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Description: Balancing Too Much and Not Enough

There’s an old adage about writing that says, “show, don’t tell.” But what does that actually mean? Surely, we’re not expected to illustrate our stories, are we? Christ, I hope not. Some of mine are rather long.

No. What that means is that you should use your words to paint a visual picture for the reader. “Talking heads” are both boring and confusing, and should generally be avoided. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, “talking heads” refers to the phenomenon where all, or most of story is carried out through the characters’ dialogue. You see it like mad in web and news paper comics, but it happens in prose as well.

The first, and arguably the most fun way to banish the talking heads is to make your characters act. This doesn’t mean action, necessarily. The character can do any amount of “going” from place to place or thing to thing, but so what? He’s still not really doing anything.

° “Do you really want me to stop?” Nicholas asked one evening, prying the lid off of Danny’s prescription bottle.

It was not what Danny expected to hear.

“Well,” Danny started awkwardly. With some effort, he pushed himself upright far enough to grab the bottle from Nicholas. “I like having you around, yeah? But I am an adult, Nicholas.”

The scene is a fairly static one. Both characters are on the sofa, but there’s more to the scene than just Nicholas being chastised for treating his injured friend like a child. He doesn’t just have the bottle of pills, nor is he simply opening it. The verb “pry” suggests a hint of struggle in the action, which gives the reader an ever-so-slightly different visual.

People very rarely simply just sit and talk. The telly might be on in the background, or maybe they’re eating supper. Give your characters something to do, even in the static scenes. Give your characters some body language or a fidgety tic or something. In Guys N Dolls, Sister Sarah had a button on her top that she was constantly fixing and releasing. A good, exaggerated example of physical tics is Monk. The man has about a dozen, at least.

The action scenes can be a bit more difficult than the static scenes, because there’s a certain pace that you have to have to maintain. Go too quickly, and the reader may get lost or confused. Too slowly, and it drags and doesn’t feel natural.

° Andy’s hand reached out, grabbing Nicholas’ arm tightly as the inspector pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He shoved it into his mouth, using the screen display to cast some light onto the scene. Even with the faint blue glow, Nicholas could see the mass of damage the bullet had caused to Andy’s shoulder, his blood black on his shirt.

“Andy, stay with me,” Nicholas said frantically around his mobile as he pressed his hand against the detective’s shoulder. “Don’t let go of me, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Andy nodded as he coughed lightly. “Fucking prick,” he managed to spit out.

“Don’t talk,” Nicholas said as he pulled his mobile out of his mouth. “Just hold on to me, okay?”

He clumsily dialled 999, taking a few moments to remember to press the “send” key afterwards.

Even at the best of situations, people don’t always think clearly. We’re always forgetting our keys as we head out to the car or forgetting the name of someone we’ve known for 20 years. So, logically, if you’ve just watched your friend get shot, your brain will probably be on emergency mode. For most people, movements will be less than fluid and they’d be thinking about the immediate situation and forgetting the small details (like pressing “send” on a mobile phone).

Just because the scene itself is meant to be fast-paced, it’s not an excuse to drop the acting and let the dialogue take over to make the scene read more quickly. You can easily get a good, quick pace with character acting and emotions. Don’t tell the reader that the character is scared because his friend’s been shot; let the character act out his emotions. If the character is visibly showing his pain and fear, you reader will feel those emotions right along with him. We’ll talk a bit more about emotion and characterisation a little later, in another lesson.

Description in the Narrative

So, your characters are acting now. Well, they need a stage, don’t they? That’s right, more mind-painting. It’s very hard to get your character to act too much. It is, however, extremely easy to put too much description into your narrative.

° "Her golden yellow hair gently billowed in the light summer's breeze that kissed the meadow like a thousand fairies sweeping across the plane in melodious harmony, the sun glistening in her round, sapphire eyes as she..."

To quote the oddly-lovable Gus Dickinson, shut the f--- up!

I’ve used this example before. Mainly, because writing like this makes me want to kick myself in the face, and I don’t want to risk losing any more brain cells by trying to write any more of this. This is what’s known as “Purple Prose.” The cure: burn your thesaurus.

The reader doesn’t need to know 90% of that. At least. We know what blond hair looks like. We know what wind does to hair and grass. Don’t tell us what we already know; it’s boring, and can sometimes make the reader feel like they’re being talked-down to.

° She went to the farmhouse.

On the converse, we have absolutely nothing. “Went” is one of those empty filler verbs. It doesn’t really mean anything, like “go” or “got.” About the only real visual we get from this is “farmhouse,” but even that doesn’t tell us much. Someone from Europe has a much different idea of what a farmhouse looks like than someone from rural Kansas. Where is this farmhouse? Did she get there by foot? By horseback? Did she teleport?

Ideally, you want to come to a happy medium about it. Let the reader know enough details to get a good visual, but leave the excess adverbs and adjectives in the junk drawer.

° “We can take my car,” Andrew continued. “It’s just out front.”

Okay, so Andrew has a car, and they’re going somewhere in it. Do we need to know about the ride quality and the cheap plastic dash panels, or how when you downshift to second, it tries to throw you through the windscreen? Unless your name is James May, no.

° Randal hesitated slightly before finally following the detectives back through the station as Andrew led him to the Renault parked out front.

So, Andrew drives a Renault. Whether it’s a Mégane or an R18 or whatever is irrelevant, so it’s left out. The reader will fill in the smaller details if they want, or maybe just laugh at the fact that Andrew drives a Renault in the first place. Most likely, however, is that they just don’t care. Unless they’re James May.

Sometimes, details like this are important to the story. Maybe a character drives a 1966 black Cadillac Eldorado, and four chapters later, CCTV has footage of an older-model Cadillac Eldorado mowing down a little old lady in the crosswalk. The reader might need to know this information then.

A general rule to follow is to only include information which is vital to the outcome of the story, and to include as much vital information as possible. A great example of this is actually Harry Potter. She’s great at dropping absurd, seemingly asinine details into the narrative, and having them come back several chapters, or even books, later and suddenly being insanely important information. Remember Professor Quirrell’s stinky old turban that he wore, that Fred and George said he stuffed full of garlic at the beginning of the book? And then how he was the one who coincidentally informed the Great Hall of the troll in the castle? Yes, the books were geared at younger children, but I was an adult when I finally got round to reading the series and I still didn’t pick up on the big bad until the final reveal. Re-reading it, though, it’s terribly blatant and practically rubbed in your face.

But there’s very little filler in the books, which is the point I’m getting at. Sure, it’s not a shining example of classic literature, and it has its own faults, but for the most part, Rowling doesn’t bore you with pointless description in the narrative. It’s a fantasy, so she does need to take the time to describe the magical elements of the atmosphere. But she also leaves enough to the imagination to let the reader make their own picture.

I haven’t really got many examples of this, because I can’t realistically paste an entire story into this thing. Go read Philosopher’s Stone if you haven’t already, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s a quick read. Or, have Stephen Fry read it to you.

Absence of Information

Sometimes, the absence of information can be just as effective as putting all of the info up on the table. Complete absence of information or description can be used as a plot device, but more often, you’ll find a lack of information or description. Mostly a device that you’ll find in mystery/thriller genres, by leaving out important information, you keep your reader engaged because they really, really, really want to know how this story is going to end. As always, you want to keep a good balance with your description. Give your reader what they need to know, and nothing that they don’t. Filler in prose is like putting cardboard in your breakfast cereal. Sure, it looks like there’s a lot of it, but it won’t be very satisfying in the end.

Description
Description: Balancing Too Much and Not Enough

There’s an old adage about writing that says, “show, don’t tell.” But what does that actually mean? Surely, we’re not expected to illustrate our stories, are we? Christ, I hope not. Some of mine are rather long.

No. What that means is that you should use your words to paint a visual picture for the reader. “Talking heads” are both boring and confusing, and should generally be avoided. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, “talking heads” refers to the phenomenon where all, or most of story is carried out through the characters’ dialogue. You see it like mad in web and news paper comics, but it happens in prose as well.

The first, and arguably the most fun way to banish the talking heads is to make your characters act. This doesn’t mean action, necessarily. The character can do any amount of “going” from place to place or thing to thing, but so what? He’s still not really doing anything.

° “Do you really want me to stop?” Nicholas asked one evening, prying the lid off of Danny’s prescription bottle.

It was not what Danny expected to hear.

“Well,” Danny started awkwardly. With some effort, he pushed himself upright far enough to grab the bottle from Nicholas. “I like having you around, yeah? But I am an adult, Nicholas.”

The scene is a fairly static one. Both characters are on the sofa, but there’s more to the scene than just Nicholas being chastised for treating his injured friend like a child. He doesn’t just have the bottle of pills, nor is he simply opening it. The verb “pry” suggests a hint of struggle in the action, which gives the reader an ever-so-slightly different visual.

People very rarely simply just sit and talk. The telly might be on in the background, or maybe they’re eating supper. Give your characters something to do, even in the static scenes. Give your characters some body language or a fidgety tic or something. In Guys N Dolls, Sister Sarah had a button on her top that she was constantly fixing and releasing. A good, exaggerated example of physical tics is Monk. The man has about a dozen, at least.

The action scenes can be a bit more difficult than the static scenes, because there’s a certain pace that you have to have to maintain. Go too quickly, and the reader may get lost or confused. Too slowly, and it drags and doesn’t feel natural.

° Andy’s hand reached out, grabbing Nicholas’ arm tightly as the inspector pulled his mobile out of his pocket. He shoved it into his mouth, using the screen display to cast some light onto the scene. Even with the faint blue glow, Nicholas could see the mass of damage the bullet had caused to Andy’s shoulder, his blood black on his shirt.

“Andy, stay with me,” Nicholas said frantically around his mobile as he pressed his hand against the detective’s shoulder. “Don’t let go of me, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Andy nodded as he coughed lightly. “Fucking prick,” he managed to spit out.

“Don’t talk,” Nicholas said as he pulled his mobile out of his mouth. “Just hold on to me, okay?”

He clumsily dialled 999, taking a few moments to remember to press the “send” key afterwards.

Even at the best of situations, people don’t always think clearly. We’re always forgetting our keys as we head out to the car or forgetting the name of someone we’ve known for 20 years. So, logically, if you’ve just watched your friend get shot, your brain will probably be on emergency mode. For most people, movements will be less than fluid and they’d be thinking about the immediate situation and forgetting the small details (like pressing “send” on a mobile phone).

Just because the scene itself is meant to be fast-paced, it’s not an excuse to drop the acting and let the dialogue take over to make the scene read more quickly. You can easily get a good, quick pace with character acting and emotions. Don’t tell the reader that the character is scared because his friend’s been shot; let the character act out his emotions. If the character is visibly showing his pain and fear, you reader will feel those emotions right along with him. We’ll talk a bit more about emotion and characterisation a little later, in another lesson.

Description in the Narrative

So, your characters are acting now. Well, they need a stage, don’t they? That’s right, more mind-painting. It’s very hard to get your character to act too much. It is, however, extremely easy to put too much description into your narrative.

° "Her golden yellow hair gently billowed in the light summer's breeze that kissed the meadow like a thousand fairies sweeping across the plane in melodious harmony, the sun glistening in her round, sapphire eyes as she..."

To quote the oddly-lovable Gus Dickinson, shut the f--- up!

I’ve used this example before. Mainly, because writing like this makes me want to kick myself in the face, and I don’t want to risk losing any more brain cells by trying to write any more of this. This is what’s known as “Purple Prose.” The cure: burn your thesaurus.

The reader doesn’t need to know 90% of that. At least. We know what blond hair looks like. We know what wind does to hair and grass. Don’t tell us what we already know; it’s boring, and can sometimes make the reader feel like they’re being talked-down to.

° She went to the farmhouse.

On the converse, we have absolutely nothing. “Went” is one of those empty filler verbs. It doesn’t really mean anything, like “go” or “got.” About the only real visual we get from this is “farmhouse,” but even that doesn’t tell us much. Someone from Europe has a much different idea of what a farmhouse looks like than someone from rural Kansas. Where is this farmhouse? Did she get there by foot? By horseback? Did she teleport?

Ideally, you want to come to a happy medium about it. Let the reader know enough details to get a good visual, but leave the excess adverbs and adjectives in the junk drawer.

° “We can take my car,” Andrew continued. “It’s just out front.”

Okay, so Andrew has a car, and they’re going somewhere in it. Do we need to know about the ride quality and the cheap plastic dash panels, or how when you downshift to second, it tries to throw you through the windscreen? Unless your name is James May, no.

° Randal hesitated slightly before finally following the detectives back through the station as Andrew led him to the Renault parked out front.

So, Andrew drives a Renault. Whether it’s a Mégane or an R18 or whatever is irrelevant, so it’s left out. The reader will fill in the smaller details if they want, or maybe just laugh at the fact that Andrew drives a Renault in the first place. Most likely, however, is that they just don’t care. Unless they’re James May.

Sometimes, details like this are important to the story. Maybe a character drives a 1966 black Cadillac Eldorado, and four chapters later, CCTV has footage of an older-model Cadillac Eldorado mowing down a little old lady in the crosswalk. The reader might need to know this information then.

A general rule to follow is to only include information which is vital to the outcome of the story, and to include as much vital information as possible. A great example of this is actually Harry Potter. She’s great at dropping absurd, seemingly asinine details into the narrative, and having them come back several chapters, or even books, later and suddenly being insanely important information. Remember Professor Quirrell’s stinky old turban that he wore, that Fred and George said he stuffed full of garlic at the beginning of the book? And then how he was the one who coincidentally informed the Great Hall of the troll in the castle? Yes, the books were geared at younger children, but I was an adult when I finally got round to reading the series and I still didn’t pick up on the big bad until the final reveal. Re-reading it, though, it’s terribly blatant and practically rubbed in your face.

But there’s very little filler in the books, which is the point I’m getting at. Sure, it’s not a shining example of classic literature, and it has its own faults, but for the most part, Rowling doesn’t bore you with pointless description in the narrative. It’s a fantasy, so she does need to take the time to describe the magical elements of the atmosphere. But she also leaves enough to the imagination to let the reader make their own picture.

I haven’t really got many examples of this, because I can’t realistically paste an entire story into this thing. Go read Philosopher’s Stone if you haven’t already, and you’ll see what I mean. It’s a quick read. Or, have Stephen Fry read it to you.

Absence of Information

Sometimes, the absence of information can be just as effective as putting all of the info up on the table. Complete absence of information or description can be used as a plot device, but more often, you’ll find a lack of information or description. Mostly a device that you’ll find in mystery/thriller genres, by leaving out important information, you keep your reader engaged because they really, really, really want to know how this story is going to end. As always, you want to keep a good balance with your description. Give your reader what they need to know, and nothing that they don’t. Filler in prose is like putting cardboard in your breakfast cereal. Sure, it looks like there’s a lot of it, but it won’t be very satisfying in the end.