In the comments, Michelle asks,
Great post! I have a question, though. It doesn't really relate to your topic, but the topic reminded me of this.
What do you do when you have long passages of time you're skipping over? Do you summarize it? Make a note that so much time has passed? Or do you just jump right into the action and slip clues into the text that tell the reader time has passed?
Actually, Michelle, this is on topic if we define our current topic as, "Theresa rambles about exposition, etc." The start of scenes is a common place to rely on exposition to transition a reader to a new time and space. This can be done with a subheader at the top of the scene, such as--
January, Okanagan Lake
This tends to work best when it's already been established that the protagonist will be located at this spot for some reason. Maybe he's searching for Ogopogo, the famous sea monster of Okanagan Lake, so the reader has been prepared for him to reach the shores. This kind of quick, non-narrative transition allows the text to zoom forward without a lot of set-up at the start of the scene.
There are other times this type of transition will work. Maybe you have a multi-thread plot and keep shifting the reader between the pieces. Then the subheaders can help the reader track which plot thread is which. The current scene is Larry searching for Ogopogo on Okanagan Lake, and the next scene is Jessica searching for Nessie at Loch Ness, and the next scene is Bonita in a secret science lab trying to hatch a lake monster egg. The three of them are racing to produce a live lake monster, and the plot shifts freely between the three threads, and the subheaders help the reader track it all.
In any case, some authors avoid these kinds of headings because they don't want to clutter the page, and there might be some good arguments against using these kinds of subheaders. Much like chapter headings and title/author headings, these pieces contain words that help identify something in the story but are not really part of the story. So they might serve as a distraction to the reader. If you think this isn't an issue, consider the reason we put last name/page number headings on the upper RIGHT corner of a manuscript. This keeps us from turning the sheet and processing the heading as the first line of text on a new page, which can break the flow of the narrative. Scene headers are not quite as disruptive, given that they're inserted in breaks in the story action, but they are still external intrusions of a sort.
So that takes us to narrative transitions at the start of new scenes. How much is too much? Can you ever skip it all together? I have a rule of thumb for this, but it's one of those things that can be hard to apply. But here's the basic idea. At several points over the course of most manuscripts, we will have to effectively press a reset button for the reader. The protagonist or another character will have changed enough, or the plot or setting will have changed enough, that we will need to create something like a touchstone for the arc within the text. Those touchstones can serve like transitions in to the next big piece of the plot. The bigger the changes, the greater the need to press the reset button. The greater the need, the more text you might need to re-orient the reader. But that's by no means hard and fast. Sometimes it's possible to re-orient the reader with a very quick transition. That's why I say this general rule of thumb is hard to apply. It can be difficult to gauge just how large a touchstone you need to create.
But as with all exposition, you will usually be better off minimizing the length as much as possible. Let's say, for example, that our monster-hunting friend Larry has been searching for Nessie for years and only just learned about the existence of Ogopogo. His goal has always been to find Nessie, so traveling to Canada would be a big change that might not support his original goal. Why would he do it, then?
Maybe there are scenes in Scotland with his band of Nessie hunters in which they debate the matter. Maybe Larry is opposed to going, but the group votes that one of them must go. Maybe he wants to go, but the group scorns him and tries to prevent his departure. In any case, the moment when Larry arrives on the shores of Okanagan Lake will be the moment when his quest has changed. Depending on what came before and what follows, you might need a small touchstone or a large touchstone. But, unless the change has been adequately prepped in preceding scenes, you will probably need a touchstone. (This is also partly dependent on how much has happened since the last touchstone. As I said, this analysis is very book-specific.)
But let's say you're not worried about pressing the reset button and reorienting the reader. Let's say everybody already knows why Larry abandoned Nessie for Ogopogo. In that case, a simple clause indicating time and space might be all you need.
Larry shielded his eyes against the bright spring sunshine glinting off the surface of Okanagan Lake.
Boom. One sentence, all action, no exposition, and yet we know the time and place after reading it. Or maybe you're a traditionalist and prefer an adverb clause.
When Larry reached the daffodil-covered shores of Okanagan Lake, ...
This is an expositional transition, and it's brief enough that it won't drag on the pacing. In ten words, we get the new time and space. It might be enough information.
What you probably want to avoid, unless it's strictly necessary for reader comprehension, is a long run of exposition like this.
Okanagan Lake was a deep lake with two islands. Because of the temperate but rainy climate, Larry knew he would need a different equipment and clothing. He shopped for two days to gather waterproof fleece pullovers and windbreakers, new rubber boots, waterproof matches, and a supply of his favorite Scottish tea, which he was pretty sure would be rare in rural British Columbia. The hardest part was deciding which camera equipment to pack. He only wanted to have one suitcase and one carry-on, but the equipment took a lot of space. But he would only be there a few days. He did pack some extra socks in case it rained on the boat and tossed in his favorite copy of a Douglas Adams book to read on the plane. Maybe this trip would be a complete waste of time, but at least he arrived in Vernon with everything he needed.
These kinds of blocks at the beginnings of scenes are almost always worth cutting or trimming. Notice how much of the text summarizes things that happen in the moments between the last scene's ending and this scene's beginning. Shopping and packing are usually dull events, so we wouldn't want to convert this passage into actual scenes if nothing dramatic happens. But if they're dull, guess what's also going to be dull? This info dump of a transition. If for some reason we need to plant the notion that Larry packed specially for this trip and bought new gear, we can reference it in an adverb clause transition.
After two days of shopping and packing, Larry arrived at Okanagan Lake with more than he probably needed.
And then, if the extra pair of socks is necessary to the action of a future scene, you can probably just have him change his socks then and there without a lot of explanation. If it's relevant to character or theme, maybe you would have Larry think about the cautious packing when he changes his socks.
He stripped off his sodden footwear with silent gratitude that he had remembered to pack extra socks.
But this depends on whether the detail is the kind of detail that needs to be set up in advance. Packing extra socks for outdoor adventures in a wet climate is probably not remarkable enough to require set-up. But again, this is one of those things that is highly book-specific.
So, to answer your question: Depends on the book, depends on the scene, and depends on the author's goals. But it's usually best to keep start-of-scene transitions brief.
Theresa
Showing posts with label transitions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transitions. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Transition Words
Tip of the hat to Larissa Ione, who tweeted about her synopsis this morning and reminded me that I wanted to post this list of transition words. (If you're not already reading her books, what are you waiting for?)
One of the most useful things you can do in a synopsis is spackle the chinks with transitions that demonstrate the links between the components. Of all transition words, my favorite is probably "because," because it shows the causal connection between sequential events. If you can communicate those connections in a synopsis instead of merely laying out the order of events, you'll be presenting a story synopsis with the illusion of coherence. This is a good thing.
So here's the list, shamelessly swiped from some of my teaching material from the uni. Some of these are academic in tone, so be careful before incorporating them unless the tone of your synopsis will support them.
TO SHOW ADDITION
and, also, furthermore, in addition, moreover, too, next
TO GIVE EXAMPLES
for instance, in fact, specifically, to illustrate
TO COMPARE
also, similarly, likewise
TO CONTRAST
but, on the other hand, nevertheless, yet, although, on the contrary
TO SUMMARIZE OR CONCLUDE
in other words, in short, in summary, therefore, that is, to sum up
TO SHOW TIME
after, as, before, next, later, finally, meanwhile, then, immediately
TO SHOW PLACE OR DIRECTION
to the left/right, beyond, above, farther on, opposite, nearby
TO INDICATE A LOGICAL RELATIONSHIP
consequently, therefore, if, so, as a result, for this reason, since, because
Now go spackle your syns. :)
Theresa
One of the most useful things you can do in a synopsis is spackle the chinks with transitions that demonstrate the links between the components. Of all transition words, my favorite is probably "because," because it shows the causal connection between sequential events. If you can communicate those connections in a synopsis instead of merely laying out the order of events, you'll be presenting a story synopsis with the illusion of coherence. This is a good thing.
So here's the list, shamelessly swiped from some of my teaching material from the uni. Some of these are academic in tone, so be careful before incorporating them unless the tone of your synopsis will support them.
TO SHOW ADDITION
and, also, furthermore, in addition, moreover, too, next
TO GIVE EXAMPLES
for instance, in fact, specifically, to illustrate
TO COMPARE
also, similarly, likewise
TO CONTRAST
but, on the other hand, nevertheless, yet, although, on the contrary
TO SUMMARIZE OR CONCLUDE
in other words, in short, in summary, therefore, that is, to sum up
TO SHOW TIME
after, as, before, next, later, finally, meanwhile, then, immediately
TO SHOW PLACE OR DIRECTION
to the left/right, beyond, above, farther on, opposite, nearby
TO INDICATE A LOGICAL RELATIONSHIP
consequently, therefore, if, so, as a result, for this reason, since, because
Now go spackle your syns. :)
Theresa
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Summing up participles? Other thoughts?
So, because I'm teaching a class on pacing and have gotten to the "prose" part, I think this might be a good opportunity to summarize what we all discussed about PPPs and such.
Jami mentioned that she thought maybe eliminating most of the PPPs could lead to the kind of "fresh, crisp" voice the editors keep asking for. Hmm. Good thought. There is nothing as "crisp" as the declarative SVO sentence, as it succinctly and immediately identifies the causer of the action, the action, and the recipient. Too many unadorned SVO sentences can feel choppy, but this should be the default, as it's so efficient in conveying information.
With that SVO (or just SV, for sentences that describe a condition with non-transitive -- no object-- verbs, like "I wept") as the main clause, you can build other types of sentences. But what's really important, really meaningful, is in a main clause, an independent clause, which can if need be be spun off as its own sentence-- for emphasis, for clarity.
But you can also build on that simple clear statement, adding whatever is needed to deepen the emotion, focus the description, hint at some complication. The kernel of meaning will still be there, however, and the reader will find it if you don't gild up the sentence too much.
I suspect that the more we put in front of the subject, the more arcane the sentence becomes and the more prone to errors. Readers are more likely to be confused at the start of the sentence because they don't have the accumulation of meaning yet. Later in the sentence, an extra phrase or qualifier won't confuse, because the reader knows the main point of the sentence and can put that all into context.
So what should go in front of the main clause? Well, someone-- who was that?-- was mentioning that "inflection" might go first-- that's what tells the reader how to read something. This is really important with dialogue-- we might read the line of speech differently if we know Joan shouted it rather than Pete whispering it.
Something else that might go well at the start of the sentence is some connective referring back, a transition like "Of course" or even a dependent clause like "Although he knew the truth--" That will help provide continuity between sentences (and it's really helpful in smoothing a paragraph break).
A setting or time marker, especially if it's short, can be essential to understanding not just this sentence but how it connects to the rest of the scene: "Across town..." or "The next day..."
And let's say you want to vary the openings of sentences-- do it in a meaningful way, with an element that adds to the reader's understanding and doesn't confuse.
So what else can we say about sentences? What have you found that works? I keep wanting to make a point about sentences and paragraphs-- that if you paragraph well, you'll resist the impulse for the long complicated sentences because you won't think you need to put everything in before the period. So often with these intro PPPs, I kept wondering-- why not do two sentences? When I read these 26-word sentences, with action, reaction, setting, and thought, I wonder, why not make a whole paragraph of this?
How we speak is not a reliable guide to how we should write, but that's something to consider. The reader will naturally consider sentence patterns that replicate the rhythms of conversation (even if the diction is more formal and all the "uhhs" are deleted :) more "authentic" and "real". That's not where you necessarily want to end up, but that might be where you want to start. Does this sound natural? The more conversational our voice is, the deeper our POV, the closer to character voice the narrative is-- the more we want to sound sort of like speech.
What do you all think? What suggestions do you have for revising sentences, especially the start of the sentence?
Alicia
Jami mentioned that she thought maybe eliminating most of the PPPs could lead to the kind of "fresh, crisp" voice the editors keep asking for. Hmm. Good thought. There is nothing as "crisp" as the declarative SVO sentence, as it succinctly and immediately identifies the causer of the action, the action, and the recipient. Too many unadorned SVO sentences can feel choppy, but this should be the default, as it's so efficient in conveying information.
With that SVO (or just SV, for sentences that describe a condition with non-transitive -- no object-- verbs, like "I wept") as the main clause, you can build other types of sentences. But what's really important, really meaningful, is in a main clause, an independent clause, which can if need be be spun off as its own sentence-- for emphasis, for clarity.
But you can also build on that simple clear statement, adding whatever is needed to deepen the emotion, focus the description, hint at some complication. The kernel of meaning will still be there, however, and the reader will find it if you don't gild up the sentence too much.
I suspect that the more we put in front of the subject, the more arcane the sentence becomes and the more prone to errors. Readers are more likely to be confused at the start of the sentence because they don't have the accumulation of meaning yet. Later in the sentence, an extra phrase or qualifier won't confuse, because the reader knows the main point of the sentence and can put that all into context.
So what should go in front of the main clause? Well, someone-- who was that?-- was mentioning that "inflection" might go first-- that's what tells the reader how to read something. This is really important with dialogue-- we might read the line of speech differently if we know Joan shouted it rather than Pete whispering it.
Something else that might go well at the start of the sentence is some connective referring back, a transition like "Of course" or even a dependent clause like "Although he knew the truth--" That will help provide continuity between sentences (and it's really helpful in smoothing a paragraph break).
A setting or time marker, especially if it's short, can be essential to understanding not just this sentence but how it connects to the rest of the scene: "Across town..." or "The next day..."
And let's say you want to vary the openings of sentences-- do it in a meaningful way, with an element that adds to the reader's understanding and doesn't confuse.
So what else can we say about sentences? What have you found that works? I keep wanting to make a point about sentences and paragraphs-- that if you paragraph well, you'll resist the impulse for the long complicated sentences because you won't think you need to put everything in before the period. So often with these intro PPPs, I kept wondering-- why not do two sentences? When I read these 26-word sentences, with action, reaction, setting, and thought, I wonder, why not make a whole paragraph of this?
How we speak is not a reliable guide to how we should write, but that's something to consider. The reader will naturally consider sentence patterns that replicate the rhythms of conversation (even if the diction is more formal and all the "uhhs" are deleted :) more "authentic" and "real". That's not where you necessarily want to end up, but that might be where you want to start. Does this sound natural? The more conversational our voice is, the deeper our POV, the closer to character voice the narrative is-- the more we want to sound sort of like speech.
What do you all think? What suggestions do you have for revising sentences, especially the start of the sentence?
Alicia
Friday, November 21, 2008
Speaking of....
I'm reading a novel by a bestselling author I usually like, but a quarter of the way in, I'm getting the distinct feeling that he's just, in that inimitable phrase, phoning it in. Why? Okay, it's a sequel, and nothing has happened yet, but I sure have been reminded of everything that happened in the original book... the plot of which is summarized entirely. Repetitively. I'd say so far 2/3rds of the text is the narrator being reminded of (and reporting) something that happened in the previous book. This seems to me a message that I should be reading that first book rather than this, which I hope is not the message the author meant to convey.
But more significant to our purposes is the clumsy transitions between points. The narrator is always inserting (made-up example), "Apropos of (previous paragraph's subject), Pete once told me (some other subject)." And there's also "Speaking of Judy, the high school we went to was torn down last year, and now there's a spanking new art museum in its place." Not to mention "The mention of bowties reminded me that I probably needed to dress for the museum opening tonight."
I suspect the very word "apropos" is a signal that something's gone wrong with the narrative flow here.
Anyhoo, I started wondering what the problem was, and what might help (the whole summary of the previous book, I think, can only be fixed by having something happen in THIS plot, so that when the summary is removed, this is still a novel and not a short story :). Some thoughts:
1) Apropos of, etc., are signs that there is probably too much exposition and it's being shoved into the wrong place. What does the reader actually need to know? And when does the reader need to know it? The reader doesn't need to know about the art museum, probably, in a passage about Judy, but rather when something happens that involves the art museum.
2) That of course supposes that something ought to be happening in real-time. I wonder if the difficulty of inserting the "speaking of" material is related to the lack of real scenes and real character movement through the scenes. So... um. Have scenes.
3) Scenes are, to quote Kate Moore, where someone is somewhere doing something. One of the great dangers of first-person narration is retrospective retelling of events rather than "right-there" scenes which show the narrator moving in real-time through the environment of the scene. It's going to be a whole lot smoother if the narrator gets dressed in his white tie and drives to the art museum and THEN realizes that it's on the site of his high school. I think it will also be more interesting to show him learning this, rather than have it appear suddenly in his knowledge base.
4) "Speaking of" indicates a passage set mostly in the narrator's head. That kind of free association does actually happen inside our heads-- that's where the term "stream of consciousness" comes from, after all. But I can't be the only one who finds SOC rather annoying, especially when it's really streaming and isn't Joycean, that is, meant to sound like a consciousness stream but in truth carefully assembled and edited a few hundred times. Most of us expect some structure in fiction, not the rambling recordings of a typically disorderly mind. So send the narrator to the art museum opening, and if the sight of the site brings back memories of homecoming games and making out with Judy in his GTO in the high school parking lot, that's going to be more credible, as that is how human memory works (linked to place, sound, smell, and so on). Let the character live the story.
5) Exposition is ammunition, as someone or other said. (Robert McKee uses it, but he's quoting an oft-heard epigram, so I don't know where it started.) That is, if it's important that the museum's on the site of the old high school (I'm envisioning Buffy's high school here-- you know, the site has got to be haunted by the unquiet souls of dozens of now-bloodless students), then don't toss away the opportunity to reveal it in an intriguing and plot-moving way.
6) Sometimes, when material is inserted so obviously, the "previous subject," the one that leads to the relevant subject, comes off as artificial, as shoved in there just to lead to whatever the author wants to happen next. So someone is overheard laughing about, I don't know, George Will's bowties, and the entire purpose of that entirely irrelevant passage (why are these so often overheard, anyway? Why not just put some neon font in there with an arrow pointing to "clumsy segue here?") is to get the narrator thinking about dressing for the museum opening. Well, why do you need to get him thinking at all? You need to get him DRESSING. So all he has to do is glance at his watch and realize he has only a half hour to get dressed. No George Will needed, and if you really want to spotlight that white tie, show the narrator unable to tie it, and his wife has to do it for him. That could, you know, show something about their relationship, maybe even slide in a bit of sexual tension, along with letting us know that this is a formal event.
7) These sorts of transitions are just author intrusion, and will interfere with the all-important suspension of disbelief that allows the reader to enter fully into the world of the story. Challenge yourself to select what the reader needs to know and reveal it in a way that develops the story and the character. I can see using these tacked-on transitions in a first draft, but they ought to be a big "TK" (to kum) marker and later replaced with a smoother connector.
8) And don't ever, ever phone it in, even if -- especially if-- you are fortunate enough to be a big enough bestseller that no one ever calls you on it. Let previous accomplishments challenge you to greater accomplishments. Not that every book is going to succeed on every level. But I think good readers can distinguish between an honorable book that just doesn't work and a book where the author doesn't notice or care that it doesn't work.
So. Any transition tips? Do you use particular prose tricks to do this? (For example, in non-fiction, there are all sorts of transitional phrases, like, uh, "for example".) Let's say you need to slide in some important bit of exposition without calling too much attention to it or jarring the reader. How do you do that? Mystery writers have to do this with clues.
Alicia
But more significant to our purposes is the clumsy transitions between points. The narrator is always inserting (made-up example), "Apropos of (previous paragraph's subject), Pete once told me (some other subject)." And there's also "Speaking of Judy, the high school we went to was torn down last year, and now there's a spanking new art museum in its place." Not to mention "The mention of bowties reminded me that I probably needed to dress for the museum opening tonight."
I suspect the very word "apropos" is a signal that something's gone wrong with the narrative flow here.
Anyhoo, I started wondering what the problem was, and what might help (the whole summary of the previous book, I think, can only be fixed by having something happen in THIS plot, so that when the summary is removed, this is still a novel and not a short story :). Some thoughts:
1) Apropos of, etc., are signs that there is probably too much exposition and it's being shoved into the wrong place. What does the reader actually need to know? And when does the reader need to know it? The reader doesn't need to know about the art museum, probably, in a passage about Judy, but rather when something happens that involves the art museum.
2) That of course supposes that something ought to be happening in real-time. I wonder if the difficulty of inserting the "speaking of" material is related to the lack of real scenes and real character movement through the scenes. So... um. Have scenes.
3) Scenes are, to quote Kate Moore, where someone is somewhere doing something. One of the great dangers of first-person narration is retrospective retelling of events rather than "right-there" scenes which show the narrator moving in real-time through the environment of the scene. It's going to be a whole lot smoother if the narrator gets dressed in his white tie and drives to the art museum and THEN realizes that it's on the site of his high school. I think it will also be more interesting to show him learning this, rather than have it appear suddenly in his knowledge base.
4) "Speaking of" indicates a passage set mostly in the narrator's head. That kind of free association does actually happen inside our heads-- that's where the term "stream of consciousness" comes from, after all. But I can't be the only one who finds SOC rather annoying, especially when it's really streaming and isn't Joycean, that is, meant to sound like a consciousness stream but in truth carefully assembled and edited a few hundred times. Most of us expect some structure in fiction, not the rambling recordings of a typically disorderly mind. So send the narrator to the art museum opening, and if the sight of the site brings back memories of homecoming games and making out with Judy in his GTO in the high school parking lot, that's going to be more credible, as that is how human memory works (linked to place, sound, smell, and so on). Let the character live the story.
5) Exposition is ammunition, as someone or other said. (Robert McKee uses it, but he's quoting an oft-heard epigram, so I don't know where it started.) That is, if it's important that the museum's on the site of the old high school (I'm envisioning Buffy's high school here-- you know, the site has got to be haunted by the unquiet souls of dozens of now-bloodless students), then don't toss away the opportunity to reveal it in an intriguing and plot-moving way.
6) Sometimes, when material is inserted so obviously, the "previous subject," the one that leads to the relevant subject, comes off as artificial, as shoved in there just to lead to whatever the author wants to happen next. So someone is overheard laughing about, I don't know, George Will's bowties, and the entire purpose of that entirely irrelevant passage (why are these so often overheard, anyway? Why not just put some neon font in there with an arrow pointing to "clumsy segue here?") is to get the narrator thinking about dressing for the museum opening. Well, why do you need to get him thinking at all? You need to get him DRESSING. So all he has to do is glance at his watch and realize he has only a half hour to get dressed. No George Will needed, and if you really want to spotlight that white tie, show the narrator unable to tie it, and his wife has to do it for him. That could, you know, show something about their relationship, maybe even slide in a bit of sexual tension, along with letting us know that this is a formal event.
7) These sorts of transitions are just author intrusion, and will interfere with the all-important suspension of disbelief that allows the reader to enter fully into the world of the story. Challenge yourself to select what the reader needs to know and reveal it in a way that develops the story and the character. I can see using these tacked-on transitions in a first draft, but they ought to be a big "TK" (to kum) marker and later replaced with a smoother connector.
8) And don't ever, ever phone it in, even if -- especially if-- you are fortunate enough to be a big enough bestseller that no one ever calls you on it. Let previous accomplishments challenge you to greater accomplishments. Not that every book is going to succeed on every level. But I think good readers can distinguish between an honorable book that just doesn't work and a book where the author doesn't notice or care that it doesn't work.
So. Any transition tips? Do you use particular prose tricks to do this? (For example, in non-fiction, there are all sorts of transitional phrases, like, uh, "for example".) Let's say you need to slide in some important bit of exposition without calling too much attention to it or jarring the reader. How do you do that? Mystery writers have to do this with clues.
Alicia
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
"Telling" As a Warning Sign
The other day, I posted the second in an old column series of mine called Redlines. The series starts by examining the way prose can be rearranged for greater impact and fluidity. To prove a point, the before and after examples use identical sentences, and we do nothing more than change the order of presentation. The lesson: Sequencing counts.
After the second article was posted the other day, a wonderful thing happened in the comments. The commenters homed in on the final two sentences in the "after" example and rightly criticized these sentences for "telling" instead of "showing."
Rube could always be counted on to know exactly what the week’s schedule was. He was a good worker and a good friend.
Consider the Source
If sentences like those are firmly embedded in one character's perceptions, they would be considered interior monologue and might be left alone. As interior monologue, thoughts like these are a natural part of the mental chat reel, the constrant stream of the character's consciousness. We pass judgments and reach conclusions about the people around us almost constantly, even when we don't voice those thoughts. Deft writers can use this type of interior monologue to lead the reader to reach the same conclusions the character has reached: in other words, the character informs the reader's opinions of other characters through the interior monologue.
But there's a difference between one character thinking conclusory thoughts and a narrator presenting those same thoughts as exposition outside of any character's frame of reference. In other words, there's a difference between Tex silently opining, Good man, that Rube, and the narrator stating as empirical fact that Rube is a good man.
Good Transitions
It's important to be alert to these kinds of empirical narrative statements for two reasons. First, they interrupt the flow of the narrative and are, as Susan commented, "Gah. Yuck." (Exactly! Great eye, Susan!)
But second, these kinds of empiricisms often are a warning sign that the prose is out of control. As readers and writers, we understand that narrative compression (a different form of exposition in which events are compressed into exposition) is a useful way to create shorthand transitions between key events.
For example, let's say we have Maria, a devoted wife whose husband has just called to inform her that he won a lottery jackpot. Thrilled, Maria takes the rest of the afternoon off and plans a celebration surprise dinner, unaware that her husband has other, less loving things in store. But the writer doesn't want to follow Maria up and down the grocery store aisles or through every beat of her whisk in the kitchen, so instead we read,
Six hours later, after a whirlwind of shopping, cooking and primping, the lasagna was stone cold, the cherry pie was picked clean of half its crust, and Maria's two coats of Great Lash painted trails down her cheeks.
This is an acceptable format for a transition. We get a time frame, a list of events that have happened in that time, and a description of the current state of things. We don't see Maria cry, but we see the tear tracks on her cheeks after her crying is done. It's compressed rather than beat-by-beat. So even thought this is exposition, it's the good kind. Not all "telling" is bad.
And maybe it won't be a temporal transition. Maybe it will be some other kind of exposition that shifts us from one scene to the next.
Mack might have been a lottery winner, but it turned out he was also a rat bastard with a cliche of a blonde, teenaged mistress. They were going to backpack through Peru, Mack had told Maria as if he actually knew where Peru was.
(Assume the writer has a good reason for presenting this information in summary rather than in scene.)
Is Mack actually, empirically a rat bastard? Who is proclaiming his rat-bastardy here? Wait. Don't assume too quickly. See if you can follow that transition with interior monologue in Maria's point of view. Then try doing the same from Mack's point of view. Want to go for a mistress next? You can play that game all day because exposition is omniscient and we can move almost anywhere from there.
Bad Transitions
But now let's say we're not at the top of a scene. We're within the scene with events already in progress. And we're out of control, with events skipping around and characters doubling back to open doors after they've already walked through them. We know we need to fix things, so we reach again for summary -- a statement about Rube's character followed by a statement of Tex's emotional state.
“Tuesday. Wednesday, if it rains.”
Rube could always be counted on to know exactly what the week’s schedule was. He was a good worker and a good friend. Tex was glad that Rube had apologized for talking about Jane that way. “She’s a lady, not a horse.” Tex knew he was pushing his point, but wanted to make sure Rube got it.
Because we understand that we can't logically move from a weather report to a defense of Jane, we put some crappy (Gah. Yuck.) transition there to create a bridge between these two events. This exposition might mimic a good transition in some ways, but it's actually pretty darn bad. As we've already seen, the real fix is to put the events in their proper order in the first place and avoid the need for bad transitions at all.
Which is to say -- commenters, you may rewrite those sentences if you'd like, but if this were a real manuscript, we'd probably just cut them and move forward. And good on ya for catching the weak exposition there. :)
Theresa
After the second article was posted the other day, a wonderful thing happened in the comments. The commenters homed in on the final two sentences in the "after" example and rightly criticized these sentences for "telling" instead of "showing."
Rube could always be counted on to know exactly what the week’s schedule was. He was a good worker and a good friend.
Consider the Source
If sentences like those are firmly embedded in one character's perceptions, they would be considered interior monologue and might be left alone. As interior monologue, thoughts like these are a natural part of the mental chat reel, the constrant stream of the character's consciousness. We pass judgments and reach conclusions about the people around us almost constantly, even when we don't voice those thoughts. Deft writers can use this type of interior monologue to lead the reader to reach the same conclusions the character has reached: in other words, the character informs the reader's opinions of other characters through the interior monologue.
But there's a difference between one character thinking conclusory thoughts and a narrator presenting those same thoughts as exposition outside of any character's frame of reference. In other words, there's a difference between Tex silently opining, Good man, that Rube, and the narrator stating as empirical fact that Rube is a good man.
Good Transitions
It's important to be alert to these kinds of empirical narrative statements for two reasons. First, they interrupt the flow of the narrative and are, as Susan commented, "Gah. Yuck." (Exactly! Great eye, Susan!)
But second, these kinds of empiricisms often are a warning sign that the prose is out of control. As readers and writers, we understand that narrative compression (a different form of exposition in which events are compressed into exposition) is a useful way to create shorthand transitions between key events.
For example, let's say we have Maria, a devoted wife whose husband has just called to inform her that he won a lottery jackpot. Thrilled, Maria takes the rest of the afternoon off and plans a celebration surprise dinner, unaware that her husband has other, less loving things in store. But the writer doesn't want to follow Maria up and down the grocery store aisles or through every beat of her whisk in the kitchen, so instead we read,
Six hours later, after a whirlwind of shopping, cooking and primping, the lasagna was stone cold, the cherry pie was picked clean of half its crust, and Maria's two coats of Great Lash painted trails down her cheeks.
This is an acceptable format for a transition. We get a time frame, a list of events that have happened in that time, and a description of the current state of things. We don't see Maria cry, but we see the tear tracks on her cheeks after her crying is done. It's compressed rather than beat-by-beat. So even thought this is exposition, it's the good kind. Not all "telling" is bad.
And maybe it won't be a temporal transition. Maybe it will be some other kind of exposition that shifts us from one scene to the next.
Mack might have been a lottery winner, but it turned out he was also a rat bastard with a cliche of a blonde, teenaged mistress. They were going to backpack through Peru, Mack had told Maria as if he actually knew where Peru was.
(Assume the writer has a good reason for presenting this information in summary rather than in scene.)
Is Mack actually, empirically a rat bastard? Who is proclaiming his rat-bastardy here? Wait. Don't assume too quickly. See if you can follow that transition with interior monologue in Maria's point of view. Then try doing the same from Mack's point of view. Want to go for a mistress next? You can play that game all day because exposition is omniscient and we can move almost anywhere from there.
Bad Transitions
But now let's say we're not at the top of a scene. We're within the scene with events already in progress. And we're out of control, with events skipping around and characters doubling back to open doors after they've already walked through them. We know we need to fix things, so we reach again for summary -- a statement about Rube's character followed by a statement of Tex's emotional state.
“Tuesday. Wednesday, if it rains.”
Rube could always be counted on to know exactly what the week’s schedule was. He was a good worker and a good friend. Tex was glad that Rube had apologized for talking about Jane that way. “She’s a lady, not a horse.” Tex knew he was pushing his point, but wanted to make sure Rube got it.
Because we understand that we can't logically move from a weather report to a defense of Jane, we put some crappy (Gah. Yuck.) transition there to create a bridge between these two events. This exposition might mimic a good transition in some ways, but it's actually pretty darn bad. As we've already seen, the real fix is to put the events in their proper order in the first place and avoid the need for bad transitions at all.
Which is to say -- commenters, you may rewrite those sentences if you'd like, but if this were a real manuscript, we'd probably just cut them and move forward. And good on ya for catching the weak exposition there. :)
Theresa
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Transitions
I have to revise a "transitions" handout for the writing center, and thought I might get some examples from you all. What I really need is an example of a transitional sentence between two paragraphs, where the transitional sentence serves as a link between the two. I don't mean just a sentence with a transitional word like "however," but a whole sentence functioning as a transition.
Any ideas? I'm so bad with examples. I really believe in examples to help students understand how to apply lessons, but I have trouble coming up with them.
Alicia
Any ideas? I'm so bad with examples. I really believe in examples to help students understand how to apply lessons, but I have trouble coming up with them.
Alicia
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