In the comments of the last post, someone suggested (or I interpreted :) that a lot of passive voice might mean that the scene is passive-- that you're not forcing your characters to be active and make choices and cause things to happen.
Think about that. Prose and action are intertwined-- that is, the action is told in prose, and so they can reflect each other. If there's a "passive" problem in my sentences, maybe the solution isn't fixing the sentences (or whining about how this is my voice and it's an assault on my human dignity to tell me to fix). Maybe I should be looking at the scene and specifically at what I'm requiring of my characters. If there's nothing happening in the scene that requires them to act, the POV character might just hang around and introspect and relate in retrospect what happened and ruminate about it. And the sentences will naturally reflect that lassitude and lack of urgency.
But if instead of making this scene take place in the POV character's head, I make it take place in the campaign headquarters or in the abandoned house or the kitchen. And I can make the character do something. And I bet the sentences will get more active, just because they have more to do when the character has more to do.
After all, Churchill felt the urgency of the situation, the need of the populace for motivation and reassurance, the potential for change. And that feeling empowered his sentences. Maybe for us, the trick is to create a situation that requires power, then feel that in the scene, and transmit it into the sentences. Then maybe we won't have to worry about passive sentences, because we're not being passive, and neither are our characters.
So often prose problems are symptoms of scene problems. :)
Alicia
Showing posts with label passive voice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passive voice. Show all posts
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Passive voice-- just some thoughts
I just had a couple thoughts about passive construction. First, I see it often when students are trying to avoid using "I": Wild food is cooked at the annual Wild Food Picnic." But why not go ahead and say, "We cook wild food at the annual Wild Food Picnic." Passive is NOT better than using "I" or "we," as the subject should usually be the one that commits the action, and "we" did the cooking, so "we" should take credit for it. :)
Sometimes, writers assume "is and was" are markers of passive voice. But "is and was" have other roles, most of which have nothing to do with passive voice. For example:
I was once a champion tennis player.
That's a "predicate nominative," where the "was" just links the two nouns (I and tennis player) almost like an equal sign. There is no action (just "being"), so the sentence can't be active or passive.
The dress was red once. Now it is sort of pink.
That's a similar construction, just with an adjective (red) after the verb. That's a "predicate adjective" sentence.
Both of these use is/was to illustrate some aspect of the subject (I, the dress). Again, there's no action, so it can't be passive. It just "is".
"Is and was" can also turn a verb into a progressive verb --I am going (present progressive) rather than I go (present tense); I was going (past progressive) rather than I went (past tense). That's not passive voice, just another way the linking verb can be used (or, to be active! ... another way we can use the linking verb... see how "we" get in there!).
Those aren't passive construction. What is? It's when the ACTOR (the committer of the action) isn't in the subject position but the object position (where the object of the action should be). Or rather, the object (target of action) is in the subject position.
Example:
Passive voice is where the object is in the subject position:
Subject is usually what commits the action (the "agent" of the action)
Verb is usually the action
Object is usually what the action is committed on (the "patient or recipient" of the action).
So an active order is:
Paul (subject/agent) hit (verb) the ball (object/patient).
Passive order is:
The ball (object) was hit (verb) by Paul (subject).
The longer the sentence, I find, the more likely we trend into passive. Academic writing also often invites us to get all passive:
PASSIVE — In order to locate this paragraph, the cross reference feature was used.
ACTIVE — In order to locate this paragraph, the researchers used the cross reference feature.
What's wrong with passive construction? Well, for one reason, it allows us to avoid responsibility. "That $10 bill was stolen from your dresser" is sort of idle and guiltless. "I stole that $10 bill from your dresser" accepts responsibility (and even asserts pride, maybe).
Passive voice also leaches vividness and drama out of your sentences, because the subtext is that things just sort of happen. There's no real volition or intention in a passive construction.
"And then the car was just sort of dented."
"And I don't know how it happened, but the milk was spilled all over the floor."
And the famous Richard Nixon "admission of guilt:" "Mistakes were made."
Drama, power, conflict: Those are all in the active voice, and so you should default to active construction for livelier prose. Think about Churchill, trying to rally his country to resist occupation. He didn't use passive construction ("The battle shall be fought on the beaches") when he wanted to empower the British. Notice when he uses active and when he uses passive. (This is masterful manipulation of active/passive, by the way!). The highlighted parts are passive, and see how they are "the others in the past" (the other blue-highlighted line shows an unimaginable future for Britain, also passive), and notice how he will NOT give the Nazis the power (they are relegated to the object position, even though they are the ones subjugating!):
Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail.
We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France,
we shall fight on the seas and oceans,
we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be,
we shall fight on the beaches,
we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender , and even if, which I do not for a moment believe, this Island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.
Now Churchill was almost supernatural in his rhetorical command (notice that almost every word there is Anglo-Saxon or old English... very few "Norman" -- Romance language-- word). But when we decide to speak forcefully, we instinctively go into active mode and use strong, basic verbs and clear construction, don't we? Keep that in mind as you write!
However... passive voice is preferable in a few circumstances:
When the "actor" isn't known, or isn't relevant:
1) The general's house was broken into last night. (We don't know who "committed the action.")
2) Her grandfather's ashes were interred last weekend. (We don't care who actually dug the hole and put the box of ashes in there.)
That's pretty limited!
Passive voice is also used (ahem, that's passive-- who is using? The writer!) when the writer doesn't WANT to assign responsibility. (How would you revise that to make it active!!!?) Have you ever gotten a past-due notice from a utility company? The FIRST notice is usually quite polite and passive: "This bill has not been paid." Why? Because they don't want to be rude and alienate you as a customer by accusing you of being a deadbeat! But the THIRD notice isn't so passive: "You have neglected to pay this bill for 90 days!"
I don't think writers should give up any writing tool, and passive voice would never have developed if there wasn't some use for it. Here's a fascinating rhetorical theory: Politeness theory. It posits that the more dangerous the potential consequence of speech, the more careful, lengthy, and passive our speech becomes. During the Spanish Inquisition, or when we get stopped by the highway patrol, we want to make sure that we don't give offense or accept responsibility if the consequence of "speaking freely" means we will get punished. (Watch the wedding scene in The Godfather and see how polite and passive everyone is towards the Don.) Passive voice is a useful tool when you have to be polite!
However, we shouldn't be passive unless we have a good reason to be passive! This is especially important in the narrative of fiction. Don't evade responsibility or let your characters get away with it, and don't dodge away from action (unless, of course, you have a good reason, like to show how passive a character is).
http://www.unc.edu/depts/wcweb/handouts/passivevoice.html
Alicia
Friday, September 4, 2009
Can style be taught?
A friend asks me, "Can style be taught?" and I don't know. What do you all think? I think writers can be taught certain techniques that work, helped to recognize ways to create felicitous and meaningful phrases-- most importantly, guided to understanding the power that controlling prose can bring. We can learn to use and not avoid repetition, to aim for sentence combination and not just variety, to design our paragraphs for suppleness with transitions and links.
However, I don't think rhythm recognition can be taught. I think we can remind ourselves always to stay open to beauty and power, to appreciate cadence and melody in sentences, and to analyze passages to imbed more meaning-- and that analysis and creativity are comrades, not enemies. I think we can all learn to open our minds, to listen for poetic phrasing, to hear the music in paragraphs.
But no, I don't think we can be taught (or learn on our own) to write like Virginia Woolf or Vladimir Nabokov, any more than the most astute tennis coaching can give us a forehand like Serena Williams's. Talent does give you an edge in any endeavor. :) I do, however, think that almost anyone functionally literate can be taught to write on an adequate level, and that already adequate writers can be taught some techniques to be good writers, and that extraordinary writers can learn from the responses of good readers to improve whatever rough edges or complications still remain.
Notice the missing step there-- good to extraordinary. I suspect that step is the one that depends most on talent and dedication, and the least actually on coaching or teaching.
This is, actually, the problem I had with the character of the young math genius in Good Will Hunting. He happened to be a genius, but he had no real interest in math or anything else, and so it wasn't just his poor background that relegated him to janitorial status while not-quite-so-brilliant guys became MIT professors. (Notice that when the professor tries to help him explore math on something beyond a "trained-monkey" level, Will rejects him and leaves, and never does, it seems, pursue this inquiry.) He had no enthusiasm, no real love for the seeking of knowledge. And that, more than the childhood abuse, more than the underprivileged upbringing, was what doomed him to his angry, bitter, resentful existence. I remember my mother talking about her own past-- born the child of ethnic immigrant factory workers in the Depression, enduring a childhood of serious illness and fears, and a pretty inadequate factory town education, not to mention a culture that actively discouraged girls from achieving-- and she said, "I was a timid girl. But I had an enthusiasm for science." (She ended up with a PhD in microbiology.)
Enthusiasm is an essential ingredient, I think, in becoming more than just the talent. And that's what will take the merely talented, the naturally great wordsmiths, into eloquence. But neither talent nor enthusiasm can be taught, and so that step from good to great (which requires both) is probably the one that is hardest to make, and hardest to coach too. And of course, those are the writers who probably most want to be great, and who, sadly, recognize most how far they are from greatness.
(You've probably noticed that the most confident writers are generally the least accomplished... the better we get, the more we realize how distant greatness really is. :)
Fortunately, "merely good" is plenty good enough to succeed in almost every field, if "merely good" is combined with "hard working" and "disciplined". So maybe we can go from "merely good" to "very good" through study. What do you all think? Can you teach style?
(And of course, we should eventually discuss the diff between "style" and "voice".:)
Alicia being difficult
However, I don't think rhythm recognition can be taught. I think we can remind ourselves always to stay open to beauty and power, to appreciate cadence and melody in sentences, and to analyze passages to imbed more meaning-- and that analysis and creativity are comrades, not enemies. I think we can all learn to open our minds, to listen for poetic phrasing, to hear the music in paragraphs.
But no, I don't think we can be taught (or learn on our own) to write like Virginia Woolf or Vladimir Nabokov, any more than the most astute tennis coaching can give us a forehand like Serena Williams's. Talent does give you an edge in any endeavor. :) I do, however, think that almost anyone functionally literate can be taught to write on an adequate level, and that already adequate writers can be taught some techniques to be good writers, and that extraordinary writers can learn from the responses of good readers to improve whatever rough edges or complications still remain.
Notice the missing step there-- good to extraordinary. I suspect that step is the one that depends most on talent and dedication, and the least actually on coaching or teaching.
This is, actually, the problem I had with the character of the young math genius in Good Will Hunting. He happened to be a genius, but he had no real interest in math or anything else, and so it wasn't just his poor background that relegated him to janitorial status while not-quite-so-brilliant guys became MIT professors. (Notice that when the professor tries to help him explore math on something beyond a "trained-monkey" level, Will rejects him and leaves, and never does, it seems, pursue this inquiry.) He had no enthusiasm, no real love for the seeking of knowledge. And that, more than the childhood abuse, more than the underprivileged upbringing, was what doomed him to his angry, bitter, resentful existence. I remember my mother talking about her own past-- born the child of ethnic immigrant factory workers in the Depression, enduring a childhood of serious illness and fears, and a pretty inadequate factory town education, not to mention a culture that actively discouraged girls from achieving-- and she said, "I was a timid girl. But I had an enthusiasm for science." (She ended up with a PhD in microbiology.)
Enthusiasm is an essential ingredient, I think, in becoming more than just the talent. And that's what will take the merely talented, the naturally great wordsmiths, into eloquence. But neither talent nor enthusiasm can be taught, and so that step from good to great (which requires both) is probably the one that is hardest to make, and hardest to coach too. And of course, those are the writers who probably most want to be great, and who, sadly, recognize most how far they are from greatness.
(You've probably noticed that the most confident writers are generally the least accomplished... the better we get, the more we realize how distant greatness really is. :)
Fortunately, "merely good" is plenty good enough to succeed in almost every field, if "merely good" is combined with "hard working" and "disciplined". So maybe we can go from "merely good" to "very good" through study. What do you all think? Can you teach style?
(And of course, we should eventually discuss the diff between "style" and "voice".:)
Alicia being difficult
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
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Prepositions, ending with
Alicia here-
Notice that Theresa writes all that great info about the conference, and I'm fixated on single words. I have always thought of myself as a "big picture" type person, but I'm re-imaging my self-image. I'm beginning to think I'm, horrors, a pedant. Or as Lynn Truss (Eats, Shoots, and Leaves-- fabulous book if you love punctuation -- actually, Theresa gave it to me!) would term it, I am a stickler.
Just a quick stickler note because I came across this issue lately --
The "rule" that you should never end a sentence with a preposition is really incompatible with the English language. English has a lot of predicates which are verb+preposition (just look at "look": look at, look over, look towards, look away from, look up, look down...) and so often when you end a sentence on one of these predicates (perfectly correct), you end up with a preposition as the last word of the sentence:
He glanced over.
She looked up.
He didn't know what this was about. (Was about is actually the full predicate there, I think.)
A preposition? Well, that's what the sentence ended with.
"Fixing" this often ends up with a sentence like Churchill's classic: "That is an impertinence up with which I will not put."
All due respect to Churchill, who knew exactly what to do with the English language... he's right. Fixing often makes for even more awkward sentences. But, well, if you can, rewrite it. Why? Because a preposition really not a great way to end a sentence. The last word of a sentence, like the first, should ideally have some power, and a preposition is always going to be a bit lame, because it's a "position" word, not a noun or verb (which carry, respectively, concreteness and vitality). Also, you're bound to run into a reader (or an editor) who knows the rule but not the exceptions, and so thinks you're wrong even if you're not. (I don't do that much, but I recklessly use "hopefully" as a sentence adverb-- Hopefully, the picnic won't be rained out-- and always when I'm with my father-in-law, who regards "hopefully" as a barbarism akin to cannibalism and hence looks upon me with suspicion now, especially when I ask him to pass the mustard.)
Anyway, whenever you break a "rule," stop and see if you can recast the sentence to avoid it. (If the "wrong" way is the best way, you'll learn that by trying and failing to recast it.) Just experiment. The original sentence won't fly away if you try a few others. It'll wait patiently for you to come abjectly back and beg forgiveness. :)
Here's the sentence, very simple, that started me on this (context so it will make more sense-- this is about a young woman on her 4th marriage, and the dilemma is, should the heroine attend the wedding and give yet another present to the oft-bride, and I'm modifying the original to make the point while disguising it, so I apologize for the clumsiness-- it wasn't so awkward to start with):
She might have fewer weddings if she didn't think of them as fun parties she got lots of presents at.
Easy to fix, once you decide that you're going to get rid of that awkward ending prep:
She might have fewer weddings if she didn't think of them as fun parties where she got lots of presents.
Not that prepositions can NEVER end sentences (as I ranted during that semicolon argument I mean debate, never say never). But while I will fight to the death for your right to do that when it works, usually there's a better way to cast the sentence.
Alicia
Notice that Theresa writes all that great info about the conference, and I'm fixated on single words. I have always thought of myself as a "big picture" type person, but I'm re-imaging my self-image. I'm beginning to think I'm, horrors, a pedant. Or as Lynn Truss (Eats, Shoots, and Leaves-- fabulous book if you love punctuation -- actually, Theresa gave it to me!) would term it, I am a stickler.
Just a quick stickler note because I came across this issue lately --
The "rule" that you should never end a sentence with a preposition is really incompatible with the English language. English has a lot of predicates which are verb+preposition (just look at "look": look at, look over, look towards, look away from, look up, look down...) and so often when you end a sentence on one of these predicates (perfectly correct), you end up with a preposition as the last word of the sentence:
He glanced over.
She looked up.
He didn't know what this was about. (Was about is actually the full predicate there, I think.)
A preposition? Well, that's what the sentence ended with.
"Fixing" this often ends up with a sentence like Churchill's classic: "That is an impertinence up with which I will not put."
All due respect to Churchill, who knew exactly what to do with the English language... he's right. Fixing often makes for even more awkward sentences. But, well, if you can, rewrite it. Why? Because a preposition really not a great way to end a sentence. The last word of a sentence, like the first, should ideally have some power, and a preposition is always going to be a bit lame, because it's a "position" word, not a noun or verb (which carry, respectively, concreteness and vitality). Also, you're bound to run into a reader (or an editor) who knows the rule but not the exceptions, and so thinks you're wrong even if you're not. (I don't do that much, but I recklessly use "hopefully" as a sentence adverb-- Hopefully, the picnic won't be rained out-- and always when I'm with my father-in-law, who regards "hopefully" as a barbarism akin to cannibalism and hence looks upon me with suspicion now, especially when I ask him to pass the mustard.)
Anyway, whenever you break a "rule," stop and see if you can recast the sentence to avoid it. (If the "wrong" way is the best way, you'll learn that by trying and failing to recast it.) Just experiment. The original sentence won't fly away if you try a few others. It'll wait patiently for you to come abjectly back and beg forgiveness. :)
Here's the sentence, very simple, that started me on this (context so it will make more sense-- this is about a young woman on her 4th marriage, and the dilemma is, should the heroine attend the wedding and give yet another present to the oft-bride, and I'm modifying the original to make the point while disguising it, so I apologize for the clumsiness-- it wasn't so awkward to start with):
She might have fewer weddings if she didn't think of them as fun parties she got lots of presents at.
Easy to fix, once you decide that you're going to get rid of that awkward ending prep:
She might have fewer weddings if she didn't think of them as fun parties where she got lots of presents.
Not that prepositions can NEVER end sentences (as I ranted during that semicolon argument I mean debate, never say never). But while I will fight to the death for your right to do that when it works, usually there's a better way to cast the sentence.
Alicia
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Author authority -- items in a series
Theresa and I talk about signs of "author authority." No, that doesn't mean your characters always do what you say, or you can command high advances! Rather it means that something in the voice tells us that this author knows what he/she is doing, knows (instinctively or no) how to get the desired reader effect. It's hard to define, but we know it when we read it-- it's like nervously sitting down in an airplane and looking out the window at the driving rain, and then hearing the pilot on the PA system, "Hey, folks, this is Captain Mason, and I know it looks like a muddy night. But don't you worry. Just sit back and relax. Me and the crew, we know what we're doin'." And you TOTALLY believe it, and you know that if you should turn out to be very pregnant and go into labor right there in the plane, the captain and his crew would deliver that baby just fine at 40,000 feet in the sky. (And, oh, yeah, he's got a slight West Virginia drawl, and sounds just like Sam Shepherd playing Chuck Yeager.)
Anyway, when we read the first page of a manuscript with "author authority," we can just sit back and relax and read, because we know-- this author knows what to do.
So how do we know that? There are a thousand indicators that let us know that this author is going to give us a good ride. But I'll just talk about one common one today, and no doubt we'll add more later.
Items in a series. NOT very exciting, huh? But for various reasons-- sentence balance, conveyance of trivia overload, conveyance of overwhelming force, all sorts of reasons dependent on context-- authors often like to list things. And HOW you list them tells me whether you have an ear for rhythm, a consciousness of significance, and an awareness of construction.
Here's a famous example, the characterization of Byron by Caro Lamb: "He was mad, bad, and dangerous to know," which is such a great capsule description of the dark hero. I love the interior rhyme there (mad/bad) and the last item's transfer of meaning from who he is (mad, bad, dangerous) to the effect on people (to know).
So some guidelines, just in case this doesn't come naturally to you.
1) Think about your numbers here. How many items are you putting in there? The Byron example uses the magic rule of three. This rule, which isn't a rule but an observation, follows the notion that that triangle is at once the most stable and most conflict-filled situation. Mom, Dad, and me = three. Red, white, and blue= three. Three strikes. Three outs. Three point play (just cuz it's March Madness. :). Three-time loser.
Two's a coincidence... three's a pattern.
Notice that Caro Lamb knew that we respond instinctively to three items. We feel a completion with three. With "mad and bad," we would be left waiting for the punchline. (Notice how many jokes are "three"-- A rabbi, a priest, and a minister walk into a bar.)
Our expectations, however, mean that you can play with that rule of three. If you put only two items in a series (AND, and this is a big AND, you've given us reason to think you haven't just screwed up, that you've done this to some purpose), then the sense of suspension, of waiting, can make us wait-- subconsciously we're waiting for something to happen. That's actually a good way to set us up for some disaster, and thus is an important component of suspense-- make us wait for that third item.
And using more than three can make us laugh and then make us annoyed, which is great if that's what you want. Notice that standup comedians often start with a list of three, and then pause, and start adding to it, so it's kind of like this (I'm not very funny, so don't expect to laugh):
So I ate the peach. And then I ate the pasta salad. And then I ate the burger. (Long pause.) And the five-bean salad. (Pause.) And the baked beans. (Pause.) And the scalloped potatoes. (Pause.) And the au-gratin potatoes. (Pause.) And the tablecloth. And my nephew. He got in the way.
The repetition (and the...) adds to the accumulation and sets us up for the punchline.
Going on beyond three is a way to really pound home a point. Here's an example from a Don Delillo novel:
As cars slowed to a crawl and stopped, students sprang out and raced to the rear doors to begin removing the objects inside; the stereo sets, radios, personal computers; small refrigerators and table ranges; the cartons of phonograph records and cassettes; the hairdryers and styling irons; the tennis rackets, soccer balls, hockey and lacrosse sticks, bows and arrows; the controlled substances, the birth control pills and devices; the junk food still in shopping bags—onion-and-garlic chips, nacho thins, peanut creme patties, Waffelos and Kabooms, fruit chews and toffee popcorn; the Dum-Dum pops, the Mystic mints.
That's a critique of capitalist society, in case you didn't notice, but for those of us with kids in college, it seems pretty true to life. Yes, it's annoying, and even gets a bit boring there at the end, but see how visual the scene becomes, as we imagine all that junk coming out of the car and piling up on the sidewalk.
But breaking the rule of three only has the effect of transgression because inside each of us is that expectation of three. So start with that, and then decide if you want to bust that expectation. But authority lies in your knowing WHY-- what effect this will have on the reader. You don't have to know this consciously, but your readers can tell if you know instinctively what you're doing and why.
2) Start with parallel structure and violate that at your own risk. Parallel structure is the expectation that all items in a series will have the same grammatical form, that is, they'll all be adjectives (mad, bad, dangerous) or all nouns (the stereo sets, radios, personal computers). If they are phrases or clauses, they are all the same type (participial, relative). And all the items in the list should follow from the sentence root, so for example, if the sentence is structured if the sentence is Subject-Verb- LIST, every item in the list should be structured to follow the verb.
So:
NOT:
I want to know everything. I want to know how the sun rises, and why the sky is blue, and tomorrow's lottery winner.
BUT:
I want to know everything. I want to know how the sun rises, and why the sky is blue, and who will win tomorrow's lottery.
(Emphasis added.)
3) Rhythmic balance is important. Lists are really poetic devices, and you're using them for poetic effect, so go for rhythm rather than clunk. That usually means putting the shortest item first, and the longest last. Look again at "mad, bad, and dangerous to know," and read it aloud. Hear yourself drawing out that last item so the list comes to a conclusion right at the right instant? (The interior rhyme helps by pairing the first two, so that the three-word last item is still longer, but only just enough.)
4) Also try and end on the most important item:
He was tried for usury, embezzlement, and high treason.
(I'd suggest adding something to "high treason" so it's also longer than "embezzlement," say, "rank high treason" or "attempted high treason," but I'm compulsive.)
If the last item is more than one word, try to end it on the word you want to linger in the reader's mind. "Treason" is a strong word, and if you had, say, "... a high treason attempt," you'd be ending instead on a weak word (attempt means he didn't manage it!). Think of where the conflict is, which item opens to a story better, and it's not always what you might think. After all, torture is worse than temptation, right? But look at this: The devil specializes in torment, torture, and temptation. Temptation is the one that will open up story/scene possibilities, right? Torment and torture are solutions, however nasty. Temptation is an open question-- will the victim resist or succumb?
Again, at any point, you can defy reader expectation for comic or suspense effect. They'll expect, for example, that the last item will be the most intense or important, so if you put something trivial there, it will be amusing:
He was tried for high treason, murder, and spitting on the sidewalk.
5) As I said, the list is meant to be poetic and rhythmic, so if you have a secret hankering for alliteration (torment, torture, temptation) or anaphora (Churchill: we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender.) or rhyme (mad, bad), go for it. Don't go for it too much, but this is precisely the place to have some fun.
Alicia
Anyway, when we read the first page of a manuscript with "author authority," we can just sit back and relax and read, because we know-- this author knows what to do.
So how do we know that? There are a thousand indicators that let us know that this author is going to give us a good ride. But I'll just talk about one common one today, and no doubt we'll add more later.
Items in a series. NOT very exciting, huh? But for various reasons-- sentence balance, conveyance of trivia overload, conveyance of overwhelming force, all sorts of reasons dependent on context-- authors often like to list things. And HOW you list them tells me whether you have an ear for rhythm, a consciousness of significance, and an awareness of construction.
Here's a famous example, the characterization of Byron by Caro Lamb: "He was mad, bad, and dangerous to know," which is such a great capsule description of the dark hero. I love the interior rhyme there (mad/bad) and the last item's transfer of meaning from who he is (mad, bad, dangerous) to the effect on people (to know).
So some guidelines, just in case this doesn't come naturally to you.
1) Think about your numbers here. How many items are you putting in there? The Byron example uses the magic rule of three. This rule, which isn't a rule but an observation, follows the notion that that triangle is at once the most stable and most conflict-filled situation. Mom, Dad, and me = three. Red, white, and blue= three. Three strikes. Three outs. Three point play (just cuz it's March Madness. :). Three-time loser.
Two's a coincidence... three's a pattern.
Notice that Caro Lamb knew that we respond instinctively to three items. We feel a completion with three. With "mad and bad," we would be left waiting for the punchline. (Notice how many jokes are "three"-- A rabbi, a priest, and a minister walk into a bar.)
Our expectations, however, mean that you can play with that rule of three. If you put only two items in a series (AND, and this is a big AND, you've given us reason to think you haven't just screwed up, that you've done this to some purpose), then the sense of suspension, of waiting, can make us wait-- subconsciously we're waiting for something to happen. That's actually a good way to set us up for some disaster, and thus is an important component of suspense-- make us wait for that third item.
And using more than three can make us laugh and then make us annoyed, which is great if that's what you want. Notice that standup comedians often start with a list of three, and then pause, and start adding to it, so it's kind of like this (I'm not very funny, so don't expect to laugh):
So I ate the peach. And then I ate the pasta salad. And then I ate the burger. (Long pause.) And the five-bean salad. (Pause.) And the baked beans. (Pause.) And the scalloped potatoes. (Pause.) And the au-gratin potatoes. (Pause.) And the tablecloth. And my nephew. He got in the way.
The repetition (and the...) adds to the accumulation and sets us up for the punchline.
Going on beyond three is a way to really pound home a point. Here's an example from a Don Delillo novel:
As cars slowed to a crawl and stopped, students sprang out and raced to the rear doors to begin removing the objects inside; the stereo sets, radios, personal computers; small refrigerators and table ranges; the cartons of phonograph records and cassettes; the hairdryers and styling irons; the tennis rackets, soccer balls, hockey and lacrosse sticks, bows and arrows; the controlled substances, the birth control pills and devices; the junk food still in shopping bags—onion-and-garlic chips, nacho thins, peanut creme patties, Waffelos and Kabooms, fruit chews and toffee popcorn; the Dum-Dum pops, the Mystic mints.
That's a critique of capitalist society, in case you didn't notice, but for those of us with kids in college, it seems pretty true to life. Yes, it's annoying, and even gets a bit boring there at the end, but see how visual the scene becomes, as we imagine all that junk coming out of the car and piling up on the sidewalk.
But breaking the rule of three only has the effect of transgression because inside each of us is that expectation of three. So start with that, and then decide if you want to bust that expectation. But authority lies in your knowing WHY-- what effect this will have on the reader. You don't have to know this consciously, but your readers can tell if you know instinctively what you're doing and why.
2) Start with parallel structure and violate that at your own risk. Parallel structure is the expectation that all items in a series will have the same grammatical form, that is, they'll all be adjectives (mad, bad, dangerous) or all nouns (the stereo sets, radios, personal computers). If they are phrases or clauses, they are all the same type (participial, relative). And all the items in the list should follow from the sentence root, so for example, if the sentence is structured if the sentence is Subject-Verb- LIST, every item in the list should be structured to follow the verb.
So:
NOT:
I want to know everything. I want to know how the sun rises, and why the sky is blue, and tomorrow's lottery winner.
BUT:
I want to know everything. I want to know how the sun rises, and why the sky is blue, and who will win tomorrow's lottery.
(Emphasis added.)
3) Rhythmic balance is important. Lists are really poetic devices, and you're using them for poetic effect, so go for rhythm rather than clunk. That usually means putting the shortest item first, and the longest last. Look again at "mad, bad, and dangerous to know," and read it aloud. Hear yourself drawing out that last item so the list comes to a conclusion right at the right instant? (The interior rhyme helps by pairing the first two, so that the three-word last item is still longer, but only just enough.)
4) Also try and end on the most important item:
He was tried for usury, embezzlement, and high treason.
(I'd suggest adding something to "high treason" so it's also longer than "embezzlement," say, "rank high treason" or "attempted high treason," but I'm compulsive.)
If the last item is more than one word, try to end it on the word you want to linger in the reader's mind. "Treason" is a strong word, and if you had, say, "... a high treason attempt," you'd be ending instead on a weak word (attempt means he didn't manage it!). Think of where the conflict is, which item opens to a story better, and it's not always what you might think. After all, torture is worse than temptation, right? But look at this: The devil specializes in torment, torture, and temptation. Temptation is the one that will open up story/scene possibilities, right? Torment and torture are solutions, however nasty. Temptation is an open question-- will the victim resist or succumb?
Again, at any point, you can defy reader expectation for comic or suspense effect. They'll expect, for example, that the last item will be the most intense or important, so if you put something trivial there, it will be amusing:
He was tried for high treason, murder, and spitting on the sidewalk.
5) As I said, the list is meant to be poetic and rhythmic, so if you have a secret hankering for alliteration (torment, torture, temptation) or anaphora (Churchill: we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender.) or rhyme (mad, bad), go for it. Don't go for it too much, but this is precisely the place to have some fun.
Alicia
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Redlines Five: Passive Voice
Don't forget to enter our really bad pov contest! Deadline tomorrow, details on the sidebar. If you're on a feed reader, go here to see the sidebar.
-----------------
Last month, we looked at how to load description into a sentence for impact. In doing so, we reviewed the three main parts of a sentence: subject, verb, and object. This month, we’ll examine passive voice, which is a useful -- but dangerous -- way of obscuring the true subject of a sentence.
Let’s start with a quick review of the three parts of a sentence. Here’s our sample sentence from last month:
The dog ... barked ... at the intruder.
subject ... verb ... predicative object
It’s a simple sentence in active voice. A simple sentence is one with one subject, one predicate, and no subordinate clauses. Sometimes sentences -- or parts of a sentence, such as the verb -- are compound. Here’s an example of a compound sentence (two independent clauses joined by a conjunction):
The dog ... barked ... and ... the intruder ... jumped.
subject ... verb ... conjunction ... subject ... verb
Keep this in mind for later.
Has anyone ever told you to avoid passive voice? There’s a lot of misunderstanding out there about what passive voice is and what it can accomplish.
Here’s a terrible but accurate definition: passive voice removes the true subject from a sentence, and replaces it with the true object so that the true object is the subject within the sentence structure. With a definition like this, it’s no wonder that there is so much confusion!
It’s much easier to understand by looking at an example.
Active voice:
The dog ... barked ... at the intruder.
subject ... verb ... predicative object.
Passive voice:
The intruder ... was barked at.
subject (true object) ... verb
The dog -- the actor in the sentence, the one actually doing the barking -- has fallen out of the sentence and is only implied. The true object of the sentence, the intruder, functions like the subject.
Sometimes writers try to “fix” passive constructions by attaching the subject in the place where the object is usually found. As in:
The intruder ... was barked at ... by the dog.
subject (true object) ... verb ... object (true subject)
But the better fix is to put the sentence in active voice, letting the actor (the dog) be the subject and take the action, instead of being the object and receiving the action.
There will be times that you actually want to remove the subject from the sentence. For example, you may want to hide the identity of the subject, or it may be impossible to know the subject’s identity. Let’s say the point of view character is alone in a house and you want to heighten the tension. Passive voice might be appropriate. Here’s an example:
The doorknob ... was jiggled.
object ... verb
The pov character doesn’t know who is making the doorknob jiggle, so the subject is removed and the passive voice is appropriate. Hiding the subject creates tension. Who is jiggling the doorknob? The reader must turn the page to find out.
The problem with passive voice comes when the identity of the subject must be disclosed in order for the sentence to make sense. Remember our compound sentence?
The dog barked and the intruder jumped.
What happens when we put it in passive voice?
The intruder was barked at and jumped.
Sentences like this can slip into even the most lucid prose. The intruder looks like the functional subject, with a compound verb. But only one of the actions (the jumping) is being taken by the intruder. The other action (the barking) is being taken by a dropped subject. The result is confusing, even though there are only seven words in the sentence.
If your sentence feels tangled and you suspect that passive voice might be the problem, here is the fix:
1. Identify the verb. In the sentence, “A home run was scored by Sally,” the verb is “was scored.”
2. Next, identify who is taking the action of the verb. In the sample sentence, the action of the verb is scoring, and Sally is the one doing the scoring, so the actor is “Sally.”
3. Next, identify the structural subject of the sentence. In the sample sentence, the subject is “home run.”
4. If the actor is not the subject, you’ve got passive voice. Put the actor back in charge of the action by untwisting the parts of speech, and you’ll eliminate the passive voice: “Sally scored a home run.”
If this four-step fix doesn’t seem to apply to your tangled sentence, then passive voice might not be the problem. There may be something else clouding the meaning. Next month, we’ll look at other confusing types of passive construction that might be the culprit, including the dreaded “that” construction.
------------------
This is the sixth in the Redlines series.
Redlines One (on paragraph logic faults) can be found here.
Redlines Two (on dialogue sequencing) can be found here.
Redlines Three (on using frames within scenes) can be found here.
Redlines Four (on avoiding the need for "sequel") can be found here.
Redlines Five (on description) can be found here.
Theresa
-----------------
Last month, we looked at how to load description into a sentence for impact. In doing so, we reviewed the three main parts of a sentence: subject, verb, and object. This month, we’ll examine passive voice, which is a useful -- but dangerous -- way of obscuring the true subject of a sentence.
Let’s start with a quick review of the three parts of a sentence. Here’s our sample sentence from last month:
The dog ... barked ... at the intruder.
subject ... verb ... predicative object
It’s a simple sentence in active voice. A simple sentence is one with one subject, one predicate, and no subordinate clauses. Sometimes sentences -- or parts of a sentence, such as the verb -- are compound. Here’s an example of a compound sentence (two independent clauses joined by a conjunction):
The dog ... barked ... and ... the intruder ... jumped.
subject ... verb ... conjunction ... subject ... verb
Keep this in mind for later.
Has anyone ever told you to avoid passive voice? There’s a lot of misunderstanding out there about what passive voice is and what it can accomplish.
Here’s a terrible but accurate definition: passive voice removes the true subject from a sentence, and replaces it with the true object so that the true object is the subject within the sentence structure. With a definition like this, it’s no wonder that there is so much confusion!
It’s much easier to understand by looking at an example.
Active voice:
The dog ... barked ... at the intruder.
subject ... verb ... predicative object.
Passive voice:
The intruder ... was barked at.
subject (true object) ... verb
The dog -- the actor in the sentence, the one actually doing the barking -- has fallen out of the sentence and is only implied. The true object of the sentence, the intruder, functions like the subject.
Sometimes writers try to “fix” passive constructions by attaching the subject in the place where the object is usually found. As in:
The intruder ... was barked at ... by the dog.
subject (true object) ... verb ... object (true subject)
But the better fix is to put the sentence in active voice, letting the actor (the dog) be the subject and take the action, instead of being the object and receiving the action.
There will be times that you actually want to remove the subject from the sentence. For example, you may want to hide the identity of the subject, or it may be impossible to know the subject’s identity. Let’s say the point of view character is alone in a house and you want to heighten the tension. Passive voice might be appropriate. Here’s an example:
The doorknob ... was jiggled.
object ... verb
The pov character doesn’t know who is making the doorknob jiggle, so the subject is removed and the passive voice is appropriate. Hiding the subject creates tension. Who is jiggling the doorknob? The reader must turn the page to find out.
The problem with passive voice comes when the identity of the subject must be disclosed in order for the sentence to make sense. Remember our compound sentence?
The dog barked and the intruder jumped.
What happens when we put it in passive voice?
The intruder was barked at and jumped.
Sentences like this can slip into even the most lucid prose. The intruder looks like the functional subject, with a compound verb. But only one of the actions (the jumping) is being taken by the intruder. The other action (the barking) is being taken by a dropped subject. The result is confusing, even though there are only seven words in the sentence.
If your sentence feels tangled and you suspect that passive voice might be the problem, here is the fix:
1. Identify the verb. In the sentence, “A home run was scored by Sally,” the verb is “was scored.”
2. Next, identify who is taking the action of the verb. In the sample sentence, the action of the verb is scoring, and Sally is the one doing the scoring, so the actor is “Sally.”
3. Next, identify the structural subject of the sentence. In the sample sentence, the subject is “home run.”
4. If the actor is not the subject, you’ve got passive voice. Put the actor back in charge of the action by untwisting the parts of speech, and you’ll eliminate the passive voice: “Sally scored a home run.”
If this four-step fix doesn’t seem to apply to your tangled sentence, then passive voice might not be the problem. There may be something else clouding the meaning. Next month, we’ll look at other confusing types of passive construction that might be the culprit, including the dreaded “that” construction.
------------------
This is the sixth in the Redlines series.
Redlines One (on paragraph logic faults) can be found here.
Redlines Two (on dialogue sequencing) can be found here.
Redlines Three (on using frames within scenes) can be found here.
Redlines Four (on avoiding the need for "sequel") can be found here.
Redlines Five (on description) can be found here.
Theresa
Monday, March 3, 2008
Passive and active-- a question
Sherry asks:
One of the hardest things for me is to make my writing less passive, more active. Seems I usually start out in passive, then have to go back and rework it into more active and present style.
Any suggestions to help me get into active on the first try?
Sherry, I don't know that there's anything wrong about noticing passivity and revising it in the second draft. Many of us write in layers, and maybe your second layer is "action".
However, I suspect it's easier to draft actively if you actually put yourself in the scene-- I mean, physically (that is, figuratively speaking :0) -- imagine yourself the viewpoint character, moving through the scene, interacting with the setting, affecting the setting. That is, make your pov character active, and tell the scene that way, and see what comes out in that first draft.
So... think of how your character acts and reacts-- how you can increase his/her activity level.
Some ideas:
1) Give her a task, even if it's not real important to the scene action. It's nice if it thematically echoes or conflicts with the emotional action of the scene, like she's washing dishes while she's confessing her affair; or she's taking a shower ("coming clean") while she's lying about where she was last night. But really almost any task can make the scene more dynamic. She's getting dressed (break that down into little actions, almost like you're directing a film-- she puts on her bra, and then her panties, and then her stockings, and then pulls a dress over her head, etc). He's looking for something to eat (opening the fridge, closing it, putting bread in the toaster....) -- this helps give some narrative propulsion to what might otherwise be just introspection or dialogue.
2) Make your setting invite action. There are scenes you can set anywhere-- so before you write a scene like that, think about where you can set it, and go beyond your first impulse. Yeah, they can have this conversation on the porch, or they can have it in the garage as he's fixing the car. Always try to power up the setting--A scene set at a restaurant table isn't likely to invite action the way a scene set in the restaurant kitchen will. In a dialogue scene, think about how the setting can affect the conversation process. Let's say the hero has to apologize. It's easy to apologize in the privacy of her living room... but what if she won't let him in, and he can only get to her when she's in a church, so he has to talk while the congregation is singing a hymn, or write notes on the church bulletin and pass it to her, or... much more fun.
3) Put props in the setting-- objects that can be picked up, put down, moved, used. Again, how can a prop help echo what's going on emotionally? "Their song" comes on the CD player, and she gets up to change it because she doesn't want to hear it when she's mad at him. The tea kettle whistles, startling her when she's trying to surreptitiously approach his sleeping form. He picks up a pack of cards on the coffee table and automatically starts shuffling and dealing, revealing his facility at gambling.
4) Think about how what has to happen can happen in a more active way. She has to find the clue... how can she do that? She can see it while reading the newspaper (passive), or she can figure it out when she's playing softball (sort of active), or she can seek it out by breaking into the old school (active).
5) Put obstacles in the way of the character accomplishing something. He's driving to work. What can go wrong? She's trying to convince the detective that she's not crazy. What can make that task more difficult?
6) Think how this scene would be filmed. That is, think visually! Films have to keep characters in motion. So if you were directing this scene, what would you have the characters do?
See, active prose is easier when there's action to narrate!
Alicia
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Another question-- answer-- Bo
I've used overuse of a certain construction with some of my critting partners. It's one of those things that isn't necessarily wrong, although it isn't particularly right either. When people use it every time they want to signify an emotion, say every paragraph or so, it really stands out.
The construction I mean is this one: "Anger rose, constricting his throat." "Frustration dictated…" "Hurt made him speechless."
I notice this most when used to "tell" emotion, as you can see from the above examples, but it could be used for other moments. I think. Or not? "Bricks made him halt." "Door closed." "Water rising prevented him from crossing the river." That last one sounds okay, I think, although rising water sounds better. So it doesn't seem to be inherently evil.
What do you think about this construction? Is it as hateful to you as it is to me, you don't care either way, do you love it? Tell me!
Bo
Hmmm… I think this can be useful occasionally to provide a new rhythm, and maybe a way to start the sentence without "he" or his name.
However, it's a construction I'd use sparingly, and probably only for the physical effects of emotion. There's nothing wrong with "He was speechless with hurt," after all, "he" presumably being more important overall than the emotion he feels.
So… so why do you dislike this? I suspect it's because it seems contrived, first off, kind of self-consciously precious.
But I also think that this construction places the emphasis on the emotion rather than the character, as if all we are is emotion-carriers. I sometimes see something similar: His hand reached out and touched hers, which skittered away… you know, like they're both these passive entities whose hands operate of their own accord. In fact, we're the ones who reach out and touch, and we happen to use our hands for that, but we could also stretch out our foot and touch hers, right? So WE are doing the touching.
And WE are doing the feeling of anger. Yes, occasionally anger rises unbidden in us… and I guess I'd reserve that construction for when there really isn't much choice, when there's physical evidence of the emotion and otherwise the character wouldn't know she's angry or hurt or whatever.
The subject position in a sentence is meant for the "actor," the person or thing that is going to commit the action in the verb. You r crit partner can indeed say, "Well, 'hurt' is 'welling' in him, so the subject is the actor of the action…." But too frequent use of that construction, of putting the emotion as subject and the character as indirect object ("in him") diminishes the centrality of the character's actions and reactions. If readers find him "passive," this might actually be the fault not so much of the events as the sentences!
Anyway, Bo, what else do you find objectionable? I like your modification of other sentences to show the oddity, really, of the construction. We do see that sometimes—"The window rattled from the wind," say. And, as I said, I can see doing this occasionally, just to vary the rhythm. But what is wrong with "The wind rattled the window?" ;)
Alicia
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
