone, but I'm telling myself that this story has never had my voice to it, and because of that, it can be something lovely and different. I'm using some notes that people are familiar with, and readers may expect certain things from what I'm doing, but I'm having a lot of fun twisting it all up.

So, I guess my point here today is that we should never shy away from a story idea that feels like everyone else has already done it. I used to think we should. Reinventing the wheel seemed like the only option for a long time.

What stories have you read lately that use the same "notes", but manage to hide it so well the story seems like something new that's never been done before?

Also, don't miss my post over on Innocent Flower today for Master the Shorts week. Davin is guest posting for me, and it's something you don't want to miss!

Telling, Not Showing

I begin this post with a bit of bragging: last night I finished revisions for my agent. I so rule. But because I do all my writing and revising longhand, I now have to type up all my changes, which will be several hellish hours of my life I'll never get back. There are worse fates, I'm sure. But I digress from the digression with which I began.

While I was revising, I noticed there are at least a couple of cases in which the old rule of Show, Don't Tell does not apply. I found myself actually deleting passages where I had dramatized the action (showing) and replacing them with summary (telling). So this is sort of a "rules? schmules?" post. Sort of.

The action of my novel comes in three strands, which unravel and intertwine as the book progresses. That's a fancy way of saying that I have a couple of major subplots as well as the main plot, and they more or less all tie together at the end. I also have a first-person narrator, who is involved in all three plots. What this means is that either:

a) my narrator has to be present for every scene in order to know what's going on (and relate it to the reader), or

b) someone has to tell my narrator whenever anything important happens off-screen.

The first option could result in some highly improbable situations, as my protagonist doesn't have access to everything everyone does. The second option could result in lots and lots of conversations like this:

"So, Feng says Amleth is dangerous."
"Really?"
"Yeah, he thinks he's going to attack Horvendil soon. They had a bitter argument last night, while you were talking to Corambis."
"What did they fight about?"
"Amleth claims Horvendil is a fraud. Feng told him he's wrong, but Amleth swears to find the truth."
"That's bad."
"Yep. Say, what did you and Corambis talk about?"
"Well, let me tell you..."

And stuff. As it happens, I found that I did have a lot of that sort of conversation in my book, where A and B have a scene and then A and C discuss that scene out of earshot of B. It made me dizzy in a couple of places, and was entirely unneccesary. What I did instead was, as I say, cut the repetitious dialogue and replaced it with summary:

I met with Fernando and told him of my conversation with Corambis. We agreed that something would have to be done about Horvendil soon.

This is much briefer, far less ridiculous to read, and also gives you a chance to interpret the earlier scenes for the reader if you're into that sort of editorializing from a narrator.

The point of all this, aside from demonstrating how unfocused I am when I've not had any coffee, is that where you find this sort of repetition in your narrative, especially if you find dialogue that repeats previous dialogue or discusses previous action, it might be a good time to tell rather than show. Yes, you have to make sure the right characters all know the requisite facts to move the plot along, but if your reader already knows those facts, don't repeat them all over again.

So my rule is: Show, don't tell, unless you have to.

Writing Less Efficiently

I'm going to break with my tradition of posting filler on Fridays, and instead I'd like to talk about use of words, specifically repetition of one word versus using synonyms. When I was a wee sprig of a boy in grammar school, one of my teachers claimed that repeating a word in a piece of prose was Bad Writing. For example, if you are writing about a wagon, you should not use the word "wagon" twice in the same sentence, or paragraph, or on the same page even. Instead of repetition, writers are supposed to follow the rule of "Elegant Variation," where you find synonyms for "wagon" and use those instead, or recast sentences to avoid naming the object in question. I heard this advice later on in college, and I've read it in books about writing, too. I know professional editors who also believe this is a good rule to follow. My opinion?

In a lot of instances, this rule is complete and utter bullshit. There, I've said it. Now I'll give an example of what I mean.

In researching this post, I ran across the article How to Write Less Efficiently, by Arthur A. Stern, The English Journal © 1967. I quote his wonderful article in part:

"The student comes away with the impression that repeating words and phrases is a Bad Thing. His writing, accordingly, may be dreary, ineffective, and unnecessarily hard to read. Let us see what might have happened if Abraham Lincoln had received such advice and taken it seriously. Lincoln is reported to have said

It is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even fool some of the people all of the time; but you can't fool all of the people all the time.

We perceive immediately that Mr. Lincoln has succeeded rather poorly in avoiding repetition. No matter. We shall repair his rhetoric by using synonyms and pronouns as the handbooks recommend:

It is true that you may fool all the people some of the time; you can even deceive some of them on every occasion; but it is not always possible to trick everyone.

There. Doesn't the style sound familiar?"

Pardon me while I laugh again, because I find stuff like this to be hi-sterical. Okay, I'm done now.

Here's the thing: it is perfectly acceptable to use the same word to describe something as often as you need to. Why? Because sometimes, there is only one perfect word for that thing (object, action or whatever). Use it. The goal is to communicate your meaning to your reader, not to show that you own a thesaurus. While editors and writers are noticing that you've repeated yourself, your reader will be taking note of the point you're making, so You Win.

Here's a fine example of repetition, from D.H. Lawrence:

She remembered to have hated her father’s overbearing manner towards her gentle, humorous, kindly-souled mother. She remembered running over the breakwater at Sheerness and finding the boat. She remembered to have been petted and flattered by all the men when she had gone to the dockyard, for she was a delicate, rather proud child. She remembered the funny old mistress, whose assistant she had become, whom she had loved to help in the private school.

Note: unless you are deliberately repeating a sentence structure for effect, it's best not to begin sentences with the same word over and over. You fall into a repetitive rhythm which might lull your reader to sleep. All the usual caveats about that, too, of course.

Another good example of repetition is the "honorable men" speech from Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar."

Are you writing about an emotion, like guilt? You can refer to guilt with the word "guilt." You don't have to find absurd synonyms for it like "the miasma of regret" or "the rusting-through of my soul" or whatever. Please don't. Please, I beg of you. Don't. I'll come to your house and hit you. Hard.

Let's talk about dialogue tags, where this sort of thing rears its amazingly ugly head too often. If you find yourself writing, for example,

"...I said to the tall, handsome stranger"

or

"...I said to the red-haired dwarf"

instead of

"...I said to him"

or

"...I said to [Name of Character]"

then take a moment, take a breath, and calm down. You don't need to do this. First, you can probably cut every instance of "to [X]" after "...I said." Really, give it a try and see what happens. Clarity of prose, I'm betting. Second, you can probably eliminate about half your dialogue tags without losing your reader. Every line of speech does not require tagging. Your readers are bright. Third, those awkward descriptive tags that avoid pronouns or the character name are, well, awkward and frankly not a little silly. You look silly when you use them. Are you writing a comedy in a comic style? No? Then knock it off.

The thing to remember about synonyms, which is a thing that makes our language (no matter what your native tongue) so immensely fabulous and fun to play with, is that they are Not Direct Substitutes. Hot, sweltering, steamy, warm and blistering all have to do with heat, but they do Not All Mean Exactly The Same Thing. If you use that thesaurus, use your dictionary too. Nothing's worse than using a word that doesn't mean what you think it means. People will roll their eyes and say nasty things about you behind your back. Sometimes in front of you, too. So realize that there are shades of meaning in all of these words, and you should pick the word that best reflects what you mean in your writing. I suggest leaning on that word as much as you have to and leaving your thesaurus alone. See if your prose isn't clearer and more easily understood.

Last-minute addition: A contest!
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The Art of Repetition

I mentioned in a recent blog post that repetition is bad. I'd like to clarify here that there are different types of repetition: Repeating Redundancy and Repeating Beauty.

Redundancy refers to the types of repetition I speak of in the Trust blog post - pounding unnecessary information into your reader's head. For example, repeating dialogue tags when the dialogue said it clear enough, repeating a symbol or metaphor over and over just in case your reader "missed it", repeating specific key plot points in case your reader "missed it", etc.

Beauty refers to something I keep coming back to ever since I read a post by David King on Fractals. It clicked. I thought, repetition isn't always bad. In fact, I've been using the "fractal" idea in my work for a long time. Fractals are naturally beautiful and pleasing. What is a fractal? You can find information on fractals in this Wikipedia post. But to sum it up in David King's words:

A fractal is an irregular or fragmented shape, like a cloud or a coastline, into which you can zoom, almost without limit, dividing and subdividing it into smaller and smaller parts, each of which is a clone of the original whole.

I don't know about you, but this idea is completely fascinating to me. I mean, look at these pictures:







Repetition is everywhere. And I think it can take place in our writing, as well. In fact, I almost gave up on the first book I wrote. It was a complete mess. Irreparable in my opinion. Then a friend told me about the Snowflake Method. This popular outline method, although shunned by a lot of people who simply hate outlines, saved me. It's based on the idea of a fractal. A snowflake is fractal. You start out with a triangle and build and build and build until you get this beautiful, complicated looking snowflake.



It may look complicated, but in reality it's quite simple. Think of it as layers, as building over and over until all the smaller pieces resemble the whole. The idea behind the Snowflake Method shouldn't be shunned by anybody. Because I think it's the basis of any great work, whether or not you like outlining.

In essence, every sentence, chapter, and section of your book should contribute to the entire work in a similar way. For instance, I just picked a random quote from The Great Gatsby. I believe it clearly sums up the novel. Amazing.

When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again.

I hope this isn't intimidating. It's not meant to be. My point is that repetition doesn't have to be bad. One of the greatest things I believe a writer can do is sum up their book in one short sentence. Reveal the "whole" of your book - the whole tree so to speak. Then break it down and show the branches, the leaves, the veins on the leaves that astoundingly enough resemble the whole tree.

If you can't do this, do you really know what your book is about?

To me, it comes down to focus. Without it your story is weak, weak, weak! This idea is absolutely essential to me. And although I know many readers might skip over this post because it looks freakishly complicated and in-depth, the idea is simple. My first book is still a mess, but it makes sense in my head now. I know what I want it to be, and the basic "whole" is there. My second novel has been easier to write once I grasped this concept, and I know that the more books I write, the more this idea will make sense. Like creating any beautiful piece of art, it takes a lot of time and practice.

Do keep in mind, though, that this process often happens naturally if you have your focus in place. It's not something that you have to consciously think of every time you write a sentence. Thank goodness! Finding that focus is often the tricky part. Perhaps I can save that for a 15-part blog post...


~MDA (aka Glam)

Trust

I've had the word TRUST on my blog post list for awhile now. But I was never sure what I wanted to say. Natalie's post helped guide me in the right direction. When someone begins reading your story, they may feel like this frog:



Natalie says it better than I can:

What does [not trusting your reader] mean? It boils down to not trusting that your audience will "get" what you're trying to give them. This leads to over explaining and repetition, which is annoying to a smart reader (and guess what, I hear most readers are smart people).

Backstory, Flashbacks, and Extraneous Scenes
Look at all of these closely. I recently did a post on my writing blog about how your reader might not care about most of this stuff. How do you present it? Is it ripping your reader out of the real story? You may care deeply about all of that information, but how much does your reader really need to know?

Scott wrote an excellent post on backstory here.

Fillers
Most of the time, scaffolding is unnecessary. If your reader screams "I know!", you don't have to put a dialogue tag after it that says she screamed loudly.

He was just plain downright annoyed. He stomped his foot and clenched his fists.

When he looked deeply into her eyes, he whispered softly and lowered his voice.

The cool breeze flowed into the small room and rustled the lacy curtains until the stagnant air felt refreshed.

These are obvious examples, but I see this all the time. Adverbs. Extra adjectives, etc. Wordiness!

Repetition
You. Don't. Need. To. Repeat. Things. Except for this phrase: You don't need to repeat things! This is my biggest problem. I like to pound things into my reader's head. Symbolism. Metaphors. Obvious things. A good example is from Natalie's post:

"That's not a good idea," he said. He seemed sure we shouldn't go in the cave.

Yes, and then I would probably repeat again in a later paragraph that he seemed sure we shouldn't go in the cave. The dialogue said it all. Just leave it at that.

Oh, Hate Them!
If one of your characters is a downright mean, ugly person. Let them be. Don't make excuses for them. Don't try and make them likable because you've read somewhere that all characters need to be likable.

In my first novel, one of my main POV characters is a terrible person. The other main POV character hates her. So why would I try and make her likable from the get go? I have no idea. But I did. And the character rings false.
_______

These are a few things that hinder trust, which can lead to you looking like a poor storyteller, a weak writer, and someone who doesn't trust their own work and abilities. Trust me (haha), I'm barely learning all of this. I know I have a long way to go in strengthening my writing. I think a follow-up post is in order for things that help the reader trust. Scott? Davin? Any volunteers for a guest post?

Question For The Day: How important do you feel it is that your reader trusts you? Do you have any other examples of how a writer can hinder trust?


~MDA (aka Glam)