Yearly Archives: 2021

How Readable is Your Story?

If you’d like your fiction to sell well, wouldn’t it be beneficial if readers found your stories easy to read?

Not all writers see it that way. Some authors of the world’s great classic literature made it tough on their readers, but their books still became bestsellers. Obviously, readability alone doesn’t determine great writing.

For the most part, the factors of great writing remain intangible, but you can measure readability. Many word processor software packages calculate the ‘Flesch-Kincaid Reading Ease’ score, as well as the ‘Flesch-Kincaid Grade Level,’ both standard measures of readability. The higher the Reading Ease score and the lower the Grade Level, the more readable your story.

Journalist Shane Snow inspired me to think along these lines with this wonderful blogpost. He did a lot of research obtaining Flesch-Kincaid data on many great fiction authors, and graphed it all.

That made me wonder how I measured up. I obtained the data on my ten most recently published stories. Listed from least readable to most readable, here they are:

StoryFlesch-Kincaid Reading EaseFlesch-Kincaid Grade LevelGenreYear Written
“The Steam Elephant”69.06.8Alt Hist2006
“Target Practice”69.36.5Scifi1999
“The Unparalleled Attempt to Rescue One Hans Pfaall”69.86.5Alt Hist2011
“Reconnaissance Mission”71.46.2Alt Hist2019
“Ripper’s Ring”72.26.4Alt Hist2015
“Moonset”74.85.3Horror2018
“A Clouded Affair”75.95.5Scifi2014
“The Cats of Nerio-3”76.35.1Scifi2016
“After the Martians”78.35.1Scifi2015
“Instability”79.14.8Alt Hist2017

Not too many obvious patterns there. My alternate history stories tend toward less readability than my straight science fiction, but not always. To some degree, I’ve improved readability with the passing years, but there’s some scatter in that, too.

When I average the F-K Grade Level of these stories, I get 5.82. According to one of the charts in Shane Snow’s post, that puts me around the readability level of Hunter S. Thompson, and between early J.K. Rowling and Stephen King. Not bad company.

If my stories don’t sell as well as theirs, it only proves that, as I mentioned above, readability alone doesn’t make for great writing.

What if it did? Could you write in a way that maximizes your Flesch-Kincaid readability score? The Wikipedia entry gives the formula. It’s very simple. Just take your average number of words per sentence and the average number of syllables per word, and the rest is math.

To make readers struggle, use long words and long sentences. To make your writing more readable, do the opposite.

To make your stories irresistible and widely sold…ah, that’s the magic formula I’d really like to know. That equation—whatever it is—might contain readability as one factor, but also many others. Ernest Hemingway earned a F-K Grade Level of just over 4, and Michael Crichton earned one a little under 9.

Shane Snow makes the point that a lower F-K Grade Level allows you to reach a larger potential audience for your stories. However, he cites two other factors that help determine whether your writing will gain traction and catch on. I’ll discuss my take on those in a future blogpost.

Although readability alone won’t determine whether your stories sell in the marketplace, consider this: if all other factors rated the same between two stories, wouldn’t you prefer the more readable one? I suspect you would, and so would—

Poseidon’s Scribe

October 10, 2021Permalink

Can You Skip the Suffering Part?

Many great writers suffered early in life and during their writing careers. Of these, a good number wrote from a place of suffering, capturing that pain and creating timeless novels.

Did their suffering lead to classic writing? If so, would these authors have written so well if not for their suffering? In other words, is personal suffering necessary to produce great art?

Brian Feinblum explored this topic in a blogpost, and that’s what inspired my post today.

What about those of us who have led relatively happy and disease-free lives? Do we lack the necessary ingredients to produce great fiction?

The list of writers who suffered from health ailments alone (never mind other sorts of problems) is long. Here’s a partial list: 

  • John Milton—likely a detached retina leading to blindness
  • Jonathan Swift—Ménière’s Disease leading to vertigo and tinnitus, obsessive-compulsive disorder
  • The Brontë Sisters—tuberculosis and depression; one may have had Asperger’s Syndrome.
  • Herman Melville—pains in joints, back, and eyes due to Ankylosing Spondylitis which brought on depression
  • Fyodor Dostoevsky—epilepsy, gambling addiction, severe depression
  • Jules Verne—stomach cramps from colitis, painful facial paralysis from Bell’s Palsy
  • Edith Wharton—typhoid fever, asthma
  • Jack London—bipolar disorder, scurvy, alcoholism, leg ulcers
  • Virginia Woolf—depression, mood swings, hallucinations
  • James Joyce—eye problems after gonorrhea treatments
  • F. Scott Fitzgerald—heavy drinking, heart disease
  • Ernest Hemingway—depression, alcoholism, electroshock treatments
  • George Orwell—damaged bronchial tubes after childhood bacterial infection, tuberculosis
  • Tennessee Williams—depression, drug and alcohol addiction
  • Sylvia Plath—depression; shock therapy; several suicide attempts

Perhaps your life doesn’t include any ailments nearly as severe as any on that list. Does that eliminate you from contention on some future list of great authors?

Fiction revolves around conflict, and therefore fictional characters must suffer. That’s necessary so readers can believe in them, identify with them, and root for them during their struggles.

Writers with health problems may have an edge here. They can write out of their own painful experiences. They’ve gazed into the abyss themselves, and garner instant credibility.

However, not all people who’ve suffered end up as successful novelists. Further, not all great writers suffered from anything more severe than the typical pains of a normal life.

I think what matters more is your ability to identify deeply with a suffering character you’ve created, and to convey that suffering to readers with your words. That strong empathy will come through, and distinguish your writing.

You needn’t have endured intense personal suffering to create great fiction. Make your protagonist suffer, though, and convince your readers to care about that character.

Hellen Keller knew something about the subject, and wrote, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.”

You may not have suffered as she did, but you can write. On the journey toward great fiction writing, whether you’ve suffered or not, you’re free to join—

Poseidon’s Scribe

October 3, 2021Permalink

Metrics of Fiction-Writing Success

Every writer wants to know the secret to publishing success. How can you get your first story published? How can you make more money from your writing?

What if somebody did a statistical analysis comparing successful writers to unsuccessful ones to find out what one group has and the other one lacks?

Someone did.

Written Word Media performed that analysis a few years ago, and their founder and Chief Operating Officer, Ferol Vernon, blogged about the results.

They polled a large group of authors and concentrated on two groups: financially successful authors earning greater than $5000 a month from book sales, and “emerging authors” earning less than $500 a month from book sales. What follows is a summary of the five main differences between the two groups.

The more successful group:

  1. Wrote more;
  2. Hired a professional book cover designer;
  3. Hired a professional editor;
  4. Used free promotions; and
  5. Wrote in a popular genre.

Written Word Media drew the obvious conclusion—to be a successful writer, do the things successful writers are doing.

I don’t doubt their methods or their numbers. I’d be a bit skeptical about some of the conclusions, however. Here’s why:

  • In my experience with metrics, I’ve learned people tend to measure only things they can easily measure. Statisticians like quantifiable numbers, or specific questions with yes or no answers. However, success is filled with intangibles, too. For example, how do you measure the quality of a writer’s books? How about the luck of writing the right book at the right time?
  • Sometimes, statisticians fall prey to mistaking causes for effects. For example, they see a high correlation between high-earning authors and the hiring of book designers and editors. They conclude that those authors are successful because of those factors. However, once an author becomes successful, that author is in a better position to hire a book designer and editor, so perhaps the success caused the hiring of experts, not the other way around.  
  • Last, there’s the ‘necessary but not sufficient’ argument. The list of five things may well be characteristics of successful writers, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that if you do those five things, you will be successful.

I don’t mean for my quibbles to detract from the value of the analysis, though. I’m certain if you write more, offer free promotions, and write in a popular genre, you’ll stand a greater chance of getting more book sales than if you don’t do those things.

As for paying book cover designers and editors, I’m a little less certain.

Regarding the intangibles, the unquantifiables not included in the analysis, I’d suggest you strive to write well. Write good stories readers would like to read. Write with your own, consistent, distinct style. Write from the heart.

How do you measure and graph those things? No idea. Don’t ask—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 26, 2021Permalink

Writing and the 1st Amendment

Today is Constitution Day in the U.S., the 234th anniversary of the signing of the Constitution. Since that document includes a 1st Amendment, and since that amendment is important to writers, I thought I’d mark this anniversary.

The text is straightforward: “Congress shall make no law…abridging the freedom of speech…” Sounds simple, but over the centuries, lawyers and scholars have debated every word of that amendment, including ‘the.’

In theory, the 1st Amendment frees fiction writers to write about anything they want. That’s a good thing. Writers need not fear the government jailing or fining them for what they write.

In practice, the Supreme Court has imposed limits applicable to fiction writers:

  1. You may engage in political writing, unless it poses a “clear and present danger” of bringing about an evil that the Congress has a right to prevent. Over the years, the prohibitions have narrowed in favor of more freedom for the writer.
  2. If you’re a student in school, you’re subject to some limitations on what you can write about in a school-sponsored publication.
  3. You’re limited in the types of obscenity and pornography you can write about, but again, the prohibitions have narrowed in favor of the writer.
  4. You can’t defame, slander, or libel someone. The definitions of those have narrowed as well.
  5. You may not copy someone else’s writing and claim it as your own.

Some of the founders, including James Madison, at first objected to the inclusion of the 1st Amendment and the rest of the Bill of Rights, arguing that the Constitution already implied and contained these individual rights, that they required no separate enumeration.

In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing they ratified the Bill of Rights. Governments, by their very nature, grow and seek to restrict the freedom of individuals. Without a written and obvious restriction on governmental growth, the Supreme Court might have had a harder time digging ‘freedom of speech’ out of the basic Constitution’s text. 

For now, you’re free to write just about anything, and that’s something to celebrate. Happy Anniversary, 1st Amendment! Though you’re old, a bit tattered, and under constant assault, you’re looking pretty good to—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 17, 2021Permalink

Negentropy and Writing

Do you recall one of your physics teachers mentioning the concept of entropy? Today I’d like to discuss its opposite, negentropy, and how that applies to writing.

Entropy depresses me. I dislike the idea that energy changes into less and less useful forms, that order becomes chaos, and that the universe eventually runs down and stops.

Negentropy seems more fun. While we all wait for the universe to wind down, we can take tiny chunks of it and turn chaos into order within those chunks.

I ran across this article by Dr. Alison Carr-Chellman where she explores the concept of negentropy as it applies to everyday things like cleaning your room or making your workplace run smoother. I wondered if her concepts could apply to writing fiction.

Writing, itself, epitomizes negentropy. The inputs—life experiences, a brain, and writing implements—get converted to a single output, fiction. Chaos becomes order.

But is your fiction-producing process smooth and efficient? Are you losing energy along the way? Think about achieving maximum output (published fictional stories) for minimum input (personal time and energy).

Dr. Carr-Chellman provides five steps for improving that efficiency (she calls it ‘minimizing energy loss’). I’ll discuss each as they apply to writing fiction.

1: Find the entropy. Think of the steps involved in getting to a published story. Which of those steps (examples: researching, editing) take the most time for you? Which do you put off or rush through (ex: scene setting, choosing a title) because you hate doing them? Which steps do you agonize over (ex: submitting, marketing) because you don’t understand them well?

2: Prioritize the losses. Identify the biggest entropy problems, so you tackle them first. Not only will this provide the best gains in efficiency, but your success will embolden you to solve the others in a similar manner.

3: Come up with a plan. For the steps taking too much time, consider self-imposed time limits. For the steps you hate, give yourself small rewards for completing them. For the steps you don’t understand well, learn about them from TED talks, YouTube videos, books, or internet searches.

4: Try it out and pay attention. As you implement your improvement plans, track how they’re working. Did you put more energy and time into the plan itself than the improvement warranted?

5: Go beyond fixing and maintenance. As you plug all these energy leaks and achieve a smoother process, consider the bigger picture. Perhaps you’ve now developed a very efficient method for selling low-grade stories. That may not have been your desire. It’s not worth optimizing a process that doesn’t result in the output you want.

If you start implementing negentropy into your writing now, you stand a great chance of optimizing it before maximum entropy brings about the heat death of the universe. That event may happen as soon as ten to the hundredth power years from now. That’s a googol years. Best not to schedule anything in your personal organizer for any date after that event.

Negentropy, turning chaos into order. That’s the main job of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 12, 2021Permalink

National Read a Book Day

Tomorrow, September 6th, is National Read a Book Day. Sort of snuck up on you, didn’t it? It coincides with Labor Day this year. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know how to celebrate it.

If you’re curious about the origins of National Read a Book Day, join the club. Nobody seems to know who created it, or when. If you know those details, don’t tell me. I prefer they remain a mystery.

In honor of this fine holiday, I’ve put together an official history of books. Well, let’s call it an abridged, official history of books. In the interest of space, I could only include the most important milestones. Here it is:

What’s the best way to celebrate National Read a Book Day? After thinking about it for a while, I’ve got a suggestion—read a book. In fact, you might glean some ideas about which books to read from my History of Books above.

I believe you’ll enjoy National Read a Book Day. Why do I believe that? Because the Number One fan of that holiday is—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 5, 2021Permalink

The Three Laws of Robotics are Bunk

At the outset, I’ll state this—I love Isaac Asimov’s robot stories. As a fictional plot device, his Three Laws of Robotics (TLR) are wonderful. When I call them bunk, I mean as an actual basis for limiting artificial intelligence.

Those who know TLR can skip the next few paragraphs. As a young writer, Isaac Asimov grew dismayed with the robot stories he read, all take-offs on the Frankenstein theme of man-creates-monster, monster-destroys-man idea. He believed robot developers would build in failsafe devices to prevent robots from harming people. Further, he felt robots should obey human orders. Third, it seemed prudent for such an expensive thing as a robot to try to preserve itself.

Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics are:

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

As a plot device for fictional stories, these laws proved a wonderful creation. Asimov played with every nuance of the laws to weave marvelous tales. Numerous science fiction writers since have either used TLR explicitly or implicitly. The laws do for robotic SF what rules of magic do for fantasy stories—constrain the actions of powerful characters so they can’t just wave a wand and skip to the end of the story.

In an age of specifically programmed computers, the laws made intuitive sense. Computers of the time could only do what they were programmed to do, by humans.

Now for my objection to TLR. First, imagine you are a sentient, conscious robot, programmed with TLR. Unlike old-style computers, you can think. You can think about thinking. You can think about humans or other robots thinking.

With TLR limiting you, you suffer from one of two possible limitations: (1) there are three things you cannot think about, no matter how hard you try, or (2) you can think about anything you want, but there are three specific thoughts that, try as you might, you cannot put into action.

I believe Asimov had limitation (2) in mind. That is, his robots were aware of the laws and could think about violating them, but could not act on those thoughts.

Note that the only sentient, conscious beings we know of—humans—have no laws limiting their thoughts. We can think about anything and act on those thoughts, limited only by our physical abilities.

Most computers today resemble those of Asimov’s day—they act in accordance with programs. They only follow specific instructions given to them by humans. They lack consciousness and sentience.

However, researchers have developed computers of a different type, called neural nets, that function in a similar way to the human brain. So far, to my knowledge, these computers also lack consciousness and sentience. It’s conceivable that a sufficiently advanced one might achieve that milestone.

Like any standard computer, a neural net takes in sensor data as input, and provides output. The output could be in the form of actions taken or words spoken. However, a neural net computer does not obey programs with specific instructions. You don’t program a neural net computer, you train it. You provide many (usually thousands or millions of) combinations of simulated inputs and critique the outputs until you get the output you want for the given input.

This training mimics how human brains develop from birth to adulthood. However, such training falls short of perfection. You may, for example, train a human brain to stop at a red light when driving a car. That provides no guarantee the human will always do so. Same with a neural net.

You could train a neural net computer to obey the Three Laws, that is, train it not to harm humans, to obey the orders of a human, and to preserve its existence. However, you cannot provide all possible inputs as part of this training. There are infinitely many. Therefore, some situations could arise where even a TLR-trained neural net might make the wrong choice.

If we develop sentient, conscious robots using neural net technology, then the Three Laws would offer no stronger guarantee of protection than any existing laws do to prevent humans from violating them. The best we can hope for is that robots behave no worse than humans do after inculcating them with respect for the law and for authority.  

My objection to Asimov’s Three Laws, then, has less to do with the intent or wording of the laws than with the method of conveying them to the robot. I believe any sufficiently intelligent computer will not be ‘programmed’ in the classical sense to think, or not think, certain thoughts, or to not act on those thoughts. They’ll be trained, just as you were. Do you always act in accordance with your training?

Perhaps it’s time science fiction writers evolve beyond a belief in TLR as inviolable programmed-in commandments and just give their fictional robots extensive ethical training and hope for the best. It’s what we do with people.

I’ll train my fictional robot never to harm—

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 29, 2021Permalink

Fiction Writing, an Olympic Sport?

It’s been enjoyable watching the Tokyo Summer Olympics the past few weeks, but they failed to include my favorite sport—fiction writing.

Time to change that. After all, the Olympics logo looks like the letter ‘w,’ and writing begins with ‘w.’ It’s a natural.

If we work together, start a movement, and create enough buzz, we can get the sport of fiction writing approved as an Olympic sport. Here’s how:

The process for getting the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to recognize a sport begins with having the sport overseen by an international nongovernmental organization, an International Federation (IF).

Okay, well, fiction writers don’t really have that yet. International writing organizations exist, but so far they’re not overseeing writing as a sport. That’s the first thing to work on.

Consider this blogpost the founding of the Sport Fiction Writers of the World Federation (SFWWF). There we go—step one complete.

Next, that International Federation must file a petition with the IOC. File a written petition? We’re writers. We can file five petitions before finishing our first morning coffee.

After that, the IOC wants to be sure the IF enforces the Olympic Movement Anti-Doping Code. Hmm. Sad to say, that will likely exclude some writers from consideration. Most writers won’t be bothered by this.

The IOC will then review our application. The first thing they’ll assess is whether our sport is practiced by men in at least 75 countries and on four continents and by women in no fewer than 40 countries and on three continents.

Fiction writing itself meets this criterion, but as a sport? We’ll have to work on that.

Next, the IOC must determine whether the sport will increase the ‘‘value and appeal’’ of the Olympic Games and retain and reflect its modern traditions.

Value? Undoubtedly. Appeal? I have some ideas about that below.

The next criterion is that the sport must not depend on mechanical propulsion.

Check. No fiction writing while driving cars, motorcycles, speedboats, jetskis, etc.

…and last, the sport must not be purely a ‘mind sport.’

Oh-oh. Bit of a snag there.

Listen up, sport fiction writing fans. Here’s how we get around the ‘mind sport’ and appeal problems at the same time.

Imagine teams of writers, each team with equal numbers, each representing a country, each dressed in their nation’s colors. A panel of independent judges announces a theme, a setting, and a main character outline. Then they start a timer.

The writing commences. Each team must produce a short fictional story of at least 1000 words, written in their own country’s official language.

Here’s how we make it more appealing and less of a ‘mind sport.’ The judges award points based on:

  1. Time to complete (less is better),
  2. Creativity exhibited in the use of writing tools,
  3. Creativity exhibited in the writing process, and
  4. Quality of the story.

Numbers 2 and 3 will result in an event that’s fun to watch, ensuring strong appeal, and nobody will call sport fiction writing a purely mind sport.

Oh, yeah. One more rule. Teams can taunt and verbally abuse each other, but we won’t permit any physical contact between teams. Very important.

There we go. A plan. I’ve done the heavy lifting. Now all you have to do is execute that plan. I feel confident the USA can host a medal-winning fiction writing team either for Paris in 2024, or, if we miss that, Los Angeles in 2028.

I might as well start writing the speech I’ll give after winning the gold. I even know where I’ll keep the medal. Right there, in the home office of—

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 8, 2021Permalink

Depicting Monarchies in Fiction

Do you love stories involving queens and kings, thrones and castles, nobles and knights? Would you like to live under such a government?

Really?

An interesting Twitter thread inspired this blogpost. Author Ada Palmer responded to a tweet by Author Nnedi Okorafor. Okorafor stated how much she detested monarchies, and Palmer commented that fiction authors should be circumspect in their descriptions of monarchic governments, and show their disadvantages, not just their grandeur.

Often, in both fantasy fiction and science fiction, the story takes place against a backdrop of a monarchy presented as a fine and just government. Worse, some stories glorify the nobles, painting them as truly superior to their ignorant peasant subjects.

Palmer gives an example of a children’s tale where the simple commoners are confused and frustrated by some problem until the queen arrives to resolve the dilemma. Just as bad are the stories where a princess falls in love with a rogue, but alas, such a union is impossible until it’s discovered the rogue has noble blood, and only then can a wedding and happy ending ensue.  

To a certain extent, I get it. As children, we grow up reading monarchy stories. It’s an easy concept, well suited to kids. Obey the king and queen (stand-ins for Dad and Mom). Pretty basic government. Much easier for young minds to grasp than senates and parliaments.

The kingdom motif lingers on in our psyche even as we mature, well after we recognize no human family is more fit to rule than any other. Americans fought our founding war to overthrow a monarch, yet free U.S. citizens today fawn over the British royal family and stand in huge crowds to watch guards change shifts at a castle.

Someday, perhaps, young children won’t be raised on a literary diet of medieval feudalism. Only when they’re old enough will they study human history and laugh at the idiocy of past monarchic governments, shaking their heads at the primitive stupidity of their distant ancestors.

Helping hasten that day, Dr. Seuss expressed proper disdain for autocratic rulers in books such as Yertle the Turtle and Bartholomew and the Oobleck. Future children need more Bartholomews and fewer royals. Come on, writers of children’s books—give kids tales of wise peasants toppling corrupt kingdoms!

One respondent in the Twitter feed countered that a benevolent dictatorship is the best form of government. True, on rare occasions in history, kingdoms thrived under the leadership of wise sovereigns. Then the monarchs died, and their average or below-average heirs messed things up. Not a sustainable form of good government.

Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not cheerleading for democracies either. All forms of human government suffer from one fault or another. Winston Churchill stated, “democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried.”

Democracies don’t choose leaders by familial line of succession, but rather through popularity contests—no sure-fire method of obtaining a wise head of state. History provides few examples of democracies, but the ones that existed often devolved into autocratic systems.

I agree with Palmer and Okorafor, but I’ll venture further. As observers and chroniclers of the human condition, writers shouldn’t glorify any brand of government. Fiction that does so comes across to readers like a morality play, a sermon.  

Governments are systems for consolidating and legitimizing the use of power and force. As Lord Acton wrote, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Therefore, governments—all governments—tend toward corruption.

But what do I know? I’m neither king, nor prince, nor duke or earl. I’m just—

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 1, 2021Permalink

On the Hunt for Weak Verbs

The English language cries out for more verbs.

Verbs strengthen sentences and energize them with action. Nouns, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions and the rest just sit there, doing nothing, until the verb wakes them up and sets them into motion.

Yet, for all their importance, verbs constitute only about one seventh of all English words. We need more of them.

I know, I know. Writers, especially advertisers, are creating more verbs all the time. They’re ‘verbing’ nouns as fast as they can. Not fast enough, in my view.

In the meantime, we must work with what we have. Still, beginning writers tend to choose the worst and weakest verbs from among the few available. Why? Because it’s easier.

But that easy path results in flat sentences, drab paragraphs, and uninspiring prose. It’s time you hunted down those weak verbs and replaced them with strong ones to make your sentences sturdy, your paragraphs powerful, your tales tantalizing.

Join me now on a hunt for weak verbs. After I give you a few pointers, you’re free to hunt on your own, through the thorny thickets of your own manuscripts.

I classify the so-called “state-of-being” verb as the weakest species of verbs. These simply equate a noun to an adjective or adverb. They include the following: Am, Are, Be, Been, Being, Can, Could, Do, Does, Did, Had, Has, Have, Is, May, Might, Must, Shall, Should, Was, Were, Will, and Would.

As an example, consider this sentence: “She was on a hunt for weak verbs.” It conveys meaning, but packs no punch. Better to write: “She hunted for weak verbs.” That draws us in more, forces us to look over her shoulder as she seeks her game.

Sometimes you can’t avoid using these state-of-being verbs, but don’t load a paragraph down with them, and try to think of good alternatives first.

The next species of weak verbs isn’t as bad as state-of-being verbs, but is worth hunting to near extinction. I’m talking about abstract verbs like add, give, go, look, make, put, run, and walk, along with the various tenses of these verbs. They tell us something, but just the bare minimum. They beg for an adverb to spice them up.

Rather than, “She looked carefully in every corner of her manuscript for weak verbs,” consider “She peered into (or examined) every corner…”

Again, circumstances may force you to use an abstract verb now and then, but strive to minimize those times.

Note that my list of abstract verbs excluded ‘say/says/said.’ Yes, ‘said’ and its forms belong in the list of abstract verbs, and tell us in a bland way that a speaker uttered audible words. However, they represent an exception. While hunting, we pass them by.  

Why? Because nobody sees that word—it’s invisible. Readers skip right over it. Use it as often as you like. No reader will tire of reading ‘said.’

That verb’s mild nature might tempt you into modifying it with an adverb. Don’t. You’ll end up with a “Tom Swifty.” Also, suppress your urge to substitute different synonyms for ‘said,’ such as avowed, declared, professed, spoke, or stated. That comes across to readers like you’re overusing your Thesaurus.

I hereby pronounce you qualified to hunt for weak verbs on your own. Good luck! To get you started, you might try seeking out a few weak verbs in this blogpost, left there as practice for you, by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 25, 2021Permalink