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?

Watching for Your Word Hiccups

When I was 15, I went through a "like" stage. You know, like when you use the word like after every word. Like I went to a party and there was, like, this guy there, and you know, like, he was really, like, nice.

My mother effectively broke me of the habit after a few days. Because every time I said the word "like," she interrupted me and pointed it out--every, you know, like, time--which was annoying, so . . . it retrained my brain. Bad habit solved.

But it doesn't mean I no longer have word hiccups. They just appear in my writing now. Take the word "seemed." I do a search for it in every book. Because any time--ANY time--it appears, you can eliminate it.

"It seemed like he was the only one in the school building."

Now, I know why I might put the word "seemed" there. Because it only SEEMED that way, when, in fact, the crazed serial killer was having a tuna sandwich in an upstairs classroom. However, from the character's POV, he IS the only one, and so it's perfectly acceptable to say it without the seemed. Better yet, because I know my sloppy writing is behind the use of the word, why not reexamine the sentence and re-do it altogether? The building echoes. His footsteps reverberate . . . the building is dark, the lockers menacing. THEN the serial killer can pop out later, tuna fish breath and all.

My other word hiccup is "just." "It was just that he didn't know how he felt about the sandwich." What the HELL is that word doing in there? Not necessary.

Another one--that other word in there: "felt." Felt means I TOLD the reader how my character felt. Can't I show it? She didn't "feel" sad. Instead, she didn't get out of bed, tissues strewn all over the floor.

What word hiccups do you, like, struggle with?

Grave Robbing

I admit it. I rob graves.

Last week, I showed a friend of mine two chapters of a book I might want to work on. He loved one of my lines. But it was too literary for the character. It PAINED me no end to admit he was right. PAINED ME. It's a GREAT line. But it's got to go if I'm being true and honest with the writing.

"Save it," my friend said. "Use it in another book. Just not this one."

Yesterday, Zoe commented here that she's grave robbing from an old work in progress for a new one. And I realized I rob the graves of old manuscripts and unfinished stories ALL THE TIME.

One entire chapter of Invisible Girl was lifted from a book I never finished. The first line of The Roofer was written when I was 16 or 17 and I trotted it through several books and ideas until I found a place for it. I have dozens and dozens of nothing more than ideas in files, half-done scenes. I rob from them all the time.

I wonder if non-writers know that we authors do this. That we borrow bits and pieces from here and there, words we love but know aren't right for the book we're working on. Words we love, bury, then go to the grave and exhume them again, hoping this time there is life in them.

Thoughts?

Blog Guest: My Kid

Baby Girl woke up yesterday, and came downstairs, still in her pjs, still sleepy-eyed. She dug through her backpack and pulled out her notebook. She has been working on a poem (she just turned 10, and the poem is about Virginia, where we live, for her English class).

"I need to change a word. I woke up this morning and had a BETTER word. I don't like how the old word rhymed."

She took her eraser, changed the old word to the new word. I think it's hereditary.

That day at school, she changed three other words until she was happy.

But what stuck with me, was the morning word. How she woke certain of what had to change.

I think I may have a writer.

So without anything further, here is her poem. Then I want you all to give her advice. She is going to take over this blog for the next 24 hours. You tell her what you remember about being a kid writer. About writing stories. What you wished you knew. Anything.

I AM VIRGINIA
Copyright By Bella

I am Virginia, filled with glee
There are various cardinals living in me
Dogwood is my wondrous flower
My flag is filled with remarkable power

George Washington, who was born here,
was president with pride
He even had a confident stride
Although when he was little he cut down the cherry tree
It didn't matter because he became a man of liberty

I am the home of Monticello
Where Thomas Jefferson made many plants grow
He even wrote the Declaration of Independence
A tribute to our country and all its resplendance

Visit me, enjoy my home
May my beauty stay in your heart, wherever you roam

Editing for Word Choice

If you're not a writer, it might seem as if writers simply spill a sentence out onto their keyboard, hit the period key. Sentence done.

Okay, I've stopped laughing. No, wait . . . still chuckling. All right. Now I'm done.

Word choice is such an essential choice of editing. While writers might--and it depends on the writer--simply bang out a sentence, you can bet they will go back and substitute words. Here's a look at how I edit for word choice.

Daddy waltzes in smelling of his sins.

Nope. "Smelling" isn't really what these sins do. And waltz isn't the right feel for this. Edited version?

Daddy breezes in stinking of his sins.

Better.

Moving on . . .

Around the meal I can't eat for the lump in my throat, we bow our heads and speak our grace. Amen.

Nope. CLICHE! Writer prison for me. And "grace" as you'll see, it too obvious a word.

Around the meal I can't eat for the pebble in my throat, we bow our heads and speak our peace. Amen.

And if you haven't guessed, this is from one of my published poems, called Grace. And poetry taught me much of what I've learned about editing word choice. And yes, I still go through all this picky trouble with prose. The good news is I self-edit in my brain, so I don't have to do as much of it as I used to.

As for "lump in my throat," I have had writers argue with me--argue!--as an editor or writing coach, that there's "no other way" to describe certain things. Tough. Find another one anyway.

Thoughts? Your editing process?

An Affront!

Well . . . here's post #2 for the day because it really got me thinking!

By following blog links today, I stumbled on a writer who posted part of her book on her blog. And it got me thinking about word choice.

Because the character felt she was "affronted." And the word gave me pause.

Because, I have learned, you can distance your readers by word choice. When I am angry, I will say I am p*ssed, angry, furious, upset, distraught even. But I am never affronted.

If you want to know why single word choices are important--why every word is important . . . it boils down to what each word accomplishes. Choose a word that is too lofty and it pulls you out of the writing and into your head as reader. Get too passive when an active verb choice is better, and you load the prose down with unnecessary clutter--five words to say what two can do.

I believe it's better to be direct. Even better, I'd rather SHOW you how mad my character is. So angry she shakes? I don't know, when I am really, really mad and need to gain control, my voice shakes and my head hurts until I go and walk it off.

So . . . what do you think about word choices? Are there certain words that pull you out of the story?