Evocative
In my work-in-progress, in 2020, the dead have so overwhelmed the system that Aleks says the morgue is only a "processing plant for the crematories." I didn't know Aleks was going to say the line. He was angry, and when I write angry dialogue, I sometimes give in to it. I feel my fingers typing faster, pounding even. And that was what came out.
Of course, the minute Aleks said that, he and I both knew how evocative it was. Of another time and place. Of Hitler. And I left the line.
Evie shaved her head. Concentration camp imagery. Aleks's body has become skeletal for the long hours. Black rain. Plumes of smoke.
I am working through my second draft of part I of the novel, and it's now at the point, in some chapters, where I am literally adding single words. And taking away others. But I realize when you are at that stage of a novel, it really is about (for me) evocative words. Precisely the right one.
They're just words. But sometimes they have so much OTHER meaning. Why else would a certain politician use "reload" at a time when our country is in turmoil and some factions, more than ever, think revolution or violence is the answer. Single words . . . the "n-word." It's a word, but hell, it is so much more. Use it six times on a radio program, and see what your advertisers think.
But since my book is on memory, thematically, I thought about objects, too. How evocative they can be. I had a simple English muffin today--the kind with all the "nooks and crannies." And I smiled, because my grandmother would make me that in the morning. And my mom, too. My grandmother is no longer here, so now 16 years after her death, I can still smile at an English muffin. It's weird how time and memory can do that.
So when I write . . . at this stage, it is about choosing precise words. Describing precise smells. Tapping into some collective reader unconscious. And my own.
Thoughts?
16 comments:
I'm working on a section that wraps up a new subplot (something that's been brewing but needs more work). I'm actually writing the resolution to that subplot right now. Castile is going back into prison. On the inside, he had a protector. Not a nice man. We'll just go with that. But Castile survived. Now he's going back into the prison to be with Trinidad and of course he has to see that man. He's desperate, scared, alone--a repeat of when he first went inside. And so yeah, words to evoke what he's going through without saying "desperate, scared, alone"... it's one of the tougher scenes I've tackled.
Starbucks:
As I mature as a writer, I keep finding that setting--which I had ignored sometimes--becomes so important. Letting the setting, weather, smells, and so on paint what I need.
There's something joyful about finding just the right word, isn't there? I doubt if most non-writers could relate.
Jude:
Well . . . I know how I feel when I find the "perfect" yarn, for example, so I suppose every profession, every hobby has similar sensations. But yeah. Finding the right word just rocks. :-)
The perfect word. The perfect turn of phrase. Oh yeah. And suddenly there's a click - another piece falls into place.
Sarah:
Oh yeah. I hear you on that. :-)
Evocative is also the perfect word for this post. It works on so many levels. It's what all writers strive to be, I think, no matter the genre. It's how we know we've done our job right.
L.C.:
Thanks. I think we're striving to nudge at that collective unconscious.
I know exactly what you mean about deleting and adding words. Last week, I deleted "Wednesday" and replaced it with "Sunday," because I thought the sound of "Wednesday" spoiled the tone and mood. It's so blah, I don't know how I ever could have chosen it in the first place. Plus "Sunday" has so much weight it carries. Baggage, you know?
Natasha:
I get it, Babe. I get it. :-)
I think that the most evocative words come randomly, at least they do for me. And once they're on the page, they stay because random occurrences come from the deepest part of the brain, where all the great memories hide. And I think as writers we should pay attention to the subconscious wherever we are - be it while sitting by a window and smelling the rain, or walking through the Godiva store. For me, it's now habitual, making sure that all senses stay on alert while the subconscious develops the right description.
I am very conscious that different words have different connotations. "Blue" does not generate the same feeling as "aqua" or "sapphire" or "cerulean" or "denim."
Cordite and gunpowder may be the same thing, but they generate different feelings and moods in the reader.
My head's still spinning after reading Natasha's post and all the comments, so reading this right afterwards has me looking for double meanings in everything.
I just wrapped up my third draft this weekend and I hope I have all the words in there I need to. And by that I mean the right words. The evocative ones.
btw, I had an English muffin for breakfast too. :)
kath:
It's interesting to me when after the fact, when it's a second draft, I start seeing where my subconscious was at work.
melanie:
:-)
mark:
Absolutely. And it's all the world of show, don't tell, too.
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