Because everyone loves a good story
On Writing, Part 5: Revision
Savory pot roast and mashed potatoes will always taste better than marinating beef and raw spuds. The book shelf displayed at Ikea will always be nicer than the pile of lumber, screws, and frustration on your living room floor. We know this because finished products are always more appealing than works-in-progress. So why, oh why, do we insist on comparing our first drafts with other authors’ published works?
Discouragement over a lousy first draft is a chronic problem for me. Even if I’ve written well in the past, my works in progress feel grueling and uninspired. (I forget that I felt the same way with my past projects too.) If you find yourself in the same predicament, take heart. Everyone—everyone—has to start with a first draft. Even Stephen King. So let’s see what he has to say about first drafts, second drafts, and improving our revisions.
Keeping the Door Closed
Stephen King is a real stickler about writing first drafts with the “door closed.” He means this literally so we don’t get distracted, but he also means we shouldn’t show the draft to anyone until it’s finished. When we’re in the middle of writing, we can feel pretty desperate for feedback—specifically, for reassurance. But King tells us to resist. “Keep the pressure on; don’t lower it by exposing what you’ve written to the doubt, the praise, or even the well-meaning questions of someone from the Outside World” (210).
Once draft one is the best we can muster, it’s time to put it on a shelf and walk away. Go back to real life. Start another project. Ideally, wait at least six weeks to come back to the story and begin working on draft two. Why? Because our minds need time to become objective again. The more distance we gain from the story, the more clearly we’ll be able to critique it when we return.
When to Open the Door
If we’re playing by King’s rules, he says we can hand over our first draft to our one, closest, “Ideal Reader” as soon as it’s finished. The catch is that they’re not allowed to talk to us about it until our hiatus is up. Otherwise we won’t get distance from it. And we shouldn’t give it to our handful of trusted reader friends until after the post-hiatus tweaking.
This tweaking means finding what we meant and narrow the story accordingly. Cut out the parts that detract from the overall message, and enhance the parts of the story that do convey the point. Afterward, we can hand it over to our five-ish trusted readers for feedback. If they all dislike different parts, “the tie goes to the writer.” Leave it alone. But if several pinpoint the same issue, it probably needs more tweaking.
The Garnish of Symbolism
Once we’ve gotten helpful feedback from our small band of editing warriors, we can consider enhancing the second draft with a few extras. For example, maybe the story would benefit from symbolism. “[Is symbolism] necessary to the success of your story or novel?” asks King. “Indeed not, and it can actually hurt, especially if you get carried away. Symbolism exists to adorn and enrich, not to create a sense of artificial profundity” (200). Don’t feel obligated to force it.
So we can’t let ornaments detract from the story itself, but if we find a fitting symbol during our editing, it could be a great way to “create a more unified and pleasing work” (200). Personally, I enjoy finding and deciphering symbols in stories and movies. It gives me greater respect for the writer who put time into thinking it through, and it deepens my enjoyment of the whole experience. But then again, I’m kind of a nerd, so maybe this isn’t a universal response. Either way, if you can include a symbol without letting it become obtrusive, by all means, do it.
Highlighting the Theme
At some point we have to decide what our story is about—not just the plot but the theme. For King, this happens during or after the first draft. For me, this happens before I ever type the words “Chapter One.” But King and I have different personalities and purposes. He aims to delight, but I aim to teach by delighting, as Sir Philip Sidney recommends in An Apology for Poetry. But, as we’ve discussed, stories are sure to morph by the end of the first draft, so some major overhauls may be required to clarify the theme. And that’s fine. We should hold our plans in loose hands.
However, theme carries the same caveat as symbol: don’t get carried away. No one enjoys condescending didacticism. If we bludgeon our poor, unsuspecting readers with a sermon when they expected a story, they won’t appreciate it. Instead, we should follow the model of Tolkien and Lewis by weaving our theme into a story so beautiful that it resonates with truth. It’s a high and lofty calling, but we’ll never reach it if we don’t try.
Take Heart
So if you’ve been feeling discouraged about your lousy first draft, don’t despair; you’re in good company. First drafts are meant to be lousy. In fact, if we were able to see the first drafts of the books we love, I think we’d be surprised and encouraged. As Anne Lamott says, “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere” (25).
So with that in mind, go start! Or go continue! But keep your chin up—draft two can fix a multitude of blunders.
Sources:
King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Scribner, 2000.
Lamott, Ann. Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. Pantheon books, 1994.
Something Worth Writing About
How do you fix writer’s block? Write more? Read more? Try harder? At times each of these is necessary, but sometimes your well just seems dry. How do you tap into water during a creative drought? Well, you may just have to go in search of it.
When the Well Runs Dry
This morning I read the weekly email from author Jonathan Rogers (The Charlatan’s Boy, The World According to Narnia). In it he considers the writer’s balance between reading and living. Writers are almost sure to be readers, he states, but reading well is only half the battle. “If you are just recycling the things you’ve read in other books, no matter how skillfully, you probably aren’t giving your reader something she couldn’t get for herself.” Touché, Rogers.
So while reading well is certainly important, living well is just as vital. Otherwise, you’ll have no lumber for your construction, no kindling for your fire. I knew an artist once who said he often ran low on creativity. To fix this, he might go to an art museum, but he was more likely to refill his soul’s reservoir by going outside. A short walk through the woods, a visit to a waterfall, and a three-week bike trip through the Swiss Alps are irreplaceable ways to pour beauty into the soul. These things give us something to use, something to write about.
“Bookishness versus Tookishness”
In his email, Jonathan Rogers went on to discuss the literary applications of Bilbo Baggins’s life in The Hobbit. Bilbo was a typical hobbit—practical, predictable, comfortable. He probably spent hours each day reading books in his armchair while eating toast and cheese. But when he heeded his Tookish instincts and went on a great and perilous adventure, he came back forever changed. Now he had something to write about. He used the rest of his considerably-long life (thanks, the One Ring) to pen There and Back Again: A Hobbit’s Tale. Adventure led to creativity.
That’s great for Bilbo, you think. I’m so glad this fictional character was able to pen a fictional masterpiece because of his fictional adventure. But I don’t see what kind of writing material an adventure could give me. Very well. I shall give you a few examples of writing fodder I’ve gleaned from a few of my own adventures through the years.
Into the Wild
You may remember that my favorite outdoor foray is hiking. I haven’t done nearly as much as I hope to, but the hikes I’ve enjoyed have given me loads of irreplaceable experiences. I’ve spent three separate weeks backpacking through Yosemite National Park, so I’ve got a special fondness for those sweeping forests, mighty rivers, and granite mountains. And while the trips satisfied my craving for camping, hiking, and shady hygiene, they also gave me plenty of experiences to tap into when I’m writing. Here are a few.
Examples
Metaphors abound in nature. The great outdoors provide common ground that nearly everyone can relate to. So rather than falling back on hackneyed similes and metaphors in your writing, think about a time you experienced what you’re trying to describe. Admittedly, it’s easier said than done to write a fresh comparison, but at least you’ll have more mental images to pull from if you’ve got adventures tucked away in your memory.
That way you don’t have to say the girl felt small. Instead, she can feel like a blade of grass beside a mighty sequoia. The man doesn’t have to be merely angry; instead, his temper can crush like a waterfall after a downpour. She doesn’t just feel lonely. Her heart’s as hollow as the wind whistling through a canyon. Now I admit I’m no metaphorical genius (or literal genius either) but the more adventures we have, the more we’ll be able to spin our straw into gold.
Exhaustion
If you’re writing fiction, especially adventure or fantasy, you may find yourself writing about a character who is beyond his capacity to continue. He isn’t just tired; he’s depleted, finished, exhausted. There’s no strength left for the next step. Describing this situation with realism doesn’t come from reading a book or watching a documentary where someone gets tired. In fact, you probably can’t even experience it for yourself on an afternoon stroll through the woods.
Exhaustion is something you have to experience for yourself. The uncontrollable quivering of thigh muscles, the vacuum-sealed dryness of a parched mouth, the rationalizing of yet another rest in the shade, the constant doubt about your ability and sanity. These things come from experience. Enjoyable experience? Not really. But worthwhile? Definitely. When you face exhaustion and live to write the tale, your readers will appreciate the richness of your descriptions. And the comforts of their armchairs.
Endurance
Hand-in-hand with exhaustion comes endurance. When a character confronts a powerful desire to turn back, to quit, to throw in the towel, what makes him press on? From where does he summon the strength? What kinds of thoughts go through his head?
These can be answered in many ways, but physical strain evokes a visceral, primal struggle that is hard to replicate elsewhere. Endurance becomes more than a conscious choice; it becomes a habit, a reflex. If it doesn’t, you’re sunk. You’ll end up sitting there waiting to be rescued. Until you learn that there is always a little more strength in the bottom of the tank, you won’t know what it means to endure, and neither will your characters.
Exhilaration and Completion
And since the last two lessons were rather grim, I wanted to end with the experience of exhilaration and completion. If you’ve undergone trials that pushed your body and mind to the limit and then some, you probably know the reward of completion. Exhaustion forces endurance which yields exhilaration when you’re finally finished. When you reach the summit, the views are well worth the throbbing thighs and burning lungs.
But the things you learn about yourself may be even more long-lasting and valuable. You learn what motivates you and what discourages you. You find out how you react under pressure and how you treat others in the process. But you learn firsthand the thrill that come from finishing what you started. These are lessons that lead to character development (on the page and in real life).
What Are You Waiting For?
So if you find your mental well running a little dry these days, don’t despair. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t just flip on the TV. Get outside. Go hiking. See something beautiful. The things you experience will enrich not only your life but your writing as well.
On Writing, Part 4: Making Stories
A good story is more than the sum of its parts, but the parts that make it up are pretty darn important too. So how can you and I—Average Author Joes—combine the parts in hopes of making magic? Let’s see what Stephen King has to say about it.
“In my view,” says King in his book On Writing, “stories and novels consist of three parts: narration, which moves the story from point A to point B and finally to point Z; description, which creates a sensory reality for the reader; and dialogue, which brings characters to life through their speech” (163.) While there are many other aspects to awesome stories, they pretty much fall under these three categories.
NARRATION
Those Who Plan
The first part, narration, is the telling and progressing of the storyline, and different writers approach this plotting process differently. Controlling, plan-every-last-detail writers lay out a fairly detailed plot sketch before beginning the real writing. This is most definitely my approach. But King scorns this tactic, saying that “plot is, I think, the good writer’s last resort and the dullard’s first choice. The story which results from it is apt to feel artificial and labored” (164). Ouch. It disheartens me to hear this, but he could be right.
For example, I once wrote a play whose plot went careening off in a different direction than I’d intended. But the ending I permitted was much better than the ending I’d planned, and maybe that’s what King is talking about. Giving yourself permission to change the plan is essential to writing a healthy story.
Those Who Don’t
On the other end of the planning spectrum are the confident, seat-of-the-pants writers. King is squarely in the center of this camp. He believes “plotting and the spontaneity of real creation aren’t compatible….[Stories] pretty much make themselves” (163). Well, maybe they do if you’re Stephen King, but it sure doesn’t work like that for everyone. However, for the kind of stories he writes, his approach seems to work just fine.
Here’s his method: he begins by imagining a situation, usually by asking “What if…?” Then he fills in the scenario with some basic characters that will develop eventually. Then he sits down for several hours every morning and churns out 2,000 words to see what happens next. Easy peasy. If it worked like that for me, I would approach writing the same way King does. But for now, I’ll have to keep plugging along with a loosely-held plot idea and hope I don’t prove to be too much of a dullard.
DESCRIPTION
In King’s opinion, the cardinal sin of description seems to be over-description. Boy, he must hate some of the classics. But he has a fair point: who among us hasn’t zoned out while reading a six-page description of a pub or the heroine’s meticulously-transcribed appearance? The main job of the writer, King says, is not to set the scene but to to tell the story, so get on with it.
That being said, writing does require a certain amount of description, so how do you do this well? First, King says that description begins with an author’s visualization and ends with his translating it into words the reader can visualize too. See it, and then say it. And stick with the first few details that come into your mind. Remember also that description should offer something to each of the five senses as often as possible. And, for heaven’s sake, avoid cliched similes, metaphors, and images like the plague.
DIALOGUE
“Dialogue is a skill best learned by people who enjoy talking and listening to others—particularly listening” (183). Stilted, unnatural dialogue can make even a good story turn rotten. Stock phrases, poorly-executed accents, and awkward wording depict characters in two-dimensional graphite rather than technicolor 3-D. The more we listen and practice, the more our dialogue should reflect real speech.
In King’s opinion, this includes profanity and vulgarity because worrying about the “Legion of Decency” prevents believable dialogue. I don’t necessarily endorse King’s advice, but I wanted to present it for your consideration. Personally, I wrote a WWII play, and none of my soldiers cursed. Was that realistic? Probably not, but writers do need to consider their audience. Asking seventh- through twelfth-grade students to say R-rated words on stage during a fund raiser may not be worth the realism. I focused on other ways soldiers would have express themselves, and I think it worked out all right. Then again, maybe I’m just an old prude.
CONCLUSION
Now that you’ve been reacquainted with the three pillars of story, you’ve got plenty to mull over. Maybe it’s time to scamper off to the writing desk and put them into practice. Or maybe you’ll notice these working well in the next book you read. Either way, it’s a win. Next time we’ll look at a few ways to turn a basic story into something more. Stay tuned!
Source:
King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Scribner, 2000.
On Writing, Part 3: Good Habits
Good habits.
The Hermione Grangers out there just got excited at the prospect of more good habits, and the Ron Weasleys just slouched in their seats and heaved an exasperated sigh. No matter which of these reactions you tend toward, there’s something for you to try in this post. Read on to see some of King’s most beneficial habits.
TWO FUNDAMENTAL TRUTHS
Master the Basics
King spends the first half of his book, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, relating his own history and describing the contents of a writer’s toolbox. Now as he approaches the “heart of [the] book,” he wants to make two things perfectly clear. The first fundamental truth, he says, is that “good writing consists of mastering the fundamentals (vocabulary, grammar, the elements of style) and then filling the third level of your toolbox with the right instruments” (142).
What kinds of instruments? You know, techniques to makes your writing more interesting—things like narration, description, and dialogue. There are more, of course (because not all writing is fiction), but these are three biggies. We’ll look at King’s explanation of these instruments in later weeks, so hang in there.
There Is Hope
King’s second fundamental truth is that “it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one” (142). Notice that he doesn’t say bad writers can be good or that good writers can be great. He’s not guaranteeing miracles here. But many, many published writers are in the category of competent-writers-turned-good. In fact, I think plenty have hovered on the cusp of “competent” without ever breaking through to “good” at all. So why can’t you be among the published? In King’s opinion, you (probably) can.
But notice the caveats: it takes “lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help.” Do you have what it takes? Put your hand down, Hermione. It was rhetorical. Sit up, Ron. You’ll do fine. Let’s look at King’s suggestions to see if we can implement a few for the good of our writing.
GOOD HABITS
Read a Lot
“If you want to be a writer,” King says, “you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut” (145). If you’re interested in this blog, my guess is that you already enjoy reading. But that doesn’t necessarily mean you read a lot. I used to. When I was a naughty youngster, I’d even get grounded from reading since it was my greatest joy. (Yes, I was Hermione.) But now I don’t read nearly as much as I should.
My usual excuses are that I don’t have time and that I don’t feel like it. But King doesn’t pull any punches. “Can I be blunt on this subject? If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that” (147). Well, there you go. Even when I’m busy, I can still listen to audiobooks instead of the radio, read a book instead of surfing my phone, and squeeze in a chapter before bed instead of watching a Seinfeld rerun. Even a little time can add up.
Speaking of which, King is vehement about the detrimental effects of TV and movies. It rots our brains, wastes our time, and blunts our creativity. But here’s King’s guarantee: “Once weaned from the ephemeral craving for TV, most people will find they enjoy the time they spend reading. I’d like to suggest that turning off that endlessly quacking box is apt to improve the quality of your life as well as the quality of your writing” (148). Ouch! But I completely agree.
Write a Lot
Write daily, and write plenty, says Stephen. The more you put it off, the more it will begin to feel like work, and that’s no fun. You don’t need a fancy office, either. Pick a quiet, inauspicious room with a closed door where you won’t be interrupted, even by your phone or computer. Just sit there and write.
Don’t waste time waiting for the muse—just get cracking. Write what you know if it’s interesting. Write what you imagine if you prefer. Basically, write about “anything at all…as long as you tell the truth” (158). Just keep writing.
CONCLUSION
Well, if you were looking for good habits to incorporate, King gave you plenty to choose from. Don’t get overwhelmed or discouraged, though. Let’s pick one and try it out for a week. Not sure where to start? Try trading one show for a few chapters of a good book. Grab some snacks, and get comfy. Who knows? It might just become a habit.
On Writing, Part 2B: The Writer’s Tools
No matter what or to whom you are writing, clear vocabulary and correct grammar are essential. That’s why they’re on the top shelf of the writer’s toolbox. But even a careful elementary student could accomplish that much. What other tools should a good writer wield?
SECOND SHELF: Elements of Style
Paragraphs
It may seem strange to consider the paragraph as a writing tool, but it really is. “Paragraphs are almost as important for how they look as for what they say; they are maps of intent” (130). Think about perusing a new book. You can pretty much guess if it’s going to be an easy read or a difficult journey based on how packed the pages look, right? Lots of paragraph breaks and dialogue give the page an airy feel like a well-ventilated sitting room with a nice cross breeze. But a paragraph that lasts for two or three pages is like sitting down to a well-done eye of round with naught save a butter knife and some dentures.
Good luck.
That’s not to say long paragraphs are off limits. Just consider your purpose. If you’re writing formal stuff like essays, it’s important to follow a predictable structure (topic sentence, support sentences, conclusion). But if you’re writing fiction, there’s a lot more wiggle room. “When composing [fiction] it’s best not to think too much about where paragraphs begin and end; the trick is to let nature take its course. If you don’t like it later on, fix it then” (132).
Fragments
If you think this section will be an indictment on sentence fragments, think again. There are situations, especially in fiction, where a fragment can “work beautifully to streamline narration, create clear images, and create tension as well as to vary the prose-line” (133). No need to get carried away and use them all the time, but an occasional fragment can really spice things up. Honest.
And if that unorthodox advice rubs you the wrong way, consider King’s next assertion: “Language does not always have to wear a tie and lace-up shoes. The object of fiction isn’t grammatical correctness but to make the reader welcome and then tell a story…to make him/her forget, whenever possible, that he/she is reading a story at all” (134).
Wait, what? Writers are allowed to fudge on grammatical correctness? Isn’t that a violation of last time’s advice to pursue grammatical correctness with assiduous diligence? (Oops. And also to avoid inflated vocabulary.) No. Notice that he says the object or point of fiction isn’t to exemplify perfect grammar. A good author is allowed to break the rules as long as it’s intentional, beneficial, and earned. Accidental, confusing, and gratuitous mistakes are now and always shall be unacceptable. Amen and amen.
THIRD SHELF: Writing Fiction
Once you as a writer have achieved the habits of clear vocabulary, correct grammar, suitable paragraphs, and occasional fragments, pat yourself on the back. You’re way ahead of the curve. Now you can open the third shelf of the writer’s toolbox and begin writing fiction! Huzzah!
If, however, this is not your desire, that’s fine. Just remember that many writers never set out to become published authors; they started by telling stories to their children (Watership Down) or writing books on a dare (Green Eggs and Ham and Frankenstein) or filling in the gaps in modern literature (The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia). I’m just saying you may not plan to open the third shelf any time soon, but don’t throw away the key.
Just remember that it takes commitment to write a whole book, even a short one. And that’s only the first step—publication may take even longer than the writing process. (More on that in later weeks.) But when an author does his or her best, sometimes the magic happens, and the book comes alive for the readers. That’s why even hefty tomes like Tolkien’s trilogy still gets countless reads today. You and I may never achieve that status, but then again we may.
Isn’t it worth a try?
Source:
King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Scribner, 2000.
Hot Off the Press: The Edge of Everywhen
I’m in the process of trying to write a book right now. Know what the hard part is? Well, most of it, really. It’s fun and hard. But the really hard part is when someone says, “So what’s the book about?”
You know, that’s a good question.
It’s not that I don’t have an answer; It’s that I have too much answer. At times I struggle to condense my thoughts. (Have you noticed? Thank you for politely shaking your head “no.”) That’s why book reviews can be tricky. You read a whole book, and then you’re supposed to tell what it’s about and what you thought of it within a matter of paragraphs. Sure, no problem! Then I’ll spin this pile of straw into gold by morning! But I always like a good challenge, so here are my thoughts on a brand new book: A.S. Mackey’s The Edge of Everywhen.
A few months ago, Mackey reached out to me on this blog. She asked if I’d be willing to read her upcoming book, to which I replied, “Why, certainly!” Do I seem like the sort of person who would turn down the chance to get a free book and read it before it hits the shelves? I think not. When I read the book, I was certainly glad I’d agreed. It was very well done, and I think kids of all ages will enjoy the writing, plot, and magic.
Yes, magic.
And the question you’re asking is, “So what’s the book about?” I knew you were going to ask that. The book’s description calls it a story that “bridges the chasm between faith-based and fantasy kid-lit genres.” Amazon classifies it with “Children’s Christian Mysteries and Detective Stories.” I’d label it “Imaginative Kids Lit with a Hint of Fantasy and Faith.”
See? Categorizing is tough.
But the story follows the woes, lessons, and triumphs of thirteen-year-old Piper and her younger brother, Phoenix. The children’s mother passes away, and their father is MIA on a work trip gone wrong, so they’re sent to live with a rich, estranged, and standoffish aunt. The setup of the plot is reminiscent of A Series of Unfortunate Events, even in the narrator’s direct addresses to the reader. For example: “What’s that you say? Books cannot speak? On the contrary, dear Reader. Quite the contrary. Books are one of the few things on this earth that truly speak.”
However, the book is narrated not by Lemony Snicket but by the book itself. Yes, the book is the narrator of the book. I admit this was hard for me to get into at the beginning, but once I made it through the first two chapters, I was glad I’d persevered. The rest flowed much more smoothly once I had my bearings.
The reader watches as Piper and Phoenix learn their way around their aunt’s mansion, make friends with the butler and cook, and—most importantly—discover a magical book in the library. The book calls to Phoenix, who is intuitive because of his autism. Then Piper reads it, and she’s stunned at its contents. The book works changes in the lives of everyone who reads it. In fact, the book is instrumental in turning their stay at Aunt Beryl’s from a misfortune to a blessing.
The Edge of Everywhen also mentions other children’s books: Harry Potter, The Hobbit, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Giver, and many others. The narrator-that-is-a-book references these works of literature by way of recommendation, which I think is pretty neat. Piper is a bookworm herself, so making mention of books every kid should read is a natural fit.
And, finally, the book is certainly Christian, but it doesn’t sucker punch you with a sermon to get the point across. By and large, the characters’ growth is believable. I think that’s important so that young readers don’t expect real change to finish happening overnight. We see progress by the end of the story, but there is still room to grow.
All in all, I think the book will make a lovely addition to any young reader’s bookshelf. If you’re in the market for a chapter book for the little ones in your life, head on over to Amazon, B&H Publishing, or Christianbooks.com and get yourself a copy! And when you do, don’t forget to leave a review. Good books deserve wide circulation.
And thank you, Allison Mackey, for doing the hard work of finishing your book. We’re better off for it.
On Writing, Part 2A: The Writer’s Tools
“I’m convinced that fear is at the root of most bad writing,” says Stephen King in his book On Writing (127).
What kind of fear is he talking about? Fear that you’ll appear unintelligent if you don’t beef up your vocabulary. Fear that you’ll be misunderstood if you don’t use loads of adverbs, passive sentences, and hokey verbs of dialogue attribution (she insinuated insinuatingly). And fear that you just don’t have what it takes to write.
While King does admit that not everyone is born to be a writer, he also admits that decent writers can become good writers if they’re willing to put in the effort. The principles below apply to those who aspire to see their novels atop the best seller list, but they also apply to those who write emails, updates, and even texts. To that end, here are some tools that King proposes should fill every writer’s toolbox.
TOP SHELF: The Basics
Vocabulary
In the writer’s toolbox, “common tools go on top,” and the most basic of all is vocabulary. It’s fairly non-negotiable. But that doesn’t mean you should memorize the thesaurus so you can impress readers with your vice-like grasp of the English language. To the contrary, King suggests that faking a big vocabulary is a big mistake.
“One of the really bad things you can do to your writing is to dress up the vocabulary, looking for long words because you’re maybe a little bit ashamed of your short ones. This is like dressing up a household pet in evening clothes. The pet is embarrassed and the person who committed this act of premeditated cuteness should be even more embarrassed” (117). I couldn’t agree more, both with the advice and the analogy. (Who are these people who buy doggy dresses??)
So when in doubt, choose to word it simply. No one is fooled by fake-fancy writing anyway. King’s final vocabulary advice is worth memorizing: “Remember that the basic rule of vocabulary is use the first word that comes to your mind, if it is appropriate and colorful” (118). I couldn’t have said it better myself, Steve.
Grammar:
Another non-negotiable in the writer’s toolbox is good grammar. Why? Because “bad grammar produces bad sentences,” and bad sentences are confusing (120). We’ve all felt befuddlement (and some of us have felt scorn and outrage) when reading a poorly-written billboard. How, we wonder, did that message make it all the way into print without being edited? And what on earth were they trying to say? When it comes to correct grammar, King is unapologetic about its importance. If that makes you nervous, take heart. In his opinion, either you’ve picked up good grammar by hearing and reading good grammar, or else it’s too late for you and you probably shouldn’t pursue a career in writing. That’s pretty simple, right?
But even for those who have managed to pick up good grammar, there’s always room for fine tuning. I earned my degree in English Education with a minor in Creative Writing, so I’ve taken more nitty-gritty grammar courses than I care to remember. Sheesh, I’ve taken way more than I do remember. That’s why I—yea, verily, even I—have to check my punctuation and usage all the time. Fortunately, the interweb has plenty of great resources like the Purdue Online Writing Lab—OWL. I find their explanations clear and helpful. When in doubt, don’t be a dunce—look it up!
IN CONCLUSION
In pursuit of brevity, I’m choosing to close the writer’s toolbox until next time. The reminder to simplify our vocabularies and correctify our grammar is enough to keep us busy for the time being, right? I know it is for me. I feel like I should have looked up a couple of the words in this paragraph to make sure they were legit, but oh well. Maybe no one will notice. Until text time, keep writing gooder!
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