Writing Mechanics - Steven R. Southard (Poseidon's Scribe)

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Is Fiction Dialogue Different from Plain Old Yakking?

Dialogue through verbal speech is as important to your fictional characters as it is to us flesh-and-blood folks, though for somewhat different reasons. For both fictional and real people, speaking is the most common form of communication, and communication is, of course, not only vital but is something we humans do a lot.

However, real people engage in spoken dialogue for only a few reasons, and among them are:

to inform
to persuade
to establish a relationship
to argue
to direct or command

When our fictional characters talk, it is for these reasons, too, but also several more. This is due to the difference in their situation. For example, we often speak ‘off the cuff’ without much preparation or forethought; characters never do that, though they seem to. Characters only exist due to the efforts of an entity called a ‘writer,’ of whom they are unaware. They exist solely for the benefit and enjoyment of another entity called a ‘reader,’ of whom they are also unaware. So dialogue between characters also serves these purposes:

to set the scene; that is, help the reader ‘see’ the scene
to establish a character’s personality
to advance the plot by introducing or heightening the conflict
to create suspense or add tension
to remind the reader of previous events or characters
to foreshadow future events
to provide easy-to-read ‘white space’ in between narration paragraphs

Most of the time, fictional dialogue is accomplishing many of these functions at once. That might seem a daunting task for the beginning writer, and you may be wondering how you’ll ever write dialogue that does so much. As an author not too far removed from beginner status, all I can say is, I’m told the task gets easier with practice, like any good habit.

Now that we’ve covered the differences in purpose, let’s cover the differences in form between real and fictional dialogue.

In the first place, fictional dialogue is less dull. As much as we try not to be dull in real life, much of our conversation is, frankly, boring. Fiction can’t afford to be dull, so leave out all the ‘ums’ and ‘ahs’ of real speech. Cast out all the little pleasantries like ‘how are you doing?’ ‘fine,’ etc. Ever notice fictional characters rarely say ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye?’ Now you know why.
Fictional characters shouldn’t have as strong an accent as real people, at least as it’s depicted in written dialogue. Whether your character is from the deep South, New England, or speaks English with a strong foreign accent, don’t attempt to replicate every word by spelling it as your character would pronounce it. Just do that with a couple of words per sentence at most. Your readers’ imaginations will do the rest, and you don’t want to make it difficult for them to decipher your prose.

And that’s it. In other words, fictional dialogue isn’t too different from everyday speaking, at least on the surface. If it were significantly different, readers wouldn’t find it believable. It’s only beneath the surface where fictional dialogue serves purposes beyond what’s going on in real conversation. Here are three links to great articles giving helpful guidance about fictional dialogue: here, here, and here.

“Hope you enjoyed my blog entry on how dialogue is different from plain old yakking. Feel free to leave a comment whether you agree or disagree,” said—

Poseidon’s Scribe

October 8, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

A Format for Every Market

You prepared your manuscript with care, followed the market’s submission guidelines, and sent your story along. Sad to say, it got rejected, but you got over that and decided to send it to the next market on your list. Now you’ve found the new market requires stories submitted in a different format. In fact, it appears there are almost as many manuscript formats as there are markets! What’s the deal?

In truth, there are some standards shared by a few markets. These include William Shunn’s “Proper Manuscript Format,” Vonda N. McIntyre’s “Manuscript Preparation — Introduction,” and, for ebooks, Mark Coker’s Smashwords Style Guide. But in general each market has its own quirks and differences. Some markets (bless ‘em!) don’t really care; they just want to read your story!

In what ways are the formats different? Some markets like a single space between sentences. Some prefer two. Some take submissions in MicroSoft Word only, some in Rich Text Format (rtf), and there are still a few taking only mailed submissions (that’s snail-mail, with the stamps and envelopes). Some want lines double-spaced, others single-spaced. Then there the various ways to indicate you want a word italicized in the final text; some markets say that underlining indicates italics; some say_underlining before and after_indicates italicizing the words between, and some say italics means italics.

Why so many formats? Because there are so many editors, each with his or her own pet peeves and preferences. None of them want to be bothered to reformat most incoming manuscripts to suit their preferences. Would you? It’s easier to just mandate that writers do that before submitting.

From a writer’s standpoint, it would be desirable if all markets agreed on one standard format. What’s keeping that from happening? After all, we have standards for all kinds of things, from the spacing of railroad tracks to the shape of electrical outlets. Unlike the cases of train tracks and electric sockets, there’s little incentive for standardizing on a single manuscript format. In the first place, the only entity in the entire writer-editor-publisher-reader chain who is inconvenienced is the writer. And writers aren’t the ones paying into the process. Nor do they tend to complain enough about the problem to band together to take any kind of concerted action. Moreover, that level of inconvenience to writers has (so far) not exactly resulted in a shortage of submitted manuscripts.

So the problem persists. What is the solution? As I see it, there will only be one standard format when the incentives in the system change someday. A writer shortage would do it, though that seems unlikely. More probable is the emergence of a dominant standard that gains more and more acceptance until pressure mounts on the few markets that don’t change. If writers then shunned those non-compliant markets, those markets would have to change to survive.

In the meantime, get used to creating multiple versions of your stories as you send them to various markets. Sorry, just the way it is. Remember your Dad telling you life ain’t fair? He was right. You can leave a comment and complain about it to me if you want; I’ll sympathize. In your experience, what’s the market with the strangest format? Always curious about such things, I’m—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 16, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

How Well Do You Really Know Your Characters?

In a previous blog post, I wrote about creating characters. One bullet point I made was that you, as author, should get to know your major characters. Let me expand on that today.

To review, your goal is to create believable, interesting, and memorable characters. Also, to some degree, your characters should be representative, or recognizable; readers should be able to identify with at least some aspect of the characters, having that aspect themselves or having witnessed it in other real people.

With that as your goal, you understand why you shouldn’t use stereotypes as your main characters. You want to convey a degree of complexity or depth, mimicking the complexity of real people. To achieve that, try to create characters that aren’t entirely consistent; they can’t be described in one word or phrase. They may be mostly consistent, but they have a quirk or two.

So, why must you, as the author, spend time getting to know your main characters? Think about it this way—your readers can’t know your characters before you do, or any better than you do. Phrased positively, after you start loving your characters, and to the degree you do, your readers have a good chance of loving them too.

Every author employs a technique of choice to gain an understanding of his or her characters. Mine is to use a character chart. The chart takes me through the following aspects of a character:

Biographical. This includes such things as name, date of birth, back-story, talents or skills, nationality, race, finances, religion, employer and occupation, marital status, etc.
Physical. This category asks questions about age, weight, height, health, body type, eye color, hair color and style, disabilities, illnesses, self-image, etc.
Psychological. In this section I specify the Myers-Briggs personality category, the character’s main motivation, worst fear, biggest regret, etc.

If you send me an e-mail at steven-at-stevenrsouthard-dot-com, I’ll send you the character chart I use. However, I urge you to modify it so it suits you.

Here’s the interesting and non-intuitive part about using these character charts. You won’t end up using all that filled-out chart information in your story. In fact, after filling out the chart, you may never look at it again. And that’s okay. The point of filling out the chart wasn’t only (or even mainly) to generate a ready reference. The point was for you to get introduced to your character, to really understand your character well.

After completing the chart, you should still think of it as dynamic and changeable. It’s on paper or electronic form, after all, not chiseled on a stone tablet. If you find some aspect of the character not really working in the story, feel free to change the character. You’re aiming to have the story and characters intertwined so that only these characters could experience these events and behave in ways that advance that particular plot.

Aside from the chart method, here are two other ways to get to know your characters:

You could take some scene or event from your own life (not something in your story), and describe it as your character would. That helps keep your characters from getting too autobiographical and forces you to see through their eyes.
You could write down (or speak aloud) an imaginary dialogue between yourself and your character. Again, this separates the character from you, highlights how distinct and unique the character is, and helps bring the character “alive” in a way.

Did this blog entry help you, or not? Either way, feel free to leave a comment and let me know. Meanwhile, there are several characters waiting to become better known by—

Poseidon’s Scribe

September 9, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Do the Objective Correlative

No, the Objective Correlative isn’t a dance step, so far as I know. It’s a literary term that can be hard to comprehend. Let’s see if I can explain it in words even I can understand.

Imagine you’re an author writing a scene in which a boy encounters a rather scary bear. You want to convey to the reader the emotion felt by the boy when he senses the bear is watching him from somewhere, but he can’t see the animal. You could simply state the boy was scared. That would violate the principle of show, don’t tell we’ve discussed before, and it’s rather on the amateurish side. You could instead paint a word picture of the scene, as William Faulkner did in his story, “The Bear.”

He heard no dogs at all. He never did hear them. He only heard the drumming of the woodpecker stop short off and knew that the bear was looking at him. He never saw it. He did not know whether it was in front of him or behind him. He did not move, holding the useless gun, which he had not even had warning to cock and which even now he did not cock, tasting in his saliva that taint as of brass which he knew now because he had smelled it when he peered under the kitchen at the huddled dogs.

First we have the sudden silence of normally noisy animals–dogs and a woodpecker. We have the sense of “blindness” in that the boy cannot see the bear. Faulkner describes the boy’s only potential weapon in countering the situation as “useless” and not even cocked. There’s a cold, metallic taste in his mouth. Finally we find the dogs huddled, hiding.

In a few sentences, Faulkner shows us that terror of being watched, vulnerable, unable to even confront the danger. Never once does he mention the boy’s emotion, and yet we feel it nonetheless because of the situation, the chain of events, the details chosen in the passage. Moreover, a single one of the details wouldn’t have sufficed; the combination of several details completes the effect of evoking the emotion.

That is the Objective Correlative. The artist Washington Allston coined the term around 1840 and meant it to be applied to painting. T.S. Eliot later revived the term and applied it to literature. I came across the concept while surfing the web one day when I came across this site.

T.S. Eliot said there are ways to fall short of having the right objective correlative. The details in a scene might not leave readers with any particular emotion, or maybe with the wrong one.

You can use common literary symbols as part of an objective correlative. Some of the many symbols used to represent an emotion include the color blue to mean calm, darkness to mean fear, rain to mean sadness, and a mouse to represent shyness.

Of course, readers vary by culture and background and some words do not convey the same emotions to all. Still, the objective correlative is an effective tool for maximizing the emotional impact of your writing. I encourage you to ‘do the objective correlative’ even if it isn’t a dance. Did this blog entry help you understand the term? Leave a comment and let me know. Dancing here in this little corner of the Internet you’ll find–

Poseidon’s Scribe

August 26, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Who Polishes the Diamond?

You see it in the submissions guidelines for almost every market–“Submit your best material,” or words to that effect. If not stated, it’s implied, since they’ll just reject manuscripts containing too many editorial errors.

I’m speaking here of the traditional method of getting short story fiction published, dealing with editors. However, the answer is the same even for self-published works.

Some writers chafe at the requirement to submit your best material. “Why are they called Editors,” these writers ask, “if I’m the one doing the editing?”

Such writers think their job is to cleave the diamond shape out of rough stone, cut each facet almost flat, and then hand the gem over to the Editor who works it against the polishing wheel. Finally the Publisher displays the brilliant, gleaming diamond in his store.

Advocates of this view say they can’t really be expected to get every little detail right. It’s hard enough to be a writer without being an Editor too. How is a writer supposed to be prolific and also submit perfect manuscripts? If the writer is spending all that time with editing third, fourth, fifth drafts, she’s getting less real writing done, isn’t she?

Let’s look at the matter from the editor’s point of view. I’ve never worked as an editor, so I’m guessing here, but all the editors reading my blog will tell me if I’m wrong.

There is some process involved in the decision to accept or reject an incoming manuscript. I suspect editors judge stories against the following criteria at least:

1. How well does the story fit with the publisher’s needs? Is it compatible with the magazine or anthology?

2. How original is the story idea?

3. Can this story sell in today’s market? Is it in line with, or just ahead of, an emerging trend?

4. What is the quality of writing? I don’t mean the minor editing issues, but instead an assessment of the writer’s talent in storytelling, choosing words well, creating compelling characters, setting a scene, advancing a plot, use of tension and suspense, etc.

5. How much editing will be required to bring this story up to the quality level needed for publication?

Only one of these criteria deals with the amount of editing to be done. But your story could clear just over the threshold of acceptance in four categories and still be rejected. I hear your objection already. Yes, it’s possible your story could exceed the threshold in the first four categories by far so the editor decides to accept it even though the diamond needs considerable polishing. Do you want to count on that for every story? Every market?

I’m sure Editors would rather do the sort of editing that improves the manuscript’s quality, mentioned in item 4 in the list above. Suppose, instead, she is dealing with matters of basic English–leaving out punctuation, wrong word choices such as farther/further or continuous/continual, wrong verb tense, subject-verb disagreement, overuse of the author’s ‘pet words,’ sudden point of view shifts, weak verbs, etc. She must conclude the writer is not serious about his craft. The decision to reject is much easier in such cases.

I’m not saying I’m perfect in this regard, but my message is: don’t make it easy for the editor to reject your stories. As a writer, you are both the diamond cutter and the diamond polisher. Those of you who self-publish have both roles by definition, so you must polish well. So get polishing, writers. Your prospective readers want to see your diamonds sparkle! So does–

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 29, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Fleshing Out Your Story

Perhaps you’re a beginning writer with a great idea for a story. Or maybe you’re an experienced author and someone has come to you with a story idea and suggested you just whip up the story inspired by that idea. Either way, there’s something writers know that non-writers don’t — the idea is the easy part.

Would you approach a sculptor with a sketch, then gesture to a nearby block of marble and suggest the sculptor merely chip away at the block until it looks like your sketch? Would you hum a tune to a composer, and suggest she spend a few minutes penning some lyrics and orchestrating all the instruments to play the harmonic parts to fit with your hummed tune?

It’s not clear to me why people think writing is so different. Somehow the belief got started that writers search and search for something to write about, that we spend 90% of our time enduring the agony of waiting for the idea to hit. Once it does, we simply dash off the story and hit send, apparently. A particularly long novel might, they think, take the better part of an afternoon to jot down.

I hate to be the one to burst the bubble on that myth, but it just ain’t so. On occasion, it’s true, some writers struggle to figure out what to write about. For a time, they seek some prompt. There are books and websites to supply these, but there’s also real life–it’s all around, filled with plenty of things that could form the basis of a story. Even that’s not enough. Next the writer must turn this ‘prompt’ into an idea. This idea forms the skeleton of the story. An idea includes main characters, a rough primary plot, and some notion of settings.

I don’t mean to downplay the difficulty of getting that far. But a writer reaching that point is a long way from finished. Moreover, we have no sense yet of whether the resulting story will be good. Promising ideas still can suffer from poor execution when converted to finished form. Alternately, a truly wonderful tale can be spun from a trivial, humdrum idea.

A writer with an idea now faces the task of fleshing out that skeleton. He must breathe life into the characters, making them identifiable and engaging. She must select such descriptive words for her settings so as to transport the reader there. He embellishes the plot with understandable motives for actions, and adds subplots. She imbues the story with her own style and flair, ensuring she touches on universal human themes. When his first draft is crap, as it always is, he edits and rewrites, often several times. During these subsequent drafts, she might spice the manuscript with symbolism, alliteration, foreshadowing, character quirks, tension-building techniques, allusion, metaphor, and the other little things separating good from average fiction. Then, because the story is now too long, he goes through it again, compressing, trimming, cutting, and making each word defend itself.

I’ve made this fleshing-out process sound like drudgery, and sometimes it is. True writers find enjoyment in it, or at least tolerate it. But it is not the easy part. For me, writing consists of the same proportions as Thomas Edison’s formula for genius–1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. Perhaps someday when I’ve written many hundreds of stories it will get more difficult to come up with new ideas, but I’m a long way from that. Even then the percentages will likely be 2% and 98%.

Were you laboring under a misconception about the difficulty of ideas and the ease of writing? Have I changed your mind? Let me know what you think by leaving a comment. While I wait for you to do that, it’s back to the hard work of fleshing out another skeleton for–

Poseidon’s Scribe

July 1, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

All Depends on Your POV

Every story has a point of view, and because POV is a basic element of story-telling, it’s important for beginning writers to understand the term. There are some choices to make, and you’ll want to select the one that maximizes the reader’s enjoyment of your story.

Think of POV as knowing who’s holding the camera that “sees” the story. There are three basic types. First person POV is told from a single character’s perspective as if the narrator is the character–“I walked into the room.” Second person POV is told from the reader’s perspective–“You walked into the room.” Third person POV is told from a perspective outside both reader and the character–“She (or Susan) walked into the room.” There are two kinds of 3rd person POV: omniscient and limited. In 3rd person omniscient, the narrator can relate the thoughts and emotions of any character. In 3rd person limited, the narrator can only get in one character’s head, and can only describe other characters as sensed from that one character’s viewpoint.

In the early years of novels and short stories, 3rd person omniscient was, by far, the most common POV used. I guess that’s because it’s easier. Since authors feel a strong need to make the reader understand what each major character is thinking, 3rd person omniscient is a logical, safe choice. Today, the most common is 3rd person limited, with 1st person coming in second.

Of the types, 1st person is the most personal. The POV character may or may not be the focal character for the story, but the POV character should have an interesting, engaging personality, and not be just the boring person who happens to be standing there whenever something interesting happens. The POV character can be an “unreliable narrator,” a person who sees things that aren’t there or thinks things that aren’t true. The challenges with writing 1st person are to avoid repeating the word “I” an annoying number of times, and ensuring your POV character has a reason to be in all the key, dramatic scenes. The major uses of 1st person are in horror and Young Adult (YA) fiction.

2nd person is rare in fiction, but more common in songs. It can really make the reader feel a part of the story.

As I’ve said, 3rd person limited is the most common. It allows a more objective view of the story. Some markets accept only stories with this POV. The challenges with 3rd person limited are (1) choosing a POV character who is intriguing to the reader and has a reason to be right there in every dramatic scene, and (2) avoiding what’s known as “POV wobble.” POV wobble is where the writer shifts to a different character’s POV without a break in the narration. This can be disconcerting to readers who suddenly find themselves “in another character’s head.” This mistake sounds easier to avoid than it is.

For beginning writers, I recommend using 3rd person limited as the default POV for your early stories. If you find a story not working, you could try rewriting it in a different POV. It’s amazing how you can gain new insights in trying this. Leonardo da Vinci invented the idea of various perspectives in art and engineering. It’s a technique used in engineering drawings ever since. Artists find that by looking at an object from the front, above, and one side, they understand more about its three dimensions. There’s an analog there for POV in fiction, I think.

So whether it’s “I’ll conclude by saying I’m–” or “You’ve been reading a blog entry by–” or “He signed off by stating his name as–” the ending is the same…

Poseidon’s Scribe

June 3, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Speaking of Dialogue…

Yes, I know I’ve written about aspects of dialogue before, but it’s time I tackled the subject in general.

First, why do fictional works include dialogue at all?

The most important reason is because people talk. A lot. If you’re writing a story about more than one person, chances are they’ll have something to say to each other.
Also, dialogue is a great way to show the reader things about your characters. More on that below.
Without any dialogue, your story would be uninterrupted narration. Dialogue helps to break that up.

There are several points to bear in mind as you write dialogue:

Each conversation should be significant. It should support and advance the plot.
Use dialogue to illustrate aspects of your characters. Show your readers your character’s wants, backgrounds, attitudes, values, emotions, and thought processes. Since dialogue requires two or more people, you’ll also show their relationships with each other.
Gender can factor into dialogue. There is a tendency for women to speak horizontally – to use conversation to establish the degree of emotional closeness and, once established, go from there. The tendency for men is to speak vertically – to discover through conversation where each stands in a hierarchy, and, once established, go from there. These are just common tendencies, not firm rules.
If you write a character’s dialect (the way they deviate from Standard English), be careful not to overdo it. A word or two in each sentence is sufficient. Avoid dialect that readers could construe as an insulting stereotype. If you’re inventing a new dialect for a non-existent culture or world, do it with care so as not to confuse your readers.
Speaking of not confusing readers, that’s essential for dialogue. At a minimum, readers need to know who’s speaking. Ensure you use separate paragraphs for each character. Give each character her own “voice” or “tone” identifiable through her word choice to help the reader distinguish one from another. Use “tags” like ‘Charles said,’ or, better, ‘Charles said as he holstered his blaster.’
Dialogue should convey emotion. People are emotional and fictional people even more so. Avoid using dialogue just to convey information. Changes in emotion from mild to strong during a conversation can be quite effective.
For more authentic dialogue, listen to real people talking. In your writing you shouldn’t write exactly the way you hear it, though. Do include the cadences and the shortcuts based on assumptions about what the other person already knows. Don’t include the “um’s” or the tangential trivia.
Don’t overdo it by making your story mostly dialogue. That’s just talking heads. Readers want thought, and especially action, too.

Please leave a comment and let me know if this helps you write better dialogue. Also comment if you think I left out an important aspect of dialogue; I’m certain I did. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this example of dialogue:

“Who’s that handsome and ingenious guy with the excellent blog advice?”

“He calls himself–

Poseidon’s Scribe.”

May 27, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

All Your Stage’s a World

Yes, I know Shakespeare wrote “All the world’s a stage,” but my point today has to do with the settings of stories. The “stage” or “world” or “milieu” of your story is its setting.

The setting includes such things as the physical location, the time in history (including time of year and day), geography, culture, etc. It includes all aspects of the description of this backdrop for the characters–the effect on all senses, as well as the overall mood. Setting is, along with Character, Style, and Theme, one of the four fundamental components of fiction.

In my view, Setting is less important to a story than Character, but it’s still vital. Your readers have a need to see the background, to imagine where the characters are, to visualize themselves in that venue along with the characters. Without a setting, a story would consist of characters talking and acting in a void, standing before a blank screen. (That would be interesting if done once, but tiresome if every story was like that.) Think of the very beginning of almost any movie, just after the opening credits. The audience is presented with a setting before the camera shifts to the film’s characters.

So how does a writer go about the task of hammering her stage together? Keep in mind the primary sense for most readers is visual, so you’ll want to describe what a character sees, or would see if the character isn’t present yet. However, emphasizing other senses besides sight might be more appropriate if a particular character has a keen sense of hearing or smell and you’re trying to work in a little character description, too. Or if your main character is a dog, for example.

It isn’t enough to provide a neutral, fact-based description of your story’s setting. This isn’t a news broadcast, so you should imbue your description with a mood or tone in keeping with the story, supporting its theme. Or you could describe it through the eyes of a character, thus giving the reader a sense of the character’s attitude toward the setting, and how it makes that character feel.

You’re not writing for 19th Century readers, so you don’t get to go on for many adjective-loaded paragraphs describing the setting in pixel-by-pixel detail. Today you have to keep it brief, and be very selective about the details you choose. Your aim is to paint a few brushstrokes, as in classical Chinese art, and allow the reader’s imagination to fill in the rest of the world. One way to do this is to go ahead and describe the scene fully as an exercise (either writing the text or mind-mapping), with all the details, then cut back to a few essential aspects.

You’ll want to place most of your setting description early in the scene, as an aid to your readers so they know where the characters are. But you can also intersperse brief snatches of setting description throughout the scene.

The setting’s purpose in your story, then, is to form the backdrop against which the characters act. Don’t fall in love with your setting; stories are about the human condition, and your characters must be in the foreground. Your setting helps the reader place the characters in a context. It can also help you bring out the story’s theme, mood, plot, and even introduce some symbolism.

As with all of my blog posts, I could be right or wrong about all of this. Leave a comment and let me know what you think. In this particular place and time, I’m–

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 20, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink

Of Adverbs, Approvingly

Was ever a part of speech more maligned than adverbs? Go ahead–search the Web for a kind treatment of them. More often you’ll find admonitions to hunt them down and kill them where they stand. Is that nice? What have adverbs ever done to you?

Adverbs are those words most often ending in ‘ly,’ that modify verbs and adjectives. They often answer a ‘how?’ or ‘to what extent?’ question with respect to their attached verb or adjective. How did he run? Rapidly. How did she speak? Quietly. To what extent was the room decorated? An outrageously decorated room.

What’s so wrong about modifying verbs and adjectives? Why do most writing books and websites advise writers to banish adverbs? First, remember the basic structure of an English sentence–subject, verb, and object. The verb is where the action is, the real power and punch of any sentence. Over time, English has become rich in verbs, overflowing with them (by one count over 9000). In odd cases when the right verb doesn’t exist, we sometimes take a noun and verbize it.

With all these verbs to choose from, why not select the one with the precise intended meaning and use that? If a writer does that, her verb won’t require modifying by any adverb at all. Sometimes writers get lazy, though, and choose weak verbs, then try strengthening them with adverbs. Sometimes an even lazier writer adds an adverb that, well, adds nothing. Tom crept slowly. Um, how else would he creep?

Another knock against adverbs ties in with the ‘show, don’t tell,’ advice. Adverbs tell us about the verb, but instead the writer could bring the sentence alive with a short clause showing us ‘how’ or ‘to what extent.’ Tom crept with snail-speed so he wouldn’t set off the motion detector.

Against these damning criticisms, how can I dare to defend the adverb? First, an occasional well-chosen adverb can help a sentence. ‘Slowly’ is an example of one I find useful, but not for modifying verbs that already imply slowness.

Second, I’m mindful that adverbs haven’t always been denigrated. I’m not sure when they fell out of fashion, but many nineteenth century authors peppered their works with adverbs. Perhaps the ban on adverbs is just a fad. They might come back in style. Some brave author could craft a well-written novel chock full of them and see it become a bestseller. Others would then copy that author’s technique, and everyone will wonder how we got along without adverbs.

You could be that trail-blazing author, but if I were you I’d leave that to the literary types. In the meantime, if you want your works to sell in today’s markets, I advocate using adverbs in a sparing manner, no more than one per page. When you edit, search for those ‘ly’ words. When you find one, consider choosing a stronger, more precise verb. If there is none, consider adding a short clause or new sentence expressing your point in a vivid manner with nouns and verbs alone.

As always, feel free to comment. Until you do I’ll sit here being, most patiently and expectantly,

Poseidon’s Scribe

May 6, 2012Poseidon's ScribePermalink