Tactical Tuesday: Advice for Self-Editing

Dialogue comes naturally to some authors, but others struggle with trying to share realistic, pertinent, and dynamic conversations in their fiction. Today, let’s take a look at some practices to avoid and some that will assist in providing vibrant dialogue.

If the conversation doesn’t add to the story, nix it. You’ve no doubt heard it before. In fiction, the weather is only important in fiction if a tornado or other natural catastrophe is pending. Likewise, the niceties each of us endure when we come upon a friend or acquaintance are not interesting in real life. If the conversation between your characters doesn’t move the plot forward, if it isn’t instilled with conflict, delete it.

Don’t let your characters discuss things they know about each other. If Mary and Sue have been friends since grade school, don’t have them sitting down to tea to discuss the things they know about each other, especially if this conversation is utilized in order to bring in back story or information that is best received another way. Don’t do it, especially if the back story or information isn’t pertinent. If it is pertinent, bring it in via conflict.

“Mary, I told you I didn’t want to see George again. Cancel his invitation to the party.”
“I don’t understand your fixation with this. He’s just an old friend from school. Get over it.”
“Get over what? The fact that he never was a friend or that he attacked me after the Homecoming Dance our senior year?”

Match the character’s speech with his/her background and education. Quite simply, a doctor isn’t going to talk like a mob boss, and a mob boss isn’t going to converse like a mother of three children. Well, of course, you could have some very interesting characters if there was a reason for them to do so, but generally, ah, no.

Accents are a great way to define a character’s speech, but don’t overdo it. Joel Chandler Harris got away with writing heavy dialogue in his Uncle Remus stories, but those stories are very difficult to read. It is best to stick with a handful of words that will define the accent being conveyed. An easy example is our American Southern accent. Everyone knows we don’t say our “r’s” and “g’s.” There’s also that ever-ready y’all (but make sure you use this correctly. This is an abbreviation for “you all,” and “y’all” is plural. Never have your Southern Belle talking to a lone individual when she invites, “Y’all come and sit here a spell.”)

Everyone uses contractions. Your characters should use them, too. The greatest tell an author has with regard to whether he or she takes seriously the writing of dialogue, is in the writing of conversations in which contractions are never used, such as: “I will be there tomorrow. Do not forget. You will have to pick me up at the airport.”

And that leads to the last note regarding dialogue:

If you really want to know how your dialogue flows, read it aloud. Reading aloud will help you to hear the nuance, or lack thereof, you are trying to develop. For example, if you read the above example aloud, you would most likely realize that it would sound better like this: “I’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t forget. You’ll need to pick me up at the airport.”

If, after reading the line aloud, the author decided emphasis was needed, he might write: “I’ll be there tomorrow. Do not forget. You’ll need to pick me up at the airport.”

Happy editing.

Make-A-Story™ - Monday's Writing Prompt

Writing to spec – you’ve heard the term.  It means writing what the publisher wants.  Can you do it?  In our new feature - Make-A-Story™, we ask you to create a story with these elements.  The story can be set in any time frame, any length, must adhere to our guidelines and have our standard Christian world view.   

A missed birthday
An Autumn Festival
A flock of chickens


Tactical Tuesday: Advice for Self-Editing

The questions were asked? Does deep point of view (POV) only involve the reader’s sense of sight? How does the writer successfully show sound, taste, smell and touch/feel?

Deep POV is a total immersion of the reader into the character. Therefore, all five senses play an important role in an author’s goal to create a camera lens with a psyche.

The psyche of the camera lens extends the reader the character’s thoughts about what they experience. Be careful now. Remember that this is not real life. We’re writing fiction here. The reader is on a need-to-know basis. If they don’t need to know something, you’re going to lose them if you insert fluff.

Here’s some example of deep POV with the senses:

Touch: Caycee ran her hand along the bark of the oak her father had planted in her yard fifteen years before. Rough and cragged, even in the tree’s youth. She touched the spot where she and David had carved their names last year on her fourteenth birthday. Then, with trembling fingers, she touched the softness under the newly carved letters: RIP. Her best friend was gone, and her young heart felt much like the bark where she’d permanently etched her grief.

Smell: Bea entered the McDonald’s restroom. The usually pleasant aroma of cotton candy air freshener assaulted her. Funny. The first thought she had was the carnival midway at her hometown’s local festival. She’d been away so long, and she wasn’t back to attend the festival. Instead, she planned to bring her hometown to its knees and make sure the yearly event was cancelled forever. She smiled. Flush it down the toilet. Those were her plans. She hated that hometown event. She breathed deeply, not caring what germs the now unpleasant aroma masked. No more festival. No more cotton candy given to her by a stranger. No more pain. Everyone who hurt her was going away: the event organizer, the mayor, who was no longer a stranger, the state attorney who’d failed her, the judge who’d released her attacker. She’d pick them off one by one.

Taste & Touch: David bit into the orange. The juicy sweetness burst into his mouth, and he savored every bit of it. Citrus. His life’s blood. He never wanted to be anything by a farmer. He even enjoyed protecting the harvest against frost during those few times in the winter when a cold front encroached. Still, he had to find somewhat to explain to his father that a degree in agriculture would help him to take the groves in a different direction. David finished the last of the orange and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He could wipe off the juice, but his hands would remain sticky, much life his life, until he found a way to pour the truth into his father’s backward thinking.

Sound: The old hound in the yard began to bark. Blue was more faithful than the rooster, whose cock-a-doodle-do now joined into the morning reveille. John stretched before he climbed out of bed. He’d challenge anyone who said that waking to rock-n-roll blaring from a box was more energizing than this morning aria.

And Sight: A dark figure approached, and Marley came to a complete halt.
John stopped and stared at her. Mud covered him from head to foot making him look like a dirty statue. She wished she had her camera to capture the moment. Once he got this fool notion to run a farm out of his head, she would use the photo to discourage him from ever trying this type of venture again.
“The goat kicked me into the pig pen,” he said.
Marley gave a short snort and then a full-on giggle.
John bent and held his knees, his laughter ringing across the farm, making the chickens squawk and the cows moo.
Marley wiped tears from her eyes. Maybe this farm wasn't a bad place after all. John had laughed like that in years.

Deep POV encompasses all five senses and relays the character's thoughts about what he or she sees, tastes, touches, feels, and hears. I encourage you to practice it with short little scenes like this. You'll have fun studying the craft.

Happy editing.



Tactical Tuesday: Advice for Self-Editing

Would you like to make an editor’s heart sing? One way to do it is to pay attention to the little things: commas, periods, question marks, em-dashes, ellipses, semicolons, colons, and another punctuation mark called the paragraph.

I know what you’re thinking. I’m going to spend an entire post explaining why proper punctuation is important.

Proper punctuation is important.

You’ve seen the cute little pins on Pinterest that say something like this: “I love eating my children and my home. Yes, punctuation really is important.” If an author sends an editor a sentence like that without the proper punctuation, he might get another sentence or two to prove that he’s serious about the craft, because after all, it’s a big manuscript and mistakes are bound to be made. A few more mistakes like that one, though, and the editor might question the author’s seriousness about the craft of storytelling.

Yes, commas have rules, em-dashes and ellipses have their own purposes. Likewise, semicolons and colons are proud marks of punctuation, and without the paragraph, we’d have just one long block of text. And everyone knows that large blocks of text are skimmed, right?

I’m not much of a musician. I’ve learned to read just enough music to plunk out a basic hymn on the piano, but for me, punctuation marks are like musical chords. They speed up or slow down the rhythm of prose. Punctuation makes the words ring for the reader, and when used to their utmost, an editor can almost see the writer orchestrating the flow of the words.

If the book is a thriller, an author will take off, pushing toward a crescendo with short, uneven sentences that show the urgency of each moment for the reader. The period is an important tool for the thriller author. He uses it often and quickly. However, if the story is literary, the sentences might weave and flow about, creating a world in which the reader can sit and savor. For that reason, a knowledge of comma placement is important to this author.

What about the lesser used punctuation marks? There’s a rumor out there started by someone who obviously hates or misunderstands the semicolon, but this wonderful mark of punctuation is the difference in a soft pause and a blunt stop.

For example: Jimmy decided to go to the store. Susan would be there.

These are two completely different sentences, and Susan’s being at the store may or may not hold importance for Jimmy’s reason for going there so long as the period is the punctuation of choice.

Let’s change it up, though, and replace the period with a semicolon: Jimmy decided to go to the store; Susan would be there.

Now the author has indicated that these sentences are bound to one another. Jimmy decided to go to the store because Susan would be there.

That attention to detail is sweet music to an editor’s ear, and they envision the author as the conductor of the melody.

What about a paragraph? I find that some authors have never mastered the art of this punctuation mark. They haven’t learned that a paragraph consists of a main idea and sentences that support that idea. In fiction, a character’s action and dialogue should be kept together. This makes it easy for the reader to see who is doing what. Yet a craftily placed paragraph can call attention to something the author wants to provide particular emphasis for.

Here’s an example: A heavy footfall on the pier made her skid to a stop. She closed her eyes as fear shivered through her. She was alone. And vulnerable. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Now for the change up:

A heavy footfall on the pier made her skid to a stop. She closed her eyes as fear shivered through her. She was alone. And vulnerable.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.

Giving each “stupid” its own paragraph slows the action and gives the reader reason to say, “Uh-oh, our heroine has done something…really stupid, and in this paragraph apparently life-threatening stupid.”

One last word of advice: never overuse a punctuation technique. That will make the literary music sound to the reader like a needle scrawling across an old album (kudos to you who are old enough to understand the sound I’m describing). In order to use a punctuation mark incorrectly but to great effect, one must know first how to use it correctly. Then break it sparingly to make beautiful music for your reader—and editor.

Happy editing.