A Novel is NOT an Essay

Remember that structured essay format we all learned in high school English?

Tell them what you're going to tell them.

Tell them.

Tell them what you've told them.

In essays (and legal memos and briefs), this works for the document as a whole (Intro/Body/Conclusion) as well as for each individual paragraph (All flying birds have feathers. Feathers help them fly. Without feathers, birds couldn't fly.)

Following me so far? Good. Now forget all about that when you write fiction.

The main difference between an essay and a novel is that people read essays to learn stuff, so they don't mind it so much when you tell them the same information three different ways. They'll learn it better if they hear it more than once. This is not the case with people who read fiction.

Generally speaking, people who read fiction don't WANT to learn stuff. We want to experience someone else's life, watch someone else having the problems and struggles, and generally get taken out of our own lives for a while. If we learn something along the way, all well and good, but that's not what we're there for.

So don't tell me what you're going to tell me. Don't tell me anything. Don't tell me what you just told me.

Show me once and move on.

In short, don't do this:

(From an actual published book by an "award winning" author of more than 30 novels. 

I make no judgement as to the quality of his/her other novels.)

Telling me what you're going to tell me 

(This is part of a conversation between two people we already know):

She was informed by the housekeeper-cum-cook. "[Your crazy aunt] had that room completely remodeled about five years ago."

Yeah, I saw the passive language, too. There's very little that is right about this. Please remember that you don't need speech tags for every line. If one person just asked a question, I'm going to assume that the next line of dialogue is the answer, spoken by the other person. Two-person conversations are easy like that.

This is bad, too:

He heard himself asking, "What do I smell like?"

To his surprise, [Heroine] began to tell him. [Uninterrupted paragraph describing what Hero smells like.]

People normally don't just begin to tell things. "To his surprise, Heroine answered" would have been more than sufficient. We don't need the word "tell" to help me figure out that she's answering his question.

Telling me stuff:

He could tell [Heroine] was pleased by the compliment.

This tells me absolutely nothing except that Hero is mildly perceptive and that Heroine is a normal female. I don't know what it looks like when Heroine is pleased. Does she blush? Does she swoon? Does she hire a skywriter? Dance a jig? Blow a raspberry? WHAT?

Telling me what you've told me:

A hint of indignation surfaced in both her voice and manner. "Didn't you see the other vehicle?"

Hero stood there in the rain, feet planted shoulder-width, hands splayed across his hips gunslinger-style, thumbs hooked through the belt loops on his Levi's. "What other vehicle?" 

"The one that ran me off the highway," she stated in her own defense.

*Sigh* Say something interesting, okay? Again, there are only two people in this conversation, so I don't need a speech tag to know she's the one talking. "Stated" tells me nothing except that she's talking, which, as I might have mentioned, I already know. It gives me no clue as to her tone, her volume, or what she does while she flaps her yams. "In her own defense" is a duh-statement. I know she's defending herself. I got that. I'm pretty smart that way. I'll bet even all the readers who aren't defense attorneys picked up on that. No one wondered if she was defending someone else. No one stopped and thought to themselves "Why is she even saying that?"

This exchange would be worlds better without the speech tag and accompanying explanatory gobbledygook. It might even be improved by some sort of beat, like "she pointed a manicured finger back toward the wet road."

If you can't say something new, don't say anything at all. 

I'm going to put that in a sampler.

What do you think? Am I being too harsh, here? Anyone else notice a theme of me going off on books that assume I'm dumb?

Ye Olde English

Prithee, when thou hast characters which spring from time – Lo! – long gone by, take heed for thyself that thine own people might perchance yet understand their discourse. 

For thou knowest or can surely surmise that the usual denizens of long ago who spoke with the lilt of yesteryear had not access to sufficient of the written word to spend their days in perusing it. Nor – and this, perchance, is the more salient point – nor will they deign to travel forward along the continuum of time for the purpose of comprehending and interpreting thy words for the ignorant amongst the present generation. 

Thus we reach the sad conclusion that those of whom ye write cannot also read, while those who may read thy works are not those of whom ye write. It is therefore of necessity that ye write of those whom ye write, but to those who will read. This additionally requires those of whom ye write to adjust their diction accordingly, that those who will read may understand the words which they speak, which thou dost write.*

Understand?

*Even old-time characters have to use modern English, or the modern English speakers - your readers - will have a hard time relating to them. Avoid modern idioms, modern slang, and references to things that date to modern times, but everything else is the same. K?

Objection! Narrative!

Lawyers always like to know what comes next. They like to know what the answer is to every question before it is asked, and they like to know the exact order of the information that has yet to be delivered. Before the witness opens her mouth. Before the jury hears what she has to say. Before the "bell has been rung." Why? So they can object to anything they don't want the jury to hear. So they can stop the information from being delivered. So they can muffle the darn bell.

For this reason, lawyers will object to any question that elicits a narrative response. Like so:

Plaintiff's Counsel: "Mrs. Smith. Please tell us, in your own words, exactly what happened that day, starting from the moment you woke up, and ending when you found the letters."
Defense Counsel: "Objection. Narrative."
Judge: "Sustained."

(Defense Counsel objected, here, because he knows that, sometime around noon, Mrs. Smith had a conversation with her husband that is protected under marital privilege, in which he confessed to her that he was engaged in criminal activities with the letter writer. Mrs. Smith isn't allowed to testify about that conversation, the judge has already told her she can't testify about it, but defense counsel doesn't trust her to keep her yap shut about it.)

This is how proper testimony should go:

Plaintiff's Counsel: "Mrs. Smith, what time did you get up that morning?"
Mrs. Smith: "Round about 6:00."
PC: "And was your husband in the bed when you woke up?"
MS: "No, he weren't."
PC: "When did you see him next?"
MS: "At lunchtime."
PC: "And did he tell you anything of interest when you saw him?"
Defense Counsel: "Objection, your honor, may we approach?"

(Defense Counsel wants to approach the bench so he doesn't have to tell the jury that the witness is about to say something they aren't allowed to hear. A completely confused jury is better than a semi-confused jury with food for their imaginations.)

You see the difference? So much easier to object when you know what information is going to come next, right?

And what does that have to do with writing? Readers don't want to know what comes next, do we? We like to be surprised, right?

Well, to a point. What readers do like is to have narrative dialogue flow logically. We want to be able to predict the next subject that will be addressed in the character's speech. We don't like the following:

"Why'd you fall for Mother if you liked dark-haired women?" [Hero] asked.

"Man can love lots of women but only one gets to lay claim to his heart. Your mother was a beauty. Still is and so smart it ain't funny. Don't know why in the hell I'm tellin' you this tonight. Guess it's because you brought up the [name of bar redacted]. Think I'll go on in to bed. We got hay to put in the barn tomorrow. You going to help or go out and wreck another one of my vehicles tomorrow?"

No, I didn't skip anything. Yes, this is from an actual published book, the most recent in a series. (I didn't read the first books before I picked this one up.) Yes, Dad's answer could also draw an objection for being non-responsive. Anyone get why Dad fell for Mom? Just 'cause she was beautiful and smart? Aren't there lots of smart beauties around? What made Mom special? More to the point, anyone a bit thrown when we're suddenly talking about hay? Anyone have a clue how we got there from women without even a pause for breath?

Now, I'm not an expert, but here's how it could have gone:

"Why'd you fall for Mother if you liked dark-haired women?" [Hero] asked.

"Man can love lots of women but only one gets to lay claim to his heart." Dad smiled and stared up at the stars. "Your mother was a beauty. Still is and so smart it ain't funny." He shook his head as if he were clearing cobwebs from his hat and rubbed his beard stubble. "Don't know why in the hell I'm tellin' you this tonight. Guess it's because you brought up the [name of bar redacted]."

Dad stood, looking suddenly old and bone-tired. Hero knew better than to ask any more questions tonight. "Think I'll go on in to bed," Dad said. "We got hay to put in the barn tomorrow. You going to help or go out and wreck another one of my vehicles tomorrow?"

Not perfect, but better, yes? So what's the difference? In theatre, it's called stage business. In writing, it's called beats. In reading, it's called the-stuff-that-signals-a-possible-change-in-subject. Like the logical progression of questions in a trial, doing without it completely is objectionable.

I should mention that the set-up for this book seems really fun. I'm intrigued by the characters and the premise, but turned off by the objectionable narrative dialogue. I skipped ahead to see if this sort of thing continued after all the series exposition was out of the way. It did. Let's do another, shall we? This is from about two-thirds of the way into the book:

"Want to expound on [what you want] while we wait on our drinks?" [Hero asked.]

"Nothing to discuss. If you are [Hero], you know what I want. If you are [Hero's alter ego] you know how important it is to me. This is a neat place. I wonder if the ladies at home would learn to cook crawdads. If they would, I'd put one just like this in [the town where our alter egos met]. Any one of those old empty buildings would do to start. I'd finance it and we could give the [alter-ego-town restaurant] some competition. I'd best stop thinking about [Heroine's alter ego] and [Hero's alter ego]. [Heroine] bought you so I'd better get into character."

Oh, yeah. You know what I want: crawdads. Or not. How's this:

"Want to expound on [what you want] while we wait on our drinks?" [Hero asked.]

"Nothing to discuss. If you are [Hero], you know what I want. If you are [Hero's alter ego] you know how important it is to me." Heroine looked away from him, almost desperate to change the subject. She caught sight of the fishnets hanging behind the bar counter. Mother would hate them. 

She smiled. "This is a neat place. I wonder if the ladies at home would learn to cook crawdads. If they would, I'd put one just like this in [the town where our alter egos met]. Any one of those old empty buildings would do to start. I'd finance it and we could give the [alter-ego-town restaurant] some competition."

She turned back to Hero, but he was looking at her with a familiar gleam in his eye. She sighed. Nothing but trouble that direction. "I'd best stop thinking about [Heroine's alter ego] and [Hero's alter ego]," she said with a scowl. "[Heroine] bought you so I'd better get into character."

As you might have noticed, I hate ragging on published books, which is why I've tried to remove all identifying information above. Still, this author isn't new. She has several published books to her name (whatever it is) and the very fact that her publisher is still buying books in this series is a sign that there are readers out there who enjoy them. For myself, I'm actually a bit torn on whether I want to finish this. Yes, the dialogue is driving me crazy, but I like the story (what I've read of it). *Sigh*

Anyway, please don't do this in your book. And, if you're beta-reading my book, please make sure I'M not doing it. We're not writing plays or screenplays. We can't rely on the actors to fill in the stage business for us later. We have to do it ourselves. Everything our characters say not only has to be motivated, but that motivation must be understood by our readers.

What do you think? What drives you crazy about not-quite-perfect dialogue?

Laryngitis vs. Dialogue

I used to get laryngitis a lot. About once a year, my voice would freeze up (with or without the sore throat), and I'd wander around shrugging, pointing at my throat, and mouthing the words I have laryngitis.

And, honestly, it was dang fun. (Speaking of dang fun, my sons just called my name, I responded with "What?" and they informed me that I have "five minutes to get rid of that word," meaning I have to get someone else to say it. All together, now: "What?")

Where was I? Oh yes. The glories of non-verbal communication.

You might find this attitude strange in someone who loves to talk as much as I do. I am quite enamored with the sound of my own voice, I'm not what anyone would call shy, never have been, and I have a very healthy respect for the power and overall convenience of words. In fact, one of my high school friends once declared, while I was on an overnight trip with her family, that I could never go a single hour without talking. Boy was she sorry when I shut up until the next morning! :)

Maybe I have the soul of a mime, maybe this is just my acting obsession talking, but the truth is, as cool as words are, it's fun to explore the many ways you can communicate without them. (Though I also love sign language, I'm not talking about that.)

Faces are expressive. Bodies are constantly "talking." A change of posture or a well-placed eyebrow can communicate as much as a thousand words (just like your average picture).

The challenge for a writer, of course, is putting these expressions into words. This is not impossible. Observe:

"John, I need to talk to you," Marsha said.
OR
Glaring at John, Marsha stood, folded her arms, then jerked her head toward the door. 

Do we need the dialogue to know that Marsha wants to talk to John? How about this one:

"If you kids don't settle down right now, you're going to walk home," Mom repeated for the tenth time.
OR
Mom flicked the turn signal on, swerved to the side of the road, and stomped on the brake. She jabbed the button to unlock the doors and pointed out the passenger side window.

Which one is more effective?

Now, as you've noticed, non-verbal communication uses more words to record. Some might call it inefficient. A whole book with nothing but non-verbal communication would be a massive tome, indeed.

Doesn't mean it's not more fun.

What do you think? Are there places in your WIP where non-verbal communication is / would be more effective than dialogue?