Entries tagged as The Art of Writing

Irreversible Change

On February 4, 2010 / By Grace / In The Art of Writing / 2 Comments

In How to Revise Your Novel lesson two, Holly Lisle says that the kind of change that matters is “irreversible change”. Using the example of a character getting a new haircut, she points out that it isn’t interesting to the reader because the character’s hair will grow back, there is nothing life-changing about it.

I think she has a good point. Though one could argue that something irreversible could happen because of the character’s haircut, the haircut in and of itself is not an important, irreversible change.

It occurs to me, on the other hand, that it’s possible for even irreversible change to be rendered meaningless. Even if there’s foreshadowing and build-up to a supposedly significant, irreversible change, if the change happens and doesn’t carry the weight implied by the foreshadowing, the reader is disappointed and bored. The reader may not understand why they’re left feeling dissatisfied, but the author failed to supply the promised payoff.

In the books leading up to Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer, we are told time and again that becoming a vampire is life-altering, it’s tragic, and that it’s difficult—nearly impossible—to control the vampiric bloodlust. The question of damnation in the afterlife is brought up directly and indirectly. Bella begs to be changed into a vampire, and Edward refuses her every time, not wishing the unlife of a vampire on someone he loves. Finally, in Breaking Dawn, Bella is given her wish, but instead of watching her struggle to transition into the life of a vampire with her respect for human life intact, we learn that being a vampire is easy! It’s even fun! She has the special powers, and she has super-resistance to that pesky bloodlust after all! The issue of damnation is never brought up again, and Bella is even able to maintain a relationship with her father.

This is an irreversible change that has no meaning. Life is barely different for Bella than if she’d never become a vampire at all, except that she has super powers that are only helpful. There are no drawbacks. Edward’s reluctance to change her in previous books now seems like mealy-mouthed excuses. What was he so worried about?

So it’s not only that the change needs to be irreversible. It also needs to create conflict, and it needs to be followed through with just the right amount of payoff.

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Clunkity Clunk

On January 6, 2010 / By Grace / In The Art of Writing / Comments Off

Mark C. Newton talks about overuse of the word “clunky” to describe writing.

So what is it that people mean when they use the c-word? Is it that the words they see on paper don’t pass through their mental filters, the ones calibrated by their own everyday conversations? Is it a reluctance to process words outside of their comfort zone?

And what about prose – if it’s about rhythm, why not say so? If it’s that you felt sentences were too short, too long, too baroque, why not explore that instead of saying the c-word?

I don’t think “clunky” is simply another way of saying, “I don’t like it,” or “That’s too different.” At least, not for me.

Clunkiness, the way I understand it, is a rhythm issue, but it’s not the same as saying, “The sentences are too long,” or “The sentences sound clipped.” To me, it’s a general impression that the author has a tin ear, that no melody or rhythm is being observed at all. A piece of writing should be like music, and discordant notes and rhythm changes should either enhance the whole, or they are clunky, undesirable distractions from the composition. You’re reading along happily and then clunkity-clunk.

I don’t think it has anything to with ease of reading (if by reading, you mean understanding). I can read a whole line of nonsense words and it either has melody and rhythm or it doesn’t. “Jabberwocky” is not clunky; a line of perfectly formed English in an instructional manual often is.

I also don’t think it’s a specific style of writing that is either clunky or elegant. There are all kinds of poetic voices, and all kinds of narrative voices; some may take getting used to, but ultimately everything in one work needs to fit together to make an overall impression. There are different meter and rhyme schemes for form poetry; if you’re writing a piece of form poetry and you have a line that bucks your scheme, it had better be intentional and have a good aesthetic effect on the whole impression or it’s a mistake. To a certain degree, prose is the same.

Also, although it’s an “I know it when I read it,” kind of thing, I’ll be honest and say that I think it’s not so much that clunkiness is a matter of subjective opinion, but that rhythm may matter more to some people and less to others. Some people don’t need it the way others do, and so don’t notice or care when the rhythm is “off”.

Lazy usage of adjectives is a problem in reviews, however. Along with “clunky”, “lyrical” is another word that is used too often without thinking, and I try to use it judiciously.