writerly habits

cecilia 33

Way back in October Cecilia 33 left a comment with a question:

I am a Language Arts teacher. I like to tell my students when they write they need to always ask themselves,”Do I need this information in my story?” For students of all ages it is hard to take things out, to edit. I think I will try your exercise of stripping the words from sentences that are not needed and then slowly add some words back. I think it will make the writing tighter and more directed.

Did you ever notice that some writers use the same descriptive words and phrases over and over? Young writers, (school age) do that as well. How do you find descriptive words to move the story along, but do not become overused?

I think most authors are aware of this tendency. I myself obsess about over-using expressions or words, and I’m hyper sensitive to it in other people’s work. To some degree I don’t think it’s avoidable, much like a nervous habit. If there is one author with a large body of work you’re very familiar with, you probably can name one or two personal quirks this way.

So there’s two problems: not to over-use or re-use the words that are deeply embedded in your psyche, and not to become so paranoid about doing so that you freeze up and can’t write at all.

Have you noticed quirks like this in one body of work? Here’s an example I think I’ve mentioned before. For a long time (maybe not anymore) if Stephen King had a pie to mention in a story, that pie had strawberries in it.  I know that in my case, the word oddly tends to show up a lot. I always do a search to root out the little buggers, and I’m always amazed, later, at how many I missed.

Got examples?

16. January 2008 by craft writerly habits

the pause that isn't so refreshing

I’ve been struggling with a virus for five days now, something that has been going around town and nailed me good and proper. It’s in my lungs mostly at this point, ans so I cough away, waiting to hear back from the doctor’s office and busily not getting anything else done.

I promise to be back asap. As soon as the gallping crud has gone away.

PS: to prove my point, I wrote this post in the early morning and thought I had published it. But no. I wonder how many other things I have imagined.

29. October 2007 by writerly habits

a basic rule of thumb: sharpen your knives

For me, at least, this rule works at almost every level: if something isn’t working, prune it.

If a sentence doesn’t read well, take off any preposition phrases at the end. If that doesn’t help, strip every word out of the sentence that you can possibly do without, and then start putting things back, one at a time, until you get back a sense of balance.

Paragraphs are odd things with a rhythm and reason all their own. In fact, multiple rhythms. Well structured paragraphs move the reader along a smooth path; choppy paragraphs don’t. (Sometimes you need choppy, for stylistic reasons; I’m not talking about that here.) The flow of multiple paragraphs on the page is also important. If the scene isn’t feeling balanced, print it out. Hold it up at arm’s length and look. Lots of big, blocky paragraphs? A whole squadron of short, choppy paragraphs? these things should tell you something. Of course, a nice balance will help the scene move, but it’s not a guarantee that the story will work.

Because sometimes stories don’t work. More often than not, something is off. Out of balance, off kilter. This is where the real pruning comes in.

I have heard it said that the first thing you have to do with any manuscript is chop off the first page or so. Oddly enough, it’s true sometimes. The writer starts writing, but the story takes a while to click into being. This happened to me with Homestead. The only major edit was that I cut the first two scenes in the first story, and the whole thing immediately took on a new energy.

It’s often true that the writer can’t let the story go and so it drags on. I stop and ask myself if I need the last paragraph in the chapter I just wrote, and about half the time the answer is that I don’t.

Someplace along the line, many of us got the idea that flowery constructions and long descriptions make good prose. And sometimes they do, but more often they just get in the way.

When I’ve stuck too many characters in a scene, it sometimes comes to a grinding halt and will only start up again as I toss people out of the room. Why exactly Peter is sitting there? No good reason: out with him. Stripping extraneous characters from the scene can give it — and the writer — a tremendous boost of energy.

Finally, this thought: some people hate to cut anything at all, because every word is written in blood. I can hear my students wailing still: but i worked on that opening scene for HOURS. Sometimes you have to let things go, no matter how hard won they were to start with. If it kills you to do it, put all the little snippets into a file someplace and give it a name you’ll remember. You can have a look at your snippets file when you’re trying to get a sense of where to go next, and sometimes you’ll find the answer there.

Sometimes I pick up a novel and just look at the way the sentences and paragraphs are structured. It’s an interesting exercise and quite useful.

2. October 2007 by rules of thumb craft Homestead prose writerly habits

interview with the wilderness crowd

Regarding this post: I thought I had posted this a long time ago, but I can’t find it in the database. If I did post it, I apologize for the repetition. If you haven’t seen it before, it’s a transcript of one of my meetings with my characters. It was written some time ago — at least six months — but it’s still pretty relevant. I ask questions; the answers in bold face.
——————-
So, who wants to get this story started? Elizabeth?

No thank you very much. It’s time for someone else to have a turn.

Nathaniel?

You know me better than that.

Daniel?

You can’t handle my story.

Lily. Come on.

Possibly. Let me talk it over with Simon. But you do realize we’ve been away from Paradise for a long time?

Hannah?

Look around this village, you’ll see I don’t have time. And please don’t ask Ben, he’s distracted enough as it is.

But Hannah, I can’t just ignore him. Ben?

Happy people make boring fiction, I’ve read that on your weblog a number of times.

You read my weblog?

We all do.

Jennet! You’ll get us started, won’t you?

Ye ken we spend half the year in Manhattan, aye? I fear I couldnae do it justice.

Carrie? Gabriel?

I mean no disrespect, but I hardly know you. And Gabriel isn’t here. He’s never here. Go up to Lake in the Clouds if you want to talk to him.

Runs-from-Bears?

I don’t tell stories the way you do.

Curiosity. Hello.

Don’t you play games, missy. I know you’ve had your eye on me this whole while.

Shouldn’t I have my eye on you? It’s your turn.

You think you so clever, but I’m wise to you. I surely am.

I don’t know what you mean.

Is that so? And ain’t you the one who pulled me out of thin air? You know what’s holding things up, you just don’t want to face it.

Now I’m curious. Go on.

One thing you keep forgetting. You know us all because you gave us breath and bone alike, but we know you too. We know you down deep.

Wonderful. So tell me, why don’t you: why does every path I try dry up? Why won’t any of you talk?

You make me laugh, you do. You say you listening, but you ain’t. Not really. One of us whisper something in your ear and you turn away.

You mean that image I keep getting.

You know I do mean just exactly that.

The [] family around the table and the terrible silence.

Didn’t I tell you? You know already. You just don’t like what you know. Last time you come to stay with us was hard. Took a lot out of you. Took a lot out of Hannah, too, but it’s been ten years now for Hannah. She had the time to heal and catch her breath. Get her feet back under her. You got to rush back in. I ain’t surprised you dragging your feet.

Hey. I sit here writing and rewriting every day.

Uhuh. Like a child digging in sand with the tide coming in. Now, don’t you think for one minute I ain’t took note of the fact that you changed the subject. You said something about the [] family around a table and then you turned your back on it.

So I need to start with the []?

I ain’t said that. You the one tapping away, putting the words down. I’ll say this one more time, and you had best take it to heart. You forgot how to listen to us, because you lost your talent for sorrow. You want to tell a happy story, but there’s more going on here. We got happy, sure we do, but that’s just the sugar that makes the medicine go down.

I don’t think that’s it.

No? And here I was thinking you needed help. So what is holding things up?.

There’s just too much story to tell, it’s overwhelming.

Lot of story ain’t never slowed you down before.

That’s true.

Times so much happening so fast, my head like to bust but you sail right along.

Yes, okay. But this time feels different. It feels like–

The end of things.

I suppose.

Look here, you let me get this old. Now you got to show me it was worth it, all this long time, all these words. More than a million words. You got to pull it all together now, I been waiting long enough.

So you’ll finally tell all those secrets you’ve been keeping?

If you writing, I’m telling. Now or never.

8. August 2007 by The Endless Forest writerly habits Manhattan craft Lake in the Clouds

You've stumbled across my official website and landed on the front page of my weblog.

My name is Rosina Lippi. I'm a former academic and tenured university professor,  writing full time since 2000. Under the pen name Sara Donati I am the author of the Wilderness series, six historical novels that follow the fortunes of a group of families living in upstate New York from about 1792-1825. A new series based on later generations of the same families was launched September 1, 2015 with The Gilded Hour. The next volume in the new series,  Where the Light Enters, was  released in 2019.

 

Please see the pinned post for an overview of what you'll find on this weblog, and what has been moved to the wiki  (including the FAQ page).

 

Wise Guys

If you are in difficulties with a book, try the element of surprise: attack it at an hour when it isn’t expecting it.

— H.G. Wells (attributed), Sir Osbert Sitwell
See the whole Wise Guys collection here.