Showing posts with label writing rule. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing rule. Show all posts

Monday, June 29, 2020

Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Don't Write Direct Dialogue!"




Over the years, I've done a lot of posts on dialogue, in part because when I went searching for a deeper understanding on the topic, I didn't find a lot of material. One of the recurring things I did find though, was about writing indirect dialogue. And this is absolutely one of the best places to start, when learning how to craft better dialogue. Dialogue should always be saying and doing more than what's on the page.

Almost always, anyway.

Naturally, this means incorporating indirection.

Which plays closely into subtext.

But a few times I've been asked, when is it okay to use direct dialogue? For this post, I have at least four answers.

What's the Rule?

Don't write direct dialogue!


Why it's a Rule

Usually the best dialogue considers what the character doesn't say, and how. In other words, subtext. When subtext happens, the dialogue is bigger than what's on the page--a quality that seems to be key to drawing in readers and writing a great story.

And in reality, most of us do talk indirectly. And we are always revealing more about ourselves than what we say (whether or not we want to). Interestingly, the more powerful emotions we feel, the more indirect we tend to be.

Indirect dialogue also holds more tension. (This again draws us in.)

On the flip side, direct dialogue releases tension, something we rarely want to do.

And when we talk about powerful emotions directly (and disproportionately), they can actually lose power. This is one of the many facets of the "show, don't tell" rule. Talking about powerful emotions directly in dialogue, labels, or in other words, "tells" them, which usually is not as satisfying as showing them so they can be experienced by the reader.

Direct dialogue also means one-dimensional dialogue. What you see (or read), is what you get. This turns the reader into more of a spectator, instead of a participator, in the story (and we want participation).

But a lot of beginning writers write direct dialogue--we probably all did. Writing indirect dialogue is a skill--it takes study and practice (and more practice).

In case anyone isn't quite sure what I mean about direct vs. indirect, here is a quick example:

Monday, February 25, 2019

Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Only One Impossibility"




You may have heard of the "one impossibility rule," the idea that the audience's suspension of disbelief can only handle one impossible thing. In this article, I'm going to talk about what the rule is, why it's a rule, and when and how to break it.

What's the Rule?

When we write, we invite the audience into our fictive universe. In order to take part, the audience must have what's called a "willing suspension of disbelief," meaning that they are willing to enjoy the story even though it's not real.

For example, maybe your story has fairies in it. But fairies aren't real. However, the audience is willing to accept that for the story.

The Rule:

In a story, only one impossibility can exist.

Why It's a Rule


Most audiences can only take in so much impossibility before their suspension of disbelief is no longer . . . suspended.

They might accept with the premise of the story that there are fairies. But if your story has not only fairies but also aliens invading the planet, there is going to be a problem.

That's two different impossibilities.

And they don't go together.

Take that a step further and add the fact that in your fictive universe, dogs have overcome humans in the species hierarchy, so they are the ones running society--and now we have three impossibilities.

It's too much. Every time you add an impossibility, you narrow your audience. With these three, I've really narrowed audience. 

My examples are a bit exaggerated, but these are the sorts of things that the one impossibility rule is referring to.

However, it can sometimes be used in other situations.

One thing the audience has very little tolerance for is when human behavior doesn't make sense. Maybe your protagonist's mom dies, and he doesn't even grieve. That seems impossible. And the more you stack on unlikely human behavior, the more the audience's suspension of disbelief wanes.

For more on problems with unbelievability, see "Inconceivable! Dealing with Problems of Unbelievability."

How to Break It



By now you may have thought of one or more stories that clearly have more than "one impossibility." In a high fantasy, you may have fairies and dragons and dwarves and elves and centaurs . . . the list goes on.

Or maybe you thought of a rarer rule break, like a story that deals with both an alien invasion and restoring faith in God. Putting a belief of God in can be considered a big no-no in the industry when writing science fiction. From one perspective, you are dealing with two impossibilities. (I'm not saying I feel this way, I'm just talking about the industry.)

Or maybe you thought of something stranger still, a story where part of your soul lives outside your body in the form of an animal, where one of the intelligent species are (randomly) bears, where there is a clan witches, and some of the main characters are quite literally at war with God.

Clearly this rule can and has been broken. So let's talk about how to do that.

1. Use an Umbrella

The reason high fantasy gets away with so many impossibilities is because everything actually fits under one big impossibility: an imaginary world.

Sure, in our reality dragons and elves and dwarves don't exist.

But in a completely fictional world, like Middle-earth, all of them do, and more.

Tolkien, like basically all high fantasy writers, gets away with so much impossibility by lumping them together under one big one. Other examples include Alice in Wonderland, The Chronicles of Narnia, and even Star Wars (in a galaxy far, far away).

Even though Harry Potter includes the real world, it does this same thing--everything impossible comes from a magic society within our world, that's the umbrella.

The umbrella does not even necessarily need to be a world or society. Those are just the obvious examples. It could be an origin, history, or something else. The idea is that the one impossibility encompasses and explains all others.

2. Make Connections

Similarly, the audience is more likely to take in more than one impossibility if they connect in some way. Maybe you are reading a novel that has vampires in the real world. Then the second book in the series deals with werewolves. What?

But it's okay, because Stephenie Meyer made them connect by explaining that werewolves exist because of the vampires--they are the natural predators of vampires (yes, I just used Twilight as an example) (yes, I know other stories put vampires and werewolves together as enemies).

When you use this method, you usually want to build off what the audience already knows. They already know about the vampires, great. So when you explain the werewolves, make sure to relate it to the vampires. This will make it easier for the audience to swallow.

Of course, there are some stories that don't do that. Usually in those cases, the writer may introduce them as two separate things and explain the connection later. If you chose to do this, you should know that it's more difficult to pull off, and it will likely narrow your audience, because people might be rolling their eyes and stop reading before they get to the connection. However it has and can be done.

In rare occasions, the connections may not be concretely obvious, but instead thematic. What do invading aliens have to do with regaining faith in God? Well, nothing, directly. Except that it works together thematically in a beautiful way in Signs. Keep in mind, though, that this is one of the reasons some people hate that movie. So for some people, it did not work--in other words, it narrowed the audience. That's fine, if you are willing to pay that cost and take that risk.


3. Shift Context

Sometimes you can get away with multiple impossibilities if you don't present them as all impossibilities to begin with. In Interstellar, we are dealing with some pretty heavy science fiction, but then on the other hand, one of the main characters believes there is a ghost in her room.

I would hazard a guess though, that most of the audience didn't believe there was a real ghost in the room. Instead we can accept that the character believes that. As we get more information and the context shifts, we realize the "ghost" really was a person.

Though worth noting is that it is still ultimately explained by science, so the movie also connects it the other impossibilities.

But my point is, you may be able to do something similar. Maybe we think the second impossibility is something other than it actually is, and it's truly explained later.

4. Foreshadow

 Sometimes you can get away with more than one impossibility if you foreshadow it right.

I know a writer who saw Arrival and loved it up until the ending, where the entire story was "ruined" because it "broke the one impossibility rule."

I'm going to have to agree to disagree with that. All of the impossibilities, especially the last, were foreshadowed from the beginning, so when I encountered them, as an audience member, I was prepared.

Also notice how that movie also incorporates context shifts and connections.

The story essential has three impossibilities in it, but in my opinion, they pulled them off stunningly.

However, it didn't work for that one writer, so, like I said above, you are always taking that risk.

But then there are people like me and my family, who loved the story even more and were brought to tears because of how it incorporated three impossibilities.

Basically if you are breaking the one impossibility rule, you are probably polarizing your audience, which is sometimes a good thing, if you want word-of-mouth advertising.

5. Utilize Tone

Tone can go a long way in letting you get away with the impossible. This is especially the case with what are called "unreality" stories.

Unreality stories take place in what's recognized as the real world . . . but it isn't. It's an unreality. It's best explained through examples. Here are some unreality stories:

A Series of Unfortunate Events
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Matilda
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Edward Scissorhands 
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty

Like I talked about in the last section, you may realize that unreality stories can be very polarizing: You either love it, or you hate it.

Notice how all of the examples I gave have more than one impossibility (sometimes completely unconnected), but for audiences okay with the unreality genre, that's not a problem. (Which reminds me, it's also worth noting genre does play a role in what you can get away with).

If you establish the right tone, you can get away with almost anything.

6. Acknowledge the Impossibility

In some cases, you can get away with multiple impossibilities if you validate to the audience how impossible, unlikely, or strange it is, on the page. Since I have two posts that go into this, I'm not going to reiterate everything, but you can read more here and here.


7. Keep the Reader Hooked and Invested

Sometimes you can get away with more than one impossibility if the reader is already deeply invested in the story. They may be so hooked, so pulled in, that adding a second impossibility isn't going to ruin it--as long as you don't do anything too crazy.

Ask yourself (and maybe your beta-readers), is adding this one impossibility really going to stop the reader from reading and enjoying the story? It might give them pause, but you might be able to get away with it. After all, it is a story.

8.  Start with the Most Familiar Impossibility

Everyone knows what a dragon is, even if they aren't real. So it's easier for the audience to accept that.

In Spider-verse we are dealing with two impossibilities that don't . . . really even connect . . . or fit under an umbrella. 1 - that radioactive spiders can bite people and turn them superhuman. 2 - that there are parallel realities. Those are both impossibilities, and they don't actually go together.

But the audience is willing to accept it, because they are so familiar with Spider-man and superhero movies. Adding parallel universes to it isn't a big deal. (Not to mention that parallel universes have been long established as part of the comic book world.)

The more familiar something is, the easier it is for the audience to accept and digest it.

Kitchen Sink Stories

There is a term in the industry called "kitchen sink." It's the basic idea that a writer has a lot of ideas, but they are throwing them all into one story. It's like a kitchen sink. It has a bit of this and a bit of that. A scrap of old pizza, an onion peel, a soggy fry. Sometimes when writers are trying to include a lot of impossibilities, it turns into a kitchen sink story. In some cases, you may definitely need to divvy out ideas into different stories. But in other cases, it's amazing which seemingly unrelated ideas you can make work, especially using these methods I outlined.

It's hard for me to tell everyone that their "kitchen sink story" isn't going to work. Because it might.

I feel like the best example of this is His Dark Materials. It has everything, and the kitchen sink. But in England, it became a hugely successful series. Yet so many of the concepts don't seem to belong in one story.

- Parts of people's souls live outside their bodies in animal forms.
- There is an intelligent species of bears (bears?? Why? That's so random!)
- Oh yeah, and there are also witches. (oookay . . .)
- And angels
- By the way, there is also a religion reminiscent of Christianity, but it's antagonistic
- Also, God is in it
- And there is this device that allows the user to know all truth
- It takes place in England . . . but it's sort of . . . somewhat . . . steam-punky
- Oh yeah, also, not only is this fantasy, but it's also science fiction. We will definitely be talking about dark matter and running experiments with computers
- Also, surprise, I know you didn't know this from the first book, but our world, the real world, is actually part of this same universe
- Aaaand there are spectors
- We'll also be following people into the afterlife. . . .

Okay, seriously, that whole series is a kitchen sink story!

. . . which is also why it was so revolutionary. It was unprecedented.

So . . . while it's very difficult to pull off . . . it's not impossible.

You might be thinking, "but everything fits under the umbrella of a parallel world." Dude, it doesn't. We don't even know parallel worlds exist until the second book.

It's a kitchen sink.


You Can Break the One Impossibility Rule . . . with These Risks and Consequences

Depending on what impossibilities you decide to use and how you implement them, you run these risks:

- Ruining the suspension of disbelief 


Your audience may still not be able to accept your impossibilities. In truth, some readers are unwilling to even accept one. So they may stop reading.

- Narrowing your audience


This may lead to a narrower audience. Maybe most people don't like M. Night Shyamalan's movies (he breaks a lot of writing and film rules). That's okay. Enough people like him, and he obviously isn't trying to appeal to the masses.

- Polarizing your audience


Some people will absolutely hate stories that use multiple impossibilities. But other people love them. Polarizing your audience isn't actually necessarily a bad or good thing in and of itself--it depends on your goals.


These are risks and consequences, but they do not necessarily influence success. Some people cannot read any fantasy, yet it's one of the most popular genres. Not everyone likes Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but it's now a children's classic. Even a kitchen sink story has been highly successful.

Can you break the one impossibility rule? Yes! But like breaking any rule, it can be tricky.

Next week I'll be talking about critique letters and editorial letters, and how I write one. See you then!


Monday, February 5, 2018

Breaking Writing Rules Right: Don't Use Filter Words




In the writing world, filter words are often considered problematic, and for good reason. You may have been told to cut back on them in your story, or you may have been told to cut all of them. But sometimes filter words are actually the best choice. Today I'm going to talk about what filter words are, why people discourage them, and five reasons you should break the rule and use them.

What's the Rule?

"Filter words" are words that filter us through the character. They are phrases such as:

He looked

She felt

Julia smelled

Derek tasted

She saw

Chris touched

London stared

. . . and it goes onward.

While not as well known as some of the other writing rules ("Show, don't tell," "Don't use 'was'"), if you look around in the writing world, you'll see there is no shortage of sources that say we shouldn't use filter words.


The Rule:

Don't use filter words.


Why it's a Rule

At first glance, phrases like, "He looked," seem rather innocent.

But they are weak for a few reasons.


1. They put the character between the audience and the story. 

On my blog, I've talked several times about how it's important for the audience to experience the story for themselves, instead of just reading about the events that happened. Only when the audience is invested and experiencing the story will the story reach its full breadth of power. (There are some stories that are exceptions of course, but they are rare.)

Filter words distance the audience just a little bit. There is a degree between them and what's happening in the story.

When we want the audience to feel as if they are in the story, we want them to get as close and as invested in what's unfolding as possible.


2. They are unnecessary. 

Often filter words don't communicate anything new in the story and can just be cut.

For example:

Aiden saw a beetle climbing up the mulberry tree.


The phrase "Aiden saw" is taking up space and can simply be cut.

A beetle climbed up the mulberry tree.


Unless you are writing from what I call "guided omniscient" or "first-person omniscient," (and sometimes even then, depending on how the narrator handles it), the fact that the sentence is even on the page implies that at least the viewpoint character of that scene saw it, if not other characters.

Say that Aiden is our viewpoint character for this scene. The fact that a beetle is mentioned at all automatically suggests that Aiden saw it, because the audience knows (if only subconsciously) that we are experiencing the story from Aiden's view.

So to say that Aiden saw the beetle is redundant and unnecessary.

If Aiden isn't the viewpoint character, but someone with the viewpoint character, we can still imply that he also saw it. Here is one way:

A beetle climbed up the mulberry tree. 

"Woah!" Aiden said, drawing closer to the trunk. "Come look!" 

Dani didn't budge. The last thing I'm going to do is get close to a bug, she thought. 


In this example, Dani is the viewpoint character, but we can clearly tell Aiden saw the beetle too.

However, I should explain that since here Aiden isn't the viewpoint character, those phrases probably aren't technically filter words, because we are seeing the scene from Dani's viewpoint, so we can't be filtering through Aiden. So if I wrote this:

A beetle climbed up the mulberry tree.

Aiden stared at it.

Dani didn't budge. Where do those bugs keep coming from? she wondered. 


I'm not sure I could agree we are "filtering" through Aiden, but it's still a phrase you might get some flack for, even though here it's communicating that Dani saw that Aiden was staring. So some people might still have a problems with it and argue against it on your manuscript.


3. They are weak verbs

Filter phrases can kill your writing quick if you use them all the time, mainly because they are weak verbs.

For example:

Marley went out back and saw the forest. He saw it was right up close to the hotel. He looked deep into the trees and saw a squirrel. He could hear a bird singing. He felt a cool breeze on his neck. A strange noise sounded to his left, and he looked to find a man sitting on a stump. Marley wondered how long he'd been there.

Do you see all those filter words? All those verbs are pretty bland and weak. You should use stronger verbs to make the story come alive.

(Hopefully you also see that all those filter words actually distance the audience, at least a little bit.)

Sometimes filter words can simply be cut, like I showed with Aiden. Other times getting rid of them takes more effort.

When you're a beginner, it's a lot harder to write without them, because, darn it, "saw," "looked," "smelled," "touched," are all verbs! And if you don't use those, well, crap, you have to find a way to get a different verb in that sentence to make it complete!

I feel your pain.

This is usually the part where the more experienced writer comes in and explains how the beginning writer needs to use more "strong verbs"--verbs that are more specific and powerful. Filter words are considered to be "weak verbs."

I still remember the first assignment back in college where I committed myself to stretching and reaching and using only strong verbs.

I was soooo slow. I looked up so many words. It was so hard. And even after that assignment, I was still at a snail's pace. I started to think it would always be like that. 

But it gets better.

And it was worth it.

When to Break it



- Establish and remind the audience who the viewpoint character is (third-person with multiple viewpoints)

Some people will probably disagree with me on this, but sometimes a nicely placed filter phrase is the best way to tell or remind the audience who the viewpoint character is. It's simple and straightforward.

If you are writing in third-person and have multiple viewpoint characters, when you start a new scene with a new viewpoint character, you've got to alert the audience to it quick.

Usually the first viewpoint character name to show up in the scene is the one the reader first assumes is the viewpoint.

Sure, there are a few ways you can do this.

For example, you could do it with an action:

Tiffany slammed her bedroom door.


But for some scene openings, the focus isn't what the character is doing, it's what the character is witnessing or feeling--that's what's important.

In the novel I'm perpetually working on, I open a scene with the viewpoint watching someone else. If I'm not using filter words, I'm going to be describing what someone--who is not the viewpoint character--is doing, and the reader is either going to get confused, assuming that person is the viewpoint character, or they are going to feel "ungrounded" and unsure how to view or interpret what they are reading.

In one of my scenes like this, I avoided using filter words, cause I mean, they are sorta bad, right?

But when I got feedback on it, a comment I got was something like, "say 'Mark looked.'" I had mixed feelings about it, but later realized it was exactly what needed to be done. It simply, quickly established whose viewpoint we were in.

See, imagine that Mark is witnessing a classmate sabotage someone else's test. And maybe because that's going to be my hook for the scene, I want to open with that in the first and second sentences.

I could just open the scene describing what that person is doing (in other words, no filter words).

Amber put her finished Honors History test on top of the rest, leafed through the stack until she found another, and promptly began erasing its answers. She didn't even look over her shoulder, only smiled. Mark still sat finishing his.


Now, sure, if Mark is a regular viewpoint character prior to this, the audience may assume he's our viewpoint character here. But if this is the first time that he's the viewpoint character or if Mark and Amber are regularly viewpoint characters, this opening might be confusing.

You can try reworking it and maybe finding other ways to communicate that Mark is the viewpoint, but maybe at this point in the story, the most powerful opening image is Amber sabotaging this test. You can appease both goals with a simple filter word.

Mark watched Amber put her finished Honors History test on top of the rest, leaf through the stack until she found another, and promptly began erasing its answers. She didn't even look over her shoulder, only smiled. Mark still sat finishing his.


When you are working in a scene that has several of your viewpoint characters in it, then in some scenes, particularly ones where the viewpoint isn't always obvious (the team of characters are working together to accomplish a physical goal, so you have a lot of physical blocking, often focusing on the group overall), then it might be helpful to your readers to occasionally remind them who the viewpoint character is through filter words.

Linda felt sick. She watched Brad and Joe climb over the wall and into shadows.

(Linda is our viewpoint character. "felt" is important in particular, because we know we can only know what the viewpoint character feels.)

vs.

Brad and Joe climbed over the wall and into shadows. 

(No filter words.)

This can also be really important when the viewpoint character knows what another person is thinking and feeling (out of being familiar with that person).



-When a viewpoint character knows another character's thoughts, emotions, or knowledge, and you need to signal to the reader that you didn't hop heads.

Imagine reading this when Linda is supposed to be our viewpoint character:

Brad held back panic and curse words.


You might think for a second that we are somehow now in Brad's viewpoint, or that it's a viewpoint error. But actually, what it is, is that Linda knows Brad so well that she can tell what he is feeling and thinking. 

So we might want to use a filter to help. 

Linda knew Brad held back panic and curse words.


OR

Linda felt sick as she looked at Brad. He held back panic and curse words.
 

Assuming that it's been established that Linda knows Brad and his expressions very well, that would work. Other times you just get characters who are good at reading people, their body language and expressions, to know what they are thinking and feeling, even if they don't know the person personally.

Here, Linda's filter words remind and validate to the reader that we are in Linda's viewpoint, even though there is a line about what Brad is feeling and thinking. The author didn't suddenly hop heads.

Here is another example:

He wanted Sharon dead. Natalie considered ways he'd want it done. A fake car crash? Poison? or a disappearance? Which would he choose?


In this example, Natalie comes to a conclusion about what "He" wants.

Notice how that might get confusing without Natalie's filter.

He wanted Sharon dead. A fake car crash? Poison? or a disappearance? Which would he choose?


Depending on the scene--for example, if this line happens when Natalie is thinking back on a conversation with "him," and "he" is no longer present--you may not need filter words.

But if it is happening during a conversation with him, you should probably consider using filter words.

And again, there may be ways around these things in your particular story.

He wanted Sharon dead. Natalie bit her tongue. A fake car crash? Poison? or a disappearance? Which would he choose?


If her mouth is closed, we can assume that Natalie would be the only one to know she bit her tongue, so she must be the viewpoint character.

It should be noted that context plays a big role. What may work in one instance may not work in others. It really depends on the context you've given the reader.



- Emphasize an action over what is perceived or experienced

Remember how I touched on the idea that filter phrases contain verbs?

Sometimes the fact that a character sees something is more important than what she actually sees.

I'll give a stark example, and then get more into the details.

Imagine your viewpoint character has been temporarily blind. When his eyesight comes back, the fact he can see is maybe more important than what he sees.

I could simply write what he sees:

Bright yellow paint coated the wall.


But if he's just barely gotten back his eyesight, that might actually sound like a viewpoint error (for the average reader, we need to communicate that he sees it).

Besides, walls are kind of boring. But maybe that is the setting that he's in.

What's interesting is the fact he can see. And it's more important.

Eddy saw the bright yellow paint on the wall.


And also as I touched on, if we refuse to use filter words, we might accidentally not give the reader enough context to understand that his vision is back. They might think that our description of the wall color is actually a viewpoint error, since last they knew, Eddy was blind. In some scenes you can reword things and get around that, but in some scenes you just can't.

You may even want to use the phrase "Eddy saw" a few times to emphasize the fact he can see (stylistic choice).


Then there are sentences during conversations that read like this:

Miranda looked at Lily.


Major filter sentence, right? According to the rule, you should just skip the filter and describe what Miranda sees, which in this case would mean describing Lily's face.

But sometimes the fact Miranda looked at Lily in that moment, is more important than Lily's face. The point isn't what Miranda saw. It's that action. You know what I mean, when you are sitting and talking with people, and you say something, and someone suddenly looks at you. It's the action of looking that carries meaning.

Sometimes the fact the character sees, hears, smells, tastes, touches, wonders, thinks, or feels something is more important than what the thing is.



- When you need a simple, bland, low-key beat, and don't want it to take attention away from something else.

In a few places on my blog, I've talked about naughty phrases and words like "There are" and "was" and even passive voice--filler words that don't actually communicate anything. In fact, they can be viewed as a method that actually lacks communication.

But that doesn't mean they are worthless.

We get so focused on making every word count, that we sometimes forget about the sounds and beats of our words.

Sometimes we just need that dang beat in our scene, a low-key beat that doesn't draw attention to itself--that doesn't take away attention from our real focus of the scene--it's that pause before the delivery of an important line, that part of silence during an important conversation, that preparation before a killer descriptive paragraph, that bland component that balances out complicated ideas we're trying to communicate.

Using a filter phrase can help with all those.

Sometimes it's because they communicate very little that they are perfect to use. They exist, they are there, they give us that beat, but they don't compete with what else is on the page for the reader's attention.

Sometimes "She thought for a moment," is exactly what you need. 


- Describing smells (I know it sounds random, but it's true)

When it comes to smell, at least in the English language, the verb word pool is really small. Like, seriously. What are your verb options that you can use that aren't filter words without getting weird?

Stunk
Wafted
Rose
Filled
Permeated

For some reason our language has a lot of words that relate to stinky smells:

Stunk
Rank
Funked up
Fumed

But I mean, there are only so many stinky smells in the world, and yet the English language is hugely lacking when it comes to finding other strong verbs for other smells. I've probably used "wafted," "filled" and "permeated" hundreds of times, but I don't want to overuse them either, so really, my other option, other than to try to get so fancy it turns weird, is to use "smell" or "sniff"--filter words.

Frankly, I don't know how you can get through a whole novel regularly appealing to the sense of smell without using those filter words. Our language lacks dreadfully in that category.

Avoid getting too weird trying to coin strong verbs for smells.

Say "She smelled . . . "



Other Rule-breaking Posts
Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Show, don't Tell"
Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Don't Use 'Was'"
Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Don't Use Adverbs, Adjectives"
Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Only Use 'Said'"
Hiding What the Main Character Knows from the Reader


Monday, January 25, 2016

Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Show, don't Tell"


It's one of the first rules of creative writing you'll hear. It may be the rule you hear the most: "Show, don't tell." Today I'll explain what that rule means, why it's in place, and then why following it too closely can actually harm rather than help your writing. There are places in writing where telling is just frankly better, and even more powerful.

What's the Rule?


The Rule:
Show, don't tell.


Why it's a Rule


Honestly, almost any beginning writer who is getting into writing needs to hear this advice, and probably several times. When I was in college, this was like scripture. I heard it every week, if not every day. This is because naturally, we are wired to "tell" a story rather than "show" one. Telling is easier, and if we don't know the difference, we just do what's natural and easy.