I think a lot of writers have been told to limit introspection (the narrative expression of a character's thoughts and feelings). This was in response to the tendency in writers writing in deep point of view to paragraph after paragraph that take place entirely in the character's mind. (Hmm. I used to write whole scenes in the character's mind. "But nothing happens!" would be the editorial response. :)
So of course, everyone swings to the opposite side, so there's action, dialogue, and description, but no introspection. I've been seeing this in submissions lately, scenes which are in a character's point of view but with very little thought/feeling-- it's all action and dialogue.
Okay, so let's talk about this. When is introspection useless, and what kind of introspection?
What's useful, and when? What about discussing how you handle this in your own scenes?
Let's say there's a scene of the heroine slipping into her boss's office while he's at lunch, to steal a file folder with some important evidence he's hiding, and the hunky IRS agent comes in and she has to tell him what she's doing in there (presumably not the truth). Where would you report her thoughts and feelings, and what would you NOT do?
Alicia
Showing posts with label interior monologue. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interior monologue. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
My Radar Works Fine, TYVM
My schedule, on the other hand, leaves a bit to be desired. But I turned in a book today and cleared another very large project off my desk, so I've got that posty feeling and a bit of time to indulge.
All the way back in the post on present participial phrases, I asked folks to provide examples if they wanted them handled here. Ever the good sport, Murphy volunteered.
Hollywood could have a field day filming horror movies here, she decided, wincing as the gates creaked and moaned, puncturing the oppressive quiet and causing a group of crows which dotted the lace canopy of trees that stretched out overhead, to burst from their perches and fly away.
There's a lot happening in this sentence, and the other commenters provided loads of good suggestions to edit this sentence. But I have to tell you, the thing that leaped out at me was not the present participial phrases, but the thought tag,
she decided,
Which is something I've wanted to talk about for quite some time but just haven't gotten to it. So, thank you, Murphy, for the nudge.
What Is A Thought Tag?
You all know what a dialogue tag is, right? It's the little bit that identifies the speaker of the dialogue.
"But I thought she was going to talk about participles," the commenter said.
The part of that sentence which falls outside the quotation marks -- the commenter said -- is the dialogue tag. Easy. You all know this, I'm sure.
A thought tag is like a dialogue tag except that it attaches to interior monologue. Instead of tag verbs such as said, muttered, blurted, etc., which describe the manner of speaking, thought tags describe the manner of thinking.
Hollywood could have a field day filming horror movies here, she decided
In this sample,the interior monologue is
Hollywood could have a field day filming horror movies here,
And the thought tag is,
she decided
Still pretty easy, right? Thought tags take verbs like wondered, thought, believed, figured, hoped, pondered, and so on. They're pretty easy to spot in the narrative.
One Danger With Thought Tags
Thought tags can serve many useful purposes -- in Murphy's sentence, for example, it creates a pivot point between the interior monologue and the description which follows -- but there is one big danger with using thought tags. They can create narrative distance between the character and the reader, in some cases going so far as to convert the interior monologue to narrative summary.
(Not talking about Murphy's sentence now. Hers uses the thought tag wisely.)
Think about it like this. A dialogue tag identifies who the speaker is, right? And a thought tag identifies who the thinker is. But if you're writing in deep third person, the identity of the narrative point of view character should already be known to the reader. It should be obvious. And that means the tag should be unnecessary for pure reasons of thinker attribution.
To understand how this creates narrative distance, compare,
If she invited Sally, then the table would be full but she would have more women than men. So maybe skip inviting Sally and have an odd number of guests? No. And she couldn't invite Jim without inviting that horrid wife of his, so they were out.
which has no thought tags, to the same passage with thought tags,
She realized that if she invited Sally, then the table would be full but she would have more women than men. She wondered if she ought to maybe skip inviting Sally and have an odd number of guests? No, she decided. And she couldn't invite Jim without inviting that horrid wife of his, so they were out, she concluded.
Can you see the effect that the thought tags create? Instead of the pov character relating her thoughts directly, the narrator is "telling" them -- interpreting the nature of those thoughts as realizing, wondering,deciding, and concluding. In a more exaggerated version of this exact effect, the interior monologue is not presented at all but is interpreted in its entirety by the authorial narrator.
She thought about her dinner party seating chart and decided not to invite Sally, Jim, or Jim's wife.
This is narrative summary. The real event (that is, the sequence of thoughts leading to a conclusion) is summarized and encapsulated for the reader. Despite the presence of the tag "she thought," we're not actually in the characters thoughts at all. If you were listening directly to the character's thoughts, the words used would probably be quite different.
One Final Thought - Reflecting Character Minds
Intimate points of view such as deep third must, by extension, reflect the character's state of mind. Think stream of consciousness, which is a purist form of deep third and can make a reader crazy. (Hello, James Joyce? Just what the hell is up with that Ulysses thing, anyway?)
But this principle can be used with a lighter touch to achieve certain effects in the prose. Is your character being chased by bad guys who want to kill her? Her interior monologue might be choppy and breathless. Is your character luxuriating in the sensual pleasure of a bubble bath? Her interior monologue might be languid and loose.
For a good example of this dynamic, take a look at The Shipping News by Annie Proulx. In the early part of the book, Quoyle, the protagonist, is experiencing emotional trauma and his thoughts reflect that. The narrative is disjointed, even fractured in places. But as the book progresses and Quoyle begins to heal, his interior monologue takes on a more lucid, even graceful, tone.
If you want to avoid presenting a fractured interior monologue that might be hard on the reader, then one helpful technique would be to insert thought tags and create narrative distance. But generally, if you're writing in an intimate point of view and hoping to bond the character to the reader, you can deepen that intimacy by stripping out your thought tags.
Theresa
All the way back in the post on present participial phrases, I asked folks to provide examples if they wanted them handled here. Ever the good sport, Murphy volunteered.
Hollywood could have a field day filming horror movies here, she decided, wincing as the gates creaked and moaned, puncturing the oppressive quiet and causing a group of crows which dotted the lace canopy of trees that stretched out overhead, to burst from their perches and fly away.
There's a lot happening in this sentence, and the other commenters provided loads of good suggestions to edit this sentence. But I have to tell you, the thing that leaped out at me was not the present participial phrases, but the thought tag,
she decided,
Which is something I've wanted to talk about for quite some time but just haven't gotten to it. So, thank you, Murphy, for the nudge.
What Is A Thought Tag?
You all know what a dialogue tag is, right? It's the little bit that identifies the speaker of the dialogue.
"But I thought she was going to talk about participles," the commenter said.
The part of that sentence which falls outside the quotation marks -- the commenter said -- is the dialogue tag. Easy. You all know this, I'm sure.
A thought tag is like a dialogue tag except that it attaches to interior monologue. Instead of tag verbs such as said, muttered, blurted, etc., which describe the manner of speaking, thought tags describe the manner of thinking.
Hollywood could have a field day filming horror movies here, she decided
In this sample,the interior monologue is
Hollywood could have a field day filming horror movies here,
And the thought tag is,
she decided
Still pretty easy, right? Thought tags take verbs like wondered, thought, believed, figured, hoped, pondered, and so on. They're pretty easy to spot in the narrative.
One Danger With Thought Tags
Thought tags can serve many useful purposes -- in Murphy's sentence, for example, it creates a pivot point between the interior monologue and the description which follows -- but there is one big danger with using thought tags. They can create narrative distance between the character and the reader, in some cases going so far as to convert the interior monologue to narrative summary.
(Not talking about Murphy's sentence now. Hers uses the thought tag wisely.)
Think about it like this. A dialogue tag identifies who the speaker is, right? And a thought tag identifies who the thinker is. But if you're writing in deep third person, the identity of the narrative point of view character should already be known to the reader. It should be obvious. And that means the tag should be unnecessary for pure reasons of thinker attribution.
To understand how this creates narrative distance, compare,
If she invited Sally, then the table would be full but she would have more women than men. So maybe skip inviting Sally and have an odd number of guests? No. And she couldn't invite Jim without inviting that horrid wife of his, so they were out.
which has no thought tags, to the same passage with thought tags,
She realized that if she invited Sally, then the table would be full but she would have more women than men. She wondered if she ought to maybe skip inviting Sally and have an odd number of guests? No, she decided. And she couldn't invite Jim without inviting that horrid wife of his, so they were out, she concluded.
Can you see the effect that the thought tags create? Instead of the pov character relating her thoughts directly, the narrator is "telling" them -- interpreting the nature of those thoughts as realizing, wondering,deciding, and concluding. In a more exaggerated version of this exact effect, the interior monologue is not presented at all but is interpreted in its entirety by the authorial narrator.
She thought about her dinner party seating chart and decided not to invite Sally, Jim, or Jim's wife.
This is narrative summary. The real event (that is, the sequence of thoughts leading to a conclusion) is summarized and encapsulated for the reader. Despite the presence of the tag "she thought," we're not actually in the characters thoughts at all. If you were listening directly to the character's thoughts, the words used would probably be quite different.
One Final Thought - Reflecting Character Minds
Intimate points of view such as deep third must, by extension, reflect the character's state of mind. Think stream of consciousness, which is a purist form of deep third and can make a reader crazy. (Hello, James Joyce? Just what the hell is up with that Ulysses thing, anyway?)
But this principle can be used with a lighter touch to achieve certain effects in the prose. Is your character being chased by bad guys who want to kill her? Her interior monologue might be choppy and breathless. Is your character luxuriating in the sensual pleasure of a bubble bath? Her interior monologue might be languid and loose.
For a good example of this dynamic, take a look at The Shipping News by Annie Proulx. In the early part of the book, Quoyle, the protagonist, is experiencing emotional trauma and his thoughts reflect that. The narrative is disjointed, even fractured in places. But as the book progresses and Quoyle begins to heal, his interior monologue takes on a more lucid, even graceful, tone.
If you want to avoid presenting a fractured interior monologue that might be hard on the reader, then one helpful technique would be to insert thought tags and create narrative distance. But generally, if you're writing in an intimate point of view and hoping to bond the character to the reader, you can deepen that intimacy by stripping out your thought tags.
Theresa
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Shifting Interior Monologue
Puffing a bit as she reached the top of the stairs, Anita stopped to catch her breath. Maybe Nathan was right--she was getting a bit old. Since when had a flight of stairs been so daunting? For once, she wished she'd picked up one of those crazy neon sports drinks from Marty's instead of her usual coffee. Thinking of him, she tried to stifle a silly grin rolling across her face; trying to get her breath under control and stop smiling at the same time only led her to lapse into a terrible coughing fit.
She was so loud that she drew Peri to the doorway. "Anita, are you okay?" said the tall young woman, reaching out to pull her inside. "Gosh, you sound awful. Here, I'll take the drink; you go sit down in the office." Georgia looked over from where she was stocking yarns, worry all over her face. She knew Anita well enough not to make a huge fuss; still, she was watching the older woman's every move.
"I'm"--breath--"fine," Anita insisted, a wave of her hand as if to swat them all away. "Quit fussing." She let Peri take her to the back office, if only to avoid the prying eyes of all the customers. That was something that had been lost with her generation, it was true--the fine art of minding one's own business. Okay, okay, a sip of water. Why did everyone seem to think water cured everything? All it did was wet the throat. Still, she took the glass, nodded a thank-you to Peri, leaned back into her seat with relief when Peri left the office.
~~ from The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs
The parts highlighted in green are clean interior monologue, unmixed with other narrative elements like action or description. Take a look at how she brackets that interior monologue. That's fairly important when you're trying to keep some kind of narrative distance, but still want to dip into the thoughts of a particular character. You do things like bury the IM in the middle of paragraphs and surround it with other narrative elements, especially exposition that disguises itself as interior monologue.
Why especially that? "Telling" the character's internal state (rather than showing it directly with interior monologue) can serve as a sort of depth midpoint between the more distant feel of the omniscient and the more intimate feel of the interior monologue.
Let's pick apart that first paragraph as an example.
Sentence One:
Puffing a bit as she reached the top of the stairs, Anita stopped to catch her breath.
That's action. Action is dynamic motion of a character or object in the narrative world. So the dynamic movement is a body climbing stairs and a chest huffing for air. It doesn't matter that Anita "stopped" because stopping describes her activity (we all stop climbing when we reach the top of the stairs, right?) and allows her to engage in another activity (puffing).
Sentence Two:
Maybe Nathan was right--she was getting a bit old. Since when had a flight of stairs been so daunting?
That's interior monologue, a character's direct thoughts presented without any narrative filters. Anita is remembering something her son said, something she's been resisting. And she asks herself a rhetorical question.
Now, the next bit might initially seem as though it's also interior monologue:
For once, she wished she'd picked up one of those crazy neon sports drinks from Marty's instead of her usual coffee. Thinking of him, she tried to stifle a silly grin rolling across her face;
But it's not. We have a narrative filter in place here. This is "telling" the reader Anita's thoughts. The "telling" comes mainly from the use of the phrases "For once, she wished" and "Thinking of him." (By the way, we've already been given to understand that Marty's coffee is always piping hot, maybe too hot to drink.) If we were to recast this as a cleaner form of interior monologue without the filter, it might read something like,
She should have picked up one of those crazy neon sports drinks from Marty's instead of coffee. Marty. The silly grin rolled across her face. No way to stifle that.
Yes, this does change the voice slightly. This isn't an exercise in preserving voice, but in interior monologue and exposition and ways to use them to achieve certain effects. Can you all see the difference now?
If you're writing in deep third -- the limited or subjective form of third person -- you won't need these midpoint bits to transition the reader from the omniscient narrative to the interior monologue. In fact, you won't always need it even if you're writing in omniscient. In the third paragraph of this excerpt, the final sentence is a list of actions. It's not separated from the preceding interior monologue by anything at all. We move straight from IM into action, and it works just fine.
Anyone care to propose a theory on why that works in that particular spot? I think there's a reason, and the reason can be found in the final sentence.
One more thing about this excerpt. But I think I'm also going to pose this as a question for all of you. What do you notice about the middle paragraph?
For those of you who read this blog on a feed reader, here's a gentle reminder that we have really smart people making comments on the last Friday Night Knitting Club post. They all had worthwhile insights, and if you have a moment, it might be interesting to take a look.
One final note--
I've been invited to participate in a Pitch Party at Book Roast on March 17. See the Book Roast blog for details. It looks like a fun event.
Theresa
She was so loud that she drew Peri to the doorway. "Anita, are you okay?" said the tall young woman, reaching out to pull her inside. "Gosh, you sound awful. Here, I'll take the drink; you go sit down in the office." Georgia looked over from where she was stocking yarns, worry all over her face. She knew Anita well enough not to make a huge fuss; still, she was watching the older woman's every move.
"I'm"--breath--"fine," Anita insisted, a wave of her hand as if to swat them all away. "Quit fussing." She let Peri take her to the back office, if only to avoid the prying eyes of all the customers. That was something that had been lost with her generation, it was true--the fine art of minding one's own business. Okay, okay, a sip of water. Why did everyone seem to think water cured everything? All it did was wet the throat. Still, she took the glass, nodded a thank-you to Peri, leaned back into her seat with relief when Peri left the office.
~~ from The Friday Night Knitting Club by Kate Jacobs
The parts highlighted in green are clean interior monologue, unmixed with other narrative elements like action or description. Take a look at how she brackets that interior monologue. That's fairly important when you're trying to keep some kind of narrative distance, but still want to dip into the thoughts of a particular character. You do things like bury the IM in the middle of paragraphs and surround it with other narrative elements, especially exposition that disguises itself as interior monologue.
Why especially that? "Telling" the character's internal state (rather than showing it directly with interior monologue) can serve as a sort of depth midpoint between the more distant feel of the omniscient and the more intimate feel of the interior monologue.
Let's pick apart that first paragraph as an example.
Sentence One:
Puffing a bit as she reached the top of the stairs, Anita stopped to catch her breath.
That's action. Action is dynamic motion of a character or object in the narrative world. So the dynamic movement is a body climbing stairs and a chest huffing for air. It doesn't matter that Anita "stopped" because stopping describes her activity (we all stop climbing when we reach the top of the stairs, right?) and allows her to engage in another activity (puffing).
Sentence Two:
Maybe Nathan was right--she was getting a bit old. Since when had a flight of stairs been so daunting?
That's interior monologue, a character's direct thoughts presented without any narrative filters. Anita is remembering something her son said, something she's been resisting. And she asks herself a rhetorical question.
Now, the next bit might initially seem as though it's also interior monologue:
For once, she wished she'd picked up one of those crazy neon sports drinks from Marty's instead of her usual coffee. Thinking of him, she tried to stifle a silly grin rolling across her face;
But it's not. We have a narrative filter in place here. This is "telling" the reader Anita's thoughts. The "telling" comes mainly from the use of the phrases "For once, she wished" and "Thinking of him." (By the way, we've already been given to understand that Marty's coffee is always piping hot, maybe too hot to drink.) If we were to recast this as a cleaner form of interior monologue without the filter, it might read something like,
She should have picked up one of those crazy neon sports drinks from Marty's instead of coffee. Marty. The silly grin rolled across her face. No way to stifle that.
Yes, this does change the voice slightly. This isn't an exercise in preserving voice, but in interior monologue and exposition and ways to use them to achieve certain effects. Can you all see the difference now?
If you're writing in deep third -- the limited or subjective form of third person -- you won't need these midpoint bits to transition the reader from the omniscient narrative to the interior monologue. In fact, you won't always need it even if you're writing in omniscient. In the third paragraph of this excerpt, the final sentence is a list of actions. It's not separated from the preceding interior monologue by anything at all. We move straight from IM into action, and it works just fine.
Anyone care to propose a theory on why that works in that particular spot? I think there's a reason, and the reason can be found in the final sentence.
One more thing about this excerpt. But I think I'm also going to pose this as a question for all of you. What do you notice about the middle paragraph?
For those of you who read this blog on a feed reader, here's a gentle reminder that we have really smart people making comments on the last Friday Night Knitting Club post. They all had worthwhile insights, and if you have a moment, it might be interesting to take a look.
One final note--
I've been invited to participate in a Pitch Party at Book Roast on March 17. See the Book Roast blog for details. It looks like a fun event.
Theresa
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Jennifer is right... deep POV and "head words"
Jennifer said...
Okay admittedly I am not a tech guru, but I don't see a place to ask a new question,
In comments are fine-- we read them! Just ask in a current topic, because we won't be reading old posts.
so here it is:
Back to the discussion of deep POV...
There is a difference between saying, "He realized he wanted to stay" and "He wanted to stay." I get the feeling the preference is for the latter because it is closer/deeper POV. But what if I want to put the emphasis on the fact that he realized it? Would you, as an editor, get that, or would you think I made a POV misstep?
Thanks!
Jennifer, You are right. They ("the rulemakers") are wrong. :)
I am not one who thinks "she thought" or "she realized" or any "head word" is a break in POV. That's one of those supposed rules that baffle me-- that "rule" seems to say that humans are not thinking creatures, that we don't consider or muse, that these thoughts just happen to us, that we have nothing to say or do with it, that mental processes or intentionality don't count. It feels to me like writing "his foot moved" rather than "he stepped".
As you point out, the problem is that "he wanted to stay" does not allow for any suggestion of how he came to know that. "He wanted to stay" is just a statement of fact, a statement of what he wanted. It does not indicate that he "realized" he wanted to stay, that there was a process of realization, that it wasn't immediately knowable. As you said, "he realized" is subtly different as it says there was a realization involved.
In fact, I'll go so far as to say that those who say that "he thought" is a deep POV break haven't thought as much as you have about how minds actually work. You just can't do deep POV by following bogus "rules" about deep POV-- you can only do it by getting into the mind of the character and narrating the way that mind works. Yes, some minds don't have much in the way of thought or realization, but those that do will, in deep POV, show the process that led to that. (And that will contrast interestingly with the more impulsive character's sudden appearance of a thought. I visualize Character A's thought process as a Rube Goldberg contraption, while Character B's mental process is more like a lightbulb going off.)
These statements below all suggest something more than just "he wanted to stay":
He decided he wanted to stay.
He thought he wanted to stay.
He realized he wanted to stay.
He imagined he wanted to stay.
He believed he wanted to stay.
He reflected he wanted to stay. (Why do I want to put a "that" in there-- He reflected THAT he wanted to stay?)
He sensed he wanted to stay.
He judged he wanted to stay.
He reasoned he wanted to stay.
He knew he wanted to stay.
Choosing the right "head word" adds a layer of subtlety and often intentionality that to me is REALLY deep, even subtextual, and I'd hate to give up that facility because someone might (mistakenly) say that's not deep POV. (I will say one more time, btw, and I know everyone's tired of it, that deep POV is not the only or even necessarily the best POV approach.) For example, look at that last one: He KNEW he wanted to stay. Don't you just hear a "but" after that? He knew he wanted to stay, but he could hardly resist a competing desire to run for the hills. And "realizing" that he wants to stay results from a very different process than "deciding" that he wants to stay.
I don't know how to say it any better than this (and you know it anyway, so this is aimed at those others), but you cannot create deep POV by following a list of rules like "Never use the POV character's name" or "never have the narrator report that she saw something; just say what she saw." You can only do a good job with deep POV if you know your character so well you know how she thinks, and she will not think the same way another character does, and she might not think the same way in every situation! You can just about bet that Albert Einstein thought differently (not just better :) than I do. But I suspect (you know, I had "I think" there, and edited it to "I suspect", because I intuited that HOW I think made some difference) that Albert Einstein when he was thinking through a quantum mechanics issue thought differently than he thought when he looked up from his musing and realized he was about to walk off a cliff. The author has to get into the character in each situation, and narrate with that knowledge in mind. That's the only rule that really counts-- give your reader the deep experience of what it's like to be in this person (in a coherent way, I hope, but I'm not even going to "rule" that). How would this character think in this situation?
A better example-- consider that pilot who yesterday calmly brought his crippled plane down on the river rather than in a populous area. His mental processes-- not just WHAT he thought but HOW he thought-- would be fascinating, don't you think? I just don't think it would be enough to report his thoughts ("Oh, shit. Damned geese. Must save plane. Where are we? Oh, yeah, New York City. OMG, we're going to crash!"). We also want to know that "he took a deep breath and spent just a single moment considering his options: Try to limp into Teterboro Airport. Ditch right here in the Bronx. Aim for the river. He glanced at the altimeter and saw they were up just three hundred feet. Hmm. He calculated this quickly-- air speed and height and how long they could stay aloft. He decided to aim for the river. What the hell. They were all going to die anyway. Might as well try hard not to destroy a couple city blocks on the way. He tightened his hands on the wheel and made his voice calm as he explained all this-- in terse half-sentences-- to his first officer." Someone trained as he was will simply think differently at moments like this, will calculate and consider and decide. He'll think quick, but thoughts won't just appear. (The thoughts that would just appear would probably be in the "Oh, shit" category.)
The reader will feel the difference between deep POV you "invent" using some set of rules, and deep POV you channel because you know the character well. The readers don't know the "rules" (neither do I :), but do know when a character feels real to them, feels different and distinct and unique. Any "rule" that applies to every or most characters will not help create a unique character.
So, Jennifer, shorter answer: You are right. The fact of realization matters! HOW matters as much or more than WHAT.
Alicia
Okay admittedly I am not a tech guru, but I don't see a place to ask a new question,
In comments are fine-- we read them! Just ask in a current topic, because we won't be reading old posts.
so here it is:
Back to the discussion of deep POV...
There is a difference between saying, "He realized he wanted to stay" and "He wanted to stay." I get the feeling the preference is for the latter because it is closer/deeper POV. But what if I want to put the emphasis on the fact that he realized it? Would you, as an editor, get that, or would you think I made a POV misstep?
Thanks!
Jennifer, You are right. They ("the rulemakers") are wrong. :)
I am not one who thinks "she thought" or "she realized" or any "head word" is a break in POV. That's one of those supposed rules that baffle me-- that "rule" seems to say that humans are not thinking creatures, that we don't consider or muse, that these thoughts just happen to us, that we have nothing to say or do with it, that mental processes or intentionality don't count. It feels to me like writing "his foot moved" rather than "he stepped".
As you point out, the problem is that "he wanted to stay" does not allow for any suggestion of how he came to know that. "He wanted to stay" is just a statement of fact, a statement of what he wanted. It does not indicate that he "realized" he wanted to stay, that there was a process of realization, that it wasn't immediately knowable. As you said, "he realized" is subtly different as it says there was a realization involved.
In fact, I'll go so far as to say that those who say that "he thought" is a deep POV break haven't thought as much as you have about how minds actually work. You just can't do deep POV by following bogus "rules" about deep POV-- you can only do it by getting into the mind of the character and narrating the way that mind works. Yes, some minds don't have much in the way of thought or realization, but those that do will, in deep POV, show the process that led to that. (And that will contrast interestingly with the more impulsive character's sudden appearance of a thought. I visualize Character A's thought process as a Rube Goldberg contraption, while Character B's mental process is more like a lightbulb going off.)
These statements below all suggest something more than just "he wanted to stay":
He decided he wanted to stay.
He thought he wanted to stay.
He realized he wanted to stay.
He imagined he wanted to stay.
He believed he wanted to stay.
He reflected he wanted to stay. (Why do I want to put a "that" in there-- He reflected THAT he wanted to stay?)
He sensed he wanted to stay.
He judged he wanted to stay.
He reasoned he wanted to stay.
He knew he wanted to stay.
Choosing the right "head word" adds a layer of subtlety and often intentionality that to me is REALLY deep, even subtextual, and I'd hate to give up that facility because someone might (mistakenly) say that's not deep POV. (I will say one more time, btw, and I know everyone's tired of it, that deep POV is not the only or even necessarily the best POV approach.) For example, look at that last one: He KNEW he wanted to stay. Don't you just hear a "but" after that? He knew he wanted to stay, but he could hardly resist a competing desire to run for the hills. And "realizing" that he wants to stay results from a very different process than "deciding" that he wants to stay.
I don't know how to say it any better than this (and you know it anyway, so this is aimed at those others), but you cannot create deep POV by following a list of rules like "Never use the POV character's name" or "never have the narrator report that she saw something; just say what she saw." You can only do a good job with deep POV if you know your character so well you know how she thinks, and she will not think the same way another character does, and she might not think the same way in every situation! You can just about bet that Albert Einstein thought differently (not just better :) than I do. But I suspect (you know, I had "I think" there, and edited it to "I suspect", because I intuited that HOW I think made some difference) that Albert Einstein when he was thinking through a quantum mechanics issue thought differently than he thought when he looked up from his musing and realized he was about to walk off a cliff. The author has to get into the character in each situation, and narrate with that knowledge in mind. That's the only rule that really counts-- give your reader the deep experience of what it's like to be in this person (in a coherent way, I hope, but I'm not even going to "rule" that). How would this character think in this situation?
A better example-- consider that pilot who yesterday calmly brought his crippled plane down on the river rather than in a populous area. His mental processes-- not just WHAT he thought but HOW he thought-- would be fascinating, don't you think? I just don't think it would be enough to report his thoughts ("Oh, shit. Damned geese. Must save plane. Where are we? Oh, yeah, New York City. OMG, we're going to crash!"). We also want to know that "he took a deep breath and spent just a single moment considering his options: Try to limp into Teterboro Airport. Ditch right here in the Bronx. Aim for the river. He glanced at the altimeter and saw they were up just three hundred feet. Hmm. He calculated this quickly-- air speed and height and how long they could stay aloft. He decided to aim for the river. What the hell. They were all going to die anyway. Might as well try hard not to destroy a couple city blocks on the way. He tightened his hands on the wheel and made his voice calm as he explained all this-- in terse half-sentences-- to his first officer." Someone trained as he was will simply think differently at moments like this, will calculate and consider and decide. He'll think quick, but thoughts won't just appear. (The thoughts that would just appear would probably be in the "Oh, shit" category.)
The reader will feel the difference between deep POV you "invent" using some set of rules, and deep POV you channel because you know the character well. The readers don't know the "rules" (neither do I :), but do know when a character feels real to them, feels different and distinct and unique. Any "rule" that applies to every or most characters will not help create a unique character.
So, Jennifer, shorter answer: You are right. The fact of realization matters! HOW matters as much or more than WHAT.
Alicia
Monday, December 22, 2008
Telepathy, interpretation, and POV shifts
First let me say that there is no rule you have to stay in one character viewpoint or that deep POV is the only or even most desirable choice. In fact, I suspect that some form of multiple (but controlled) POV will be "the" POV of the 21st century, as omniscent was the dominant POV of the 19th C and single POV of the 20th C.
AND what POV you feel most comfortable writing is the one you usually should be writing-- you should learn to do it as well as you can, but what sort of plot and characterization you choose probably derives from the same personality and preference that determine what POV approach you prefer. That is, don't battle your nature-- just do what you do really well, and do it for the sake of giving the reader the best experience possible.
But... I think whether you are using multiple or single POV, if you're using personal POV (not omniscient), at any given moment you are in someone's POV. For however long, you are putting the reader in that person's body and mind, right? And you don't want to inadvertently eject the reader from that person, right?
Sometimes as I read a passage, I feel ejected, like suddenly I'm not in Tom's mind, I'm in Joan's mind, or dangling helplessly in between. When I go back and read to figure out why, it's often actually a deep POV issue, where the writer has Tom interpreting something from the way Joan speaks or behaves... but because there's no "Tom thought" in there, it sounds like JOAN.
Okay, let me backtrack. While Tom cannot know what Joan is thinking, he can definitely interpret. This is not weird for the reader, as of course, the reader also cannot read minds but can interpret body language, tone of voice, facial expression, etc. But of course, Tom might or might not be good at this. He might be really empathic and intuitive and see a twitch of her lips and know she's lying, or he could be the clueless type who thinks he knows what that lip-twitch means ("Oh, she's going to sneeze!") but is wrong. But... the important thing is that if it's significant, if you want the READER to interpret also, the POV character has to notice and narrate it.
So let's try a scenario. Tom knocks on Joan's door, and she opens it.
Tom took a deep breath and knocked on her door. He heard a faint voice inside -- "Coming, coming," and braced himself.
She flung open the door. "Yes, can I--" Then she faltered. She wasn't expecting him.
Now when you're in deep POV, you might report his thought, his interpretation of her faltering, straight, without "he thought" or "he realized" (though really, neither of those are likely to bother the reader, so don't feel you have to get rid of them anymore than you'd avoid "he saw" or "he heard"). It is a rendition of his judgment about what her faltering means.
Trouble is, that line "She wasn't expecting him" is exactly what you might write about her reaction if you were in her POV-- in her mind. So the reader might hesitate and wonder if we're now in her POV. Hesitation, re-reading-- those are not what you want, as they mean you confused the reader and slowed down the narrative flow.
So how can you do this-- show the interpretation-- without the reader confusion? I'm going to suggest a couple things, but you might have other ways of handling this.
First, try going with a new paragraph. We associate what's in a quote paragraph with the speaker (the action, for example), although that's not a rule or anything... just if you are trying to un-confuse, that's a way to do it:
Tom took a deep breath and knocked on her door. He heard a faint voice inside -- "Coming, coming," and braced himself.
She flung open the door. "Yes, can I--" Then she faltered.
She wasn't expecting him.
Notice that her actions (flinging, faltering) are still there with the speech-- that's all "her".
But the next line might be more obviously his thought if it's in a new paragraph, do you think? Now I'm not fond of a lot of one-line paragraphs. I just got a submission where almost every paragraph, stretched out over an 8 1/2 inch page, was just a line or maybe two, and it "sounded" sing-songy and childish. If you love short paragraphs (shorter than 4 sentences, say), just remember that some readers will "hear" that as childish (children's books have short paragraphs for a reason). (I use "sound" and "hear" there because there are a lot of readers-- I'm one-- who actually hear the passage as they read, and thus will notice if a paragraph ends too soon or if a sentence has too many syllables... I know it's weird, kind of synesthesia, but do be aware that this is a fairly sizeable proportion of readers, and they actually might refuse to read books that "sound wrong". So it pays to think of the rhythm and sound of your prose as you write and revise. Who else has that "sound" response to reading?)
So you don't want to have a lot of short paragraphs, but having one shorter graph in the midst of longer ones serves to emphasize the importance.
Another idea is to use her name, or if you've established that Tom thinks of her as "Joanie" or "Mrs. Lewis," using that name will make clear this line is in his mind:
Joanie wasn't expecting him.
Also consider a term that replaces the name or the pronoun and is his-- "Mom wasn't expecting him," for example. Or "That little brat wasn't expecting him." (She wouldn't think of herself that way. :) But you don't want to get artificial-- it's got to be in his voice or it won't work.
Another thought-- look at the verb there.
She wasn't expecting him.
"Wasn't" doesn't sound like interpretation, actually. Well, of course, we do "interpret" in categorical ways, but if you want to make clear it's him interpreting, not absolute reality, consider fuzzing up the verb a bit. For example:
She must not have been expecting him.
"Must not" isn't straight reality or even pretending to be- it's obviously interpretation. If you don't like that complicated tense there (have been expecting), maybe: She must not expect him? (Have we left past tense there? I don't think so-- "must" is its own past tense, I think.) She must not have expected him?
And it's moments like these you realize why "he realized" is actually a useful device that shouldn't be discarded even in deep POV, because it signals to the reader that it's his thought, his interpretation, and not his observation, her thought, or absolute reality.
He realized that she had not been expecting him.
She had not been expecting him, he realized.
Now... another complication. What if he's interpreting wrong? What if she was expecting him, and her faltering was because, I don't know, she's in love with him and is trying not to blurt it out? Or she sees him and realizes that he's the crazed stalker she's been fearing? Or she sees that he's got spinach in his teeth?
How would you -- in his POV -- signal that this is his interpretation, but it's wrong (or limited)? Or would you just let his interpretation stand for the moment, as that is his reality at the moment?
Alicia
AND what POV you feel most comfortable writing is the one you usually should be writing-- you should learn to do it as well as you can, but what sort of plot and characterization you choose probably derives from the same personality and preference that determine what POV approach you prefer. That is, don't battle your nature-- just do what you do really well, and do it for the sake of giving the reader the best experience possible.
But... I think whether you are using multiple or single POV, if you're using personal POV (not omniscient), at any given moment you are in someone's POV. For however long, you are putting the reader in that person's body and mind, right? And you don't want to inadvertently eject the reader from that person, right?
Sometimes as I read a passage, I feel ejected, like suddenly I'm not in Tom's mind, I'm in Joan's mind, or dangling helplessly in between. When I go back and read to figure out why, it's often actually a deep POV issue, where the writer has Tom interpreting something from the way Joan speaks or behaves... but because there's no "Tom thought" in there, it sounds like JOAN.
Okay, let me backtrack. While Tom cannot know what Joan is thinking, he can definitely interpret. This is not weird for the reader, as of course, the reader also cannot read minds but can interpret body language, tone of voice, facial expression, etc. But of course, Tom might or might not be good at this. He might be really empathic and intuitive and see a twitch of her lips and know she's lying, or he could be the clueless type who thinks he knows what that lip-twitch means ("Oh, she's going to sneeze!") but is wrong. But... the important thing is that if it's significant, if you want the READER to interpret also, the POV character has to notice and narrate it.
So let's try a scenario. Tom knocks on Joan's door, and she opens it.
Tom took a deep breath and knocked on her door. He heard a faint voice inside -- "Coming, coming," and braced himself.
She flung open the door. "Yes, can I--" Then she faltered. She wasn't expecting him.
Now when you're in deep POV, you might report his thought, his interpretation of her faltering, straight, without "he thought" or "he realized" (though really, neither of those are likely to bother the reader, so don't feel you have to get rid of them anymore than you'd avoid "he saw" or "he heard"). It is a rendition of his judgment about what her faltering means.
Trouble is, that line "She wasn't expecting him" is exactly what you might write about her reaction if you were in her POV-- in her mind. So the reader might hesitate and wonder if we're now in her POV. Hesitation, re-reading-- those are not what you want, as they mean you confused the reader and slowed down the narrative flow.
So how can you do this-- show the interpretation-- without the reader confusion? I'm going to suggest a couple things, but you might have other ways of handling this.
First, try going with a new paragraph. We associate what's in a quote paragraph with the speaker (the action, for example), although that's not a rule or anything... just if you are trying to un-confuse, that's a way to do it:
Tom took a deep breath and knocked on her door. He heard a faint voice inside -- "Coming, coming," and braced himself.
She flung open the door. "Yes, can I--" Then she faltered.
She wasn't expecting him.
Notice that her actions (flinging, faltering) are still there with the speech-- that's all "her".
But the next line might be more obviously his thought if it's in a new paragraph, do you think? Now I'm not fond of a lot of one-line paragraphs. I just got a submission where almost every paragraph, stretched out over an 8 1/2 inch page, was just a line or maybe two, and it "sounded" sing-songy and childish. If you love short paragraphs (shorter than 4 sentences, say), just remember that some readers will "hear" that as childish (children's books have short paragraphs for a reason). (I use "sound" and "hear" there because there are a lot of readers-- I'm one-- who actually hear the passage as they read, and thus will notice if a paragraph ends too soon or if a sentence has too many syllables... I know it's weird, kind of synesthesia, but do be aware that this is a fairly sizeable proportion of readers, and they actually might refuse to read books that "sound wrong". So it pays to think of the rhythm and sound of your prose as you write and revise. Who else has that "sound" response to reading?)
So you don't want to have a lot of short paragraphs, but having one shorter graph in the midst of longer ones serves to emphasize the importance.
Another idea is to use her name, or if you've established that Tom thinks of her as "Joanie" or "Mrs. Lewis," using that name will make clear this line is in his mind:
Joanie wasn't expecting him.
Also consider a term that replaces the name or the pronoun and is his-- "Mom wasn't expecting him," for example. Or "That little brat wasn't expecting him." (She wouldn't think of herself that way. :) But you don't want to get artificial-- it's got to be in his voice or it won't work.
Another thought-- look at the verb there.
She wasn't expecting him.
"Wasn't" doesn't sound like interpretation, actually. Well, of course, we do "interpret" in categorical ways, but if you want to make clear it's him interpreting, not absolute reality, consider fuzzing up the verb a bit. For example:
She must not have been expecting him.
"Must not" isn't straight reality or even pretending to be- it's obviously interpretation. If you don't like that complicated tense there (have been expecting), maybe: She must not expect him? (Have we left past tense there? I don't think so-- "must" is its own past tense, I think.) She must not have expected him?
And it's moments like these you realize why "he realized" is actually a useful device that shouldn't be discarded even in deep POV, because it signals to the reader that it's his thought, his interpretation, and not his observation, her thought, or absolute reality.
He realized that she had not been expecting him.
She had not been expecting him, he realized.
Now... another complication. What if he's interpreting wrong? What if she was expecting him, and her faltering was because, I don't know, she's in love with him and is trying not to blurt it out? Or she sees him and realizes that he's the crazed stalker she's been fearing? Or she sees that he's got spinach in his teeth?
How would you -- in his POV -- signal that this is his interpretation, but it's wrong (or limited)? Or would you just let his interpretation stand for the moment, as that is his reality at the moment?
Alicia
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Enjambment in fiction
More paragraphing stuff-- well, also about dialogue. And introspection.
There is music in the way we think and talk. Even the non-melodic among us use rhythm and repetition as we assemble our thoughts. And so when you write, the reader will unconsciously resonate with the natural rhythm of human thought/speech... if you make use of the normal "echo" speakers use.
That is, as we speak, we repeat keywords, especially those spoken by the immediately previous speaker. What are keywords? Important words that carry some thematic or emotional meaning. Repeating them reinforces the meaning, and links the adjacent paragraphs together. The ear or the eye catches the repetition and the rhythm it creates, and the effect is doubled-- not just the meaning, but the extra meaning that comes from the connection of the different parts of the passage.
But you have to do it right. The ear, and certainly the eye, don't have much of a memory. A line or two, that's about it. So you want the echo to happen very soon, as in this bit of dialogue from the film Breaking Away (great dialogue in this, btw, and it takes place in my dear friend Deb's town Bloomington, and Jules's alma mater Indiana University, so rent it):
Dave: Dad, I think we ought to give him a refund.
Dad: Refund? Refund?
What's fun is that while the two characters are using the same term, it's clear to the viewer that each has a different definition. For the idealistic Dave, "refund" is the ethical thing you do when you sell someone a defective product. For the businessman Dad, refund is a four-letter word.
So the echo has the effect of enjambment in poetry: linking the lines and providing two separate meanings, and maybe a third when the lines are put together. Here's another example from Breaking Away (I tell you, this has great dialogue!). Note the highlighted words:
Dave: You hear from your folks, Mooch?
Moocher: Yeah, my dad called. He wanted to know if the house was sold. He could use the money something fierce.
Dave: Well, you can come and live with me when it's sold. In Italy, everybody lives together.
Moocher: Since you won that Italian bike, man, you've been acting weird. You're really getting to think you're Italian, aren't you?
Cyril: I wouldn't mind thinking I was someone myself.
Notice in the last two pairs, the version of the word changes-- Italy to Italian, and think to thinking. That allows the resonance and the connection without strait-jacketing the new speaker. (I also think of it as a triumph of the naturalness of syntax. We hear the two variations of the term and link them, even if they don't sound exactly the same.)
Now this works also with introspection. The mention or thought of a keyword sparks the viewpoint character to think of something new:
The governor said, "Please remember that citizens have the right to petition for redress."
Yeah, Joni thought. Right. Redress. That was what this was all about, redress. Nothing to do with revenge.
Notice that the "re" is echoed from "redress" to "revenge".
But these elements have to be sequenced correctly to have that resonace. That is, the lines have to be sequential, not separated by a line or two. Here's a paraphrase of something I read in that (annoying) bestseller that must be doing something right, because I'm still reading it....
The Oxford don said, "I just want you to understand my position. There is no murder no matter what the inspector says. In fact, I think it's clear that this is a miscarriage of justice."
His position. Yeah. I understood his position. His position was insupportable.
The problem is that "position" is in the first of three sentences, and so the resonance is lost. This would be more effective if the paragraph read this way:
The Oxford don said, "There is no murder no matter what the inspector says. In fact, I think it's clear that this is a miscarriage of justice. I just want you to understand my position."
His position. Yeah. I understood his position. His position was insupportable.
That is, if you're going to have an echo, start it in the sentence right before it's repeated. Don't make the reader wait, because the "ear's" memory isn't very long. Revise your paragraph so that the "echo" term is in the last line, or the second to last line?
This is something to listen for in film, and to read for in books. It's part of what makes dialogue and introspection "sound" right. Here's an example from one of my favorite books, an old-fashioned swashbuckler of an omniscient narrative (Checkmate, by Dorothy Dunnett, and I discuss this as dialogue on my website):
"Philippa, no," he said. He stood in an island of space, as isolated as he must have been directing his forces in Guines or in Calais. "You were right to ask, and wrong only in your conjecture. Kate is my friend. That is true. But the songs were for her daughter. And the passion, for ever. That is why we are parting."
The words reached her, without bringing the sense any nearer. He would think her very slow.... "But I am her daughter," Philippa said.
Like some obscure and difficult text, the look in his eyes was too complex to be read at a distance. She said, "You can't mean...?" And then, as he did not speak, answered herself. "No."
Well, here's another, from Susan E. Phillips's Nobody's Baby but Mine, nice link of dialogue to introspection:
So if you're wondering how to make your prose more lush, more poetic, try this device. Find the keywords, put them in the position to be echoed, and echo them.
There is music in the way we think and talk. Even the non-melodic among us use rhythm and repetition as we assemble our thoughts. And so when you write, the reader will unconsciously resonate with the natural rhythm of human thought/speech... if you make use of the normal "echo" speakers use.
That is, as we speak, we repeat keywords, especially those spoken by the immediately previous speaker. What are keywords? Important words that carry some thematic or emotional meaning. Repeating them reinforces the meaning, and links the adjacent paragraphs together. The ear or the eye catches the repetition and the rhythm it creates, and the effect is doubled-- not just the meaning, but the extra meaning that comes from the connection of the different parts of the passage.
But you have to do it right. The ear, and certainly the eye, don't have much of a memory. A line or two, that's about it. So you want the echo to happen very soon, as in this bit of dialogue from the film Breaking Away (great dialogue in this, btw, and it takes place in my dear friend Deb's town Bloomington, and Jules's alma mater Indiana University, so rent it):
Dave: Dad, I think we ought to give him a refund.
Dad: Refund? Refund?
What's fun is that while the two characters are using the same term, it's clear to the viewer that each has a different definition. For the idealistic Dave, "refund" is the ethical thing you do when you sell someone a defective product. For the businessman Dad, refund is a four-letter word.
So the echo has the effect of enjambment in poetry: linking the lines and providing two separate meanings, and maybe a third when the lines are put together. Here's another example from Breaking Away (I tell you, this has great dialogue!). Note the highlighted words:
Dave: You hear from your folks, Mooch?
Moocher: Yeah, my dad called. He wanted to know if the house was sold. He could use the money something fierce.
Dave: Well, you can come and live with me when it's sold. In Italy, everybody lives together.
Moocher: Since you won that Italian bike, man, you've been acting weird. You're really getting to think you're Italian, aren't you?
Cyril: I wouldn't mind thinking I was someone myself.
Notice in the last two pairs, the version of the word changes-- Italy to Italian, and think to thinking. That allows the resonance and the connection without strait-jacketing the new speaker. (I also think of it as a triumph of the naturalness of syntax. We hear the two variations of the term and link them, even if they don't sound exactly the same.)
Now this works also with introspection. The mention or thought of a keyword sparks the viewpoint character to think of something new:
The governor said, "Please remember that citizens have the right to petition for redress."
Yeah, Joni thought. Right. Redress. That was what this was all about, redress. Nothing to do with revenge.
Notice that the "re" is echoed from "redress" to "revenge".
But these elements have to be sequenced correctly to have that resonace. That is, the lines have to be sequential, not separated by a line or two. Here's a paraphrase of something I read in that (annoying) bestseller that must be doing something right, because I'm still reading it....
The Oxford don said, "I just want you to understand my position. There is no murder no matter what the inspector says. In fact, I think it's clear that this is a miscarriage of justice."
His position. Yeah. I understood his position. His position was insupportable.
The problem is that "position" is in the first of three sentences, and so the resonance is lost. This would be more effective if the paragraph read this way:
The Oxford don said, "There is no murder no matter what the inspector says. In fact, I think it's clear that this is a miscarriage of justice. I just want you to understand my position."
His position. Yeah. I understood his position. His position was insupportable.
That is, if you're going to have an echo, start it in the sentence right before it's repeated. Don't make the reader wait, because the "ear's" memory isn't very long. Revise your paragraph so that the "echo" term is in the last line, or the second to last line?
This is something to listen for in film, and to read for in books. It's part of what makes dialogue and introspection "sound" right. Here's an example from one of my favorite books, an old-fashioned swashbuckler of an omniscient narrative (Checkmate, by Dorothy Dunnett, and I discuss this as dialogue on my website):
"Philippa, no," he said. He stood in an island of space, as isolated as he must have been directing his forces in Guines or in Calais. "You were right to ask, and wrong only in your conjecture. Kate is my friend. That is true. But the songs were for her daughter. And the passion, for ever. That is why we are parting."
The words reached her, without bringing the sense any nearer. He would think her very slow.... "But I am her daughter," Philippa said.
Like some obscure and difficult text, the look in his eyes was too complex to be read at a distance. She said, "You can't mean...?" And then, as he did not speak, answered herself. "No."
Well, here's another, from Susan E. Phillips's Nobody's Baby but Mine, nice link of dialogue to introspection:
She nodded. "And if they find out you weren't satisfied with my services, they'll fire me. Please, Mr. Bonner, I need this job. If they dismiss me, I'll lose my benefits."
"You get benefits?"
So if you're wondering how to make your prose more lush, more poetic, try this device. Find the keywords, put them in the position to be echoed, and echo them.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
In the land of Shakespeare, who probably never had an editor.....
I'm in Wells. This is totally my spiritual home. Four bookstores on the main street, not to mention one of the great cathedrals. I went to Evensong -- I'm completely unreligious despite, or perhaps due to, being raised Catholic, but I do love Anglican choirs. Anyway, the dean of the Cathedral recited a Hopkins poem, which I am able to post because even in the countryside of England, there is wireless, and Google, and blogger:
Of course, I'm pretending I'm Canadian, so that no one blames me for the economic crisis. Not that they'd hold me responsible, I hope. I don't even have a 401K.
I remember I actually had some editing thought to share... but too much ale, I fear. The pubs are national treasures here. There's a lovely local ale-- Great Spotted Hen. In the US, that name would be changed by the marketing people. :)
Okay, I think I wanted to ask, when do you decide that something is a thought (of the point of view character) and not just part of the narrative? Do you put it in italics? How about present tense? Examples, please?
The pound is exactly $2. So why do I buy something that's five pounds and think, oh, that's only five dollars? You can tell I haven't actually absorbed this new depression thing. Well, no one was talking depression when I planned this trip, so I'm going to spend like we're in a good economy.
Alicia
Pied Beauty
- GLORY be to God for dappled things,
- For skies of couple-color as a brindled cow,
- For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
- Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches' wings;
- Landscape plotted and pieced, fold, fallow and plough,
- And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
- All things counter, original, spare, strange,
- Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
- With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim.
- He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;
- Praise him.
- Gerard Manley Hopkins
Of course, I'm pretending I'm Canadian, so that no one blames me for the economic crisis. Not that they'd hold me responsible, I hope. I don't even have a 401K.
I remember I actually had some editing thought to share... but too much ale, I fear. The pubs are national treasures here. There's a lovely local ale-- Great Spotted Hen. In the US, that name would be changed by the marketing people. :)
Okay, I think I wanted to ask, when do you decide that something is a thought (of the point of view character) and not just part of the narrative? Do you put it in italics? How about present tense? Examples, please?
The pound is exactly $2. So why do I buy something that's five pounds and think, oh, that's only five dollars? You can tell I haven't actually absorbed this new depression thing. Well, no one was talking depression when I planned this trip, so I'm going to spend like we're in a good economy.
Alicia
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Redlines Four: Avoiding the Need for "Sequels"
Last month, we structured some interior monologue (IM) so that action framed the IM and oriented the reader. That technique is effective in “sequels” -- narrative bits in which we pause for reflection, planning, and the like. IMand its weaker cousin, exposition, can also be used in scenes. This month, we’ll braid interpetive bits into a scene where plot information is conveyed through dialogue.
One of the primary differences between a scene and a sequel is the narrative emphasis. In a scene, the narrative focuses on events -- action or dialogue moving the plot forward. Anything that detracts from the events will slow the pacing of the scene.
By contrast, a sequel focuses on the internal reaction of the point of view character to a prior scene or scene sequence. The character will literally be exploring thoughts and feelings, which means that sequels are generally heavy in exposition.
Some writing teachers advocate a one-to-one ratio of scenes and sequels. But even where a lot of internal landscaping is necessary -- as in romance -- following every scene with a sequel can slow the pace and create a mechanical narrative. This is true even when the sequels are shorter than the scenes.
One alternative is to weave small pieces of IM and/or exposition into scenes. For this to work, the IM/expo and the scene action must remain in balance. Knowing how to balance these elements requires analysis and judgment, because the balance will vary depending on the plot and characters.
Think, for example, of a dialogue scene in which Tex tells Kate that his mother doesn’t like her. If this is a major plot element -- if, for example, Tex will lose his inheritance if his mother does not approve of his bride -- then the reader might need Kate’s emotional reactions in the scene, plus a sequel. Balance is the key. Big movements in plot action require bigger amounts of character reaction.
In that case, the sequence might look like this:
“My mother doesn’t like you,” Tex said.
*Kate has an internal reaction.*
*Kate responds to Tex directly.*
*The scene concludes.*
*IM-heavy sequel where Kate reflects and decides how to proceed.*
But maybe Tex’s mother’s feelings are not outcome-determinative. The reader will still want Kate’s reaction. The question becomes, how much information is needed for Kate’s reaction to make sense? If a lot of information is necessary -- for example, backstory about Kate’s dealings with the mother, things that happened outside the narrative timeline -- then the scene may need to be briefly interrupted to convey that information.
Then the sequence might look like this:
“My mother doesn’t like you,” Tex said.
*Kate starts to react, but pauses.*
*Exposition: Kate reflects on backstory that explains her reaction.*
*Kate returns to her reaction and more dialogue ensues.*
*The scene concludes.*
In that case, no sequel would be needed. Here’s another option:
“My mother doesn’t like you,” Tex said.
“But we’ve sat on committees together, and she’s never acted like she hates me,” Kate said. (introduce backstory)
*Conclude scene quickly.*
*Sequel to fully develop backstory and Kate’s IM.*
But maybe Tex’s revelation is not outcome-determinative and any backstory has already been revealed. In that case, you can avoid interrupting the scene and/or providing a sequel. In order for this to work, the bits of reaction must be succinct and understandable.
One way to do this requires dialogue beats. Beats are little drops of action that fall outside the quotation marks and let the reader know who is speaking and what they are doing. For example:
“My mother doesn’t like you.” Tex folded his arms across his broad chest.
The beat is the second sentence. It replaces the dialogue tag (Tex said) with a stage gesture that provides insight into Tex’s internal dynamics. It’s not true IM because we’re not in Tex’s point of view, but it is a clue into what his IM might be, and provides something more for Kate to react to.
Now let’s add Kate’s reaction:
“My mother doesn’t like you.” Tex folded his arms across his broad chest.
His gesture was at odds with his casual tone. All right, then, he didn’t want her to take it too hard, even though he clearly felt a need to brace himself for her response. But Kate was not about to let his mother stand between them.
“She’ll change her mind once she knows me better.” Kate spread her hands wide, a gesture of openness, and was relieved to see that he dropped his arms to his sides.
“If anyone can win her over, it’s you.”
The IM comes through in Kate’s analysis of his gesture, her planned responsive gesture, and her relief when he relaxes. If we map it, it looks something like this:
*dialogue* *beat*
*her IM in three sentences*
*dialogue*
*she mirrors his gesture* *his new gesture*
*dialogue*
The dialogue acts like touchstones, framing the gestures and bridging his changing responses. The IM acts like a fulcrum, balancing Tex’s first action with his changed reaction.
Now we don’t need a sequel that explains Kate’s or Tex’s state of mind, because it should be clear from the scene. The reader not only sees the characters’ gestures, but why the gestures are important. But it takes a lot of narrative to load the gestures with meaning -- three sentences in Kate’s IM to qualify what they’re doing with their arms. This goes beyond the scope of a typical beat in a dialogue exchange, which is usually much shorter.
And that’s the danger in weaving IM or exposition into an active scene. Dialogue is fast-paced, but exposition in particular feels slow. The key, again, is balance. If the dialogue is important, more qualifying details can be braided in without grinding the pace down too much. But if the dialogue is relatively unimportant, the interpretive details should be confined to pieces no longer than typical beats -- or even eliminated altogether.
--------------
This is the third in the series of my dusty old Redlines column.
Redlines One (on paragraph logic faults) can be found here.
Redlines Two (on dialoge sequencing) can be found here.
Redlines Three (on using frames within scenes) can be found here.
Theresa
One of the primary differences between a scene and a sequel is the narrative emphasis. In a scene, the narrative focuses on events -- action or dialogue moving the plot forward. Anything that detracts from the events will slow the pacing of the scene.
By contrast, a sequel focuses on the internal reaction of the point of view character to a prior scene or scene sequence. The character will literally be exploring thoughts and feelings, which means that sequels are generally heavy in exposition.
Some writing teachers advocate a one-to-one ratio of scenes and sequels. But even where a lot of internal landscaping is necessary -- as in romance -- following every scene with a sequel can slow the pace and create a mechanical narrative. This is true even when the sequels are shorter than the scenes.
One alternative is to weave small pieces of IM and/or exposition into scenes. For this to work, the IM/expo and the scene action must remain in balance. Knowing how to balance these elements requires analysis and judgment, because the balance will vary depending on the plot and characters.
Think, for example, of a dialogue scene in which Tex tells Kate that his mother doesn’t like her. If this is a major plot element -- if, for example, Tex will lose his inheritance if his mother does not approve of his bride -- then the reader might need Kate’s emotional reactions in the scene, plus a sequel. Balance is the key. Big movements in plot action require bigger amounts of character reaction.
In that case, the sequence might look like this:
“My mother doesn’t like you,” Tex said.
*Kate has an internal reaction.*
*Kate responds to Tex directly.*
*The scene concludes.*
*IM-heavy sequel where Kate reflects and decides how to proceed.*
But maybe Tex’s mother’s feelings are not outcome-determinative. The reader will still want Kate’s reaction. The question becomes, how much information is needed for Kate’s reaction to make sense? If a lot of information is necessary -- for example, backstory about Kate’s dealings with the mother, things that happened outside the narrative timeline -- then the scene may need to be briefly interrupted to convey that information.
Then the sequence might look like this:
“My mother doesn’t like you,” Tex said.
*Kate starts to react, but pauses.*
*Exposition: Kate reflects on backstory that explains her reaction.*
*Kate returns to her reaction and more dialogue ensues.*
*The scene concludes.*
In that case, no sequel would be needed. Here’s another option:
“My mother doesn’t like you,” Tex said.
“But we’ve sat on committees together, and she’s never acted like she hates me,” Kate said. (introduce backstory)
*Conclude scene quickly.*
*Sequel to fully develop backstory and Kate’s IM.*
But maybe Tex’s revelation is not outcome-determinative and any backstory has already been revealed. In that case, you can avoid interrupting the scene and/or providing a sequel. In order for this to work, the bits of reaction must be succinct and understandable.
One way to do this requires dialogue beats. Beats are little drops of action that fall outside the quotation marks and let the reader know who is speaking and what they are doing. For example:
“My mother doesn’t like you.” Tex folded his arms across his broad chest.
The beat is the second sentence. It replaces the dialogue tag (Tex said) with a stage gesture that provides insight into Tex’s internal dynamics. It’s not true IM because we’re not in Tex’s point of view, but it is a clue into what his IM might be, and provides something more for Kate to react to.
Now let’s add Kate’s reaction:
“My mother doesn’t like you.” Tex folded his arms across his broad chest.
His gesture was at odds with his casual tone. All right, then, he didn’t want her to take it too hard, even though he clearly felt a need to brace himself for her response. But Kate was not about to let his mother stand between them.
“She’ll change her mind once she knows me better.” Kate spread her hands wide, a gesture of openness, and was relieved to see that he dropped his arms to his sides.
“If anyone can win her over, it’s you.”
The IM comes through in Kate’s analysis of his gesture, her planned responsive gesture, and her relief when he relaxes. If we map it, it looks something like this:
*dialogue* *beat*
*her IM in three sentences*
*dialogue*
*she mirrors his gesture* *his new gesture*
*dialogue*
The dialogue acts like touchstones, framing the gestures and bridging his changing responses. The IM acts like a fulcrum, balancing Tex’s first action with his changed reaction.
Now we don’t need a sequel that explains Kate’s or Tex’s state of mind, because it should be clear from the scene. The reader not only sees the characters’ gestures, but why the gestures are important. But it takes a lot of narrative to load the gestures with meaning -- three sentences in Kate’s IM to qualify what they’re doing with their arms. This goes beyond the scope of a typical beat in a dialogue exchange, which is usually much shorter.
And that’s the danger in weaving IM or exposition into an active scene. Dialogue is fast-paced, but exposition in particular feels slow. The key, again, is balance. If the dialogue is important, more qualifying details can be braided in without grinding the pace down too much. But if the dialogue is relatively unimportant, the interpretive details should be confined to pieces no longer than typical beats -- or even eliminated altogether.
--------------
This is the third in the series of my dusty old Redlines column.
Redlines One (on paragraph logic faults) can be found here.
Redlines Two (on dialoge sequencing) can be found here.
Redlines Three (on using frames within scenes) can be found here.
Theresa
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Redlines Three: Framing Scene Elements
This is the third in the series of my dusty old Redlines column.
Redlines One (on paragraph logic faults) can be found here.
Redlines Two (on dialoge sequencing) can be found here.
----------------------------
Redlines One (on paragraph logic faults) can be found here.
Redlines Two (on dialoge sequencing) can be found here.
----------------------------
Recently, we have been looking at small scale logic problems. This month, we will take a look at an editing trick that helps balance interior monologue (IM) with action so that logic problems are avoided. But first, in order to understand this month’s concept, let’s look at the structural element usually called a “frame.”
Some of you may be familiar with the idea of a frame story; that is, a novel that opens and closes with linked pieces that “frame” the long middle. The frame can be set off from the main story piece in any number of ways -- most commonly, by being in a different time or setting.
Need an example? Think of The Odyssey, which opens with Odysseus’s return home, then tells the story of the last ten years, then returns to the present homecoming. In that, the homecoming is the frame.
The sequence can be mapped like this:
- introduce an event in the present
- event in the past
- event in the past
- event in the past.
- return to complete the event in the present
with the number of events in the past varying according to the needs of the story.
This same structure, shrunk down to a smaller level, provides a model for balancing IM and scene action. IM is a crucial element in romance, where the romance plot centers on emotions rather than actions. But IM -- like backstory -- takes the narrative out of the action of the present story time. Because things that interrupt the story time will feel slower-paced than the action/dialogue scenes themselves, IM needs to be carefully handled to maintain reader interest.
Let’s imagine our heroine needs to step back from the story action and think about her attraction to the hero, Jake. Let’s say you draft this bit of IM and, upon re-reading it, it feels slow and chunky, almost disconnected from the story line.
By framing that short IM bit with present story-time action, you can effectively lower the reader into the IM, and then draw them back into the story line with the same idea. The action itself doesn’t matter much, as long as it makes sense within the overall context. So let’s have Kate saddle her horse while thinking about Jake.
- start saddling horse in present story time
- think about Jake’s shoulders
- think about Jake’s hair
- think about Jake’s lips
- finish saddling the horse
Then continue the story.
You’ve probably seen that done hundreds of times, maybe even learned to recognize that the “saddle” sentences are transitions. They take the reader into and out of the IM, and simultaneously bridge the action interrupted by the IM. The technique would not be effective if we opened with the saddle, and closed with, say, a pitchfork or loose fencepost.
When the IM is complex, we can link framed pieces. Let’s say Kate is attracted to Jake’s body (piece one) but doesn’t like his temperament (piece two):
New Paragraph -start saddling horse in present story time~ think about Jake’s shoulders~ think about Jake’s hair~ think about Jake’s lips~ - New Paragraph -tighten a jangly thingie on the saddle~ think about Jake’s scowl~ think about Jake yelling at his brother~
- New Paragraph -finish saddling the horse~
- New Paragraph -tighten a jangly thingie on the saddle~ think about Jake’s scowl~ think about Jake yelling at his brother~
Then continue the story.
It’s not a one-size-fits-all technique, but is one effective way of controlling the flow of IM. Next month we’ll try the same idea out on a dialogue passage.
Theresa
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