DeepGenre

Sherwood Smith July 2nd, 2006

The problem with very general rules for revision is that A’s rules are not B’s rules because A and B have not only different approaches to revision, but different strengths and weaknesses.

So let me start with the easiest stuff, with the caveat that all needs vary, and what works for one won’t work for another. But these rules I have below are the most general guidelines I have–the rules that seem to work for the broadest spectrum of folks I’ve dealt with in the context of writing workshopping. Generally speaking, it has been easier for some writers to begin at the sentence level, and then work outward from there.

When to revise. If you don’t have a deadline, let it sit for as long as you can. The longer the better for most of us, especially cinematic writers (by which I mean writers who see and hear a movie in their head, and dash it down happily as quick as possible). The downside for us cinema writers is that we tend to fall into traps that the textually oriented writers–the ones who slowly and painfully craft one cloisonné sentence after another, paying attention to the sound and meaning of each word–usually don’t. For cinematic writers, the most difficult task is the old forest/trees dilemma: we’re so familiar with the story we love so much, we read a line and boom! We’re right back in the story world, which is nice, except we are still seeing what is in our head, and not what’s on the page.

 

Remember that what you see and hear must get to the page. How often have I heard a critiquer say “There just isn’t any emotion in this scene–I kept skimming!â€? to which the writer snaps back, “What do you want from me? I wept buckets as I wrote that scene! I was an emotional wreck when it was done–couldn’t sleep for a week

 

So . . . why not? Don’t dive in and start slathering the nouns, adjectives, verbs already in place with superlatives to boost up the emotion. The effect of that on the reader is often like jacking the volume to distortion when one is playing an already-damaged piece of music. Try to see first off if your verbs actually do what they are supposed to do. Verbs are strongest when they perform the action they are meant to. Let ‘filling’ refer to actually putting a liquid or substance inside of a container, don’t use it inexactly. Screams that ‘fill’ the air (or pierce it) make the visual reader picture screams that drown out all sounds; piercing screams make the visual reader wonder how oxygen can be pierced.

 

Ask yourself: Did you settle for weasel words Weasel words are a easy shortcuts for reactions and emotions. Like the little weasel whose instinct is to slither to and fro, hopefully unnoticed, these words flit by leaving no clear picture or impact. Weasel words can be comprised of clichés–castles that are always sinister, tables of food that always groan, screams that always haunt (either screams or beauty, both of which don’t really give you a clear picture. I mean think about it, have you ever looked at a pretty person and thought, “Wow, what a totally haunting face?â€? And if you have, are all beauties ghost-like?

 

Weasel words can also be actions: does everybody really feel a chill down their spine when they get scared? And adding various verbs just distort the cliché further, don’t repair it. Some people do genuinely feel the grip of chill in their backbone, but I doubt they feel it scamper, trickle, slither, blah blah. Some people hunch, some get tight necks, some sweat, some grip their hands and twist them. Thinking of real human reactions gives a sense of real emotion–the same old standards are shortcuts by the author telling the reader what the character is feeling, but does the reader really feel it?

 

The next set of weasels to watch for are the somethings. Such easy shortcuts, but they just don’t have the impact of reactions specific to that character. So I just slide right by without any reaction when I see Something in her eyes . . . Something in the air felt . . . Something in his voice . . . after every one of these, I want to know WHAT in the air/voice/eyes. Oh lord, especially the eyes, but that in a moment. The other half of the weasel-somethings are usually just as bad. Something crept into her voice Do vocal tones really creep?. . Something in her eyes told him . . . So eyes talk? Ooba-dooba, that would be handy in the classroom when my throat is sore. These shortcuts are mild, but put too many in, and your story starts sounding more and more conventional, and is therefore less and less memorable and evocative of real emotion.

 

Weasel-eyes. The easiest and most common weasel is the battery-powered eyes. Look at the person next to you. Go look at your best pal, or your worst enemy. Watch their moods. Do their eyes “tell� you anything? Lights are even worse. If you know someone with incandescent eyes, I’d like to borrow them to light my way from the store to the car if I shop late at night. Do eyes ever scorch, bounce, rake, pierce, glitter, glint, smolder, stab, light, up, blaze, freeze, or reach into the very core of one’s being. For that matter, what is

 

Face-weasels. It’s been argued that all these are similes and metaphors, so okay, but they are similes and metaphors at least a century old, and therefore about as visible and effective in the memory as ads along the side of the road, or the color of street cement. Ubiquitous, you might say, interchangeable with one another, and limited in impact. It’s hard work to describe expressions, but don’t be tempted to settle for face weasels such as A grin crept across her face Expressions do not, I repeat, do not creep across faces. Creeping is a low or even crawling movement that goes from one side to the other See if you can control your face that well, especially if you try to express a storm crept across his face Smiles do not play about lips (what, pinochle? Badminton, maybe?) Storms do not march across foreheads, shadows do not pass over faces unless you whip an umbrella up over your head to block the sun. If you have to use vulnerable (and when have you looked at someone and thought “She sure looks vulnerable�) don’t distort it with “achingly�. Other standards to use sparingly : raised one eyebrow, half-smiles, and radiation. (“She radiated sorrow.�)

 

Yes, I know many successful books break all these rules. That means to a number of readers the rest of the story is strong enough to drive them right past all these familiar standards. But we’re talking about Deep Genre here, we want our books to be as memorable as possible, so this is one place to start on that revision. I’ve found that really thinking about how this or that character truly looks often helps me think out other aspects of the story.

 

The bottom line is, get that wonderful story and those fascinating characters from your head to the page.  All you’ve got are words, so don’t story and characters deserve the very best you can give them?

• Style