What She Did Right--Showing Silence (Escape to the Sea by Tera Mecham)

Author Tera Mecham's new novel, Escape to the Sea, is a sweet romance about a young woman who finally finds love, marriage, and delicious romance with a handsome man after having been jilted at the alter two years earlier. While there are many great things about this story, such as the exotic settings and Mecham's ability to effectively and sweetly show the physical and emotional attraction between a man and a woman, one of my favorites is that Mecham beautifully shows moments of silence rather than telling us that time has passed. For example, during a dinner scene, Mecham writes: "A soft breeze blew across the table, and I placed my hand
on my napkin so it wouldn’t flutter away." If the author intended only to show action during the conversation, she could have left it at "I placed my hand on my napkin" or even "I moved my napkin to my lap." However, with the added details, Mecham shows both a moment of silence and a description of the setting. LOVED IT!

Why We Read: VICARIOUS EXPERIENCE

We read for many reasons, such asto gain knowledge or to escape the everyday pressures of life. But as an author, what also concerns me is 1) what makes a novel catch fire in the hearts of modern readers, and 2) how can I meet that requirement?
Through study and observation, I’ve concluded that novel readers mostly seek a vicarious experience. David Farland seems to agree for he’s described this concept, at least in part, as the physical responses people have to the novel. Reader’s endorphins react, he details, to the obstacles, emotions, and climax of the story.

Which leads to my next question. If vicarious experience is key, then how do I as a writer, create that experience? In answer, I’ve looked to some of my favorite writers and I’ve determined that at least three elements are critical: mystery, detail, and restraint.

Take Stephenie Meyers, for example. Not because I enjoyed her Twilight series—which I did--and definitely not because I crave vampires—for I absolutely don’t—but because Meyers has the ability to make her stories come to life, to make readers feel as if they are living in the moment, and to give life to her words in such a way that they jump off the page. She knows how to create vicarious experiences.

For instance, consider Twilight’s revelation scene when Edward allows Bella to figure out who he is. There in the restaurant, the reader already guesses Edward is a vampire, so that in itself creates mystery and nervous emotion—suspense--in the reader. Then, throughout the discussion, Meyers incorporates tiny details that describe how the couple responds to each other as well as a sense of Edward’s physical restraint. The following few sentences, alone, depict what I mean, but as you look through that entire section of the book, you can see numerous, similar examples:

“I scowled, but nodded. He moved his hand out from under mine, placing both of his under the table. But he leaned toward me.”

If you’re anything like me, you’ll notice both your heartbeat and breathing kick up a notch just from the memory of that scene or from the sentences I’ve quoted here. That’s vicarious experience. So that’s what I work to create in my own writing. Have I succeeded? Only you, my reader, can answer that question.

Must Have #2--Clarity

A couple of weeks ago, I began a series of posts that defines my "Must Haves" in writing. Most of them come from Gary Provost's 1984 article, "The Seven Beacons of Excellent Writing," and the first was Brevity. Today, it's Clarity.

At this point in my career, clarity is the Must Have I'm most conscious of. Far too often, I find myself plugging away at my writing, knowing exactly what is going on with my characters and plot, and yet when I receive feedback on it from other authors, I get this question: "Huh?" That response tells me I haven't said exactly what I mean, and I must now go back through the section and rewrite it until it is clear.

To quote Provost: "the good writer makes his meaning as clear as possible. He leaves no room for doubt about what is being read and he is not vague except when he has a good reason (bold & italics added)."

Here are a few clarifying tips:

1. Replace pronouns with exact nouns if appropriate. Instead of writing "He put it over there," write "Tom put the garden hose under the oak tree."

2. Tell the reader right up front who is doing what and when. For instance, don't write a sentence like this as your opening line or throughout your opening paragraphs:

He opened the package, and when he saw what was inside, he collapsed.

Sometimes new writers believe vagueness creates suspense, but the truth is, it may irritate and will probably confuse the reader.

3. While it's important to avoid repetition whenever possible, don't be afraid to repeat for clarification. For instance, if you write "Mom and Susan went to Broulims. She bought some furniture polish," your reader might not know who "She" is. Instead, write your second sentence as "Susan bought some furniture polish." This is also important in dialogue. If you're not sure your reader will know who's talking, repeat the speaker's name as much as necessary.

4. Finally, being direct is okay. Good, even. I don't know why, perhaps it's due to my poetry training or my school, literary, reading studies, but whatever the reason, I sometimes find myself alluding to my meaning, rather than saying straight out what I mean. When I do this, my readers's responses always contain, "Huh?"

Like I said before, that response is not a good thing, and I then know it's time to rewrite. To clarify.

Show It Like It Is!

A couple of weeks ago, I defined "Telling" for you with a promise to describe "Showing" in the future. Well, the future is here.

Showing, as I alluded to in my earlier post, is how writers help a reader feel as if they're in the middle of their story, seeing and experiencing the conflicts and resolutions with the protagonist. The three best ways I've found to show a scene rather than to tell it are to include dialogue, action, and details.

First, dialogue and action are more than self-expanatory, they are critical to fiction; for if your characters aren't saying or doing anything besides looking at your wonderful setting or thinking, they are stagnant. Boring, even. Your readers may even, heaven forbid, close your book and never pick it up again. So make sure, as you look over your manuscript, that your characters are doing and saying something important.

Adding descriptive details is another invaluable tool. And when I talk about details, I'm referring to those that reflect all 6+ senses: sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch, and intuition. As I was revising my novel, Missing, I was happily surprised by how much more powerful one of my less action-packed scenes became when I incorporated such details as what one of my villains was listening to on the radio and how she felt when an unexpected stranger passed by.

Now for the big question: how do you know if you're telling more than showing your story? The answer's simple. As you glimpse over each page of your manuscript, watch for these indicators:

1. Your page is filled with long, uninterrupted paragraphs.
2. There is no dialogue on the page.
3. Your characters aren't doing anything but looking or thinking.

If you have any of these factors, take a good look at your manuscript and see if you can add dialogue, action, or details. I bet you'll be able to, and your writing will be stronger because of it.

Finally, in my earlier post, I offered you two examples of "telling," so I thought you might appreciate a "showing" example, too. I recently read Heather B. Moore's novel, "Abinidi," and as I read it, I couldn't help but marvel at how well she incorporated this technique. So, here ya go, an example from the first paragraphs of "Abinidi:"

"A rat scurried across Abinidi's legs, and he tucked his feet beneath him, wrapping his arms around his knees. The air inside the prison cell had blossomed into ripe humidity, sending rivulets of perspiration down Abinidi's back. Gazing with effort at his dim surroundings . . . A thin beam of muffled light filtered through the corridor."

Show or Tell

At the Teen Writer's Conference last June, Heather Moore and I taught a class on editing and critiquing. One of the subjects we covered was Showing Vs. Telling. Since learning the difference between the two is essential to becoming a better writer, I thought I'd post a blog or two about it. Today, I'll define "Telling." Plain and simple, telling is a summary of events or a report of what happened, kind of like what an anchorman might do on the late night news. He might give us a quote or two, and he might even describe the action with a few, well-chosen words, like "raced" or "smashed," but overall, we, the audience, will not feel as if we're in the middle of the event; we'll simply know it happened. This is not what we fiction and non-fiction writers (barring news reporters) want to do.
Let me repeat: Do not tell your story. Show it. In fact, best-selling author, Janet Evanovich, said in her book, "How I Write," "Don't tell the reader anything, if you can show it instead."
True, there are a few times when telling is best, like when a character is repeating information the reader already knows to another character, or when we have to quickly update our reader about what's happened over an extended period of time--think of some of those sections in Stephenie Meyers "New Moon," shortly after Edward left. But by and large, we should try our level best to avoid telling.

Still not sure what telling is? Here are a couple of examples:

“She also volunteered lodging for my servants and the stable for my horses, but didn’t seem surprised when I told her I had neither, or offended when I told her I’d rather not talk about how I arrived. Wealth apparently brings you unquestioned acceptance.” (“My Fair Godmother,” Janette Rallinson, pg. 119-120.)


“Jeb started sending me on little errands. Run back to the kitchen for another roll, he was still hungry. Go fetch a bucket of water, this corner of the field was dry. Pull Jamie out of his class, Jeb needed to speak with him. . .”
(The Host, Stephenie Meyer, pg. 242-242.)

Until next time.